The event I was part of last weekend did not follow the rules about revenue. Because of his job, my husband and I paid nothing for the privilege of attendance and seven meals, which flies in the face of carrying my own weight. The parents had no extra cost for the 120 volunteers who shepherded their little ones through a rich program of games, art projects, music, and snacks. The white buses that transported people from one end of the campus to another were gratis, as were the refreshments and delightful musical offerings at Glencairn Museum and at church. Floral arrangements appeared on a hundred horizontal surfaces. Baskets with granola bars, toothbrushes, and chocolate welcomed those people housed in dormitories and cottages. 

 

When I saw the Dream Team in their pink shirts, they seemed calm. This astonished me, considering the balls they were juggling. One woman, who actually ignored her phone while she gave a workshop, looked at it again after ninety minutes to find 68 texts. 

 

The meals were ready on time, the lines were short, and the string of cooks kept the platters replenished. There were accommodations for allergies, and fresh fruit at each meal. Plus, they were smiling. 

 

At the final dinner, there was an announcement about the heroic efforts of these women and the two hundred volunteers. Nine hundred people stood, and clapped enthusiastically, and yet it seemed a bit thin. Probably there was a thank you written, and even compensation. But it seems that their motivation originated from somewhere else. 

 

What fueled them, through a hundred meetings, a thousand conversations, and who knows how many take out meals for their children? Why do people throw a party with fifty-seven presentations, most of which they did not sit through? Maybe they have an explanation. Maybe not. 

 

But it suggests to me that the generosity waiting for us in heaven is also driven from a different revenue stream.