We had this rustic campground in southern Michigan. Every summer there would be two camping weeks…one for junior age children and then one for teens. Did I say “rustic”? Maybe “primitive” would be a better word. The cost of the camp back in my day was $12.00…but if you were from a “multi-child” home there was a discounted rate. And…if you couldn’t afford to pay to send your kid or kids to camp…”Ah…just send ‘em. Somebody will pick up the tab.” The menu in the cafeteria featured a lot of state surplus staples. But when you’ve been playin’ all day…as I recall…those were some of the best meals I have ever eaten. The dorms were tin roofs and white washed concrete blocks. The beds were army surplus bunks and straw tick mattresses. They weren’t all that comfortable but we didn’t sleep that much anyway. The state would come out every year and give the grounds a cursory health inspection. People worked hard to get that campground ready but when the health department showed up everybody held their breath anyway. Always got ticked for this and that…but they never shut us down. Dad said that he credited God for blinding the inspectors. A lot of us got poison ivy. Mosquitoes moved around the campground in clouds. Cuts, bruises, hay fever, one week crushes and broken hearts…everybody got hurt one way or another. But for all the injuries and plainness and exhaustion camp was the highlight of my life. I made friends there that I still count more as relatives than acquaintances. I believe a good part of my faith foundation grew as I knelt beside my friends and prayed for them and them for me. I made decisions there that shaped and shape my life. I am still moved to tears as I remember counselors and camp speakers who convinced me with their tears and their prayers that they truly cared for me. I’m convinced that my choice of a college for ministry training was embraced because it seemed more like one of those youth camps that it seemed an academic center. But now they’re both gone. Time marches on. They’ve been replaced by buildings and programs that are more modern and comfortable and culturally entertaining. Now youth camps feature landscaped ball fields, sand pit volley ball courts, and swimming pools. Swimming pools!? They’re probably better in a lot of ways…but if I had a summertime wish for my children and their children and their children’s children, I would like to truck them out to Hillsdale, Michigan. I’d like them to enjoy the simple pleasure of toasted tuna fish sandwiches and state surplus cheese. I’d like them to make the kind of life long friends that I made there. I’d like Bob and Edith, Cleo and Sue, Don and Betty…I’d like those people who loved me enough to put their hands on me and weep over my future, to pray those same kind of prayers over my kids and my kid’s kids. I’m 68 years old…but I miss youth camp…and my friends…
Posted on: Wed, 10 Sep 2014 22:54:26 +0000
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