Memories sometimes randomly pop into my head for reasons yet unknown to me. This time it was a memory of one summer that I was forced into going to “Bible Camp” by my loving parents. I can’t remember what year or even what southern state the camp was in, but I do remember that I hated almost every minute of it. This was not the first of these camps that I had been forced to go to, but it was definitely my last.
The only difference between that camp and the ones that I had previously attended was that I was chosen to be a “cabin mother” to about a dozen little 8 to 10-year-old girls. I know you’re probably thinking that I would make the worst camp counselor ever. You would be correct. I have no motherly instincts, no love of children that aren’t related to me, no patience for children, no nurturing nature, no outgoing bubbly social butterfly type personality and the list goes on.
I always hated church camps because they made the girls wear long dresses in 100 degree heat and expected us to actually participate in the worship services. By participate, I mean if everyone was raising their hands in praise & worship, then I was supposed to also, otherwise everyone looked at me like I was a freak. I usually just refused completely and sat there looking at everyone else like Continue reading