Camps? Yes, Please!
Monday, January 25, 2010
Free Church Camps - the best thing since sliced bread! In fact, come to think about it, loaves and loaves of sliced bread – toasted, and lavished with peanut butter, jam, cheese, Nutella, sugar and any mixture thereof, are part of my camp memory experience.
It’s not camping per se, of course. Apart from a few enthusiastic - but sorely misguided - outdoor types, Free Church Camps and canvas tents haven’t mixed well together. When I started going to camps (circa early 1970s…gulp!), they were mainly held in schools. The classrooms were transformed into dormitories and I don’t suppose ever fully recovered. If the walls could speak, these particular brick witnesses would be struck dumb, traumatised by the noise, laughter, smell and energy of their summer-time inhabitants. A pack of 12 young teenage boys walked out the door of these rooms after 10 days – each of them exhausted to the point of sickness - soap bars neatly unopened and a bag full of neatly ironed, unused underwear, cushioning 32 packets of sweets, 12 stink bombs and a water pistol.
Along with such thrilling items, the bag home also included the obligatory postcard that was never sent, someone else’s dirty sock, a wet t-shirt smelling of raw eggs and caked in damp flour and a broken ornament – bought at a market stall on one of the days out – “Mum will love this!” Going home brought a cloud of depression – normality, parents who didn’t understand the grief of my loss (camp finishing), and washing dishes without the joy of soap wars, and dish-towel flicking.
10 days of unadulterated fun, mayhem, lack of sleep, nonsense and pure friendship. Also, these were days lived out in a brilliant Christian atmosphere – where the leaders were committed Christians, were young and easy to talk to. We had the Bible explained at our level and we were passionately challenged to give our lives to Christ. We belted out great songs. We could ask our questions, and realised that others shared our fears, doubts, weakness, as we talked and prayed together at dorm discussions. By God’s grace, I owe a massive debt to Camps for the Truth I was taught, the examples I saw, the friends I made and the Grace I experienced.
We’ve progressed to more sophisticated accommodation, as time has progressed. The ruggedness has gone. The programme is not so basic as it used to be. Some of the boys now spend longer getting ready in the morning than the girls, and health and safety rules mean that we even have to risk-assess spontaneity…but the ethos and the blessing from God remains. If you have never been to Camp before, think about going – either as a ‘camper’ or, if you are an older young Christian, as a leader. You will never forget it and I pray, never regret it.
