Aged Regret

Certain songs yank me back. 

Singing “Just a Closer Walk” in church recently took me back to Mt. Gilead Bible camp when I was fourteen, young, and stupid.

We’d had a bumpy week. By we, I mean Dana, the queen bee, and me and four friends, her loyal entourage.

Dana was pretty, thin, and funny. If she considered something funny, we did too. If she thought something was gross, we did too. Her suggestions always seemed like a good idea. She was comfortable leading and we were comfortable following.

My family moved alot. Being shy and insecure, I hated starting new schools every couple years. After living in the area a year I was elated to have friends to call my own. I finally felt like I fit in.

We didn’t like our camp counselor and rudely named her “The Hag.” Everyone else had college students for counselors. We had someone’s mother. Good grief. What could she possibly know about teenage girls?

We avoided our counselor and resisted her overtures. We rolled our eyes and giggled and whispered through devotions. We made snide remarks and dragged our feet.  

We griped about her to whoever would listen. One night we complained to a girl in the bathroom. Tight-lipped, she snapped, “That’s my mother,” and walked out the door.

Our rustic tent cabins had wood floors and half walls topped with a canvas cover. We rolled the sides up during the day for light and fresh air, and down at night for privacy and warmth. 

Not my cabin, but the closest I could find on Google Images

We got the bright idea to take the tarp off our cabin. Immensely pleased with our daring and creativity, we hid the evidence and ran off to join the afternoon camp activities.

The powers-that-be were not amused. The camp director sternly chewed us out. Seems it’s not easy to put tarps on cabins, especially in the blistering California summer afternoon heat. Since the maintenance men had to do it for us, our punishment was to help the maintenance men.

We shoveled wood chips in the heat of the day, repeatedly filling a wheelbarrow from a wood chip pile and spreading them on an outdoor volleyball court.

Two hours later we were hot, tired, and SORRY.  Finally heeding our consciences and sobered by the fear of our parents finding out, Dana decided we were wrong. She decided “The Hag” wasn’t so bad after all and said we hadn’t treated Judy (her real name) right.

We apologized to Judy. Dana suggested we sing a special number during chapel to show that we had truly repented. She played the guitar and we sang “Just a Closer Walk With Thee” in front of the whole camp.

I was sorry then but I’m even sorrier now.

I’m sorry that I didn’t understand adolescent insecurity. I had no idea other teens felt as awkward and unsure as I did.  

I’m sorry that I yielded to peer pressure. On my own I would never have damaged the cabin. I wouldn’t have disliked Judy or been rude and uncooperative. I also would not have sung in front of people. But in wanting to fit in, I did things I didn’t normally do.

I don’t blame Dana. She didn’t make me follow. I had a mind of my own. I chose to be influenced. I had willingly contributed to our fiasco and I had just as willingly repented. But true repentance is personal, not something decreed by your leader.

I’m sorry there’s no way as an adult to apologize to Judy. I counseled for four years and had my share of uncooperative campers. As a parent, I’ve dealt with uncooperative children. I’ve been paid back. I’ve walked in her shoes and I forever regret giving her a hard time.

I’m sorry that I didn’t understand shame. For years I couldn’t look the camp director in the face because I assumed he thought me rebellious and immature. I couldn't fathom that when we asked him to forgive us, he did. 

I’m sorry that I didn’t learn my lesson. Though I repented in this incident, the war for my teenage soul had not been won yet. I succumbed to peer pressure on other occasions. I tested the waters, sliding in tiny increments, and hung over the line pretty far before digging my heels in and finally making a stand.

Just like my friends influenced me to help take the tarp off, I let myself be swayed many times by friends, classmates, books, music, and movies. I threw off that which was designed to shelter and protect me. I questioned and rejected God’s control of my life.  The casting off of things I knew to be right led to pain and life-long regret.

I toyed with doing good things and I toyed with doing bad things. I waffled for five years before deciding at age nineteen that my faith was my own, not my parent’s, not some Queen Bee’s, not my Sunday School teachers, and I wanted to live for God and do the right things.

Every time I hear “Just a Closer Walk” it all floods back. Shame. Regret. Remorse.  

God forgave me at fourteen and every year since. He does not see me as young and immature. He sees me as beautiful and beloved. He forgave all my sins, even the young stupid ones, so I don’t need to decades later feel pangs of regret every time I hear that song.

Because the song is just as true today as it was then.

I am weak, but Thou art strong;
Jesus, keep me from all wrong;
I’ll be satisfied as long
As I walk, let me walk close to Thee.

Thirty-eight years later I’m still learning to walk close to Thee.

Let it be, dear Lord, let it be. 

I'm linking up with Shanda at A Pause on the Path for On Your Heart Tuesday,
Kasey at These Five of Mine Plus Two for A Handful of Heart

and Jennifer at Getting Down With Jesus