"It is so, so cumbersome to believe anything. And it isn't cool."
Honesty is not something I struggle with– the act of being too honest, maybe, but not honesty itself. If you want to know how your outfit really looks, I’m your girl. If you don’t really want to hear that you shouldn’t get bangs, I’m not your girl. And I actually can’t even lie to save myself from a $600 speeding ticket. If you are friends with me, you know this to be undoubtedly true. Honesty, I’m good with. But then there is vulnerability. I respect when others are vulnerable. I however, hate being vulnerable. I’m bad at being vulnerable. And I tend to avoid it like the plague.
This habit of evasion tends to accompany any extreme emotion I encounter. For instance, my excitement tends to entail slamming doors in peoples’ faces, hiding behind cars, hiding behind baggage claims, hiding in my hands, and well, literally running away. And my extreme excitement of this trip has been no exception. That’s why I fought the idea of actually participating with every fiber of my being and mustered up any excuse I could think of not to go—even to the extreme that all of my squad members would consist of only weird white people all wearing matching “I love Jesus” tees. And that’s why the midnight before the morning I left for camp, I was out listening to a band while all of my two-day old and borrowed supplies remained unpacked covering my floor. And why I stopped seven different times on the drive to camp. And why when I actually arrived, I sat in my car “looking for my chapstick” for ten minutes before getting out to meet everyone. I just knew that exiting my car meant confronting the actuality of this trip. I would have to accept that it was actually happening and wouldn’t be able to avoid it any longer—an effort I had so diligently ventured. But, eventually, the encounter has to occur; the Great Collision with reality must take place, even chapstickless. And so, finally, I egressed.
I think I thought camp was going to like a fourth grade slumber party—a week-long sleepover full of friends, games, and food. I expected preparation for the challenges we would encounter on the trip and for God to remind me of his love and grace. I expected to sing some songs, pray some prayers, perhaps share my testimony, and come home on a spiritual high that would prompt me to finish preparing for my departure. And while technically all of this happened—even though the sleepovers occurred in my half-sized-person tent with my wet sleeping bag in the mud and on a bus in which one was lucky to have a two-foot diameter sleeping space; and the games just seemed to elicit frustration; and the food was the epitome of minimal—my expectations turned out to be gross underestimations.
Camp was life-altering for me. In addition to the presented challenges that prepared me to pack a tent at remarkable speeds and convinced me that not showering for six days is socially acceptable, I was also prepared for the potential heartbreak and growth that I will experience. I was taught that in order for the painful things of the past to be completely dealt with, they must actually be grieved; not just disregarded. I was greeted with the realization that this whole building up walls as a substitute to processing pain thing I’ve been doing for the past 15 years is not only not a solution, but also a source of pain to those who have been vulnerable towards me. I was introduced to the difficulties associated with living in real community. Yet while all of these lessons were extremely significant, when I recall what affected me the most at camp, they aren’t the most distinct.
Rather, it is a montage of simple things. A montage of simple things that when accumulated demonstrate the beauty of vulnerability. It is the nights of staying up late under the stars sharing all of my struggles and dreams with a new friend; and having him be open and honest in return. It is the audacity of a girl to share her deepest and darkest secrets with practically strangers. It is sense of community and excitement elicited when final teams were announced. It is finally accepting the truth that God loves me and has always been with me. That he was there when I felt abandoned; that he was there when I was reckless; and that he was there when my definition of beautiful was notably skewed. It is the overwhelming sense of generosity and servitude each guy on my squad consistently demonstrated. It is the courage of one of them to pray what he prayed for me. It is my squad-mates determination to find me snacks and the unconditional love I experienced from each of them. It is the considerateness; the honesty; and the life-saving M&Ms. It is the truth that the things we fear most are often the most worthwhile. It is understanding that while being vulnerable may be scary, and uncomfortable, and potentially painful, the risk only makes the rewards that much more beautiful.
