Titus Benton
Titus lives in the suburbs of St. Louis with his pretty wife Kari, adorable daughter Nora, and handsome son Malachi. He has worked in Student Ministry for 9 years in part- or full-time roles. He contributes to http://www.teensundayschool.com. When not cheering on the St. Louis Cardinals, he enjoyes listening to country music, eating greasy food, and reading John Grisham novels.
My Rock
- By Titus Benton
- Published 05/30/2008
Nestled in the hills of the Ozarks, near a small town called Mtn. View, Missouri, is a piece of holy ground. This place, the church camp that I grew up attending each summer, offers more than nostalgia to me.
For years it was a force of cohesion in my spiritual life. It was a centering device for my reality. It was here that I met friends, chased girls, played basketball, memorized verses, and made memories.
Lots and lots of memories.
I returned to Rock Garden Christian Service Camp this past week to work as a counselor--in this case a coach at a basketball camp. As I wound around the curves and rose and fell on the hills that approached the camp's entrance, it all came flooding back.
As a teen, the anticipation I felt as I approached camp was immense. It meant a week of excitement away from home. Then it meant a week of promise for finding a girl. Then it meant a week of renewal from a tough year. By the time I graduated high school, it felt more like I was coming home than leaving it for a week.
The steep drive that leads to the camp is one my old beater of a truck can barely make. When the trees back off the drive and the 300 acre site unfolds before you, the view is simple--a couple of dorms, a multipurpose building, the poolside. But it's not just brick and mortar to me. I sat in the dorms and had deep conversations about the things of God. I snuck out of the dorms to steal cookies form the kitchen late at night. I awoke in the dorms to the sound of an old voice recorder playing "I Could Sing of Your Love Forever," which had been captured during worship the night before by a faculty member who wanted to get us started off right.
It was in that multipurpose building that I played many a camper-faculty basketball game. It was there that I ate dozens of meals, suffered through hideous jokes at mail-call, and even re-dedicated my life to Christ the summer after my freshman year.
It was by that pool that I sat with my closest friends and watched fireworks explode overhead, in that pool that I played Marco-polo and had chicken fights, and in that pool that I witnessed many baptisms.
The memories are countless--names and faces, events, life-changing moments. We'd count the stars, weep and pray, laugh and sing, and passionately pursue Jesus. We were just a bunch of Southern Missouri teenagers who, for one week, had God, one another, and a bunch of faculty who loved the hell out of us and replaced it with heaven.
If it weren't for Rock Garden, I would not be in ministry. I might not even be a Christian. That holy piece of earth was used by God to shape me.
As I packed up my truck to head home, I was reminded of another annual tradition--the sorrow I felt each year leaving camp to go back into the "real world." I didn't have a clue back then what the real world was--screaming babies, income taxes, job pressure, marriage, the constant struggle to follow Christ. I was a kid who was going to miss a girl, a moment, a group of friends.
Now, a decade later, as I left the camp, I was still sad--not that I was leaving, I had a pretty wife and two kids waiting for me to get home. Instead, I was sad that I have made things more complicated than they used to be for myself. Life hasn't changed all that much, but I have, and I think mostly for the better. But even now, as I drove away from that holy place, I realized that it still centered me, gave me perspective, grounded me in ways I cannot be anywhere else on earth.
God is good. Jesus loves me. He has a plan for my life.
I pray to God I'm living that plan, and that I'm honoring the young man who dreamed of godliness ten year ago.
For years it was a force of cohesion in my spiritual life. It was a centering device for my reality. It was here that I met friends, chased girls, played basketball, memorized verses, and made memories.
Lots and lots of memories.
I returned to Rock Garden Christian Service Camp this past week to work as a counselor--in this case a coach at a basketball camp. As I wound around the curves and rose and fell on the hills that approached the camp's entrance, it all came flooding back.
As a teen, the anticipation I felt as I approached camp was immense. It meant a week of excitement away from home. Then it meant a week of promise for finding a girl. Then it meant a week of renewal from a tough year. By the time I graduated high school, it felt more like I was coming home than leaving it for a week.
The steep drive that leads to the camp is one my old beater of a truck can barely make. When the trees back off the drive and the 300 acre site unfolds before you, the view is simple--a couple of dorms, a multipurpose building, the poolside. But it's not just brick and mortar to me. I sat in the dorms and had deep conversations about the things of God. I snuck out of the dorms to steal cookies form the kitchen late at night. I awoke in the dorms to the sound of an old voice recorder playing "I Could Sing of Your Love Forever," which had been captured during worship the night before by a faculty member who wanted to get us started off right.
It was in that multipurpose building that I played many a camper-faculty basketball game. It was there that I ate dozens of meals, suffered through hideous jokes at mail-call, and even re-dedicated my life to Christ the summer after my freshman year.
It was by that pool that I sat with my closest friends and watched fireworks explode overhead, in that pool that I played Marco-polo and had chicken fights, and in that pool that I witnessed many baptisms.
The memories are countless--names and faces, events, life-changing moments. We'd count the stars, weep and pray, laugh and sing, and passionately pursue Jesus. We were just a bunch of Southern Missouri teenagers who, for one week, had God, one another, and a bunch of faculty who loved the hell out of us and replaced it with heaven.
If it weren't for Rock Garden, I would not be in ministry. I might not even be a Christian. That holy piece of earth was used by God to shape me.
As I packed up my truck to head home, I was reminded of another annual tradition--the sorrow I felt each year leaving camp to go back into the "real world." I didn't have a clue back then what the real world was--screaming babies, income taxes, job pressure, marriage, the constant struggle to follow Christ. I was a kid who was going to miss a girl, a moment, a group of friends.
Now, a decade later, as I left the camp, I was still sad--not that I was leaving, I had a pretty wife and two kids waiting for me to get home. Instead, I was sad that I have made things more complicated than they used to be for myself. Life hasn't changed all that much, but I have, and I think mostly for the better. But even now, as I drove away from that holy place, I realized that it still centered me, gave me perspective, grounded me in ways I cannot be anywhere else on earth.
God is good. Jesus loves me. He has a plan for my life.
I pray to God I'm living that plan, and that I'm honoring the young man who dreamed of godliness ten year ago.
Spread The Word
Comments
Comment #1 (Posted by Tyger)
how bout a big camp clap! haha, thanks for that Titus. i miss that place, thanks for the reminder of what it was all really about
Comment #2 (Posted by Jaime )
love your blog...love jesus, love rock garden, love the memories, love our friendship, love the memories!
