Communication Lessons from Lake Esau
by Ashley Graham-Wilcox
This summer, I had the opportunity to work from the shores of Lake Esau, at an Episcopal summer camp in northern Michigan. I imagined a kind of creative sabbath: Volunteering with the camp for a couple of hours a day, then diving into my “real” work—refreshed by cool lake breezes, inspired by birch trees, untethered from the traffic and demands of my family’s usual Los Angeles routine.
I’d sleep eight hours a night, cross every creative project off my list, and find some long-lost version of my best self, sipping coffee in my lakeside hammock at sunrise.
And I got some of that. But if you’ve ever worked at a summer camp—or a church—you already know how this story ends: Camp is a full-time job, whether or not you planned for it to be. Because something is always coming up.
Sound familiar?
As I approach the end of my month here, I’m reflecting on what this experience has taught me—not just about camp or communication, but about what it means to show up with presence in the face of unpredictability, intensity, and sacred responsibility. Here are a few lessons I’m bringing back with me, from Lake Esau to your inbox.
1. The Plan Is a Starting Point, Not a Script
We planned for me to volunteer a couple of hours a day. What we got instead were real needs: Search protocols activated for a missing camper. Staff members in conflict. A water rescue brought to life from the pages of the manual. An unexpected void in kitchen staff.
These are not moments to be rescheduled.
Church is the same. You can build the best communications plan in the world—but someone will always need a funeral announcement posted, a typo corrected, a prayer vigil organized… yesterday.
The goal isn’t to stick perfectly to the plan. It’s to be responsive without losing your center.. It’s to breathe, then act. It’s to know that presence is sometimes the most faithful strategy.
2. Rain Will Come—Pivot Anyway
Some weeks, it stormed every afternoon, metaphorically or torrentially. And every time, camp leadership had to take their Ross Gellar lesson and “PIVOT!”: Reshuffling the schedule, reassuring staff and campers, communicating clearly, and doing their best with what they had.
That meant pulling off a full-camp hike at the last minute, debriefing emotionally raw days when time barely allowed for it, and creating space to acknowledge the impact before pushing through it.
Good communication doesn’t prevent the storm. It helps people navigate it together, instead of alone.
3. Ministry Happens in the Middle
The most important conversations I had this month weren’t on the schedule. They happened between lunch and games. In a quiet moment at the kitchen entryway, handing out Oreos. In a breathless moment on the walkie-talkie when someone just needed an extra brain, or a reminder of what’s next, or for someone—anyone—to make coffee. Sometimes I was equipping leaders with staff training tools and feedback frameworks. Sometimes I was just clearing dishes.
In your role, too, ministry doesn’t only happen in the official meetings or the newsletters. It’s in the extra email you send to check in. The patient re-explaining of how Realm works (again). The moment you listen longer than you planned to.
4. Relationships Take Repetition
Watching the summer staff grow together reminded me: Relationships aren’t built all at once. They take time. Trust. A few awkward icebreakers. Sometimes even conflict. (Okay, especially conflict.) Anyone who’s worked ii in intentionally developing small groups is familiar with the stages of group development — They can’t perform without the storm.
We had tough moments: staff disagreements, hurt feelings, breakdowns in communication. And moments of growth, of apology, of learning to give and receive feedback with grace. We worked on building a feedback culture—not overnight, but day by day. (If teenagers can give and receive honest feedback with grace, I promise your staff can learn how to, too.)
The same is true in your congregation. No single announcement or bulletin redesign will “fix” communication. But showing up consistently—with kindness, with clarity, with compassion—builds trust. And trust builds community.
Take Me Home, Country Roads
As I pack up my little lake office (see below) and start the transition back to southern California, I’m not leaving with as many finished projects as I’d intended. But I’m leaving with a sacred reminder: Real ministry is rooted in relational communication, which takes as much time as it takes.
So if your summer didn’t go as planned, take heart. You’re not behind. You’re just doing the work—holy interruptions and all.
