“Truly I tell you, anyone who hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and will not come under judgment but has passed from death to life. - John 5:24 CSB
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has passed away, and see, the new has come! - 2 Corinthians 5:17 CSB
I arrived in Troy Idaho shortly before my birthday in 1980. Troy was a small town and I quickly found out that I fit in better in a small town environment than in Southern California suburbia.
I was enrolled as a junior at the start of school. Now, there were three main cliques at Troy High School: The jocks, the farmers and the party animals. I didn't live on a farm and I certainly wasn't athletic, so guess which group I wanted to identify with? That didn't go too well, but there was another group, a group that was too big and too open to be considered a clique yet, I found acceptance with them. The group was Young Life.
Young Life is an evangelistic student ministry founded in 1941 by a Presbyterian minister who had a burden for reaching teenagers with the gospel of Jesus Christ. Young Life runs "clubs" in high schools across the nation. While I was in Troy, the Young Life club was very active holding weekly meetings at in the homes of volunteer parents around the community. Meetings were conducted by a staff of leaders who were Washington State University students. A typical meeting would have a time of singing and skits, then announcements and a devotional. Afterward, students hung around interacting with each other and the leaders or host parents. Nearly EVERY student at Troy High School ended up attending at least one Young Life meeting. Often, Young Life would set up meetings after football games as an alternative to the "keggers" that often happend after those games. I attended Young Life meetings because there was nothing else for me to do. I wanted to party but didn't know where to find one. I soon became a regular at Young Life because I was accepted for who I was. That first fall with Young Life, I was invited to attend a weekend camp. It was a huge weekend long Young Life meeting with hours of skits and singing. Of course there were the speakers. They would deliver a message then encourage campers to get by themselves to ponder what was said. I honestly do not recall what was said but I do remember seriously pondering my relationship with God. While this camp was cool, the camp everyone talked about was Camp Malibu. Camp Malibu is located in the inlets north of Vancouver, British Columbia. Very high end camping. Every time I went to a Young Life meeting, I either heard about Malibu or was asked if I was going. I thought it would be nice but I knew I'd never be able to afford going.
Young Life wasn't about just the camps, it was also about the leaders who hung out with the kids. One leader, Brad, developed a friendship with me. He would drive to Troy on his weekends to take me hiking or rock climbing. As we spent time together, our conversations often turned to spiritual matters. I shared my beliefs with Brad looking for him to validate them but he wouldn't. He always listened to me, he never cut me off or told me I was wrong. He'd simply say, "No, I don't agree." Even though he didn't support much of what I said, I knew he was still accepting of me as a person.
While life in Troy wasn't without its issues, there was something there I had not experienced in years: Stability. I knew I was safe even if things weren't always peaceful. Remember, I come from a family of hot heads. I think the sense of stability came, in large part, from the predictability at home. Every morning, all us kids got up for school and found breakfast ready on the table. After school, we came home and supper was soon ready. We all sat around the table to eat, then it was someone's turn to do the dishes, a responsibility that was shared equally and consistently. I didn't fully appreciate it at the time but subconsciously, it made me feel at home.
During this time, I began going to church on Sundays again. There was a Lutheran church a block up the street from where I was living that rang its bell at the start of Sunday worship. I decided to check it out. I didn't have to accept everything they taught and I could attend if and when I wanted. I figured I could handle this church stuff if they weren't fanatical like the big hair evangelists or the Southern Baptists.
As the summer of '81 approached, the push to attend Camp Malibu was on. I was wanting to go but I had no hope of doing so until one of the host parents approached me about paying my way in return for doing yard work over the rest of the summer. Of course, I was all over that idea. My way was paid and I was off to Malibu!
It seemed like ages, but it was finally time to leave for Malibu. The leaders carpooled us to Pullman where we boarded charter buses headed for Vancouver BC. We traveled all night from one corner of Washington to the opposite corner in Bellingham. I don't think I slept a wink that night. I was too excited about going to camp and to be traveling outside of the US for the first time.
We crossed the Canadian border at dawn and rode through Vancouver to meet the ferry we'd take to Malibu. Being Malibu is accessible only by boat, an eight hour ferry ride was the only way up there. Having been up all night, I figured that would be a good time for me to catch up on some sleep. After the ferry began heading up the inlet to Malibu, I found a place to lay down but sleep did not come easy. When I finally fell asleep, it felt like I was out for hours yet, when I awoke, I discovered I had been asleep for about a half an hour.
Finally, after the longest eight hours of my life, we caught sight of Malibu. Malibu is situated on a point that protrudes across the mouth of a small inlet creating a narrow passage for the tide flows. These tidal flows create rushing rapids in the narrows at low tide and deep currents with eddies and whirlpools at high tide, shifting every six hours or so. The ferry docked a little ways past camp so we had to walk along a boardwalk to get to camp. We were told our luggage would be taken to our cabins so I took my camera and hat and began walking toward camp. The scenery was heavenly with mountains rising out of the water. Tidal pools full of anemones and little crabs dotted the way along the boardwalk. Just as I got to the main camp, a counselor came up to me and asked if I wanted to learn how to water ski. I said, "Sure, as soon as I can get my trunks from my luggage..." He said, "No time for that!" Next thing I knew, I was in the water, in my street clothes with my stuff sitting on the dock while I learned how to water ski.
That first afternoon set tone for the entire week. I'd been to camps before but never one like Malibu. The scenery, the activities, the skits, the laughter... But most of all, the Spirit. From the main speaker, who was a hoot to listen to, to the one on one time with individual counselors, the gospel was shared with every camper. It was one of these one on one sessions I was listening in on where the counselor was explaining to another camper how Christ's death on the cross at one point in time paid for all sin ever committed and all sin ever to be committed. Suddenly, it was as if light came on. As though the Holy Spirit flipped a switch and the gospel I had been hearing over and over since I sat in that Sunday school ten years earlier, wondering what they were talking about, suddenly made sense. "So that's what they meant by Jesus dying for my sin and me letting Him into my heart!" "That's how I deal with my sin!" I already understood I was not saved by my own merits. Receiving God's free gift of salvation was a no-brainer for me. I knew I had to accept His gift, which I did eagerly. I had finally passed from death unto life; I was a new creation in Christ.
Finding this new life in Christ was not the completion of a journey. In fact, it was just the opposite: The journey had just begun. Of course, there is more... much more. Again my testimony is not just me coming to Christ, it's about Him being with me every step of the way.
I'm going to take a break from recounting my testimony and write about, well, riding. After all, this blog is called, Another Rider's Perspective. But rest assured, I will pick up where I have left off.
Until next time, blessings.
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