Camp Memories
Debbie Freeman | Cleveland, Tennessee
Going to Camp Lowman in Leesville, Virginia, shaped the person I have become. As a camper and as a worker, I saw countless young men and women find and accept their calling into ministry at camp. After I started teaching public school, I continued to work in camp in the summers. I remember working in the kitchen with a man who drove a garbage truck. He got six weeks of vacation a year and spent half of those working youth camp. When we were at youth camp, we were all family. It didn’t matter what occupation we had when we went back home. What mattered was that we were there to help young people find Jesus and grow in their relationship with Him.
I remember one day when I had slipped into the chapel to pray. Our state artist had created an incredible Styrofoam stand-up board that was displayed on the stage. It pictured people from all around the world whose skin colors were as varied as their attire. As I looked up, it was as if those people came to life. I felt like the Lord placed a mission call on my life. In 1992, I was able to go on a mission trip to Greece and Bulgaria. I came home enlightened and changed. I eventually spent 16 years teaching in metro Atlanta. My students came from a variety of countries, and for a time, they were my mission field. My husband and I had a son during that time. He was also my mission field.
A surprise came about 4 years ago. The Lord opened the opportunity for me to serve as registrar for Spirit and Life Seminary. My church family has broadened from the United States to Africa, Canada, Central America, South America, Europe, the Caribbean, and Asia. Thanks to Google Translate, I can communicate daily with my church family in Spanish and French. I am hoping that Korean or Chinese won’t be too far off. God often begins to order our steps as young people seeking Him at youth camp, and He continues to guide those steps for the remainer of our lives. What a gift youth camp is to the Church!
Cherished Memories of Youth Camp
Janice Miller | Gallatin, Tennessee
One of the greatest privileges of my childhood was observing the camp directors and leaders in action—watching them coordinate schedules, organize staff, prepare facilities, estimate food and supply needs, and create meaningful experiences for hundreds of campers. I learned to appreciate the sacrifices directors and volunteers make to invest in young people. I also learned that no task is insignificant when it contributes to the work of God. I was beyond thrilled when I was allowed to help stock the shelves and organize the treats in the concession stand, and I dreamed of the day I would be old enough to stand at the window, take orders, and hand campers their favorite snacks. Looking back now, I realize that camp was doing more than creating happy memories; God was planting seeds of faith and preparing me for responsibilities I would carry later in life.
My thoughts return often to the beautiful, peaceful campgrounds in Tennessee, Alabama, South Carolina, and Kentucky—places where lifelong friendships were forged and spiritual foundations were strengthened. Recently I looked at memorabilia from the mid-1960s at Camp Hickory Hills in Madison, Tennessee. Before daily selfies and social media posts were a thing, we had annual picture day at camp. It was not uncommon for girls to wear hair rollers all day in order to look their best for the evening service. The only problem was that the official camp photo was taken during the day. Today, in shoeboxes and photo albums all over the state of Tennessee, there are permanent records of our generation looking like we were preparing for a hair spray commercial. Money can’t buy memories like this.
Youth Camp
Evelyn Bathe | Cleveland, Tennessee
Youth camp—Wow! Grateful doesn’t begin to describe how I feel about my own experiences in church youth camps. My deep love for God’s Word was awakened by Teacher Billy Murray in North Carolina youth camps. How can I forget when I was baptized in the Holy Spirit in one of our nightly services? Even now, I can feel the same feeling of the atmosphere being charged with His mighty power! The long-lasting friendships that were forged at camp, even to this day, are nurturing, and they still continue to grow and minister to me. Many of the staff members who gave their time were spiritual mentors to me and I felt genuine love and acceptance by them. And meeting my future husband at camp was one of the best perks and the greatest blessings of my life. Together we have worked in youth camps, directed them, and continue to be passionate about the ministry of church youth camps. From cold showers taken from a water hose rigged up behind a shed, to trapping a bat in my quilt in the girls’ cabin, to outdoor campfire services where I deepened my dedication to God, to mentoring other young girls in their walk with Christ—these are memories that will warm my heart always, thanks to the passion of a godly and visionary lady, Elva Howard, who would not let go of a dream the Lord had given to her. We who love the youth camp ministry will be forever indebted to her willingness to follow God’s dream!
Where Everything Changed
Scott Gillum | Cleveland, Tennessee
Youth camp has a way of reaching young hearts at the very moment they are most open to being shaped. In that sacred space—away from routine, noise, and the expectations that press in—students often discover who they are, what they believe, and how deeply God is pursuing them. It’s where friendships form quickly, worship feels alive, and Holy Spirit speaks with surprising clarity. Repeatedly, camp becomes a turning point: a place where callings awaken, wounds begin to heal, and faith becomes personal rather than inherited.
For many young people, camp is the first time they sense God not as an idea but as a living presence. The rhythms of grace and worship, the power of His presence and preaching, and the quiet moments woven into camp life create an atmosphere where the heart can finally breathe. Away from the noise of home and school, students begin to hear the gentle tug of the Spirit calling them deeper.
My own turning point came when I was twelve. That week in a California youth camp changed the trajectory of my life. Surrounded by others seeking God, I felt the unmistakable pull to surrender fully to Christ. I was baptized in water, and knew I wanted to become a member of my local church. Yet God was doing even more. In those same days, I sensed a stirring I didn’t yet have language for: a calling into ministry, a holy nudge, a quiet certainty that God was setting my feet on a path that would shape the rest of my life—my “high road journey.” Camp became the birthplace of both my intimate walk with Jesus and my lifelong calling.
Camp awakens purpose in young hearts—some called to ministry, others to missions, others simply to live boldly in Christ. The Spirit-filled environment creates space for God to speak with conviction and clarity. And beyond the spiritual moments, camp forms friendships that anchor young people for years through late-night conversations, altar moments, and team challenges.
The true impact of youth camp is seen in the years that follow, as students return home with renewed confidence, stronger faith, and a clearer sense of God’s calling. For many, it becomes the moment they look back on and say, “That’s where everything changed.”
Certainly, when Jesus showed up in a California Youth Camp, I was changed forever. That’s my testimony!
Camp Memory
Chad Lambert | Newport News, Virginia
As I recall my most vivid camp memories, my mind always gravitates to the beauty and authenticity of the worship. The sense of God’s presence as campers, gathered around the altar and lifting hands and voices to the Lord, moved me in ways I didn’t fully understand at the time. I simply knew this was something special.
My family moved from Ohio to Virginia when I was eight years old. As I began to attend camp in my new state, I encountered new people, new scenery, and even new songs. In my particular camp, there was a time of learning new music each afternoon. This music session was led by Debbie Freeman—or as she was known at the time, Debbie Shewbridge. She so thoughtfully taught meaning behind lyrics, new melodies, and ensured campers weren’t just singing songs by rote but from their hearts.
As time went on, Debbie encouraged me to play the piano for these sessions as she sang and taught. She took time to work with me individually during breaks in the schedule, ensuring I could support her teaching times adequately. Her confidence in my unseasoned ability had a profound impact on me, and as I look back, I can see her faith in God’s plan for my life before I ever could.
I am forever grateful for the Debbie Freemans of camping ministry who took time away from their jobs and families to pour into my life. May the Lord continue calling us to mentor and develop the generation that is to come and carry His gospel further than we could imagine.
Memories from Oregon Youth Camp
Katherine Osborn | Kilgore, Texas
I am one of those who got saved in my teens but did not have the opportunity to go to summer camp until I was 17. (The first year, I was newly saved, and my parents knew nothing about this “church” I had found. The second year, I was “tied” to a hospital bed for almost a month after a serious car wreck.) Thus, my first camp experience occurred when I was 17, and it had a significant impact on my life.
Oregon Youth Camp, at the time that I attended, was held at a beautiful, rustic campground near Silver Creek Falls. Our camp directors, Ed and Karen McKenzie, planned a special event that took us on a hike through the trees, creeks, and hills around the campground. (Sadly, I don’t remember if this particular hike took us to the falls, but the terrain was beautiful nonetheless.) It did require us to cross several wooden bridges along the way. As we did, we did a symbolic “burning of bridges” representing past sins, habits, hurts, and bitterness that were part of our “old life.” That event stayed with me through the years. In times of discouragement and struggle, I was reminded that the old life was gone, there was nothing to go back to, and I needed to move forward.
The second event, which likely occurred the next summer, had to do with an outdoor dedication service. From what I recall, we had candles lined up in the shape of a large cross on the hillside. Campers were directed to different sections of the cross if they felt a calling to a particular area of ministry. My calling directed me to the foot of the cross. As I prayed there with numerous other campers, I remember the Spirit descending on me, transporting me into the presence of Jesus. The people around me seemed nonexistent as I felt like I was literally at the feet of Jesus. The encounter was real. I knew I belonged to Jesus—called and chosen by Him—and He had a plan for my life. That was 50 years ago. I have stumbled a few times (maybe more than a few) along the way, but this assurance of belonging to Him has remained.
Camp Memory
Lindsey Schreiber | Lebanon, Tennessee
A few years ago, I was serving as a cabin leader at camp. One of the campers, a girl of about 15, came to camp dressed as a boy, presented as a boy, and asked others to use male pronouns when speaking to her or referring to her. I made a mental note that the camper never directly asked me to use those pronouns. I remember wondering why.
As can be expected, there were tense moments around this young person as we proceeded through camp. In a small-group setting, someone referred to her by her birth name—her female name. An angry retort came from the camper: “That’s my dead name!” The room fell silent.
She continued to be defensive and angry, but I sensed something deeper was happening. Several times during the week, the Holy Spirit placed a picture in my mind of a sky full of clouds that parted each time I saw the image.
One evening, during the “call to worship” portion of the service, a talk was given centering on the story of Lazarus. I remember wondering why that particular Bible account was highlighted. I did not consciously form the thought that it was out of place, exactly, but a certain, strange stirring was going on in my heart.
At the end of that service, the camper took the hand of another cabin leader, and they started walking toward the altar. That leader looked around to me and, without saying anything, let me know she wanted me to go with them. I heard the Lord say, “This is your chance,” and I saw the parting clouds “vision” again. Convinced that all of this was the Lord’s doing, I said directly to Him (under my breath or in my mind), “Lord, I want to speak to her, not the spirit that is troubling her.” I can’t recall saying anything like that to the Lord before.
When we got to the altar, I began asking questions: “Did you hear that story tonight about Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead? Do you think that was saying anything to you?” She nodded. I proceeded. “You talked the other day about your dead name. The Lord is calling you by your name. He is calling you back to life!”
A great sense of breakthrough came when she expressed a longing that apparently had been buried beneath years of confusion: “I want to give my mom her daughter back.” We walked through a powerful, heartfelt prayer consecrating her life to Jesus. Immediately after, I asked her name and how she wished to be addressed. She used her birth name and female pronouns.
After service, she wanted to contact her mother. She joyously testified to her mother that she had given her life to Christ. The mother asked to speak to me. She wanted to know if I believed this was a sincere turn toward the Lord. I told her I was absolutely sure it was. The mother shared with me that she believed her daughter’s confusion was a result of being sexually assaulted—a grievous offense that had profoundly affected her sense of identity. My heart was broken for this young woman. I also rejoiced because I knew that God had started a healing journey that night.
Later, the teen shared that she had been dressing as a boy for three years but had always known it was not who she truly was. The family had previously attended an affirming church, where her transgender identity had been accepted and reinforced. Even after they moved to a more traditional church, no one spoke directly to the girl about her confusion or encouraged her to seek the Lord for answers. I know people are often at a loss to know what to do sometimes. But I also know the Lord orchestrated that week at camp to meet her where she was.
The young lady asked to be baptized. As we stood in the water together, I had the tremendous and joyful privilege to say, “I baptize this, my sister, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” My sister. I am so glad that God knows us, calls us by name, and makes us whole.