When I hear cicadas at night in the summer, I am immediately transported to church camp in my memories. I spent many weeks of the summer at church camp, and I loved it. My family started out with a pop-up camper on the same campsite each year, and as our family grew, I was moved out of the camper into “my own room” in a little pup tent. It was fabulous. When you have five or six younger siblings, alone time is precious. I loved the night sounds. Eventually, we bought a cabin right next to our regular camp site, and I moved up to the top of the triple bunk. I still can’t believe I slept up there! There were several summers after we got the cabin where I was at camp three or four
weeks of the summer due to counseling at kids’ camp, attending youth camp, and then the church district family camp in August. Camp holds a thousand sweet memories for me. I made so many friends, young and old. There are funny memories, nostalgic memories, and even some that make me cringe a little. I can remember the sounds that one can only hear at camp. The creak and bang of wooden screen doors, the shifting of stones under slow moving vehicles or fast moving feet, the blowing fans that attempt to cool down the hundreds sitting in the open air tabernacle, the rain on the tabernacle roof that inevitably came like a scheduled event on Thursday night, and the voices of the choir and evangelist in each evening service.
As a child, I went to the children’s tabernacle in the morning. It was a little enclosed wooden building with big open windows and ceiling fans. Each day, we memorized scripture verses, spending the afternoon running all over the camp telling them to anyone who would listen and sign their name to show that we said the verse correctly. I loved the challenge of having the most signatures. We also learned new
songs, enjoyed object lessons, and whatever else that year’s children’s evangelist brought to teach us about following Jesus. It was wonderful. When I moved up to the youth group, I walked the long road to the youth tabernacle located at the other end of the camp. Life had become more challenging, and spiritual lessons went deeper, but it was so much fun. But no matter what age I was, every night we all went to the main tabernacle and enjoyed the opportunity to sing and listen to the message with hundreds of fellow believers from many churches all over the district. Over the years, there were evangelists and teachers that I didn’t really connect with, but then there were those that connected with my heart so much that I didn’t want to miss a single service the rest of the week. It was a whole week of complete immersion in connecting with the family of God and being challenged to be more like Him. A fence surrounded the camp, and my
parents’ rule was, “Don’t go out of the fence.” The fence was my ticket to freedom. I had a very controlled and dysfunctional home life, so the opportunity to interact with people who loved God and loved people all day long for a whole week was like a tall glass of water on a hot summer day. The fence allowed my parents the confidence to let us wander pretty far. But I was quite content to go to the scheduled
activities and then sit in a two-hour evening service, because it captivated my mind with sounds, people, and the presence of God. He was absolutely there. I am so grateful that in the midst of serious dysfunction, my parents still took me to church and camp. Those weeks cemented in me truths that have never been loosened. “God said it, and I believe it, and that settles it for me,” is a song we sang at camp, and it runs through my mind when the world seems so insistent on leading me astray.
It’s been a long time since I enjoyed the experience of summer camp—the last time was nearly thirty years ago. But when I hear the cicadas, I feel like it was yesterday. When I struggle with feeling God’s presence, I am always amazed at what He uses to remind
me of where He is…where He always is…right beside me. He brings me back to times when we were close. Sometimes it’s feeling a breeze on my face like a whisper from Him. Sometimes it’s hearing an old song, and I can remember everything He has used the song to say to me over the years. Other times it’s a verse coming to mind exactlywhen I need it, and I know He is talking to me. It could be seeing a gorgeous sunset that is beyond expression and knowing it’s a gift from Him. Or it might be hearing the roar of the ocean and seeing in it His power and creativity, while His gentleness allows His children to splash safely in the surf. And sometimes it’s the sound of cicadas on a warm
summer night, and I remember the feeling of walking with Him on what seemed to me so often like holy ground. Then I take a breath and sit in His presence.
