“Because of God’s grace to me, I have laid the foundation like an expert builder. Now others are building on it. But whoever is building on this foundation must be very careful. For no one can lay any foundation other than the one we already have—Jesus Christ.” (1 Corinthians 3:10-11 NLT)
Towards the end of training camp, there’s a day specifically carved out to review the World Race commitment—the list of responsibilities that, as racers, we’re expected to uphold while we’re on the field. On that day, each person on a squad prays over each of the commitments and makes a decision about their willingness to commit to the Race, a decision which results in one of two answers. Either:
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Yes, I will choose to live up to each of these expectations for the purpose of honoring AIM, my squad, myself, and, ultimately, the Lord during these next nine months.
Or…
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No, I don’t think I’m at a point in my life where I can commit to each of these things for nine months, so I don’t think I can commit to pursuing time on the Race.
On Z Squad, our squad mentor—the one and only Kacie Tillman—encouraged each of us, if our answer to the question of commitment was yes, to look at our squadmates, our mentors and coaches, and make a verbal commitment. She wanted each of us to have the experience of walking down a line of people we’d chosen to love, of looking them in the eye and saying yes to them. Saying yes to living in community. Saying yes to loving each other because of our differences, rather than despite them. Saying yes to being the squad—the family—God intended us to be.
She also wanted us to give each other authority. Because we said yes to our commitment, publicly and as a unified body, each of us gave the others permission to call one another higher. I gave twenty-three other people the right to look at me and say, “Susan, because I love you, I want you to know I see more in you. I see the person the Lord wants you to be, and you’re not walking that way right now.” Proverbs 27:6 says, “Faithful are wounds from a friend,” and I, on that muggy, Georgia-in-July afternoon, was putting my heart in unfamiliar hands, declaring them my friends, and saying, “Ok, you now have full permission to wound me for the sake of my holiness, to call me out in my wrongdoings and in my sin, and to help me look more like Love Incarnate.”
This idea of calling each other higher (also known as “feedback” on the field) terrified me. I didn’t want to have any part in bestowing upon my squadmates the responsibility of highlighting my faults. I still barely knew these people, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to let them in on those parts of my identity. I wasn’t sure I wanted to let myself in.
For the vast majority of my life, criticism—in any shape or form—looked to me as Goliath must have looked to the Israelites: an intimidating, tyrannical enemy who stood before me with the sole purpose of taunting me before ruthlessly tearing me to pieces. In my past experiences, the only kind of “feedback” I received was negative, and it wasn’t presented in a way that encouraged me to grow, but rather in a way that was meant to hurt me. I was encouraged to “do better,” not for the sake of calling me to look more like Jesus, but because I wasn’t measuring up to the standards placed upon me by an achievement-based world. Because of this, I oftentimes found myself running away from conflict that excluded members of my immediate family. I never told friends what I needed from them, the ways they’d hurt me or made me feel lesser than. I would spend weeks, sometimes months, carrying grudges that would later manifest into broken relationships or time wasted being angry over something that could have been resolved if I had only spoken up. I’ve realized, over the course of the past two months, the root of this insecurity lies in the foundation on which I built my identity.
Our life with Jesus looks a lot like a house. For me, I built my house around experience, encounters I’d had with the Holy One and how they’d impacted my worldview and values. I built my house on the Spirit, on the divine nature of worship and the radical emotions that come with vertical conversation. The problem with that type of architecture, though, is that the Spirit wasn’t meant to act as our foundation. The Spirit is known as the Helper (John 16:7), a sort of guide into truth and relationship with Jesus. He is a vessel of power and confidence, the one who convicts us of our sin and points us heavenward. And, while we believe the Spirit was in the beginning with the Father, we’re also told He does nothing out of His own authority (John 16:13). So, when I built my foundation around the Spirit without first getting to know the One who directs His steps, my house began to sway with every change of my emotional tide. If I didn’t feel connected with the Spirit, my mind immediately went down a path that ended in personal condemnation, in shame and in guilt. I couldn’t be sure if the God I knew was there because I couldn’t feel His presence.
In Matthew 7, verses 24 and 25, Jesus is very clear about the kind of foundation needed to sustain faithful homes. He says, “Anyone who listens to my teaching and follows it is wise, like a person who builds a house on solid rock. Though the rain comes in torrents and the floodwaters rise and the winds beat against that house, it won’t collapse because it is built on bedrock.” (NLT)
Nothing Jesus says implies a good feeling or easy living. He doesn’t say the windows of the house won’t be shattered in the midst of the storm, that the roof won’t need repairs, or that the floors won’t flood with rainwater. Jesus doesn’t promise a life of ease, one without pain or tragedy. However, He does promise the house, if built on the Rock, won’t fall.
I realized soon after arriving in Costa Rica that the Lord was asking me to rebuild my foundation. He was asking me to destroy what I’d decided was good enough to get me through, and let Him create within me a faith that would actually sustain me and push me forward. I had to get to know the voice behind the Spirit, the Father I’d run so far away from, in order to follow the leading of the Spirit wholeheartedly. I needed a foundation that would not be shaken by hurricane-sized winds, one that would stand firm in the face of spiritual warfare and personal tragedy.
I write this blog to tell you I’m in the process of recreating what I’ve spent the last five years building, reusing the pieces that need keeping and destroying those I have no use for anymore. I’m pursuing the Lord in a new way, for the purpose of growing closer to His heart and understanding the ways in which He moves. And, one way I’m doing that is by inviting my squadmates in to the process, by continuously saying yes to them, to myself, and to the Father.
Because of this, I’m taking the next month to spend alone with the Father. I’m taking the time I would usually use to talk with family or get on social media to grow closer with my Creator. So, until then, keep an eye out for new blogs, revelations, and stories! I’m so expectant of how the Father is going to move!
All of my love!
