Summer camp—is it just for kids? I don’t think so. The question is raised, here, to present what could be a desirable option in planning for your summer of 2021.

One summer Gary drove me to the Christian Renewal Center near Silverton, Oregon, so I could attend a family camp. After staying a couple of days to see me situated, he drove on home to tend to business.

It did not take long to discover a built-in test of stamina. The building I had been scheduled into rested at the tippy-top of a mountainous property, rightly named Hilltop Lodge. Thank God, only a short distance from the chapel, on my way up I could linger at the altar for as long as I needed before rounding the summit.

The week brought numerous cherished memories, but the one I recall today is a lesson brought home through craft class. Offerings included painting (with oils and other mediums), calligraphy on plexiglass, and sandblast woodcraft.

I went for the latter hoping to make something beautiful, yet small and easy. The aging process keeps me mindful of the KISS principle: “Keep it simple stupid.” After living many years with a closet full of unfinished projects . . . half-finished sweaters, dried up bottles of paint, expensive X-Acto knives still sharp from lack of use, “I knew “full well” my proficiency level!

Looking around at the “models” on display, I chose a small wood-work with the word “joy.” Its simple elegance was intriguing. But while choosing a piece of wood the teacher intervened. She took the plain, smooth board from my hand replacing it with a slab of pine—but, one with a knothole. Against my objections, she said, “Just trust me.”

Pushing aside the feeling of being cheated, I took the board, applied the rubber shield, stenciled, then cut my “word” upon it and left. Two days later we were to return to give our work a finishing coat. The actual sandblasting was to be done by the teacher, Carol Cotton. While other participants struggled with intricate patterns on much larger boards, I trudged up to Hilltop to take a rest.

On the third day I went back to crafts. Behold, my art! Transformed by the master-craftsman’s hand, it was unrecognizable. And the most intriguing focal point was what had been seen as a blemish—the knothole. Outstanding in its statement, looking somewhat like a tear or a candle’s flame, and beside it the simple word, “Joy.”

In my hands it seemed to represent life—the hardships, the failures, the detours of plotted goals. From our viewpoint all these seem to devaluate our “wood,” meaning our personhood, making it less than the best. Yet, by letting the Master of all arts put these to the test, when the pressure of heat is allowed, the fruit of patience does its work. What looks like sorrows to be avoided or denied come forth transformed by the single advantage of time.

Meanwhile, through perseverance, applying the truths of scripture and persistently covering them with the shield of prayer, we chisel out the statement we want our “finished product” to read—love, faith, hope, joy. Simple, yes. Yet, each an elegant symbol.

Then we trust and wait. The sandblast of life comes in day-tight increments. Seemingly, rough treatment at times, yet not more than we can bear.

When the Lord Jesus comes for us that finished work will be revealed—no doubt unrecognizable, at first. Yet, there it will be: the personal message our lives have borne.  And we will rejoice, owning it all, even the knotholes, each mar and every scar. All transformed. Sins forgiven (those we struggle so hard to forgive ourselves for) will be nowhere in sight. It is the Lord alone who can vanquish them.

Christ at work on the human heart, sees His inspirited dream—even before it is a reality. With preconceived vision, he has faith in us. In allowing the heat and pressure of life on earth, He knows what is being formed . . . a beauteous piece of art. The hand of the Master is upon us. Our part is to submit and chose our “statement.” Then, we with Him are co-creators.