After nearly two decades of facilitating pre-field missionary training expeditions on Ozark waterways,
it’s rare for me to travel down even a small stretch of river and not see something that takes me back to a
moment in the past. My wife, kids, and I were on an overnight canoeing trip along one of our local rivers
recently, and memories from past ministry experiences kept coming to me—significant moments I had lived
on these waters. Right there! I raced to teach a group of missionaries to set up shelters as a big thunderstorm
pressed in. Yes, and that curve in the river captured a couple and their canoe in a strainer, forcing me to
perform my very first canoe extraction. Look, that spot is where a frustrated father told me he hated
subjecting his family to the challenges of the wilderness and wanted to quit the trip—right then and there! A
million memories silently flooded my head. Occasionally, I would spin the tale for the kids, but mostly I just
remembered.
Then we stopped at a gravel bar to set up camp for the night. Eager to make this place our “home,”
even if only for a night, we collected firewood and dragged weather-beaten logs and flat, flagstone-like rocks
to build benches around our fire ring. We cleared, smoothed, and constructed until we had comfortable
sleeping spots and a homey campfire circle. Building a rock ledge, I elevated our camp stove so the cook
wouldn’t have to sit flat-legged on the ground. By the time we were done, our campsite was splendid!
I began to contrast this night with the first time I had stayed in that spot. Years ago, I had lain on the
same smooth rocks with the same glorious stars overhead, but I was not at peace. I had wrestled with the
anxiety in my gut over how much challenge to give the group I was leading. That night long ago had not been
so homey and quaint; it had proved challenging and difficult.
As we sat around our crackling fire, our bellies full of grilled meat and diced potatoes, one of my
children asked for a story—a Bible story. After a moment of reflection, I began telling the story of Joshua
leading the tribes of Israel into the Promised Land, how the Jordan River parted, and the pagan peoples’
courage melted like wax before the armies of Yahweh. I mentioned the altar the tribes had set up along the
Jordan as a reminder of what God had done there. Continuing with the account of the spies, I told how they
visited Rahab and how the armies of Israel marched around the city of Jericho; finally closing the story by
retelling how the army’s mighty shout and the power of Almighty God shook the earth and brought down
the city walls. The wide-eyed wonder of my children, reflected in the campfire light, attested to the good
story, well told.
The next morning after breakfast, I began my usual camping custom: returning the campsite to its
natural state, leaving no trash and disguising the fire pit. As I began this process, my wife stood quizzically,
gazing at the kitchen site, especially at the quaint little rock shelf and bench we had created for our kitchen
area. “Can we leave this part?” she asked. “What we made here feels special. This campsite means something
now. It’s sort of like an altar of remembrance,” she mused.
I stood thinking, momentarily questioning my automated sense of training. “Why not?” After all, this
was a special place for saintly people in a sacred moment.
Remembering is so important to our Heavenly Father that its the second most repeated command in
Scripture, appearing over 300 times, exceeded only by the command to “rejoice.” Just like the generations of
Israelites who passed by the monument along the Jordan’s banks and stopped to remind their children of
God’s provision as they crossed into the promised land, later that year, I would float down my local river and
pass by an ordinary gravel bar with a neatly stacked pile of rocks supporting an old, rustic log vaguely
resembling a camp kitchen. The site, though altered by time and very different from the one the Israelites
built, would stir an important memory for me—that God is good and life is worth rejoicing.
