bind_us_together epitome of incomprehensibility The end of a week at Gracefield Camp. Campers and staff stand in a circle on the damp grass, surrounding the benches of the outdoor chapel. Trees surround them in turn. A chaplain unwinds the large spool of red thread, passing it around the circle. The guitarist strikes a chord, leads everyone in Bind us together, Lord, Bind us together, With chords that cannot be bro-o-o-o-ken. Bind us together, Lord, Bind us together, Bind us together with love. After the song, the string is cut. Everyone gets a piece to take home. People wind it around their wrists, two, three, four times. I was among them, not for as long as my brother, but long enough to hear the story behind the tradition: someone donated unreasonable amounts of red thread to the camp and it had to be put to use. 211210 what's it to you? who go blather from