The Barton Magic

I grew up going to a church camp tucked deep into the woods of southern Arkansas.

The camps destination isn’t what makes it special. It’s not the lake and it’s definitely not the prison-camp style cabins.

It’s the sweet feel of the spirit—or the “Barton Magic.”

I love it, and for my four years as a camper, I lived for it.

This year I was asked to be a counselor for the camps third week session. I was ecstatic! Give me the Barton Magic, please! Give me camp!

Then I went to Alabama and fell in love with some teenagers who begged me to counsel second week session of camp.

“I’ll try ya’ll, but I don’t think they’ll need anymore people.”

After all, second week session starts on Sunday.

Lo! And Behold! They did need help and God delivered that help in the form of me, Autumn.

Two weeks at camp, longer than I ever spent as a camper.

I am beyond thrilled.

I cannot wait to dip my feet into the lake I was baptized in, to spend late nights laughing with my cabin of girls, and I definitely cannot wait to be swept up into 14 days of pure Barton Magic.

 

 

I am and don’t forget about me while I’m gone.