My Cup Runneth Over

Watching Preston at Camp Joy

I’ve written about Camp Joy before. More than once.

How many times can a person write about a place they love before readers start thinking, Okay, Andrea. We get it. You like camp.

Writers are supposed to write what they know. What they’re living. This week, Camp Joy is all-consuming, so here it is.

There’s one difference this year. I’m seeing it through a different set of eyes.

Preston wasn’t even supposed to be a counselor this week. He had baseball commitments. When Preston heard the camp was short on male counselors, he didn’t hesitate. No one was surprised at this reaction.

All week long, I’ve wandered around this mountain swallowing tears. Not because I’m surprised by who he is, but because I’m getting to witness it. I’m so, so thankful Preston has inherited a passion for people with disabilities. That alone would be enough.

But it’s more than that.

It’s the way he interacts. The patience. The gentleness. The joy. The genuine love.

I have never been more proud of him. I’m proud of the person he’s becoming. He’d die of embarrassment if he knew I was writing this.

At our staff meeting one night, our pastor asked if anyone wanted to share a “God moment” from the week. One of the ladies raised her hand. She talked about watching Preston with his camper. Jason uses a walker and wheelchair, so Preston has literally been his feet all week. During crafts, this staffer noticed something else.

He became Jason’s hands.

She described the way Preston carefully placed the scissors in Jason’s hand. The way he helped him hold the paper. The way he guided his cutting without taking over. Patiently. Kindly.

“It was something to witness,” she said.

There I sat. Completely stunned. Trying not to cry in front of everyone.

Most of raising children feels like planting seeds you’ll never get to watch fully grow. You teach. You correct. You pray. You worry. You wonder if anything you’re saying is actually sinking in. Then one day, someone else tells you a story, and you realize it has.

Not because they won a game, earned an award, or were the smartest person in the class, but because they quietly became the hands and feet of Jesus.

That’s the thing about Camp Joy. Yes, it changes the lives of campers. Everyone knows that. What I’ve been reminded of this week is that it changes counselors too.

It’s changed me.

As I sit here physically and emotionally exhausted, overflowing with gratitude, one phrase keeps coming to mind.

My cup runneth over.

I pray goodness and mercy follows him all the days of his life.