Last year around this time I found myself thinking differently than usual.
Christmas was coming, and right after it our camp’s annual New Year’s Family Camp at Camp Homewood was scheduled. That gathering has always been one of our highlights: families come for a short retreat, extended family reunions happen, and single adults and seniors find companionship in a season that is often lonely. There are activities for every age, and—perhaps most importantly for many—the pause from holiday hosting. After weeks of cooking, baking, entertaining and cleaning, moms often get a true break from the kitchen and can be served for a change.
It’s supposed to be a lot of fun.
But that year I was simply tired. Just plain weary. I didn’t want to advertise, plan, serve, mingle or entertain. After two decades of attending the New Year’s Family Camp, I started to wonder if I deserved a break.
I found myself thinking, “I’ve already given up 21 years of summer vacations for camp. Do I also have to give up the one other break my children have from school?”
Then I stopped myself. I realized that line of thinking was bitter and unhelpful. That day, one year ago, I prayed:
“Lord, give me a fresh passion and love for the mission you have for me.”
I’ve kept praying that same request throughout the year.
God answered in unexpected, gentle ways.
This year has been both unusually wonderful and unexpectedly challenging. Among its highlights was a dream trip to Maui that came true—an amazing blessing. Yet alongside those joyful moments, life brought difficulties and tests that stretched our faith and patience.
Through everything I clung to two honest, simple prayers:
“Lord, may I do the things you desire for me because I truly want to, not merely because I feel I ought to.”
And, “Lord, I want to serve you—what do you want me to do right now, today?”
That busy summer found my husband struggling through sleepless nights as the departure of our camp cook drew closer. We searched and prayed for a replacement but found no leads. At camp, food is essential; it can’t be set aside until someone comes along. I also wrestled internally with a pledge I had made when my husband became camp director: I would help with anything EXCEPT the camp kitchen.
To me the camp kitchen felt like Jonah’s Nineveh—the one place I refused to go. But slowly and gently, God worked on my stubbornness and my fears. One sleepless night I finally turned to my husband and said, “Would you just go to sleep already? I’ll do it.”
We made that decision with real trepidation. I wasn’t sure I could manage the job, and honestly I worried about what the extra strain might do to my peculiar health issues. Yet I stepped, afraid, out of my comfort zone—and into the camp kitchen.
I kept praying that God would supply the details and the strength I needed, and that He would give me true, lasting joy in the work—not just endurance, but joy.
Recently, while my husband and I enjoyed our little “breakfast in bed” tradition, we talked about the kitchen. As we planned and laughed, I leaned over and whispered, “You know… I kinda like this job.” We laughed until we cried. It’s a small, everyday miracle—God delights in transforming our resistance into purpose.
This year I also wanted to try something different for Christmas. The season often deepens my longing for family who live far away. With a new confidence in cooking for large groups, we decided to host Christmas dinner at Camp Homewood—open to anyone who, like me, wants the day filled with people, children, laughter and warmth. Details are still being finalized, but I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to serve.
It’s not because I feel I ought to, but because I genuinely want to.
If you are local and find yourself without family this year, consider this an invitation to join us. Come and share the meal and the company. Call the camp office at 250.285.3483 and leave the names and ages of those who are coming so we can plan accordingly.
If you already have plans but would still like to support this community meal, a donation to Camp Homewood to help cover food costs would be gratefully received. I’d love to offer this as a free meal to those who come.
I also like details, and I’d love to give each guest a small, named gift. If you have little items you could donate, they would bring joy to someone who receives them.
I realize this is a long post—after a quiet couple of weeks, I made up for it in one sitting. Thank you for reading. Blessings to each of you as you consider how you might serve and be served this season.
