Fort Faith

Fog blankets this hilltop farm. 6:05 a.m. Campers are stirring in their bunks in the adjacent field, undoubtedly groaning from the prior days events- Horseback riding, campfire skits and standard fare of hotdogs, chips and s'mores. They sleep in primitive cabins built by volunteers from trees in the surrounding woods.

I step outside to get a preview of the spring morning and I am greeted by the praises of countless birds. Up the hill from me is the house where I woke as a child to the reassuring smells of breakfast and the presence of two individuals who devoted their lives to Christ, this farm, and the gathering of local young people each summer. I remember the days of tents, fishing and how many marshmallows can you stuff in your mouth contests. One year the cafeteria was the unfinished addition to my parents home. There was no sheetrock that I can recall. Raw milk was served to wash down pancakes that my Mom cooked and the subsequent wrinkling of the nose of a not so country girl.

My father often labored alone in his vision to see local churches join hands. Now in his seventies,and an open air tabernacle, four dorms, a " real" cafeteria, shower rooms and a basketball court later, he is enjoying watching others' passion for campers. Though he often felt alone, there were others. They picked up hammers, scrubbed filth, mowed grass and gave of themselves for the kids and for the news that everyone longs to hear.

Almost forty faith filled years later, and he is enjoying the tendency of God to award the "faith"ful. The sound of criticism is hard to hear when you keep moving forward. The critical tend to get left behind because they refuse to budge. The fellow workers get inspired to carry the torch that one God lit and one man wasn't afraid to carry. I am inspired to take it up for the next generation of campers.

Pictures and website link coming later for your enjoyment.