Mismatched silverware, pots with lids that teeter, used furniture in need of some reinforcement—these are the kinds of things you’ll find in our little cabin in Maine. The natives call it a camp, not to be confused with a cottage. A camp is more rustic (think outhouse).
The yard sale finds are described as “good enough for camp.” The maintenance and projects done achieve that same level of quality: good enough for camp. Doors aren’t quite level—it’s good enough for camp. Your painting project dripped here and there—it’s good enough for camp. Using clothespins to hold things together—good enough for camp. You get the idea. MacGyver would love it here. Camp is not perfect. That’s where it gets its charm. Along with sitting at the edge of a pristine lake with the most spectacular sunsets you’ll ever see.
Camp is not my home. It’s where I go on vacation, disconnect from the world, slow down, and just relax. There are things I do here that I can’t do other places. Unfortunately, there are things I used to do here that I can’t do anymore. I can still kayak, but getting out of the kayak is all the cardio I need for the day (and maybe some prizewinning video for AFV). But the things that make camp special: admiring sunsets, stargazing, reading just for pleasure, listening to the soulful cry of the loons, and making memories with family and friends are still in my wheelhouse.
Of course, I have dreams of making it a little less rustic, at least attaining the dream of indoor plumbing. But for now, it’s good enough for camp.
What’s “good enough for camp” is not good enough for my permanent residence. Repairs need to be done correctly. Painting and other maintenance require precision. Furniture is purchased after much research, procuring just the right item for the space. A certain level of quality is expected. Even the silverware matches.
But that home isn’t my permanent home either. It’s very nice and well-equipped. It’s full of beautiful things with special meaning. Some are valuable, some are invaluable—like handmade cards and pictures from my grands. But even with all of those, it won’t come close to the beauty of my permanent home. That beauty won’t be the architecture or the sunsets or the furnishings. The beauty and joy of my permanent home will come from being in the presence of Jesus, my Savior.
I will do things there that I can’t do here, like worship God perfectly in spirit and in truth. It’s where I will enter into perfect rest. I won’t have to battle sin anymore, and I won’t shed any tears. No more sorrow or shame or anger or regrets or physical limitations. I don’t care what my permanent home looks like, although I think since Jesus knows me better than I know myself, it will be the dream home I couldn’t dream up on my own.
I don’t know what it is he’s working on, but he said he’s preparing a place for me. Considering he simply spoke the world into existence in a matter of days, I can’t imagine what he’s preparing. I have a feeling there’s a lot more to it than matching silverware and hopefully no need for indoor plumbing. What do you think he’s preparing?
I am writing this blog from camp. You won’t see it for a few weeks because we don’t have internet here. I’m looking out the window at a patio set that has seen better days. I was thinking we should replace it, but you know what? It’s good enough for camp.
In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and take you to myself, that where I am you may also be. John 14:2-3 ESV
Lisa J Radcliff ~ Finding Freedom from the Past 