An Ode to Young Life’s Texas Camp

I grew up going to the Frio river and something about riding over spillways just makes life better. I’d always get to unbuckle at that part of the trip and lean up to watch as we splashed through together. Back county roads chasing a row of cypress trees and then suddenly you get to lift the skirt of your car and scurry over the fresh rush of water. For a moment you’re not driving along the Frio, you’re driving in it. It meant we were there. A long road traveled suddenly becomes swallowed by the very thing you’ve come to enjoy. And what better way to welcome me to the Texas camp? Everything I’ve ever loved in vain now plays a symphony of the Gospel and its venue is Lonehollow. 

There were countless nights growing up at Garner State Park when we’d spend hours dancing under the stars. From the dance floor to the water’s edge, that hill country stone was paved with memories of friends that I’ll never forget. Standing outside the dining hall at Lonehollow, that same Texas stone bore the same glow in the moonlight. In the spirit of reunion and the revel of the Spirit - we instated a new rendezvous for the hill country that will be paved with rumors of eternity. 

From the River Walk to the Stockyards, and every truck, train & horse in-between, this camp carried a piece of all of it in every building. The whole property leaked a scent that smelt different than every other camp Young Life owns. 

Maybe it’s the Hill Country rain or the patches of mesquite. Or maybe it’s something bigger. Something that lives in all of us, a little backwoods and dirt road tied up with a river rat or rambler. Hard to believe the Lord would redeem any of that. But ain’t He good?

It’s the wild west once you leave Boerne, but there’s a great little ranch playing a symphony. It’s got everything I’ve ever known-from Marty Robbins to Robert Earl Keen and somehow that just doesn’t quite cover it. 

For only being a few acres, there sure is a lot of Texas in that camp. And to think I carried on for most of my life like I had seen all it had to offer. There’s a humble satire in seeing It all used for His glory instead of my own. It’s a rewrite for the rice birds, a ballad from our borders & a hymn of the Hill Country. 

There’s plenty of camps in Texas, but this is The Texas Camp.