Camping with Jesus

This past Monday at the first Drink at Work.com Presents... I read aloud the virginity pledge I signed at church camp when I was 13. That got me to thinking about the week I spent at this camp every summer from age 6 to 18; how hot it was, how I would always try to win first or second place in every single sports competition...even skimming stones which I didn't consider a sport, how I would invariably find a new boyfriend each time, how the pool would fill with tiny tree frogs during nightswimming. I scoff at it now, but at the time I loved it. I even loved the nightly devotionals, the daily discussion groups, and the cabin cleaning competitions that determined what order you went in for meals. I don't even recall sweating that much and this was July in Alabama...and God was watching.

So, I did a little research on the world wide web and found, much to my excitement that my dear church camp does have it's own Web site. The camp itself is called Maywood, but the week I attended was called Central Alabama Christian Youth Camp (or CACY Camp...which sounds more fun and less like interrogations and gassings will take place).

The first thing I noticed at Maywood's Web site, was the logo:

Maywood Christian Camp: The Center of God's Universe

Wow. That's pretty bold. Especially considering that this is a camp only for Church of Christ youth, it's not like Baptists and Methodists are invited, too. The center of God's universe is very small indeed...but they do serve hotdogs there.

Next, I came across the cabin I stayed in most of the year's I went to camp:

You know there's something to be said for dumping a bunch of kids in the woods in 101° weather and having them sleep on rickety bunk beds in a cement floored, mosquito-infested shack with no air conditioning. It taught me self-reliance, resilience...and that there is no God.

This is the discussion table where I and all the other preteen girls in my group signed our virginity pledges:

You see, the problem with signing a virginity pledge at that age is you haven't even been felt up yet (well, back then we hadn't...these kids today...disgraceful). Anyway, you don't know what you're promising. You're basically saying, "hey, in three or four years I'd love it if I could pile a little extra guilt and self-loathing on top of all the awkwardness and raging hormones that will become the focus of my daily life." Now, take a 17-year-old girl who has just gotten a really good finger bang from the sensitive and smart yet masculine captain of the debate team and get her to sign a virginity pledge, then you've got a promise that means something.

This picture I actually like, simply because it's such a stark contrast to those scary mega-church/death stars that you always see on TV.

This is the pavilion where we would have all of our morning and evening devotionals, as well as the closing night talent show. And the best part was, it was right next to the basketball court, so as soon as the final "amen" was uttered, kids would haul ass down the steps to the court. "I've got Jesus in me...watch me hit this three-pointer."

Finally, we come to the most important feature of church camp...the swimming pool baptism.

I won't go into the validity of giving yourself to Christ when you're probably delirious from the heat, mildly anemic from all the blood-sucking pests and you haven't seen television in a week. I hated them specifically because at my first summer at camp — the only time my whole family (aside from my dad) went — my brothers were baptised in this way...together. Which means that through some kind of biblical loophole, their souls are now tied together on the heavenly plain as well as earthly. Great. The fuckers ditched me again.

I myself would not be baptized for a few years later, at a time when I could fully comprehend the nature of God, Jesus and their role in my life. You know, at around age 9. And knowing my luck, there was probably some waterbug trapped in my pocket and now my soul's knitted to it for all eternity. Still, good times...