ChristianWeek

The biggest growth spurts seem to happen over the summer. I’ve seen it with my kids. The same clothes that fit so perfectly in May never do by September. Come Labour Day, every pair of pants they own are suddenly two inches too short and long sleeves aren’t.

The actual growing almost always happens unnoticed. It’s not until we try on the May clothes in September that we’re reminded something other than swimming, sunning and reading good books has been going on in July and August.

This summer, I too experienced a “growth spurt” of sorts, though not one that can be measured in inches. My growth was of the spiritual kind.

Throughout much of last winter I’d been feeling a bit antsy. Life was full. With family, work, church and writing commitments, I was so busy, I found myself consciously avoiding opportunities to serve. Like the priest and the Levite in the parable of the good Samaritan, I’d go out of my way to avoid taking on the burden of any additional responsibility that might cross my path.

Still, I marveled at others–equally busy—who served joyfully; who happily took the time to cook a casserole for a sick friend or sit with a lonely neighbour. I knew the difference was in their heart attitude, and I began to pray that God would give me a servant’s heart too.

By the time the magnolias were in bloom, my summer calendar was filling up. A friend who is a single parent asked our family to host her teenager for a couple of weeks while she was out of the country. My mother-in-law n eeded cataract surgery and someone to care for her afterwards. Our church’s summer Kids’ Kamp put out the call for volunteers. And out-of-country friends of my husband’s would be coming—for three weeks.

I continued to ask God for the heart of a servant. Our teen friend arrived and brought with her a recent diagnosis of infectious mononucleosis, a case of the flu and a terrible cough. While emptying barf bowls, sitting in the doctor’s office, pharmacy and X-ray clinic weren’t what I’d had in mind when I’d prayed, I was surprised at the delight I felt when our young guest requested the homemade chicken soup I’d made—for breakfast. And when she was well enough to join me for a berry picking outing the morning before she left, I felt a rush of pride and gratitude at having helped in her recuperation.

The day I took my mother-in-law to the hospital, I met two elderly women in the waiting room who regaled me with stories of their lives and loves. I laughed with them and learned from them, and felt richer for having been in their presence.

At Kids’ Kamp, I lay contentedly on a grassy hill one morning surrounded by toddlers, gazing skyward. “Who made the clouds?” I quizzed, to see if they had listened to our creation story. “God!” enthused one confident little fellow.

“Yessss!” I thought in a rush of pleasure.

He also makes miracles happen in the hearts of those who ask Him. I know. This summer, He gave me opportunities to serve, and joy in serving.

I’ll remember it as my summer of the growth spurt—the spiritual kind.

Patricia Paddy is a freelance writer from Mississauga, Ontario.