There was this bit of disconnect in my teen years. It seemed like every week there was something said at church warning us of the evils of "mixed bathing." (You can immediately spot the problem of mixed bathing; apparently, the greater concern was mixed swimming.) It was a rule strictly enforced at the Bible camp I went to and the university I attended. No mixed bathing. However, almost every Sunday in the summer, the moment church was over we headed for the lake. I loved singing the song with "throw out the lifeline," because it helped me fantasize about getting in the water with a ski and having someone throw out the ski rope. ("Throw out the ski rope, throw out the ski rope, someone is drifting away.") And there was mixed swimming. As I recall, a couple times we took the church's high school class with us. Then eventually, there were even dates to the lake! More mixed swimming. But maybe these old lessons got downloaded into my head. Maybe they are why I really don't care much for the beach and much prefer the mountains. Perhaps it isn't the heat, the sunscreen, the skin cancer, the salt water, or the sand that really annoy me. It's the mixed bathing. In the mountains of Colorado--which I much prefer-it's usually cool and everyone is wearing lots of clothes. Sometimes we'd go to Table Rock Lake on Saturday, spending the night. I have great memories of joining the Shell Knob Church of Christ on many Sunday mornings. Church didn't exactly start at 9:45. It was more 9:45ish. The teen class was pretty much everyone twelve to twenty, and my brother and I would about double the attendance. It was just assumed if we showed up that my dad would be the song leader. And as I got older, I could count on leading a prayer. What I especially recall is what good, welcoming, salt-of-the-earth people they were. I don't know how many of you have worshiped often with a group of just thirty or so. But for me, this is such a positive memory. One year at Harding, Diane and I drove every Sunday morning along with a buddy and his girlfriend (now his wife) to Alread, Arkansas. We'd drive from Searcy through Rose Bud and Bee Branch to Clinton and then snake our way up the gorgeous mountains of north central Arkansas just past Rupert. That was Alread. One of us would preach in the morning; the other would preach in the evening. Usually the one who wasn't preaching would lead singing. In the afternoon the four of us would go to someone's house for a great country lunch. Then we were free in the afternoon to rest, catch up on homework, or (for the one who hadn't preaching in the morning) to furiously write a sermon for the evening.