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.