Upon this Rock and Camp-O-Rama

Upon this rock…

 I reflected today on the “origins” of my testimony. My earliest memory of “feeling the ‘Spirit’” was as a kid attending the Tenney Family Reunions at Camp-O-Rama south of our home in the Prescott National Forest. Nearly every June we met and camped around this non-descript location about 3 miles from home. Each Sunday morning, we woke up early and climbed up this rounded hill littered with huge granite boulders in a practical pile. With lawn chairs, blankets and scriptures in hand, we climbed the hill and shared our life experiences and witnesses of God’s mercy.

 It was unique as the format of the witness was quite distinct from what we practiced at church’s monthly Testimony Meeting. For one, the group was tied by blood, experience and shared history. Second, the concern and love we felt for each person was unquestioned. Third, Tenney’s are well known for the “Mutual Admiration Society” and my admiration for my family really knew no bounds. Aunts, Uncles, Grandma, Mom, Dad, Cousins and Brothers and Sisters one by one would stand and share amazing stories of faith, trial and despair. Then the deliverance would come in one form or another (most likely in the form of an aunt, uncle or Grandma). The power of these meetings was fused with my DNA. I knew that they knew, and by extension, I could say I too knew that God was working in our lives.

 Over the years, many of my cousins have undergone excruciating trials. Some have lost their way on the path of life. I am convinced that at the deepest part of the marrow of their bones, the optimism, hope and faith are still there.

 Years later I returned to Camp-O-Rama and looked around searching for familiar sites. What most shocked me was that the hill was not as steep as I remembered and someone has shrunk the boulders. How did that happen? Perspective is everything. My adult eyes would not allow me to see these boulders the way they did as a child. As I thought about it more, the memories of the stories returned. The stories were BIG too. The despair was real and the deliverance was miraculous. With the inner eye of the adult soul, I began to wonder if my memory was equally distorted about what I heard, felt and experienced at a deep spiritual level. Could it be that over time, I had clung to some distorted image of tender mercies? What there a less miraculous explanation for how things turned out?

  Great questions… It is in my nature to examine, sometimes too critically, what I experience. As I recalled a few of the stories first spoken on the rocks of the family reunion, the Spirit whispered to me that some things don’t need to be examined in the rational, critical way. Skepticism slipped away and my heart throbbed again to recall the feelings of my family childhood.

  Lessons learned… -Everyone needs a “family”. I need a group that values me so highly that I am never in danger of being lost from their love and life. I had such a family upbringing. -Some things need to be accepted as “true” because the fruit is so delicious. I am not enriched by trying to analyze the way God may or may not have worked in my loved ones lives. -It is not enough to set an example, work hard and hope that some of it will rub off. You have to TELL them in the plainest, most authentic way possible. You will never live long enough to fully realize how you can change the life of a loved one.

Thank you Grandma,Aunt Ruth and everyone else