by Jeremy Camp
That’s not exactly the most pleasing word picture in Scripture, but the not-really-hot and not-really-cold church had become so ineffective that it was of no use to God’s Kingdom. The thought of the Lord vomiting out the lukewarm Laodiceans snatched my attention, because I had been lukewarm toward Him for the past few years. I had been of no use to His Kingdom.
That verse sounded like a warning to me, yet it was a warning issued with love. Yes, I had been messing up. I knew that. I knew that even when I had been doing wrong. But the tone with which the message was delivered caused me to gain an understanding of how much God loved me. He was warning me because He loved me and wanted the best for me. Along with that, I realized, He wanted the best of me.
Suddenly, all my previous pursuits seemed so empty. It was as though a giant Reset button were pushed in my life, and I was embarking on an entirely new way of living.
My conversations with others during the rest of the camp centered less on what states we came from and more on our spiritual states. I recall a conversation with a friend from our youth group during which we talked about how, when we returned home, we needed to become an example for the others in our group.
“Let’s do this right,” we said. “Let’s serve the Lord.”
CHAPTER 4
THE CALL
I returned from camp a changed young man. I confessed to my parents about my partying and drinking. Right before we left for camp, the father of a close friend of mine had found alcohol in my friend’s pickup. When my parents had learned about that, they wondered whether I was drinking too, but because of the camp, they hadn’t had an opportunity to confront me.
“We suspected you might be doing something like that,” my parents told me when I was back home, “but we’re glad the Lord’s working on your heart.”
Because of my rededication decision at camp, my heart was right with the Lord. But it remained at the center of a battle.
I started really digging into the Bible, and God’s Word took on meaning to me in ways it never had before. Studying Scripture with the sense of freedom I enjoyed made it seem like I had previously read the Bible with a veil over my eyes. With that veil lifted, the words jumped off the pages and into my heart.
Yet despite my change, I knew there would be struggles in turning completely away from my old ways. As the summer wound down, I felt anxiety about returning to my high school, McCutcheon High, where I had become a cool, popular participant in the party scene. My old friends would be there, and along with them would be the temptation to return to my partying ways. I sensed God telling me, You’re not ready yet. I wasn’t the person I am now—bold and direct about sharing in love that Jesus Christ is my Lord and Savior. With all the insecurities I felt as a teenager, I easily could have been swayed.
The church in Crawfordsville whose youth group I attended had a very small school, Maranatha Christian School, and I thought it would offer me the shelter I needed at that stage of my renewed walk with Christ. Of course, attending private school would cost a lot of money. Although our family’s financial situation had improved, my parents told me there was no way they could afford to send me to Maranatha, even though they would have made whatever sacrifices they could to make that possible.
I called the school and asked if it would be possible to work there to pay off my tuition. “I’ll be a janitor or anything else you need,” I offered. School officials said they would allow me to do that.
The next hurdle was how I would get to school because we didn’t have an extra car for me to drive to Crawfordsville. But a pastor who spent a lot of time in the Ukraine had a car he used only when he was home during the summer, and he offered to let me use his car while he was away.
My parents—probably mostly my dad by that point—weren’t convinced, however, that it would work out for me to attend the school.
“Trust me, I can’t go to my old high school this year,” I told my parents.
My dad had been excited about the coming football season because I was going to be the starting running back for the McCutcheon Mavericks, and we were expected to have a very good team. He kept trying to convince me that being on the football team would give me a great platform from which I could tell all the players about my becoming a Christian.
“I’m not a leader, though,” I told my dad. “I know I’m not a leader.”
But despite my pleas, I was headed back to McCutcheon.
The first day of school I flat-out did not want to go. Even getting dressed was a real chore for me. I was afraid that if I walked into the school’s hallways again, I would walk away from the Lord.
My mom and I sat in the living room while I reluctantly waited for the bus. My dad, who had been taking a shower, came into the room.
“Jeremy,” he said, “the Lord just spoke to me in the shower. He told me that if you are saying that you can’t do this, and He has spoken to you that you need to go to Maranatha, then I need to let you do that.”
My mom was thrilled because she said going to Maranatha had been in her heart for me. My parents enrolled me that same day.
It’s difficult to explain why, but I just knew that I was supposed to go to that school, that it was part of God’s plan for me. With God providing a way for me to go to Maranatha—not to mention a way for me to get there with the loaner car—being admitted into the school was a Jeremiah 29:11 moment for me: “‘I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’”
I stayed after school an hour each day and cleaned toilets and vacuumed floors. I think I was a pretty good janitor, especially for a teenage boy! I took pride in my job and really wanted the toilets and floors to look clean.
I learned from scrubbing and vacuuming that if God calls you somewhere, you do whatever you can to fulfill that calling. I would have done whatever was necessary to attend that school. When I had been asked if I would clean toilets, I answered, “Absolutely.”
The example of faith and commitment my dad set was reflected in my answer. The church he started was small at first and not in a position financially to pay him a full-time salary. He still, of course, had to work full-time hours for the church. There was my dad, with four kids at home to provide for, pastoring an infant church that God had led him to start. To make ends meet, he had to take a job with a pizza place making and delivering pizzas. I knew that had to be a humbling role for my dad, but he never allowed it to become humiliating work.
My daily hour of cleaning commodes and floors was a humbling duty, but I never felt embarrassed or humiliated as I had with the car stories I shared earlier. The difference was that I was serving God now, and as a result, my entire perception of life had changed. When I was younger, I had struggled with insecurity because I was trying to find my security in things. But when I began serving God with all my heart, my security was in Him.
My thinking was, Man, Jesus loves me. I’m going to serve Him completely. So I’ll do whatever it takes. Yeah, I’ll wipe down toilets. I don’t care.
Carrying around a scrub brush and pushing a vacuum cleaner, I had never felt more secure.
GOOD-BYE TO THE GRIDIRON
Changing schools removed me from the party scene I no longer wanted to be associated with. Yet it also took me out of football, and that was difficult for me.
I had a realistic goal of playing football beyond high school. I had played football, baseball, and basketball growing up. I had excelled in baseball, which I began playing at age five. My freshman year, however, I contracted mononucleosis. When I returned to the baseball team, the coach told me, “You have to make up your missed days by running.”
Aware that the mono could return if I overexerted myself too soon, I said I was concerned I might get sick again if I did all that running. “Sorry,” the coach answered. “It’s not fair to everybody else who was here running and working out every day.” So I quit baseball.
I hit a good growth spurt before b
aseball season my sophomore year, and the coach wanted me to come out for the team again. That was during the period when I was too cool for my own good, and I told the coach I wasn’t interested in playing on his team. As if my not playing baseball was going to teach him a lesson.
Plus, with my recent growth, football had begun working its way to most-favored status on my sports list. I had started playing football in sixth grade. My sophomore year, I really started playing well. I was a running back and a linebacker, and I was fast and strong and knew how to run with the ball. During that season, I started thinking football could become my route to college.
When I decided not to return to public school for my junior year, I went to inform the football coach. “I can’t do this,” I told him. “I can’t come to this school.”
A shocked look came across his face. “Why not?” he asked. “You’re a starter.”
“God’s changed my heart,” I told him, “and I’ve got to get away from this.”
He didn’t seem to fully understand my explanation, but I made it clear that my decision was final.
“Okay,” he said.
I said the Christian school was “very small.” Perhaps I should have said “very, very small.” Best I can recall, there were six of us in the high school. Needless to say, the school didn’t have a football team or any other sports teams.
Although I was relieved to be out of public school, I missed playing football terribly.
My dad and I would drive over to Purdue University in West Lafayette sometimes and play worship songs in a small square on campus. Students would stop and listen for a bit, and sometimes our music created an opportunity to share about Christ with them.
One Friday night we were driving over to Purdue when we drove right past my old high school. The lights of the football stadium were shining brightly, and I could see into the stadium enough to see the fans in the stands and the players on the field.
I wept right there in the passenger seat of my dad’s car.
My dad knew how badly I missed football, and when he saw the tears on my face, he reached over and placed his hand on my back. “Jeremy,” he said, “you’re doing what the Lord has called you to do. And I’m proud of you.”
Even today, remembering how I felt driving past the game and then hearing my dad’s words still makes me want to cry. That was a powerful moment.
Walking away from football that year was a big turning point in my life. After a few years of doing my own thing, I was putting aside my own dreams and desires to do what God wanted me to do. That wasn’t easy. Even now as an adult it can be difficult to do. But to truly serve the Lord, we have to be willing to give up things that we love if they are not in line with God’s will for our lives. In my case, there wasn’t anything wrong with playing football. It wasn’t a bad thing; it was a good thing. But as I can reflect from a decade and a half further down the path God had prepared, He had a much better thing than football in store for me.
Without sports to play at my new school, I spent more time with music. Some friends and I formed a garage band. We played cover songs, although the bands we were covering probably would not have been too proud if they could have heard us perform. I can’t remember the name of our band, but I do recall that when things weren’t going well for us, we changed our name to Temple Rising. We didn’t change anything else about the band, just our name. That didn’t fix the reason we hadn’t been doing well.
My listening interests ranged from Christian recording artists such as Steven Curtis Chapman to many different rock bands. Occasionally, my musical choices demonstrated that, although I had come a long way since my partying days, I still had cravings that weren’t in my best interest. I don’t want to come across as saying all music that isn’t Christian is bad. That’s not the case. But the problem for me was the attitude behind my listening choices.
I hadn’t completely washed away my former nature. I still had moments when I wanted to prove that I could be my own person and do the things I wanted to do.
During that time of musical exploration I began to understand more about music, and I sampled other forms, including a little funk and a little reggae. Lyrics aside, because I was self-taught and able to play by ear, I picked up diverse musical influences.
But while my listening choices were varied, I began writing songs for our band to play that had a narrow focus: my blossoming faith in Jesus. Our music became a way to express what was taking place within my heart, and gradually my heart was moving more and more toward music.
SEEING THE LIGHT
By the end of my junior year in Christian school, I was feeling an urge to return to McCutcheon to finish high school. I wanted to play football and also to put to use what I had learned spiritually. I knew returning to public school would be a challenge, but I wanted that challenge to see where I stood spiritually. I felt I was strong enough, but I still had some of the fears I had when I had transferred to Maranatha.
I desperately wanted to play football, but at the same time I didn’t want to spend an entire school year at McCutcheon. The solution was to take a loaded schedule that would allow me to graduate at the Christmas break.
Football season didn’t pan out as I had hoped.
For one, although I still loved football, I just wasn’t into it as much as I had been. Before the camp in California, football had been my life. Now serving God was my life. Also, the year off from football made achieving my goal of playing in college much more difficult. Because I hadn’t played as a junior, I had missed out on the most important year for being noticed by college recruiters.
I played full-time on defense, but I wound up only splitting time at my favorite position, running back. Our team was not expected to do well that season. Because of that, the coaches wanted to give part of the carries to a sophomore running back so that he could gain experience for when the team was expected to improve in the next couple of seasons. The coaches said that because I hadn’t played the previous season, I needed to prove myself. But being in a situation where opportunities to carry the ball were split between the running backs made it difficult to prove myself to the coaches.
I had friends who wanted me to be the full-time running back, and they would sit in the stands at home games and chant, “Give Camp the ball! Give Camp the ball!” My dad became so frustrated that after one game, he politely asked to speak with the coach.
“Is Jeremy faster than the other running back?” my dad asked the coach.
“Yes,” the coach replied.
“Is Jeremy stronger?”
“Yes.”
“Is Jeremy a better runner overall?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Then why don’t you put him in more?” my dad asked. “Is it politics?”
“It’s not,” the coach replied.
Going to my coach like that was atypical of my dad, but that was an irritating time for us. My goal was to go to Purdue and “walk on”—play initially without a scholarship in hopes of earning one for future seasons—and having a big senior season at running back in a local high school would have helped my chances of doing so. But I can look back now and see that my senior season was one where the Lord saying, “This is not what I have for you.” The Lord just had different plans for me than I had for myself.
The half-year I spent at McCutcheon indeed was a challenge. I still had some of the same cravings for worldly pleasures that I’d had before rededicating my life to Christ. I didn’t go out drinking and partying like before, but I did battle those desires.
My old friends were still partying, but I had decided not to hang out with them. Although we were in the same classes and hallways, it felt like we were in such different worlds.
I didn’t know any real Christians at our school, and part of the reason was that I wasn’t bold about saying, “I’m a Christian now.” I was still trying to be cool, and because of the cravings I still possessed, I wrongly believed I wasn’t worthy enough to be bold for Christ.
After high school, when I became bolder with my witness and became known as a Christian because of my music career, I would come across former classmates who would tell me, “Hey, I was a Christian back then too.” I look back now and ask myself, What was I doing? I could have made such an impact if I had gone back to that school my senior year and been bold for Christ.
Assertiveness now guides my heart with today’s youth, especially those who have had a spiritual transformation and in whom God has really done a work. I encourage them to get into their high schools and lead a charge for change.
Matthew 5:14-16 says, “You are the light of the world. A town built on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”
I tell teens to think about being in a big, dark room where one person with a light pops up. And then someone else sees that light and pops up with his or her light. Then more and more people with lights pop up until their lights have overtaken the darkness.
But until one person stands and uncovers his or her light, the room remains covered in darkness, like at my school. I didn’t stand up and make my light shine, and I didn’t know of anyone else who did either. Light always pierces darkness, and sometimes all it takes is one bold person to completely change an entire room.
TIME TO CUT TIES
After finishing my senior year early, I spent the spring working on a custom blinds assembly line at Lafayette Venetian Blind, Inc., struggling to decide what I would do next: go to Purdue and study business management or accounting and try to play football, or attend Calvary Chapel Bible College in California.
I now recognize that was another tug-of-war between what God had planned for me and my selfish desires, and I had a difficult time determining which direction I should go. I kept wavering back and forth.