A Mother's Prayer for Her Scoutcamper

Make the thunderclouds that currently loom, roll back from the mountain for a week.
And if they don't, please help him find his poncho somewhere in that ginormous backpack.

May his blood taste bitter to all the insects who would so greedily suck it.
May his food be cooked all the way.

Help him remember his mother's warnings about the river,
And his father's admonition to not worry too much and have fun.

Grant his leaders the patience of a hundred Jobs,
That their offended olfactory senses may not interfere with their ability to guide and protect this group of twelve and thirteen year old boys.

Please keep him safe from bears, snakes, knives and fire.
Protect his beautiful, myopic eyes while he is earning his archery and rifleman merit badge,
let no foreign object defile them.
Give him the good sense to put his glasses in their case, that no wandering foot or tired bottom smash them to bits, rendering him blind as a bat.

Most of all, please help the mother, who finds it a little hard to let go of her son and to hear him say, "Don't worry mom, this will be nothing compared to my mission."