Once again, I sit on the dock and soak in the evening sun. Photographers call this “the golden hour”—that hour before sunset when all the world is bathed in gilded light. And this weathered platform at the end of an overgrown boardwalk is my quiet place, my hideaway.
It’s beautiful here.
Dragonflies and damselflies flit among the reeds and marsh flowers. Two dark shapes glide noiselessly through water clear as glass. They’re big, these fish. Healthy. From across the lake, I hear the boys’ camp singing. It’s someone’s birthday and the voices echo in the stillness. There are sounds of laughter and playing too.
Sounds of happiness.
These last few weeks here have taught me much, and it’s hard to put it all into words.
But mostly, this…
I’ve been watching the Body of Christ function in a whole new way. I’ve been learning that no gift is too small, no person too insignificant. I’ve been learning the importance of “the least of these”—that we all can play a role—and I’ve watched people do just that. I’ve seen people in the background treated with just as much honour as those on the front lines.
I’ve been learning what true unity looks like.
I’ve seen people from different denominations and generations and walks of life come together with singularity of purpose. We’ve prayed together, worshipped together, taken communion together—His Body broken, the Church whole.
I’ve watched as people with vastly different talents put their gifts to use for the glory of One.
I’ve heard stories and seen firsthand how lives are changed when we set differences aside and focus on Jesus.
I’ve seen my own life change too. It’s hard to find the right words, and perhaps I’ll never find them, but it’s enough for now to simply say that my soul has been marked by this summer.
I lean all the way back on the dock, wood rough against my back, face to the sky, and think about all this. The evening sun filters through closed lids, and I sigh content. I know now what I tried hard to know before.
The little I have to offer?
When given to Jesus, it’s enough.
My broken loaves given to Him, and His Body given for me. The Church, not only hands and feet, but everything else that makes a body complete—the Body complete.
The golden light slips away.
But I’ll carry this summer in my heart always