The part of camp I like

I didn’t grow up camping. That’s the long and short of it.

We were not a camping family. My father grew up in extreme poverty in a small mining town in New Mexico. Everyone had dirt floors. And there was no indoor plumbing. So why would Dad want to sleep on the dirt for vacation.

Nor did we as children go to things like church camp. We didn’t pack for camp. We didn’t try to get the best bunk when we got to our cabin. We didn’t do crafts or go on overnight hikes and sleep under the stars. We didn’t get back to nature. Nor did we learn to use the outhouses. Things like that.

Roughing it wasn’t in our vocabulary. I did not attend church camp until I was an adult somehow strongarmed into leading a Junior High Camp in Northern California. The camps was high up in the mountains over a mile in altitude, and I was glad to be taking part and learning how the other half lived, but I lack the basic skills you need to be at camp.

I can’t sing camp songs. I didn’t grow up knowing the lyrics, and when I sing them they don’t ring true. I’m allergic to the great outdoors. My eyes clamp shut and I can’t breathe. I’m bad at crafts. I glue macaroni to construction paper, only the glue doesn’t stick and the macaroni falls off.

Swimming? Sinking! Boating? That’s sinking too.

But I realized right away there is one thing I really enjoy about camp. Eating. I like camp food. They ring a bell or bang a gong or shout something loud and you come running and sit on a bench at a wooden table, and you eat.

The thing is, any pastor will tell you that camp is more important than church. The act of going away from the comfort of home, roughing it, somehow cements the lessons of our faith in a way a hundred sermons can’t touch. It’s true. Lives are changed. Church camp is vital.

Now this past year Camp Alexander Mack, our church camp, had to close many of its activities. Normally I’m asked to provide some leadership, which is great because I get to help out and then go home. And I get to eat camp food while I’m there. But all that was cancelled this past summer.

Recently Camp Mack decided to sell take out dinners on a weekly basis. I could reserve dinners the week before, pay for it on my phone, and show up Tuesday at dinner time and take the food home.

Baked chicken, rice, mashed potatoes and gravy, green beans, corn, home made rolls.

Salisbury Steak. Okay, that’s no big deal to you, but when I was a kid my mother fed the ten of us with a pound of hamburger. Meat was a condiment, not an ingredient. Seconds were a dream. Then at school they served something called Salisbury Steak, which translated in my world to Piece o’ Meat You Didn’t Have to Share. The Camp Mack Salisbury Steak was every bit as good as my childhood memories.

And of course, cake, pie, and pudding.

Okay, so I didn’t get to swelter in a humid cabin, tossing and turning, unable to sleep until an hour before dawn. But I got to support Camp Mack in a very small way. And if you can support your church camp in any way – do it!

I got to eat Camp Mack food. Kind of like eating your cake, and having some more cake. Maybe even thirds.