Joyful Hearts week is over and so is the Generations camp that was here from Friday to this evening. During Generations, campers who are too young for the regular weeks can come with a parent or grandparent. There is one in June and another in July. Seven summers in since moving here, I feel like I’ve adjusted to camp as it is now. Ministries go through seasons as well, and God has carried camp through many of its own. When we worked here during our high school and college years, there were at least eight adults who contributed toward the daily operations of keeping camp running. We had summers of over 1,000 kids back then. Last year it was a big deal to pass 400.

I kept busy around the house today, at least in the morning. The kids who were home helped me weed in the upper backyard. I’ve long stared at this section of land and felt like it needed something, but didn’t have the drive or inspiration to do it. Whereas in the past I’ve used summer time for the never-ending possibilities of inside projects, this year I’ve paid more attention to the outside. I’ve kind of made it my goal to revive it. People talk about the therapeutic benefits of gardening, and I can see how that’s true. It’s never been a top five favorite for me, but this year I’m craving a more physical outlet to also balance out the head occupations of reading or writing.

I selected two books to work on over the summer: Middlemarch by George Eliot and The Collected Works of St. John of the Cross. With neither am I promising to make much progress, not because they haven’t been interesting, but because the goal might be too ambitious. Truth breaks through in these little moments, where I realize contentment loves work in progress. Ecclesiastes talks about how there is a time for everything under heaven. As much as I tend toward ascribing personal fault for all the visible incompletion, working toward finishing things isn’t necessarily the highest goal. Christ’s most important work has already been accomplished, and even as I’m surrounded by floors once more dirty, there is a time to see and thank God for his fruit.

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