I'm in Amarillo, Texas for the annual meeting of the Baptist General Convention of Texas meeting. I went to church this morning at FBC White Deer and saw several people I haven't seen in 25 years--Garry and Jo Ann Gortmaker, who taught my Sunday School and Training Union classes, and in whose car I held the hand of a girl for the first time; Terry Simpson Grange, who my mom took to GA camp when she was young, and a few others. After church I drove to Schaeffer Camp, the collection of houses at the refinery where my dad worked. There's no houses left, and just a little of the plant. Here's a picture of the Camp from a distance; you can see the white tanks in the distance, move to the right and you can barely see the camp--note that there's absolutely nothing around...
So I drove out there, knowing that not much is left. Here's where our house once stood, best I can remember...
But check these next pictures out. The treehouses that my brother and I and some friends built 30 years ago still have boards up in the trees. I was amazed as the memories of bottle rocket fights and treehouse dreams floated in my head.
It just goes to show you that the things we think are made to last sometimes don't, while the stuff that makes you dream lasts forever.
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