I’ll never understand the phenomena of camping. I tried it once for a few hours, and that was enough for me. I vowed never to do it again and I've had no trouble keeping that promise.

I'm not an outdoorsy person. I don’t care to go on hikes unless an escalator is involved. And wearing the same underwear for three days because I forgot to pack more just isn't for me. Though I love sunshine and fresh air, I can enjoy them from my recliner next to the window. And there are only two kinds of greenery I like: The kind I can eat and the kind I can spend. I’d rather take in the scenery of a mall than a wilderness trail. I prefer to watch for sales, not snakes and deer droppings. Roughing it, to me, means having a broken TV remote or staying in a hotel without a pool.

Why would anyone leave their comfy bed to sleep on the cold, hard ground? It takes a special sort of person to do that. By special I mean someone who is not the brightest flame in the camp fire. Some people will even pay hard-earned money just so they can leave their cozy home, warm shower, and air conditioning. All this to cook hotdogs on a stick, cover their bodies with stinky, cancer-causing insecticide, and squeeze a family of cranky kids and a large drooling dog into a one-man, bug-infested, leaky tent. Then they lie awake shivering in the rain and swatting bloodthirsty mosquitoes the size of blue-footed boobie birds.

The husband once took our son on a camping adventure in the back yard. The kid was disappointed when he learned there were no video games or stereo in the tent and the sleeping bag had only one temperature setting, which was brain-frying hot.

The son made it through half the night. At 2:00 a.m., he decided mom had the right idea. (She’s not as dumb as she looks.) He snuck into the house and crawled into his bed, leaving dad to continue the adventure alone. The following night, the abandoned tent looked a little forlorn standing alone in our backyard; but it didn’t stay empty for long.

A hungry bear strolled inside, apparently lured by the enticing smell of bits of hot dog, bun crumbs, and burnt marshmallow remains stuck to a paper plate. The rude bear didn’t have manners enough to exit the tent by the same door he entered. Instead, he created a back door and ripped his way out. This is one more reason I do not camp. I refuse to share my sleeping quarters with anything hairier than the husband.

To me, camping is not a vacation. A real vacation is lounging by the pool at a five star hotel and having breakfast delivered to me in bed around noonish. That’s the life for me! I like to be pampered. That's why I'm looking forward to heaven. (The other reason is that I want to spend eternity in the nonsmoking section.)

I would be very surprised if there were campgrounds in heaven. I'm certain there won't be snakes, outhouses, or ostrich-size vampire bugs. No deer flies, horse flies, or black flies. No ticks, bats, or over-crowded, leaking tents. No greasy repellant, hot dog sticks, or hungry bears.

Jesus said, "In My Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you." (John 14:2) I can handle living in a mansion. That’s just my style. I hope it’s a big Victorian mansion lavishly decorated with rare antiques. Yeah, I can picture myself there. I’m glad Jesus is preparing a place for me!

Marsha Jordan
Author of "Hugs, Hope, and Peanut Butter"
hugsandhope@gmail.com
www.hugsandhope.org

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