A Life Invested - Tribute to Henry Black

I didn't know Henry for very long.  We were RFK camp colleagues for six summers.  All together, between camp weeks and training days, that means we had only spent about 7 weeks together.  What you may not know about RFK is that the intensity of service to foster kids drives relationships deeper during those weeks than they do in the non-camp world.  Knowing Henry during these few weeks taught me much, and his death makes the world a dimmer place.  In tribute to Henry, I'd like to share a few of the lessons he taught everyone, especially those at Royal Family Kids Camp.

1.  Gentleness is not weakness.  The kids at RFK have lived difficult lives.  They have seen and experienced things that made them grow up too fast and become defensive.  Often, they arrive at camp with a tough front.  In their lives, vulnerability leads to bad things, so they have to pretend they are strong, whether or not they are.  When they met Henry, they met gentleness personified.  He was kind, but he was not weak.  I have no doubt that there are many adults in the world today who are kinder than they would have been if they had not seen Henry's example.


2.  You don't have to be loud to be heard.  Henry was the calmest man I've ever known.  I never heard his voice raised.  I don't think I ever heard his voice louder than 30dB.  Yet, I stood close to him at camp training because he said great things.  He was funny and profound and worth hearing.  When we planted a new camp, the woodworking director had been trained by Henry.  While the woodworking area is loud, he isn't.  Henry's influence carried over into more than one camp.  While this lesson was never explicitly stated, the kids who spent time at either of those woodworking stations saw what quiet influence was. 

3.  Doing something tangible with your hands is therapeutic.  I mentioned before that Henry was in charge of the woodworking station.  There is no part of camp that was more surprising to me than this station.  Before that first year, I pictured small projects in the realm of those little snap together kits you get at Lowes.  I arrived at camp to find real lumber and real tools.  Kids were building everything from bug catching boxes to chairs.  Yes, chairs that they could actually sit in.  In my second year as a counselor, I had a girl who pulled out a sheet of paper with a list of wood projects she wanted to make, mostly as gifts for family and friends.  She wanted to spend every activity time at the woodworking station.  When I asked her what she liked so much about woodworking, she said, "I can take home something real that I made and give it to people."  Make something real gave her a sense of accomplishment that she needed.  One of the most memorable moments I have from that year happened when I was with her, helping her make a jewelry box.  An angry seven-year-old boy arrived at the table with his cabin.  He didn't want to be there; he didn't want to make anything.  Henry calmly handed him a block of wood, a pile of nails, and a hammer and said, "Just hammer these."  For an hour, that boy pounded nails into a block of wood.  He started pounding them with anger, but by the end of the hour, he was laughing with his counselor while joyfully hammering these nails.  I'm not under the misconception that all of that boy's problems have now been solved because of an hour of hammering nails, but for that hour, he put his energy into something besides anger. 

Camp wasn't the only way in which Henry served the Lord (see his obituary here).  He was an active member of his church, and usher, a Royal Rangers commander.  He invested his life in others, and that investment is reaping eternal benefits.