BACKGROUND:
SUMMER 1988
SETTING: A summer camp in the San Bernardino Mountains in Southern California at about 7600 feet above sea level at the end of a 5.2 mile forest service road.
NOTE: This is a true story with some names changed for privacy. Please note that no one was harmed or became harmed as a result of the story below.
STORY: Adam Percival of San Bernardino was camped along Forest Service Road 2N12 in the San Bernardino mountains of Southern California for the 4th of July weekend of 1988. He wanted to be in the woods and was not always well prepared for his adventures. He had a little pick up truck and had set up a tent and a small campfire spot along a meadow near the tree line of Ponderosa Pines. He had roasted some hot dogs and perhaps had one too many of his favorite beer. The evening was cool and dry for a July evening.
The camp was less than 1/4 mile from his camping spot and currently held 223 individuals made up of teens from three different YMCAs in Southern California who were there for the week. Most of the campers and their leaders were in the cabins by 10 pm with about 27 of them on a hike out across the meadow to a spot just outside of camp for a late evening program activity.
As Adam slept, the flames from the campfire were still going and ignited a bit of brush next to a pine that was considerably dead compared to the hundreds of others along the meadow. It did not take too long for the flames to begin to torch up the tree.
One of the YMCA leaders was driving back into the camp that evening and saw the flames. He immediately alerted the camp director and some staff that a fire was growing just outside the property. A phone call was made via the radio telephone technology of that time and the forest service fire company said that it could be 40 minutes to an hour before they would arrive.
The camp leadership assembled more staff and the decision (as per policy) to conduct a fire drill proceeded. A staff member was dispatched to go alert and escort the 27 folks who were out on the perimeter of the property.
The program director from one of the YMCAs was directed to assemble with the campers and leaders into the dining hall and conduct an impromptu campfire program; leading songs with the campers.
Ten of the permanent staff of the camp (those who were there for the entire 11 week summer season) along with the camp director went to the maintenance area to get shovels, rakes and other items to begin to create a perimeter around the fire that was now high in the tree line due to the dead tree that had caught ablaze.
The camp director turned to me as they left and said, you are in charge and responsible for everyone in the dining hall and the group who we hoped were now returning from the outskirts of the camp. I had gone to the front gate and it was clear that flames were at the tree top and lighting up the clear night in the not to distant view. I began to walk back towards the dining hall to check back with the staff team.
The camp permanent staff program director, Cassie, was pacing in front of the dining hall and seemed to be very upset. I approached them to see what they were assigned to do. In her clear stress and upset she came face to face with me and said, "I don't know what to do. I saw our neighbors house burn down when I was a child and I don't know what to do." Cassie's voice and tearful gaze created a dilemma for me since I was technically a subordinate on the organizational chart. I recall that I almost immediately told her to get two other staff people and go down to the lake to prep canoes and boats and lifejackets should we need to get anyone on the water away from flames.
Cassie's sense of helplessness and despair was not isolated. In the dining hall I saw and heard some campers and leaders who were hugging and consoling one another. David was at the front with some enthusiastic staff members helping lead songs that seemed to distract a third or more of the campers. I walked back to the front gate one more time and saw the glow seemed to be growing closer.
When Helplessness Is the Air We’re Breathing
There’s a feeling I’m hearing everywhere lately. At camp. In church halls. Around kitchen tables. On phone calls that used to be lighter.
It sounds like this:
“What can we even do anymore?”
- Our National Leaders feel distant.
- Our Media feels loud and manipulative.
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And good people (thoughtful, caring people) are tired of feeling pushed around by forces they can’t influence.
That sense of helplessness isn’t a weakness.
It’s a human response to living in a time when everything feels bigger than us. Cassie felt helpless and contributed in the best way they were capable at the moment.
The danger isn’t that we feel helpless.
It’s what we do next.
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| What is your view of this photo; Are they against one another or helping one another out? |
Here’s what I learned from camp:
Camp taught me that feelings don’t disappear when ignored. A homesick camper doesn’t calm down because you distract them. They calm down because someone notices and names what they’re feeling. Helplessness works the same way. That fire at camp lasted less than three full hours. There were folks distracting, comforting, and taking direct action. All were somewhat isolated from each other and all were doing what needed to be done next.
Servant Leadership Doesn’t Fix the World It Keeps People Human
Servant leadership was never about controlling outcomes.
It was never about winning arguments or changing systems overnight.
It has always been about this:
How we treat people when the systems fail them.
When the world feels out of control, servant leaders don’t rush in with answers.
We show up with presence.
Here’s what I learned from camp:
When a camper melts down, the worst thing you can do is lecture. The best thing you can do is sit down at their level and stay. Camp taught me that presence calms faster than logic ever will. I know that when Cassie approached me, my sense of calm and knowing that they needed a distraction provided a space for them to contribute even when it was not ever an option to think we would put anyone out on the water.
The Shift That Changes Everything: Global to Local
Helplessness lives at the global level.
- Capitals.
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Headlines.
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Social media feeds designed to keep us anxious and divided.
Servant leadership pulls the lens closer.
- Who is in front of me today?
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What is still within our reach?
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Where can I make life a little more dignified for someone else?
Here’s what I learned from camp:
You never “fix camp” all at once. You fix the leaky canoe. You solve the bunk conflict. You help one kid feel safe enough to try again tomorrow. You don't even fight a fire with a handful of teens and early twenty somethings. It did provide them with a small set of acts that would contribute to a sense of what they could do or control that was right in front of them. Big cultures are changed the same way, small, faithful acts at ground level.
People Don’t Need More Opinions
They Need Less Noise
Right now, everyone has a take. Very few people have peace.
Servant leaders don’t add to the noise. We help people breathe again.
Sometimes that means saying: “You don’t need to carry this today.”
Here’s what I learned from camp:
At camp, we learned quickly that too many whistles ruin the game. The best leaders spoke less and meant more. Some leaders choose to lead songs, some choose to hug and comfort and others need their own self regulation to kick in. Clarity beats volume. Calm beats chaos.
Restoring Dignity Is Real Power
When institutions feel broken, people begin to feel small.
Servant leaders push back by restoring dignity wherever they can.
- We notice effort.
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We honor generosity.
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We acknowledge quiet faithfulness.
Here’s what I learned from camp:
Every child wants to be seen as capable. When we trusted a camper with responsibility (even a small one) they stood taller. Adults aren’t any different. Dignity given is dignity multiplied.
Non-Anxious Presence Is a Gift
In seasons like this, people don’t need leaders who are certain.
They need leaders who are steady.
Non-anxious presence looks like:
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Listening longer than you speak
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Responding instead of reacting
Here’s what I learned from camp:
Camp emergencies taught me this fast. If the director panics, everyone panics. If the director stays calm, solutions appear. Anxiety is contagious—but so is steadiness.
Power Was Never What We Were Told It Was
We’ve been sold the idea that power means control.
Winning.
Being louder than the other side.
Servant leadership offers a truer definition.
Power is the ability to show up, protect, and choose goodness.
Here’s what I learned from camp:
The most powerful leaders at camp weren’t the loudest. They were the ones campers followed voluntarily. Campers reached out to those they knew would provide a sense of comfort. Influence was earned through consistency, fairness, and care—not authority alone.
What We Can Practice Right Now?
Not slogans. Practices.
• One media-free hour a day
• One intentional act of service a week
• One real conversation instead of ten comment threads
Here’s what I learned from camp:
Routines save lives. When the day had rhythm; meals, activities, rest, campers felt safe. In chaotic times, simple practices become anchors.
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| Program Director (yours truly) for the resident YMCA. |
A Final Thought
People don’t need saviors right now. They need anchors.
Servant leadership in 2026 looks less like fixing the world and more like refusing to let the world break us.
Here’s what I learned from camp:
Camp didn’t change the outside world. It changed how people showed up in it. I filled that anchor role. And that turned out to be enough, more often than not.
- Quietly.
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Consistently.
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Together.
Post Script: Adam was awoken by the camp staff and he jumped into his truck and drove away. The fire was put out by the Forrest Service fire department. The 27 campers and leaders made it safely back into camp and joined the rest of camp in the dining hall. The camp director and 10 staff had cleared a semi circle in the meadow area some 20 yards from the brush and tree that was on fire. Cassie put all the canoes and lifejackets away after the crisis was over. I learned that moving through a crisis seemed to go in slow motion and nearly 4 decades later, I replay that evening in the same way. Slowly, deliberately, and as an anchor.
