An Empty Campground

When I directed FC Alabama Junior Camp, I finished the week inspecting the Children’s Harbor cabins. I made sure the trash was removed, lights and fans were off, and there was no damage. I freely admit this was emotional; I truly loved the Alabama Junior Camp experience and an empty campsite is the final confirmation that camp, for the year, is over. These are some observations I wanted to share from one of those years.

As I close each cabin I can still see the campers and counselors whose presence fills this place. I see the bunks I occupied during various camps and remember scenes of those days. I look around and see the young boys and girls who have now become young men and ladies and am so very proud of them.

In Lookout Inn, I visited the space of my first counselor bunk and the place I slept the year I had the whole cabin to myself. I see places throughout the campground where during summer and winter I was blessed to talk, pray, cry, and laugh with people who are so dear to me. I feel blessed to have such good friends and experiences. Yes George Bailey, I’ve got a wonderful life.

The sun glistened on the empty pool where we played dunk the counselor (adding zombie rules) and other fun games. Even on that bright morning I could still see the shadows of a couple standing in the middle of a dark calm pool where souls were won for Christ. I remember walking out with a new young Christian, singing a song to celebrate this wonderful event, praying in a circle of love and strength for their lifelong journey.

As I shiver in the cold wind blowing off the lake during Winter Camp, I can imagine the young campers. I see them in line for the galley, on the swings, playing volleyball and basketball, or talking in the amphitheater. I do a quick mental calculation to see how long I must wait until they return to this special place.

I stand on the empty dock where the boys and I enjoyed midnight swims. The canoes are resting on their racks from a busy week. I visit the places on the lake where souls were joined to Christ or where I had uplifting conversations with special people. It is not the place, you see, it is the people I can connect to these places. When I come back to the places I feel their presence but it is bittersweet because I am here and they are not.

Precious young people, the traces you leave on our hearts and lives bring us joy and peace. We cry when we know you are in sorrow and want to help you through your difficult times. We rejoice at your achievements and your courage to do the right thing. We recognize the sacred gift of taking us into your heart and allowing us to be part of your world.

Loving counselors and staff: there are few like you in the world who can bring love, compassion, wisdom, and genuine playfulness with such ease. We share a special bond because we share special goals and have worked together for such a wonderful purpose. Your friendship makes me a wealthy man.

Why does my heart ache when camp is over? I spent a week with precious people enjoying fun activities sharing life changing moments immersed in the love and knowledge of God. Cynics snidely chide, “camp is not reality.” If that claim is true I would like to change my reality, please. It is reality - do not let anyone tell you otherwise - though its life is so very brief. Sin spoiled the creation but the fellowship and love of godly people supporting each other is a taste of what shall be reclaimed on the last day.

As I stand in Mariner’s Hall, now empty, my memory refills the room. I hear “Good Morning Campers” from my lovely wife’s voice and their enthusiastic reply. I hear society chants and squeals of joy. I hear you sing “Light the Fire” and tears fill my eyes. Then I hear only silence broken by the waves crashing on the lake outside. “Next year,” I pray, “God, please let me come back next year.”