Kum-by-yah, anyone?

    On my 18th birthday, I received two gifts.  The first, an extra bag of stuffing for my flattened bean bag and the second, my guitar.  I had this great desire to work at a church camp (which I did) and play my guitar (which I didn't). I dreamed of being one of the counselors in front of worship playing "Shake another hand" or "Pharoah, Pharoah." And then at the end of a campfire with the sun behind the trees, I wanted to sweetly strum "Father, I adore you" or "Go, in Peace."  I really wanted to do that.  I saw myself doing that.  As a teenager and younger twenty-something, I loved everything about church camp.  It was one of those places where I felt God's peace, connected to His creation. Music helped those mountaintop experiences.
     That dream went unrealized, unfortunately, but my love of "trying" to play camp songs did not.  Our youth group leader at my home church, took me under her wing and taught me a few chords, made copies of camp songs, and then I was on my own to practice.  I did a little, but never enough. Because it didn't come naturally, I slowly found time to do other things.  Never would I have the ability, let alone the courage to play in front of a group of camp kids.   
     But twenty years later (despite some "Peter, Paul and Mary" jokes) I have decided to dust off the guitar, get new strings, learn how to tune it, callous up my fingers again and play those old camp songs.  I won't have a group of campers to sway in front of a campfire, but maybe I'll be brave enough to play in front of 3 of my favorite kids.