How can two words bring back such a tidal wave of memories?
Church camp is where mom spent youthful summers in the cabin her daddy built.
It's where I, at age six and under my ultra-God-fearing grandma's watchful eye, awaited news of the birth of my baby sister.
Where dining hall specials included mass quantities of sugar, starch, fat and laughter.
Where a visit to the snack bar was your reward for sitting quietly for an hour and a half in the tabernacle — which included an altar call and at least 14 verses of "Just As I Am."
And where, sooner or later, nearly everyone eventually "came to Jesus."
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