How summer camp changed the focus of one man’s life

by Jerry B. Jenkins

The summer of 1965 broke hot and humid in northern Illinois. And when a six-foot, 200-and-something-pound 15-year-old nicknamed Moose showed up at Camp Hickory for a term as a junior counselor to 9- and 10-year-olds, he was ready for some fun.

Moose was from the suburbs, a baseball player just off a championship season. He expected to identify with his young charges and teach them a thing or two about sports—maybe even about God. The Baptist General Conference camp was all wood cabins and meeting houses with slapping screen doors, but there were also a ball diamond, volleyball and badminton nets, horseshoe pits, tetherball poles, hiking trails, and a pool.

Moose served under an elderly counselor named Joe Pierce, who had been part of a rival gang to Al Capone in the 1930s before coming to Christ. Old Joe and his stories made an idyllic week—with dining hall meals, handicraft sessions, sports, evening meetings, devotions, and bedtime chats—all the more magical.

Moose had never been in trouble. Raised in a devout Christian home, he had become a believer as a young child and enjoyed everything about Sunday school and church. He was laid back about his faith; he didn’t want to push his beliefs on anyone. But at Camp Hickory, leading a camper to Christ was a thrill. No one looked at you sideways if you read Scripture aloud or led in prayer.

Soul Stirring
The highlight of the week arrived. A local church softball team, Cumberland Baptist, was coming to play the staff. They were led by a superstar player named Johnny Ankerberg, a collegian who was also a young preacher. He was a friend of Moose’s friends, and Moose was proud to know him.

That afternoon, the young staff upset the experienced, much better Cumberland team, with Moose scoring the winning run in the bottom of the last inning. But better than that, Johnny Ankerberg himself congratulated him and asked—in front of people—what he should speak on that night in the service.

He’s asking me? Moose thought. Well, of course. I’ve been here all week. I ought to know. Moose had heard Ankerberg speak before and knew he was powerful and incisive.

“Well,” he said, “there are a lot of phonies here. Maybe something on really being what you say you are all the time.”

Powerful Message
During the evening service, Moose sat with old Joe Pierce and their boys, waiting to counsel any who wanted to receive Christ or rededicate their lives. Johnny jumped right into his topic, challenging the crowd: “Are you really a Christian, or are you just playing at it? Do you smile and sit still in church but sneak around doing bad things with your friends?”

Not me, Moose thought. I know better. Moose noticed that other staff seemed self-conscious. Some of the campers squirmed.

Then Johnny shifted gears. “Maybe you’re not doing anything wrong,” he suggested. “Maybe you think you’re OK with the Lord.”

Suddenly, it seemed as if there were no others in the room but the big teenager and John. “Do your friends even know you’re a believer? Or are you a secret-service Christian? Will your friends risk hell because you’ve never even told them about Jesus?”

Moose’s pulse raced. Was he one of the phonies? This was getting way too personal. John began a litany of the dangers of keeping quiet about one’s faith; how the world could rob you of your first love of Christ. How people you care about could be lost forever because you were afraid of offending them. How does he know?

“Who will stem the tide of invisible Christians?” John thundered. Moose shuddered, his heart galloping. “After what Jesus did for you on the cross, can you not suffer a little embarrassment for Him? I’m looking for young people who will say, ‘I will stand for Christ by God’s grace, even if I have to stand alone!’”

The Change
John finally asked for people to stand if they were ready to make that commitment, and Moose leapt to his feet. He was near tears; ready to burst.

“A counselor is already standing,” John said, “ready to pray with you about this.”

Oh, no! How could Moose counsel anyone while under conviction himself? But a nine-year-old boy was delivered to him. Moose talked with him, prayed with him, and then found everyone else occupied. He ran from the screened-in assembly hall, out into the darkness past the fellowship hall, and into the parking lot, where he found a friend’s car unlocked. He jumped in and lay across the front seat, sobbing and crying out to God for forgiveness.

“I will share my faith! I will tell others about You! I don’t care what they think about me or even if they ever agree. I want to be the kind of believer You want me to be.”

When Moose finally left that car, he sensed God’s forgiveness and even felt his first infusion of courage. He sought out friends and told them boldly of his new resolve.

The rest of the week was different, as least inwardly. The meetings and the private times with campers took on a new urgency and import. Moose felt like a new person.

Back to School
At the end of the summer, just before school began, Moose talked John Ankerberg into sharing the same message with his youth group and guests. Moose’s older brother Jeff had the same response, and when they went back to Forest View High School as a junior and a senior, things had changed.

Moose carried his Bible atop his books, feeling conspicuous and scared. But the conversations sparked by friends’ questions resulted in several of them becoming believers. His and Jeff’s new commitment to sharing their faith coincided with the start of a Youth for Christ Campus Life group, which quickly grew to more than 200 students.

Moose was also a writer, covering sports for local newspapers and his school paper. He began making plans to attend Moody Bible Institute in Chicago two years later to get a year of Bible training before pursuing a newspaper career. The following summer, he returned to Camp Hickory as assistant sports director.

Another Encounter
Being there week after week for camps for all ages made 1966 the ultimate summer. Moose heard good speakers and formed strong friendships with the staff. He got in trouble for ordering pencils stamped with: “Camp Hickory, where Christ is first and mosquitoes are second.”

One night, while racing around in the dark playing Capture the Flag with other staffers, Moose came upon the director’s cabin and noticed the light on and shade open. He crept close and peeked in, only to find Dan and Joyce Ankerberg kneeling in prayer. Even in private, they lived their faith. Concern for souls was at the core of their beings.

Late in the summer, Dan was speaking at teen camp when he explained that some are called to full-time Christian work. Moose was overwhelmed with the feeling that he should commit himself to this work—and he did. He thought he was giving up his writing career, probably obligated now to become a pastor or missionary, neither of which he felt drawn to or prepared for.

Called to Serve
Just five years later, when Moose was newly married and working as a sportswriter and photographer for a local newspaper, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a window. There he was, in suit and tie, all grown up, married and working. And he was reminded of that call.

Moose sought work at Christian organizations, and was hired at Scripture Press, where he became editor of a high school Sunday school paper. From there he went on to become editor of a Christian radio and TV guide, and then became managing editor of Moody Magazine in Chicago. He eventually became publisher at Moody Press and finally vice president for publishing. In the meantime, he wrote more than 150 books, including many about professional athletes.

It’s been said that big doors turn on small hinges. Moose traces his life’s work and ministry back to those two summers at Camp Hickory where God spoke to him through His servants.

Statistics show that more than a quarter million individuals become believers at Christian camps each year. And more than 500,000 Christian leaders trace their choice of profession to decisions made at camp.

But these are more than statistics. Each represents someone who was once a malleable, impressionable kid who was open to the Spirit on a hot summer night, perhaps unlike he or she had ever been before or would be again.

Moose, too, is more than a statistic. I ought to know.

Moose was my nickname.

Editor’s Note: This article is a modified version of “Hitting Home,” which first appeared in the September/October 2003 issue of the Christian Camp & Conference Journal.

Jerry is the author of more than 150 books, including the bestselling Left Behind series. He owns Jenkins Entertainment, a film company in Los Angeles, and the Christian Writers Guild, which exists to train writers. Jerry and his wife, who live in Colorado Springs, have three grown sons.

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