Sounds of Hope

It has been incredibly hot here in the south.  The weather feels more like the dog days of August.  I seem to be in a domestic mood.  The bounty of mangoes in season has resulted in freshly canned jars of heavenly salsa and divine chutney.  I suppose one would wonder how a girl from Brooklyn, with no 4-H training, knows how to can.  I taught myself many years ago.  I actually enjoy doing it.  I love looking at freshly preserved jars.  I will be doing a lot of that this year, we have a garden. The heat reminds me of the summer of 1965.  I had graduated from dear Pershing JHS.  Accompanied by my mother and my beloved Tanta Bitta , I, dressed in a white pique A-line dress with lace sleeves and adorned with a red rose corsage, together we rode the city bus to Brooklyn College early Saturday morning.  My dad was in Norway for his last trip to his homeland.  I had a boyfriend named Ray.  I would go to his high school graduation...

When people hear I grew up in the big bad city of New York, and that I ran the streets of Brooklyn, they have a certain image.  There have been times I liked that image.  I liked to make people think I was tough, or I’d been around the proverbial block.  Truth was, I hadn’t.  I actually had a very innocent childhood and youth.  Even though I managed to fool everyone and riddled myself with guilt, I was blameless. It was time for camp.  Our church had bought a camp “upstate.”  Any place with trees that was North of NYC was considered “upstate.”  The camp was in the Catskills about 3 hours from Brooklyn. It was a permanent home for Camp Challenge.  The main building consisted of dorm type rooms with a large mess.  The girls were put on the second floor.  The boys were housed on the first floor.  I roomed with a girl named Elaine and another girl whose name I do not know.  Neither were Norwegian.  Both were connected i...

This week on Kingdom Bloggers we are talking about summer and Jesus.   When I think of summer and Jesus, I think of camp.   The equation for that is S + J = C.   That got me to thinking that as people are prayerfully packing their children off to camp, you might like a few camp stories.   As with so much else, I have lots of camp stories. My first experience of camp must have come when I was about 6 or 7.   Our church staunchly believed in the sovereignty of the local church.   However, they had a group of daughter churches that they fellowshipped with regularly.   Eventually these churches and some other churches around the country would form the Fellowship of Christian Assemblies .   The group of churches in the greater NYC area rented a camp.   They called it Camp Challenge.   I don’t know what the history was before my first Camp Challenge experience.   I do know eventually they bought property for a permanent camp.   Thi...