When I was younger, I was like most kids—I didn't particularly love church. It just wasn't fun. The pews were hard, the service was long, the kid's bulletins had games in them that were way too easy, and in Sunday School I was expected to memorize Bible verses—basically, church had everything stacked against it in my head.

So how I ended up at a Christian Camp for the summer still baffles me. Nothing in me screamed "Jesus Camp." But people at my church really loved this place, and we'd heard the director was pretty good at telling stories, so my mom signed me right up. In my first year at Camp Fowler (located in Speculator, NY, if you're curious), I was a terrified third grader who had never gone to sleep-away camp before. Not surprisingly, I hated it.

Of course, that's not the end of the story (if it was, this would be a super sad article). I was really shy as a kid, so the reason I hated it was because I was scared of not fitting in. Plus, I'd never been away from my mom and dad before, so I was incredibly homesick. By midweek I was having fun, but I was still scared that it was too good to be true. The people there didn't even feel real—can people actually, honestly be this kind? We called staff members and volunteers "Aunts" and "Uncles" because we're all part of Christ's family, as they told us the first night there. And from day one, despite my homesickness and fear, I felt like part of the family. It was surreal.

You're probably wondering: "But what did you do at Jesus Camp?" Good question. Everything. We played games, ate incredible food (those brownies though.), sang songs, danced, went on day trips (from hiking to canoeing to kayaking), did art projects, played more games, had Bible time, heard stories and had a beach party (rain or shine... and it was usually rain). In our free time we played four-square, ate candy bars from the Doll House (the old camp store), sat on the big rock in the center of camp, went swimming, took naps... the possibilities felt endless. At Fowler, we packed a month into a week. I always went home exhausted; I'd sleep for a solid two days before getting back into the groove of summer.

What I really loved about camp, though, were all the little moments. Watching a kid perform the "F.U.N." song from Spongebob at the talent show, eating hamburgers on the lawn, sitting at Lakeside and watching the sun set over Lake Sacandaga, eating ice cream in town (it was especially fun canoeing to the ice cream shop), singing Pharaoh Pharaoh for the 20th time that week, beating out a staff member in four-square, kissing Bullwinkle the moose, star gazing in the Meadows where not a single artificial light ruined the sky, singing at the Friday-night campfire in the cabin area and singing echo songs back and forth between the boy's and girl's cabin area. And in every one of those moments, I felt love. Acceptance. I felt like part of this huge family that I only got to visit once a year, but it was the best part of the year, always.

I was a camper from third grade to my senior year of high school, I was a cabin counselor twice, and for two years I worked as a S.W.i.M (Student Working in Ministry -- so like an assistant counselor). As a camper, I met one of my now-closest friends, and we both actually ended up at the same college (who would have guessed when we were in the Woodpecker cabin together in third grade that we'd end up here?). Another one of my now-close friends became staff at camp, and that's how we got to know of each other at all (she also attends my college; small world, right?). Some of my best summer memories are of camp. Some of my worst summer memories are also of camp, too, like that time we had to portage canoes after a really long hike, or that time I twisted my ankle swinging on a rope over the "peanut butter pit." It was still worth it, though. The good has always outweighed the bad.

And this camp taught me what it meant to be accepted, just for who you are. Some people disagree with their more liberal Christian principles, but that's exactly what makes them so great—they're accepting. The minute you step onto the camp ground, you are home; you are family. I needed that when I was younger. I think everyone does.

So if you're parent, seriously consider signing your child up for camp! (Any kind—it doesn't have to be Christian if that's not your style, though I do highly recommend Fowler if you're in the New York area). If you're a kid, talk to your parents about going. And if you're too old for camp now, volunteer there (honestly, it's kind of more fun than being a camper anyway!). I promise you won't regret the experience. I don't even know who I'd be without the experiences I had there, and without the people I met there who have become such an integral part of my life.

So thank you, Camp Fowler, for giving me a second home. I won't ever forget it!