We turn into the open gate, the familiar crunch of gravel under our tires. Stepping out of the car, the scent of the pine forest fills my nostrils, evoking twenty-five years-worth of fond memories in this place.
Already late for the first evening meeting, we head for the auditorium nestled in the trees. A towering, thickly forested mountain juts skyward in the background.
Such beauty. Every year, I breathe in the sight.
We hurry to join the others from our church network.
For a good chunk of our lives, we have worshiped alongside these people, experiencing stirring messages and prophetic words together, responding to God in one another’s presence, enjoying significant conversations.
These folks are family. They’re my peeps. And I’ve missed them.
It’s been three years since we’ve gathered due to the pandemic.
When we first brought our three boys to this camp, they were all in grade school. Now they are here with their wives and (eight) children. Our oldest grandson is almost the age his Daddy was when he first came here.
Later this week, I will watch our grandchildren and their peers sing worship songs with hand motions which they learned in their respective classes, their faces bright with joy.
I’ll watch my five-year-old granddaughter dance in spontaneous adoration of Jesus in front of the platform where the worship team plays.
I’ll see her one-year-old sister, unprompted, raise her hands in worship.
And I will weep.
I will raise my own hands in worship as high and long as I can manage, my joy so full that my face just might split open.
I will linger at the table long after lunch, catching up with a dear friend who lives in Canada. I will have breakfast with a woman that I feel a nudge to talk with.
After an evening meeting, my husband and I will meet with another couple to talk and pray about doing some ministry together.
I’ll have the opportunity to pray for people from faraway places as well as people from my own church. And they will pray for me.
I’ll get to share specific, encouraging words from the Holy Spirit with people I may not even know.
Some will speak a personal, timely word from the Lord to me as well.
I will return home exhausted yet refreshed in my spirit—not unlike stepping into the wide, swift, crystal-clear river at the edge of camp on a hot afternoon.
Sadly, like the river, our time goes by quickly. It seems we just arrived and it’s already time to say goodbye.
It’s always hard to tear ourselves away.
There’s something about place that is essential to human beings.
We don’t float around like phantoms; we are embodied creatures, rooted to reality by means of a physical body located in a specific geographic place.
What we see, hear, smell, taste, and touch grounds our memories and tethers us to our stories.
Human beings have a deep need to connect to creation, to others and to God.
The fragrance of pine trees on the afternoon breeze… the tart sweetness of a huckleberry milkshake… a warm hug from a friend you haven’t seen in years…the palpable presence of Jesus while singing his praises.
It’s this combination of the beauty and wonder of creation, sweet fellowship with sisters and brothers, and encounters with the living God that make this repeated experience so unforgettable.
God created us with physical bodies, including five senses. He created beautiful places where we can make memories together.
One day, God will create new heavens and a new earth, where we will continue to live as embodied beings (2 Pet. 3:13; Is 66:22).
Memories like last week’s camp whet my appetite for what’s coming.
Where have you experienced the goodness of God?
