Time in a Bottle

On Saturday, Andy and I drove up to the Hill Country. We were going to a retreat being held at the camp I attended for several years as a teenager. Several members of our congregation were there, and were happy to see us walk in in the late afternoon.

The reason for our going was to see the minister who baptized Andy and married us in 1976. His wife was not with him, but it was a joy to walk in and see him standing there. Andy also worked at the church with him, and bought his first car from him - we KNOW this man!!

His sermon that night was on "investments" - not money, but investments in people. In his talk, he sweetly talked about our history together, and encouraged the others there to be sure to meet us. It was a joy to find connections with some of them; one worships in SA with some friends, another also worked through the Prison system when Andy was there, and yet another couple knew our dear friends, the Lassiters, from Sourjourners. A beautiful night all around!

As I sang along with about 100 of my brothers and sisters in Christ, some things struck me; one, how joyful these people were - many strangers to each other before the beginning of the retreat, yet joined in worship. They weren't there wanting "more" for themselves - in fact, I thought to myself how glad they might be to be away from all those wanting "change". This was their place - their heritage, their comfort. No discord, no turmoil. Just worship to their God. It filled me will sadness that at times, I probably caused those feelings in older members....

The other thing that I felt was a sadness that future generations of our brotherhood probably will never know the simplicity of our worship. Things seem to be moving fast right now, and maybe I am getting old, but I enjoyed how simple and pure the singing was. No worship leader, no projection screens - just old men full of joy and desire to lead us in song. God bless them!

..........

In the square of the camp stands a memorial to Archie Waldrum. He was my grandmother's minister in Alice, Texas, and the director of the session of camp I first and most often attended. He was director of the board for many years, and died a couple of years ago at age 92, on the way home from camp in an automobile accident. He'd had a great week, according to his wife.
The memorial will be walked past by campers for generations to come, and they won't have a clue as to who he was. Those of us who knew him will NEVER forget.