In a way I was driving into my past. Transportedto my teenage years when I spent many hours on an old blue and white church bus, looking at the same scenery as we lumbered up the hill to the run down Baptist youth camp. It was old and dusty with the Frio River slicing through the winding, wooded paths. Alto Frio was its name, and a rather strange one if you think about it. For the uninitiated, frio means cold, or very cold in Spanish, but alto is most commonly associated with halt, although a quick google search reveals that it also means tall or high. I spent many weeks of my youth at that Tall, Cold River Camp.
So many cherished memories. Long nights in the bunkhouse with giggling girls; choking down terrible food in the mess hall and making sure I NEVER put my elbows on the table; kicking rocks and holding hands with a cute new guy because PDAs were strictly forbidden, and the reason we snuck down to the river (!); pulling pranks at the boys' dorm; silly "Olympics"; small groups; worship in the open meeting hall; and of course, rededicating my life to God at the nightly invitation offered at any Baptist camp worth its salt! Good times, good times all around.
But now I'm older, and those carefree days are long gone, as well as my nights spent in the rundown bunkhouses of Alto Frio (thank God!) I've graduated to a retreat center for grown-ups. A real treasure that serves nourishment for the body and soul in a serene lodge set in a canyon carved in two by the same river I swam in as a kid. As I contrasted the old and new memories this weekend I was stunned at how they intermingled. Hiking to the top of Circle Bluff I remembered how I used to stare at the canyons wondering if any Native Americans remained hidden in the bluffs. I found myself looking for arrowheads on my hike yesterday, something I have done my entire life whenever I'm outside of the confines of asphalt and highways. I also kept an eye out for jumping cactus and rattlesnakes, I find that I'm still allergic to both...
Dipping my toes in the frigid Frio River took me back 25 years to the laughter and splashing and freedom of playing at Alto Frio or Garner State Park. And the stars. Oh my, the stars! I forgot how much I missed them until I stared up into the inky blackness and looked at the twinkling lights as they blinked on and off. I used to imagine that they were diamonds and I'd wonder how they stayed suspended in the universe. If it were possible I would have stared all night just to burn the vision of those heavenly jewels in my eyes forever so that I would never forget the peace I feel when I gaze upon them.
Yet, as much time as I spent remembering, I found that I was also fully alive in the present. As I listened to a wise, impassioned professor teach old truths of the gospel in a new way I was captivated as I considered them from the context of my personal history. It was powerful and exciting and deeply satisfying to my soul when nuggets of truth finally burst through the soil of my heart, soil that has been tilled for 26 years. And later in the night as I lounged by a warm and cozy fire, snuggled up in a borrowed coat, listening to a beautiful poem, I was astounded as I contemplated the words of "Alive Together" and realized that God created me to be in that very place, at that very moment. I nearly wept as that truth took root in my heart, and I finally just rested in the experience of living. I'm pretty sure a few stars even winked at me as I walked into the quiet stillness of the night and gazed upon them while peace flooded my soul.
Today as I took communion the mystery of my faith was profound as I looked out the picture window to the canyon and river below, and marveled that the Creator of such beauty died so that I might know him. How grateful I am to have once again spent a precious few hours, deep in the heart of Texas, retreating from the works of man. I will spend my upcoming nights in the city remembering the handiwork of God, and waiting with bated breath for my next retreat into a diamond-studded, Texas night.
