Sumatanga sounds

Yesterday was a great day at Sumatanga. Sumatanga is a United Methodist Camp nestled in Greasy Cove at the foot of Chandler Mountain, just outside Gallant, Alabama. It is holy ground.

Much about yesterday was no different than other great days at Sumatanga. Creation praised the Creator as it exploded with the color and freshness of spring against the clear blue of sky and water. Children explored everywhere, discovering geese and turtles, rocks and streams. Couples, young and old, walked hand in hand down leafy lanes, each with similar memories of this special place. Old friends found time and place to visit, new friends did the same. Crafts were made, games were played, hamburgers and hotdogs were grilled, and there was music .

Music was the advertised reason for this day at Camp. It was called, "Sounds of Sumatanga." As one of the people who had the privilege of singing and playing on the stage with the lake as the backdrop and the rest of Camp as the concert hall, I was blessed. The sounds that came from the stages between 11 and 6 were wonderful, and timeless, echoing music that has filled the sweet air of that place for decades.

But other sounds were just as sweet and just as timeless. The laughter of children, the laughter of the rest of us, the conversations of friends, the shout across the way to an old buddy, the thump of a kickball as it soars into the outfield, the honk of geese, the rustle of new leaves in a spring breeze, the crunch of gravel under the tires of cars as the occupants arrive expectantly and leave reluctantly, the sounds of servants working together to cook for the multitudes, the insistence of a friend to use sunscreen, the insistence of a younger friend to slide down the castle slide, the request of an even younger friend to tie a knot in the cross being held together with yarn.

The sounds of Sumatanga. For me, it sounds a lot like home.