Here is the last of the Memories of Burr Ridge Camp.

I have to start today's story with a bit of philosophizing. Why do we tell our stories? Of course we tell our stories to be an example to the younger generations. But then we soon realize that we are not being honest because we all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. So then we start telling the bad stories. But then we are not telling stories to be an example. We are telling them to be an example of the wrong way to do things and we hope the next generations know the difference. The third category is the ugly stories. Those are the stories that are so embarrassing that we don't even tell them to ourselves that is, to even remember them except on dark nights when the accuser of the brethren is about.

But who decides under which of the categories the story falls? It is the listener who fits the story into his own personal relationship with God. That is not to say there isn't a clear Christian ethic that affects our behavior. That is the standard by which we judge.

I have told you one of my ugliest stories about the demise of the kitty with no toes and my daughters almost kicked me out of their houses. And their daughters raised their eyebrows at their grandpa.

Now when I tell you the subject of today's story you're going to think I'm not serious about any of the above. I want to tell you about my first kiss. It happened at Burr Ridge campground. I know that my children have set a standard for my grandchildren that it's not proper in a Christian way to kiss before the engagement. I couldn't be prouder and totally agree with such a standard. I have already told you all that I did kiss your grandmother before we were engaged. But my first kiss was a girl named Janice. We had all piled into Neil's 49 Ford. I had on my cool blue deck pants and shirt that matched. We went hiking and sightseeing for the afternoon over at Wildcat State Park which was just a little ways away. On the way back we turned at that magical corner which opened up the whole Burr Ridge campground to our sight and that's when it happened right exactly beside the pump house. Now what do I say, "it happened"or should I say "I did it?" I don't know. I guess it's a matter of how culpable I want to feel. I wish I hadn't mainly because I have wondered since if that experience for her was just another experience in a wrong direction. I only saw her once more after camp. It was the next winter and we had a basketball game with Wisconsin Rapids at their gymnasium. I met her for a few minutes just before the game started. We had to be careful because she couldn't and I couldn't consort with the enemy as it were.

This next story about a romance was probably one that was good for me. At camp I had "fallen in love" with the evangelist's daughter. You see, getting together at camp was not a hard thing to do. All you had to do was ask the girl if you could sit together in chapel or in class. That was about the only date possible. It was the asking that was impossible, at least for me. I swooned around for the whole week and finally got up the guts to ask her the last day. She told me that her father was going up to a camp in Minnesota for the next week to be the evangelist. I knew of the camp because my brother's fiancé's family went there. In fact her brother John was attending the next week at the actual camp where this evangelist would be preaching. That was my ploy. I begged my parents to go up to that camp because John would be there, not to mention.... I arrived the first day of camp and stood on tiptoes at the back of the chapel looking for the girl of my interest. I figured I had already broken the water so this would be easy. There she sat. Beside John my sister-in-law's brother. And after the service I definitely noticed that they were "together." There was no fixing it. I couldn't cause family rift. I hid for the rest of the week mostly on the basketball court. He wasn't a sportsy kind of guy so I could avoid them both. So much for getting to know John. Worst week of my life up to that point.

Nate and I had left the pump house because it was time for bed. We were walking down past the tabernacle and looked inside to see a young man kneeling at the bench which served as the altar rail down front. He was all alone and sobbing. We thought it was our young friend Eddie and were worried about about what he might be going through. We tiptoed in and sat down about three rows back behind him. We felt like we weren't preachers so we didn't know how to deal with someone at the altar so we didn't go forward to find out what was happening. We bowed our heads and were praying that he might be able to, as the preachers said "pray through." After a while we heard some noises around us and looked up and realized that lots of other people are also gathering. Then an older pastor named Harry came in with his wife and knelt by the young man at the altar. He soon stood up and announced, "If you would like to participate in this intercession John is praying for physical healing for his sister." That's when we realized that the man at the altar was not our friend Eddie but another of the pastors whose name was John and his wife was afflicted with muscular dystrophy or some such a ailment. There must have been 30 or 40 people there who then started to pray and ask God for that healing. As it happens so often in the Psalms soon the gathering turned from petition to praise and worship and people started to pray out loud and to shout their praises heavenward. People would lead out in choruses. Then I heard some noise up front and raised my head to see Florence, Pastor Harry's wife dancing behind the altar; she twirled and whirled in her black preacher lady dress the whole width of the tabernacle and back. I had heard of God doing such things from the old folks testimonies but I had never seen such a thing. I felt like we were on holy ground. I don't know what happened to John's wife in the long run but that was a powerful night of prayer.

Afterward as Nate and I were walking down to our cabin suddenly he started to cry, just sobbing. I asked him what was wrong and he said I don't know I just can't feel like I'm really saved. We went into our room and talked some but he just couldn't stop crying. Finally, not knowing what to say or how to help, I went and got Pastor Don and he came and as they say among the Wesleyans, prayed Nate through. I think the experience of being so unsure how to help someone agonizing in prayer and being short of the knowledge needed to help Nate come to a conviction of acceptance by God made me eventually want to enter the ministry. That and some heavy prayer in the backseat of my old Pontiac on a dark country road about three years later.

Pranks at the camp were mostly sneaking out. It wasn't to meet girls. We never even thought of that possibility. We were all pretty innocent. Sneaking out was going to somewhere else where we could spend the night rather than in our assigned room. Nate and I were assigned to a room underneath the old tabernacle. He and I decided to take the adventure one dark night about midnight. We had the perfect place in mind. It was the attic of the new bathroom building where they stored all the extra mattresses. Not only would we have the thrill of sneaking  out but we would also have a very comfortable night in store. We were surprised there were still some people up that time of night so we very carefully picked our way down to the building. There was a ladder outside which went up to a door which opened up into the attic. We crawled in and congratulated ourselves because we thought we were safe. But perhaps we were talking a little too loud and laughing too much because suddenly the door burst open again. We quickly tried to hide underneath some of the mattresses but it was too late. Pastor Ben was the first one through the door followed closely by Pastor Don. These were young pastors and were usually a lot of fun but tonight they had on their stern face. They took us downstairs into the shower and said your punishment is going to be to take a shower but the last five minutes has to be ice cold.
 I learned a lot from this incident, more than they intended to teach probably. Fast forward 10 or 12 years to when I was the director of a camp up at big Sandy Lake. Now I was in the pastor role and the young people were still trying to sneak out. Knowing that the bathrooms were a favorite first stop off because nobody can blame you if you gotta go, I stationed myself there just outside behind a bush. The culprits came. Since the walls were paper thin I could hear every word they said inside and they were planning what they would say about why they were out of their rooms. They had several scenarios ready. After the planning was finished I walked in the door looking stern and said what are you guys doing out of your rooms. Before they could respond I said, I suppose you're going to tell me that blah blah blah including every one of the plans that they had discussed. Chalk another one up for the pastor's side. "OK boys, there's your punishment. You're going to take a shower and you can take as long as you want but the last five minutes has to be ice cold."
 I shouldn't leave an impression that the Wesleyan pastors were overly serious or stern. I was a lifeguard at a junior camp up at Stone Lake Wisconsin. And of course the pastors were there. Pastor Don and I decided to sneak out one dark night. We were counsellors in one of the cabins. Old habits are hard to break. The woods around were fairly thick so we were hiding behind trees watching and commenting on the goings on of the adults in camp. Suddenly we heard one of the older pastors calling out our names. Our sneak out had been discovered. We went deeper into the woods and apparently made enough noise so that the pastor walked into the woods right where we were. We lay down behind a big log that was flat on the ground and he came within 6 feet of us calling our names. After he left we wormed our way around and got back to our cabin. Chalk one up for the "kids ".
 And oh just one more story while were on the subject of pranks. Nate and I had a plan that we talked about and which was ruined when they built the new block building for the bathrooms. The old bathrooms were in outhouse style with the women's on one side and the men's on the other side but of course everything went down into the same pit underneath. Our plan was to mount a speaker connected to a microphone down in the pit somewhere and have one of us watch when a girl went into the bathroom to signal the other one of us to say through the speaker "Excuse me ma'am could give us a minute. We're workin down here." Of course our pre-adolescent voices would have given us away so we never put the plan into action. Where's pastor Don when you need him? Truth is we weren't brave enough to do something that naughty. And know, my dear children and grandchildren that I have repented long and hard for having such thoughts but I couldn't wipe the smile off my face.
The pic is the old chapel.

I have been writing a series of life stories for my children and grand-children. I just started a series on Burr Ridge Wesleyan Campground which I would like to share here because it is so self-defining and this is a place for transparency. Here is the first one:

The Pump House
The old pump house was a magical place. I'll tell you how to get there. From Eau Claire you go down Highway 94 to Tomah where you find Highway 27. That's where the anticipation begins we are on the way to Wesleyan youth camp. It is a hot summer day but our minds are full of the adventures of last year and how they can be re-created this year. We get behind a motorcade of army vehicles, must be 100 of them heading for Fort McCoy. Frustration, they're holding us up. Since they only go 45 mph we pass them one by one until we can get our speed up to 65 again. We make good time because there aren't many towns to go through until we get to Cashton. On hot summer days when we were at camp we would garner up a carload of teenagers and head to Cashton for a swim. I didn’t go very often. Things were too much fun at the camp meeting. Cashton means we're close. We turn east on Highway 33. If 27 is the number of anticipation then 33 is the number of scoot up on the edge of your seats and watch for it out the open window. We drive slowly through Ontario because that is the home of Karen a dark-haired beautiful girl who was the unmaking of two of my best friends. And after that the nature area called Wildcat Mountain where we have to stop to not only see the view at the top but to wade in the Kickapoo River at the bottom. (at least we called it that but it didn't matter because we were kings and gods at that age and whatever we said was, was to us.) and then the final stretch. One time we hiked it. Up a hill we come with a curve at the top. We can see a group of buildings on the right of the road, not farm buildings. We turn to the right on the gravel road. Anticipation pops into reality for there it arises out of the Misty heights of Burr Ridge, the old pump house.
I ran across a blog about the camp which included a wonderful description of the pump house which I will append here. I think the author is one of the Butchers. Her name is Keetha Broyles if memory serves. Charlie Butcher founded the Eau Claire Wesleyan Church. My mom and dad held him in a next to God like esteem.
Here is what she wrote and it is spot right on:
“The Pump House. In my lifetime, this was never the source of the camp's water - - - though when I was young one could still prime the pump and a crystal clear, icy fount would gush forth. Oh the fun we had splashing and drinking in that fount! This little building housed more than water - - - it was the very social center of teenage camp life. These wall benches were crammed with kids, more hanging in from the sides, as fellowship happened - - - ghost stories, laughter, games of concentration, and romance. How many hands were held or lips were touched with first kisses? - - - Only these white arched walls could tell.
It is still the icon of Burr Camp.”
You all know my friend Nate. Well that little dark haired girl, Karen, from Ontario broke his heart one camp meeting. He asked her to sit with him in Chapel and she said no. There was no coming back after that. Nate, (I can tell the story now that He is with Jesus,) actually cried. He sat in the pump house the whole rest of camp listening to one song over and over, on a little portable record player he had. “Why does my heart go on beating, / Why do these eyes of mine cry, / Don’t they know it’s the end of the world, /It ended when you said goodbye.” Another friend, Dale, who you all met at the family reunion at Reedsburg, tried with Karen. He did, at least get to sit with her once, toward the end of Camp. But then after camp, when he tried to visit her in Ontario he got the verbal Dear John letter. He too was devastated but on the other hand, there was always Mary Alice.
I suppose you’ve figured by now, Camp letters were G and g.
You probably think the big G stands for God but no, it is for Girls. God although spelled with a big G came in a close second. I know, it is a sad thing and not the only mistake I made in those days. On the other hand the way of a man with a maid is a thing of wonder in the book of Proverbs. 30:19
There would always be a mourning time for me, back in Eau Claire after Camp was over. The high point was letters to write to new and old friends. I was pining over Camp down in our basement at Vine Street. I have told how Dad, Rog and dug it out. Well, on the west wall, a space about 8’ by 12’ I painted a mural of the pump house. It truly was an icon. It stayed on the wall all through the years we lived there and all through the years we rented out the apartments. It was still there when we sold the house. It probably is still there, and people wonder what that is. It must be some ancient altar of worship. Little do they know how close they are.

Joshua and Katheryn are One  5/23/2015

 

The Binding

 

As we bind you together today

You will turn your hearts toward each other

And as Jesus said to Peter Where there is a binding

There is also a loosing

On this day when we bind you together

We loose you from loneliness

From two ones we will make two made one

Blessed be the Lord God who does this thing!

 

Sacrifice Ceremony

 

Kat and Josh explained that the items they were burning were symbolic of their past, single life professing that they were giving up these things for the marriage union

 

Swords Ceremony

 

We have been warriors

Protecting our selves

But love is surrendering to each other.

Under the banner of the Lord God of heaven

 

Pronouncement

 

Inasmuch as you have been bound together

And sacrificed your single selves

And inasmuch as you have surrendered to each other

Through the strength of heaven,
The light of the sun,
The radiance of the moon,
In the name of the Holy Trinity

I pronounce you husband and wife.

 

The Introduction

 

I have the privilege and pleasure to introduce you all to

Katheryn Dawn Dusk and

Joshua Dylan Dusk-Peebles

 

Final Blessing

 

May you feel no rain, for each of you will be a shelter to the other.

May you feel no cold, for each of you will be warmth to the other.

May there be no loneliness for you;

Though you are two persons, there is one life before you.

Go to your dwelling lodge to enter into the days of your togetherness.

And may the Lord God reign therein.

 

 

 

Katheryn and Joshua Wedding

 

I want to talk a bit about love

I am proud to be Katheryn’s grandfather

By virtue of the love her grandmother and I shared

We had a kind of fairy-tale relationship

And I would like to share some of the things

We talked about concerning our love

For each other and Christian love in general.

 

We noticed that, even though

It sounds like heresy in our romantic culture,

In those societies where parents

Make the marital relationship agreements

With other parents

Husbands end up loving their wives

And wives love their husbands

Dawn and I found this truth:

It does not matter how love starts

It matters how it grows

 

We found in the Song of Solomon

a vision of where love is growing to.

There are two parallel expressions of love

In the Song of Solomon

The first one is in Chapter . 2:16

“My Beloved is mine and I am his.”

Yes, it sounds like ownership

But it is mutual ownership

One might say I own and I am owned.

But I don’t think the people who say it are thinking,

Love is getting to run someone else’s life

But on the other hand it’s nice to know

You have an effect on someone else

Because someone else cares for you.

We might illustrate this love like this

When I text you it means that I am missing you

When I do not text you it means that

I am waiting for you to miss me.

Love is a small seed that yearns to grow

Love is powerful because love is God and God is love

Love changes you

It makes you a better person

And love brings peace and rest to you

Here is what we discovered:

 

The second verse in the Song of Solomon, chapter 7:10 reads,

I am my beloveds and his desire is toward me.

This is what love wants to grow into

It is the agape love of I Corinthians 13

The highest love the Bible knows

It is the love where the other person

Is more important to you than yourself

It is the love that sacrifices itself for the loved one.

C.S. Lewis was an old bachelor

Who studied love academically

But finally learned the real thing

in his marriage to Joy Davidman

He said, “Love is not affectionate feeling, but a steady wish

for the loved person’s ultimate good as far as it can be obtained.” 

He said it like a teacher

But lived it like a lover

Here is how agape lovers argue

“Honey where would you like to eat out tonight

“Oh, wherever you would like, munchkins.

“But sweetheart, I want to go where you want

“Well, me too darling I want to go where you choose

And so it goes until one of them chooses

The place they think the other would like.

 

In marriage agape love has to be mutual

Or it will be a rocky road.

Both Dawn and I had experienced that.

 

You know the saying, from President Kennedy

“Think not what you can do for yourself

Think what you can do for your country”

It warms our patriotic hearts

But what if Joseph Stalin had said it

Then it would be cold and calculating.

The saying only works

If your country is also thinking

What it can do for you.

Agape lover says Matt. 6: ²⁵ , do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear”

Yes, God is the original agape lover

And His desire is that we learn to love Him

In that way also.

So this is where marital love is bursting to grow

I am yours and I know your desire is toward me

 

One evening Dawn and I were editing one of my poems

As we were finishing I was thanking her for helping so much

She turned to me and said

It is my greatest pleasure in life to make other people shine.

Could she have said, I love you, better than that?

 

 

The Symbolism

 

Some people have asked about the symbolism of Katheryn and Joshua’s wedding. They asked all the guests to come as ancient Viking-like warriors with which their friends complied wonderfully. Everyone did their own costume in honor of their wishes. We were truly going to war in a sense; the kind of war Jesus announced when he said “The kingdom of Heaven is at hand.” The life of Jesus from His birth to the Ascension was a taking over of the dominion of this world. As creator, Jesus rightfully owns everything in this world. What we did in the wedding was to take these pagan symbols and deliver them over to Jesus. We took the devil’s music, as it were, and redeemed it. 

 

 

 

Toilers of the Sea

There is a Rock out in the sea,

It is called “The Chair,”

High backed, like a throne,

A place to be a king . . . for once.

To leave it safely,

A strong man must outrun the tide.

Or when you have finished your work,

Too tired for the race,

It is a good place to have died, royally.

 

(A poem based on Victor Hugo's book of the same name.)

I was eleven years old, sitting in the Principal’s office

In Lincoln Grade school, Eau Claire, Wisconsin.

 

I was liquefied in in the middle section of my body

if you know what that means.

Thinking of what he knew that brought the intercom call,

“Mr. Peterson, would you send Curtiss Mortimer

to the principal’s office.”

Maybe it was beating up Jimmy Sievert after school yesterday,

Or was it hocking those candy bars at Gordy’s Grocery

Why was I so scared?

Because I needed my parents not to know

about this side of my young existence.

 

Well, you know and I know now

that they knew

 

But I didn’t know it then.

I thought I had my Mr. Hyde well hidden

behind Curtie Dr. Jeckle Lynn, hero of the Sunday School.

My teacher, Mr. Peterson was trying to reform me

I could tell.

We had some nice talks

that I’m sure he felt good about.

But it didn’t change me.

 

Then came the second week in November,

our church, the Wesleyan Methodists

held revival services the second week in November.

I guess they thought God got heated up

Every second week in November.

I know the preacher was hoping

I’d get a little burned over

with revival fire

 

before the week was done

because on the second day of the meetings,

out in the vestibule

he asked me

“Curt, how long are you going to let the devil

Have control of your life?”

I was totally speechless.

How did he know?

 

The veil between my two lives was rent

just as surely as the veil in the Temple

when Jesus died.

The unholy of unholys was open to view.

I felt ashamed of what I was doing

in my other life

That was the night I went to the altar.

That’s how they did it 60 years ago.

 

I wrote this poem many years later

about that experience,

 

Altar Rail Tears

 

 

Which of you molecules tumbled,

Through the tear in the Titanic?

And were you drawn down,

That deathdark whirl?

 

 

And who has had the joy of running red,

Mashed beneath merry feet?

Do you know the remembrance you hold,

When solemn church bells chime?

 

 

Who has known the slavery,

Of ferrying filth down to the sea?

And did you think that you were free,

When flung into the filthy heavens?

 

 

Perhaps you all learned patience,

Captives of the polar ice.

Silent power slowly slipping,

O'er a mountain's leveled plain.

 

Oh,you riches of wisdom and knowledge,

That fall so lightly down my cheek,

Is it you, that make me feel so clean?

 

 

I won’t go into detail

about the sobbing little boy

down at the altar.

 

He had a lot to talk to God about.

But afterward. . . afterword,

it was like going back to Genesis 1.

I was a pure, young, new Adam

exploring a world that was brand new.

My best pal was God.

 

They had a testimony section

in every service.

I was one of the first to jump up

and tell what new thing I was experiencing in God.

I didn’t know why I had wasted so much of my life.

I never knew sermons could be so interesting,

and now I loved to read the Bible

and my bad friends at school were losing interest in me

and I in their ideas for fun.

And even though I didn’t share this in church,

Mr. Peterson must have thought

those talks really did some good.

That old psychology class back in Normal School

had been beneficial after all.

Curtiss Mortimer was a brand new boy.

He never had to go to the principal’s office again.

 

 

Footprints of God

 

This is an autobiographical poem. How often I have prayed something like what Ps. 77 starts out with. Why doesn’t God do things today like He did in times past? The Psalmist is looking back to those times when God was then and there, pleading with God that he needed to be here and now for our present needs for miracles. In the poem I cite the three main religious explanations: 1. God doesn’t do miracles any more. 2. You don’t know what you are asking for. And 3. Make a splash for God in this world and you won’t need to depend on Him (because He’s not dependable?).

 

Where the Psalmist did see God was in the roiling waters, in the storm, the lightning and the whirlwind. Our family knows about those things. And that is where we have seen God in all his power, to take us through and bring us out the other side.

 

Why do we believe so strongly? It is because of the storms we have been through. It is in the chaos that we have found God in the here and now. That is why I chose the metaphor of the pond. God’s path for us led through the sea, through the mighty waters. God doesn’t leave footprints when He walks on water. Verse 19. So I have led a God obsessed life without seeing the footprints of God and I am as sure of Him as if I had been a eye-witness of the resurrection.

 

                Epitaph

            (Ps. 77 NIV)

 

 

It was an ancient pond,

 

Black the color of that deep, still pool.

 

Whitecaps not within the memory

Of one who watched along the edge.

He was one of them that wait.

 

His counselors long gone,

"This pool was made for peace," the first one said,

"No whirlpool for twenty centuries has appeared.

I saw some ripples once but they caused,

By pebbles from a small boy's hand."

And the second said, "Do you really want that storm?

Can you handle the wildness of God?

You will drown in the whirlpool of His stirring finger."

And the last: "God won't trouble the waters;

You must.  Jump in!

Make a mighty splash for God."

"Deluded!" said one.

"Tempting God!" said another.

"Indolent!" said the last.

Yet still he watched.  Even so he waited.

 

From the cold fingers of the dead,

They pried a wrinkled document that read,

"To this will I appeal:

The years of the right hand of the Most High."

From where the body lay they saw

The footprints of his soul lead down

Unto the water's edge and disappear,

And the sand lay in ripples on the shore.

Upon his pauper's stone they wrote,

"Here lies one whose path went through the seas,

Through the mighty waters,

Yet the footprints of his God were never seen."

 

 

Psalm 77^[a]

For the director of music. For Jeduthun. Of Asaph. A psalm.

¹ I cried out to God for help;
    I cried out to God to hear me.
² When I was in distress, I sought the Lord;
    at night I stretched out untiring hands,
    and I would not be comforted.

³ I remembered you, God, and I groaned;
    I meditated, and my spirit grew faint.^[b]
4 You kept my eyes from closing;
    I was too troubled to speak.
⁵ I thought about the former days,
    the years of long ago;
⁶ I remembered my songs in the night.
    My heart meditated and my spirit asked:

⁷ “Will the Lord reject forever?
    Will he never show his favor again?
⁸ Has his unfailing love vanished forever?
    Has his promise failed for all time?
⁹ Has God forgotten to be merciful?
    Has he in anger withheld his compassion?”

¹⁰ Then I thought, “To this I will appeal:
    the years when the Most High stretched out his right hand.
¹¹ I will remember the deeds of the Lord;
    yes, I will remember your miracles of long ago.
¹² I will consider all your works
    and meditate on all your mighty deeds.”

¹³ Your ways, God, are holy.
    What god is as great as our God?
¹⁴ You are the God who performs miracles;
    you display your power among the peoples.
¹⁵ With your mighty arm you redeemed your people,
    the descendants of Jacob and Joseph.

¹⁶ The waters saw you, God,
    the waters saw you and writhed;
    the very depths were convulsed.
¹⁷ The clouds poured down water,
    the heavens resounded with thunder;
    your arrows flashed back and forth.
¹⁸ Your thunder was heard in the whirlwind,
    your lightning lit up the world;
    the earth trembled and quaked.
¹⁹ Your path led through the sea,
    your way through the mighty waters,
    though your footprints were not seen.

²⁰ You led your people like a flock
    by the hand of Moses and Aaron.