Sarah Dabney Gillespie: A Different Comfort

Being Together While We’re Apart

Because we all miss our Fondren family, here are our Sequester Stories—a series of stories and photos by Fondren folks sharing what our “pandemic lives” are about.


Sarah Dabney Gillespie in Haiti

Be still and know that I am God.

At camp, we have an outdoor amphitheater on the banks of the river that we call “Morning Watch.” Decades ago, my dad took a piece of lumber and a router and carved that verse from Psalm 46 to put over the entrance to Morning Watch.

Sitting in this place alone, there is beauty and solace and an infinite appreciation for the natural world babbling and chirping and buzzing all around me.

But sitting in this place this summer, surrounded by children and camp counselors, provided a different comfort—a sense of community and an appreciation for “normal” routines of life, a brief respite from the pandemic.

We struggled with the decision to open our gates this summer, but after much research, renovation, and prayer, we decided to at least try and offer a camp experience for children. It wasn’t easy, but our new protocols seem to have worked, as we made it through the whole summer without a single case of Covid-19 surfacing. In fact, we liked many of our new policies so much that we will keep them in place for future summers even if the virus is gone.

Our camp families were grateful for our efforts, our campers were thrilled to run around outside and choose their own activities, and our staff enjoyed keeping the tradition alive. Everyone liked the break from self-isolating at home.

Now camp is over and I’m settling back in to my stay-at-home routine. I must confess that I like it. I like long walks with the dogs along the riverbanks. I like slowly tackling repair projects. I like turning off the television and picking up a book. 

But I am also challenged by the very thing I like; I am able to stay at home. I’m challenged because I recognize how privileged I am to not worry about having to pay for housing, or a car, or teaching a child at home or feeding a family on an ever-shrinking budget. I worry about the vast numbers of people whose struggles increase every day and whose futures are uncertain.

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COVID-19 Update

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Cassie Alston: A Letter to Fondren