There are few rituals more distinctly Canadian than preparing for a summer vacation.

Now, I realize that technically the vacation begins when one arrives at the cottage, campground, lakeside cabin, or scenic destination.

This is not true.

The vacation begins when someone attempts to fit an impossible quantity of belongings into a vehicle that has remained stubbornly the same size throughout the entire packing process.

This is where faith enters the picture.

Because every family eventually reaches the point where someone stands beside the car and says, “I don’t think it’s all going to fit.”

And then someone else says, “Let’s just try one more thing.”

Miraculously, it usually does fit.

Not comfortably.

Not safely in the sense envisioned by automotive engineers.

But it fits.

Grace abounds.

Now, July has a way of stirring the wanderlust in us.

The schools have emptied.

The days are long.

The weather, at least theoretically, is cooperating.

And suddenly Canadians begin migrating in all directions.

North to cottages.

East to the ocean.

West to the mountains.

Or simply down the road to visit family and friends.

It is as though an entire nation collectively decides that sitting beside water is a spiritual discipline.

And honestly, I am not entirely convinced we are wrong.

Because there is something deeply restorative about stepping away from ordinary routines.

Not escaping life.

Simply seeing it differently.

Now, one of the curious things about vacations is that they rarely proceed exactly according to plan.

The weather changes.

The fish refuse to cooperate.

The campground neighbour decides that midnight is the perfect time to test the volume capacity of both music and conversation.

The GPS develops theological objections to your chosen route.

And somehow, despite all this, wonderful memories are still made.

Perhaps because the best moments are usually not the ones we planned.

They arrive unexpectedly.

A sunset.

A conversation.

A loon calling across the lake.

A grandchild laughing from the end of the dock.

A campfire where stories become progressively better with each retelling.

Now, I suspect there is a spiritual lesson hidden somewhere in all of this.

Because much of the Christian life is spent making plans.

We prepare.

Organize.

Schedule.

Pack.

Then God gently reminds us that life is not primarily about our plans.

It is about our willingness to encounter grace wherever we happen to find ourselves.

And grace has a habit of appearing in unexpected places.

Beside lakes.

Along highways.

Around picnic tables.

In family gatherings.

In quiet moments when the distractions of ordinary life finally begin to fall away.

Now, Ordinary Time is the Church’s season of growth.

The green season.

The season that reminds us that much of life unfolds not through dramatic moments but through steady living.

And perhaps vacations contribute to that growth more than we realize.

Because they give us space to notice things again.

The beauty of creation.

The gift of friendship.

The blessing of family.

The simple joy of an unhurried morning with coffee and nowhere in particular to be.

These are not small gifts.

They are holy gifts.

Now, I should confess that I have always loved travel, though I have also learned that there are two distinct stages to every vacation.

The first is the excitement of going away.

The second is the profound appreciation one feels upon returning to one’s own bed.

Both experiences deserve thanksgiving.

Because home itself is one of God’s great gifts.

Perhaps that is why vacations matter.

Not because they help us escape our lives.

But because they help us return to our lives with fresh eyes.

We see beauty again.

We notice blessings again.

We remember what truly matters.

So if you find yourself packing the car this July, heading toward a lake, a cottage, a campground, or some new adventure, go with gratitude.

Pay attention.

Notice the beauty around you.

Leave room for wonder.

And remember that the God who meets us in church pews also travels country roads, sits beside campfires, and walks quietly along lakeshores.

The vacation may begin with an overpacked car.

But with any luck, it will also become a pilgrimage of gratitude.

Alleluia.

Companion Prayer

Gracious God,

Thank you for the gift of summer.

For lakes and forests,
campfires and sunsets,
family and friendship.

As we travel and explore,
help us to notice your presence in creation and in one another.

Grant us safe journeys,
restful days,
and grateful hearts.

And wherever these summer adventures may take us,
draw us ever closer to you.

Through Christ our Lord.

Amen.