My teen years were as
carefree and happy as I believe God intended.
My passion for Jesus was fanned to a roaring blaze, not only by my
church, but especially by the North Carolina Baptist Assembly, the AAssembly by the Sea@ at Fort Caswell. I remember my first glimpse of this special
place as vividly as if it were just yesterday rather than over fifty years ago.
I was twelve years
old, and felt as grown-up as at least a sixteen-year-old. My parents had agreed to drive a carload of
pre-teens to the assembly grounds on the North Carolina coast, where the youth would
spend a week. I was going along for the
ride, but never considered asking to stay.
At this point in my life I was painfully shy, and so was content
to ride along and then return home with my parents, likely stopping along the
way as my father made calls on the textile mills to which he sold
supplies. It was a great treat for my
mother and me to accompany Daddy on these trips during the summer, gliding in
the big shiny Buick company car along Ablue highways,@
stopping in the small mill towns he visited regularly. We=d
spend the night in a modest Amotor
inn@ where there were always tiny soaps
wrapped in interesting paper for me to collect as souvenirs.
Somehow, though,
by the time this particular day-long drive was completed, I had bonded with the
other children in our car. Before we arrived at the coast, I had overcome my
shyness and was begging to stay for the week.
Driving through the big iron gates of the North Carolina Baptist
Assembly, I was immediately enthralled with the spartan white wood buildings
clustered inside the old red brick Civil War fortifications. Or maybe it was just the smell of the sea,
the taste of salt when I licked my lips, and the whispering of the wind in the
sea oats that hypnotized me. Whatever
the reason, with the two dresses and two sets of underwear I had packed for the
overnight trip, I joyously spent an idyllic week that would help mold my
teen-aged passion for Jesus. Every
summer thereafter I would look forward to that most special week at Ft.
Caswell. I reveled in the Bible
study, the Christian fellowship and the awe-inspiring vesper services at sunset
atop the fort. When I needed to find
work my first two summers in college, I was thrilled to be allowed to
join the staff, never minding rising before dawn to make jello and slaw, or
working in the mid-day heat to sweep the sandy dormitory floors.
I recently had the
opportunity to drive through Fort Caswell after some forty years away. Much has changed, but somehow the sweet
spirit echoed down the years in my heart and brought tears of nostalgia to my
eyes. Climbing atop the fort to gaze on
the wooden cross that was still silhouetted against an azure sea, I could
almost hear the sweet strains of Joey Overby’s trumpet floating on the soft
breeze. In my ASenior
Autobiography@ written
for school when I was seventeen, I confessed, AThree
years ago on these sacred grounds [Fort Caswell] I dedicated my life to
full-time Christian service.... I have
become more aware of God=s
eternal presence with me.... To know
that my Heavenly Father is guiding me and that my life is in His hands erases
all need for any other means of security.@ Perhaps, then, the real cause of my tears
was the deep-seated memory of the precious innocence of that time, an innocence
I soon lost and yet have now regained.
I thank God that those days were not totally erased from my memory, and
that His grace and mercy are great enough to have restored the passion of my
youth.
“Remember your
Creator in the days of your youth, before the days of trouble come and the
years approach when you will say, “I find no pleasure in them”.” (Ecclesiastes
12:1)
READ: Psalm 95: 1-7, Psalm 100
PONDER THIS: Can you remember a
time when you were more passionate about your faith than you are today? Ask God
to remind you of that passion and restore it right now.
MUSIC FOR YOUR MEDITATION:
MUSIC FOR YOUR MEDITATION:
