Let me tell you some stories about my mom.
When I fell asleep sunbathing, I woke to the gentle poke of her sticking a spatula under me, deadpanning, “It’s time to turn you over.”
And when it was time for me to awaken to the body of Christ, she sent me to church camp.
It had been years since we’d gone to church regularly as a family. Mom didn’t drive, and Dad got a job that required him to work on Sundays, and my little brother was born, and it was just too much to try to get two kids ready and find a ride to the little church down the river where we’d gone when I was a kid. I remember dark wooden pews, funeral-home fans on a stick, stained-glass windows open in summer, coal barges traveling up the Ohio River, silver communion trays being passed over my head. That was my first experience of being in church.
But Camp Concern, at Raccoon Creek State Park in western Pennsylvania, was my first experience of being church.
To continue reading, and to add a story about your mom, please come to day camp over at the Soulation blog.