how the world race made me into a cinnamon bun

just because analogies are fun —

First I showed up to training camp thinking that it would just be a quaint ten days meeting all of my squad mates. I was the tin of cinnamon buns right off of the shelf at the store. Training Camp is the spoon that taps the tin and twists it until the dough begins to ooze out. All of the false selves and masks that I used to cover up all of my flaws were being stripped away.

Before I knew it I was in Cambodia, exposed. I was the roll of dough, my shell was gone. I had the realization that nobody knew me. Conversations and interactions were the only things that people had to form perceptions about me. I was surrounded by 54 people feeling completely vulnerable because I wasn’t used to life without my trusty tin container.

As the race progressed I began to unroll and people got to know me deeply. Layers of processing and doing life with these people continued to unroll me. By the end of Malawi I was completely unrolled. Every inch of my dough known and exposed.

It’s now to the point where I am being stretched out and kneaded. I am worn thin, but that is not where it ends. If I stop the process now I will just be a slab of raw dough. But next is the best part, the part where all of the goodness is added. The cinnamon gently rubbed on, the sugar distributed over every part, the raisins and pecans lining the edges. In this stage of the process I have to cling to the hope that I will be carefully rolled back up, but this time filled with all of the suggary gooey goodness inside.

Soon I will be baked in the oven and drenched in icing, served up on a plate ready to re-enter. I’ve been through the journey of unrolling the depths of myself. I am being stretched thin so that I can be filled and re-assembled better then ever….this is the story of how the World Race made me into a cinnamon bun and I’m so grateful for this crazy, messy, process.