ON THE FIRST NIGHT OF WINTER CHURCH CAMP, A fire burned bright in the lodge’s stone fireplace, but the heat from the flames didn’t reach all the way to where Brad sat, second row, left side of the room. Kids were there from six different churches, seventh graders up to seniors in high school. Brad’s first year at winter camp, he hadn’t mixed much with kids he didn’t know already. Instead he’d hung out with his best friends from Kings Meadow and been content to do so.
But this year he’d come to the opening session ahead of his roommates and had settled onto a chair surrounded by students from a church in Boise. He recognized most of them from the previous year. But it wasn’t their familiarity or the church they attended that drew him into their midst. It was something else. He just couldn’t say what. It was simply a feeling that he needed to be there. A strong, deep-down feeling he couldn’t ignore.
The guy on his right introduced himself—Mark—then asked a few sociable questions. Normally, Brad wasn’t comfortable in get-acquainted situations like this one. There wasn’t a lot to say about himself. He wasn’t involved in team sports, although he enjoyed watching football. He was a good student and liked to read. He liked to hang out with the friends he’d known all his life but steered clear of the kinds of things that had gotten some of them into trouble. His favorite thing to do was play the drums and he dreamed of being good enough to be in a band someday. But for some reason, he was at ease with Mark and didn’t mind answering the older boy’s questions.
As more camp attendees filled up the rows of chairs in the lodge, the worship team made its way onto the small stage. After a few minutes of tuning guitars and adjusting speakers, they began to play. Softly at first. Then young people around the room began to rise to their feet and sing along. Words for the song appeared on an overhead screen.
Brad closed his eyes, a strange feeling stirring in his chest. A feeling he couldn’t put a name to. Something he’d never felt before, that was for sure.
It wasn’t as if the worship song—and then the next one and the next one—was unfamiliar to him. The church he’d attended his entire life, beginning in the nursery at two weeks old, sang contemporary worship songs as well as old hymns. He’d been around plenty of people who talked about God on a regular basis. But even so, something was different tonight. Or maybe it was an expectation that something was about to change.
That he was about to change.