Sunday, we had a mission emphasis service at Charity. Our Life Group (which is pretty much my
favorite hour of the week) had a guest speaker, a camp pastor from
Virginia. He started by asking if any of
us had ever heard of Patrick Springs, Virginia.
Since I am a little slow on the draw lately, I totally missed that he
had on a shirt with the camp’s name across it, and enthusiastically announced
that I had gone to said camp when I was a little kid. He spent the next 30 minutes showing pictures
and telling stories of a place that was so very near to my heart as a
child.
I went away to camp for a week for the first time when I was
seven years old. I was one of the youngest
campers and I just loved it. I came home
with camp songs stuck in my head, pen pals from all over, and a deeper love and
understanding of my Savior. I went back
the next six years, once even after we’d moved from Eden to Kannapolis. I don’t even think I can grasp or convey how
profoundly those hot, summer weeks at camp impacted my life. It was at camp that I learned about daily
quiet times, a practice that I didn’t really get the hang of until college and
don’t really have mastered these days. It
was at camp that I learned the importance of Godly role models and the impact
even teenagers can have on a lost world.
It was at camp that I hid God’s Word in my heart. Many camp experiences created a foundation
for my faith. A foundation that (I say
with pride in Christ and not in me) has not been shaken.
When I hear of people who have lost a child (or any loved
one for that matter) who do not know my God, my heart breaks for them. Aside from the assurance that my baby is in
heaven and we will be together there one day, I take refuge in the knowledge
that the God who made the universe cares for me. His mercies are new every morning, and he has
a plan for my life.
That little stroll down memory lane really got me thinking
about my “training” and how all those years ago at camp, God was preparing me.
He used year in AWANA, Campus Crusade for Christ and Sunday School in college,
Tuesday night Bible Study at Lucy and Mere’s, and my life group at Charity to
ready me for the greatest tragedy of my life.
I’m grateful for the scriptures that friends and family often share with
us, but I am especially grateful for the ones that come to mind as I am driving
to school feeling swallowed up in sadness. I cherish that still, small voice that
speaks truths to me when I’ve grown so weary of grieving. I hope I never take it for granted. I hope that when we get to parent living
children, we will help them commit God’s word to memory to ready them for the
storms of life.
No comments:
Post a Comment