The first time I met my wife, we were at Scripture Union Easter Camp.
She was fifteen. No, I wasn’t sixteen.
To know God more was all she desired.
To share God more was my passion.
I was teaching. But I was also looking.
And even when camp was over, ministry continued.
Paul wrote some epistles. I dare boast of mine too.
And decades after, the rest is history.
Thank God He died. Thank God He rose.
Thank God for Easter Camp.
The story of the Cross is my story.