If you follow World Race blogs at all, you may have noticed that details about Training Camp are intentionally vague. As you might imagine, it’s a bit frustrating trying to prepare for something when you have no idea what’s going to happen. I was more or less content going in blind, at first. After all, I reasoned, everything would be made clear once I arrived at TC. Anyone who has ever been to TC, feel free to laugh at my silly assumption. Basically, I learned quickly that there were only two safe assumptions:
- I would have to relinquish the “right” to know what’s going on.
- I would be pushed repeatedly out of my comfort zone.
Like I said in Part 1, I went into TC a little terrified of all the wildly enthusiastic extroverts that were about to share my every waking moment. The truth is, I wasn’t just anxious about community. I grew up in church, so I’ve always been completely comfortable in worship and other “churchy” settings. I just didn’t know if World Race church would look like my church (it doesn’t), if I would immediately feel like I fit in (I didn’t), if the lectures would all be stuff I’d already learned in Sunday school (they weren’t), or if I would be 100% comfortable with the worship style (I wasn’t).
That wasn’t the uncomfortable part.
When I really became uneasy is when I realized that I’d packed God up in a box and expected him to stay contained within my comfort zone. The problem with growing up in the church is that we can end up with a very set image of what God and faith look like. I’m not sure what percentage of the time I get it right as a Christian, but I think it’s safe to say I’m missing a few key factors here and there. When I try to shape my faith around what I think is acceptable and comfortable, I don’t leave much room for God at the center of it. It’s pretty humbling to realize how frequently I present “church,” particularly my ideals that I associate with church, to the world instead of Christ.
Back at TC, I wasn’t sure how to balance opening myself up to grow in my faith with being genuine and true to myself. When I started hearing rumors of an intense, Spirit-filled worship night, I was feeling a little nervous. I wasn’t sure I was going to worship the “right” way. I thought I would be the only person standing still, praising God with my eyes shut in a room full of people dancing wildly and praising God at the top of their lungs. I thought that if I didn’t hear the voice of God shouting in my ear maybe I would be judged by others. Here’s what didn’t happen that night:
I didn’t fall on my face.
I didn’t hear God speak audibly.
I didn’t have a dramatic, earth-shaking experience.
What did happen was better. I left the worship service that night with an overwhelming sense of contentment – something that has been pretty elusive to me for a long time. I realized that by worrying about different worship styles and what other Christians thought about how I expressed myself, I was missing the point. I was reminded that no matter what, my God doesn’t change. The relationship I have with the Father is constant and reliable, and that even if I’m uncomfortable with changes or other factors, I can take comfort in knowing that God is always the same.
Jesus calls us to “turn and become like children,” and this verse has a lot more relevance to me than it used to. I can’t remember how many times I was described as having an “old soul” as a child. That’s not to say I wasn’t a happy kid – I had a great childhood – but I’ve always had a reserved personality. I don’t think I’ve ever approached God as a joyful child. Honestly, I’m not sure it ever occurred to me that I should. What would my faith look like if I became a child of joy instead of a self-assured church member? Children believe whole-heartedly, they trust unreservedly, and they offer unconditional devotion. They expect the best, forgive the worst, and love without restraint. That’s what I want my faith to look like.
A few years ago I had a pastor speak over me and say, “I believe God is inviting you to dance with him.” It didn’t mean anything to me at the time, and I forgot about it until I was at TC watching fellow Racers dance joyfully and sing praises. I don’t have to worship like someone else to be in God’s presence, but I can’t limit myself to my own comfort zone either. No, God didn’t speak audibly to me, but the call I felt throughout that night was this: Come, dance with me. Be joyful, for my love for you is joyous.
Unexpected Training Camp Lesson #2: Being comfortable isn’t the same as being right, and the greatest discomfort can lead to the greatest growth.
