I shared with some dear friends recently the story of one of the formative spiritual experiences of my life. It was at a Salvation Army camp in Missouri--Camp Mihaska in (oddly enough) Bourbon, Missouri.
It was the Summer of 1972, and my mother was dying. And I knew it. Nor was I particularly happy about it. I remember very little about that week at camp (with my cousin Ed), but I remember this: sometime that week, I knelt at the altar in an outdoor amphitheater somewhere there on the grounds, and wrestled with God, eventually reaching a point of complete surrender.
I searched online for a photo of that amphitheater, which became a sacred place for me. I struck out. I think maybe it was in the spot which, in the photo above, is now occupied by a big pond at the bottom of the frame (which I think is actually a fish hatchery, believe it or not). But I could be wrong.
In any case, I don't think I've been back to the camp since. But one night in 1972, it was a holy place to me, my own personal Peniel.