I have a confession: I’m not much one for camping.
I tag along when my friends bring me, and I enjoy it. I don’t hate it; I don’t complain about it. It’s a fun (and blessedly brief) adventure. But if I had my druthers, I wouldn’t choose to sleep in a tent in a sleeping bag. I wouldn’t choose to eat cold sandwiches for dinner while sitting on dirty logs. I wouldn’t choose to walk up a hill through woods full of mosquitos just for the sake of walking up a hill through woods full of mosquitos. I like to be comfortable, and I don’t find camping comfortable.
But I love, love, love the beauty of nature.
I love to sit by a brook watching the water slip smoothly over stones. I love to stand on a mountain looking out across hills and valleys, so high that towns turn to pinpricks and clouds drift by so close that I can reach out and touch them. I love to lie out in a field far from any streetlights and watch the stars spin through the blue-black sky.
The thing is, these moments aren’t accessible through comfort. To reach them, I’m required to step out of the ease of civilization and engage the messiness of nature. I won’t arrive unblemished, either: I may find myself sitting at the top of a mountain sore from the climb, smeared with dirt and sweat and speckled with bug bites.
But oh, the view.
Right now, from where I’m standing, the Race isn’t looking super comfortable. It’s much simpler to dream about it when I’ve just had a warm shower, a hearty meal, and a long rest in a soft bed, and have spent ample time with old friends. Now that the dream is striding steadily towards reality, I’m thinking more and more of how little stuff I’m able to bring, the lack of alone time, the shifting sleeping arrangements, the long separation from family and friends back homeessentially, the uncomfortableness of the journey.
It’s a tug-of-war right now in my heart: I look at these past few months, and I know with absolute certainty that the Lord has called me to this. Furthermore, my excitement has only ever grown: I’m even more enthusiastic about the Race now than I was when I applied. Even so, I look at the present, full of packing and goodbyes, and the challenges of the coming year, and I wonder how much easier and nicer it might be just to stay in the States.
But then my Lord reminds me to focus only on Him.
And oh, the view.
I look at Him and I remember: there’s so much waiting for me this year. So much beauty. So much wonder. So much glory. So much Spirit. So much growth. So much wisdom. So much love. So much life.
There’s so much of the Lord waiting for me in these next eleven months that I can’t even wrap my mind around the greatness He has coming for me.
In all the messiness, in the struggle, the challenge, the scrapes and bruises and smears of dirt and trails of sweat and swellings of bug bites, in all the hurt and brokenness and tears and confusion and painin all the uncomfortableness, the Lord will be present. And through it all, I’ll be basking in His glory and love, revealed to me in ways I can’t yet imagine and can’t wait to experience.
And if I picked comfort over camping, I would miss it all.
So tomorrow, I’m launching into the unknown. I’m strapping my pack on my back and walking away from the comfort of my home in the States, waving final goodbyes to my family, and striding into the uncomfortableness of this journey. I’m torn at the leavetaking, but I’m also breathless with anticipation. This year will be incredible, for my God is incredible. And I’m choosing to take on the scrapes, bruises, dirt and sweat of the hike, for the view that awaits me is the glory of my Savior’s face. And He’s worth it all.
God of mercy, sweet love of mine,
I have surrendered to Your design
May this offering stretch across the skies
And these Hallelujahs be multiplied!
