I could say a lot of things about training camp. It was 10 days in the red Georgia clay with a couple hundred other young people, preparing for the next 11 months of our lives as we spread out across the world. I could mention the incessant sweat and the ensuing rash, despite the cold bucket showers that attempted to clean me and cool me off. I could mention the night I decided to sleep in my hammock because there was “0% chance of rain,” and then sprinting back to my tent at midnight because, you guessed it, it rained. I could mention the times I cried so hard that snot was dripping from my nose in long, snotty strings, but there was nothing I could do to make it stop and in those moments I didn’t really care. I could mention the nights of worship and how beautiful it was to dance and sing at the top of my lungs with so many new, dear friends that “just get it”. I could tell you about all the things I learned from so many people who are infinitely wiser than me. I could expand on all of those things, and maybe I will, but for now I’m going to let you into a different part of my heart and talk about something that I love very, very much: S’Mores.
We were about halfway through training camp. Things had, admittedly, started slow. I found myself wishing the days away because I was exhausted physically, emotionally, and spiritually. It was so hot. I was hungry all the time and the rice, beans, and small amount of bread just wasn’t cutting it. When I prayed, it usually sounded something like this: “okay, Jesus. I’m ready whenever You are. Come fill me”—over and over again.
So at this halfway point, we were going to camp out at a nearby state park. The 55 of us were to build our own shelters, cook our own food, and avoid any and all scorpions, snakes, and salamanders. Now, don’t get me wrong. Outdoor ministry is my JAM, and this particular scenario had me feeling right at home and brought me back to my days as a camp counselor in the north woods of Minnesota. Still, I was spent. I was getting a migraine. Somehow, I (along with 3 others) had been appointed to be “in charge.” There wasn’t enough food for dinner and we were brainstorming all the ways we could stay dry if the rain came and our tarped lean-tos couldn’t hold all of us.
And then, Jesus Himself came out of the woods. Well… not quite. Three World Race alums along with our squad coaches, Bob and Wendy, came out of the woods, holding plastic bags filled with all of the necessary ingredients for the classic bonfire treat. We erupted with cheers of thanksgiving. Tears of joy may have been shed. What a beautiful sight.
It wasn’t long before we had set up a full s’mores station and had our fire down to perfect orange embers. It was getting dark, and the thick, sticky Georgia air was becoming tolerable. Now, theoretically we would’ve only had enough for each of us to have 2 s’mores each, roughly—but remember when Jesus fed 5,000 people with five loaves of bread and 2 fishes, AND had some left over? THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED. I can’t explain it, people. All I know is I by myself consumed at least 3 graham crackers, 5 marshmallows, and close to 2 full-sized Hersheys bars (note: this blog is a judgment-free zone), and most of my squad mates I talked to ate the same amount or more. And it just never ran out. I kept going back to the table, and there were always more graham crackers, more marshmallows, and more chocolate. With plenty to bring back with us the following morning. Now I’m not saying it was a miracle…but in that moment, it was.
We found sticks from the woods and laughed as marshmallows caught on fire or at the chocolate smeared on happy mouths. Some stacked their sticks five mallows deep, others were trying their first EVER s’more. We were becoming a family, and it was evident that night as we shared favorite jokes as well as soul secrets. At one point, as I took a moment with my sticky hands to admire the fellowship that was surrounding me in those woods, I said to whoever would listen, “this is what gives me life.”
This story of eating mass quantities of s’mores around a bonfire may not seem important to you. That’s okay. We sat around that fire, filling our bellies with this simple joy, tasting sugar for the first time in what felt like months even though it had really only been a few days. As we started coming to the “if I eat one more I’m going to be sick” realization, Ali pulled out her ukelele and we began to sing. Full of joy at first, clapping and dancing and loud, and then quieter, singing classic hymns to the sound of the crackling fire and listening to the sweet harmonies that rose from our hearts and lingered in the Georgia heat.
It’s not about the s’mores, though. It’s about the tiny moments where the phrase “the Lord delights in you” becomes real and tangible. It’s about the infinite times He gives you exactly what you need in that moment. It’s about the way you notice Him filling you up—with joy, with love, with His spirit—until your cup runneth over. When I prayed that week for Jesus to fill me, I thought it would come in the form of deep worship or lots of time spent in prayer. Instead, Jesus poured His love on me by sticking me in the woods with something delicious and a bunch of new wonderful friends, and then He sat back and watched as laughter burst out of us and we chose to worship Him together. God loves us in big, grand gestures, but He also loves us in small moments disguised as normal life. Those are maybe my favorite moments. Give me s’more of your love, Jesus.
