Rumors began to circulate starting as early as in the atrium in the Atlanta airport; they are going to “loose” someone’s backpack at some point this week. I couldn’t help but perseverate on this upcoming object lesson; I just knew it was going to be me. Soon, we started loading our packs into the trailer and I thought, ok here it is, the perfect time for them to swipe my overstuffed backpack filled with what I was convinced were necessities. Three hours later, we arrived at the campsite and to my surprise there was my stuff. I’m Safe.
Fast-forward to Day 3. After our morning workout we were instructed to pack up all of our stuff and get with our buddy. Ok here it comes. However, the AIM staff didn’t know who they were dealing with. I was prepared. The night before I made sure I was not going to be caught off guard and my daypack was filled with the essentials to last me through the “lost pack” challenge. I was reveling inside with confidence that I had outsmarted these pros. WRONG!
“Please place all your belongings on the tarp; this includes your backpack and your daypack. You will not be able to access anything for the next 24 hrs.”
Ok breathe Brooklynn, breathe, don’t lose it in front of all these people.
Now, you may be thinking that losing your luggage with 40 other people around isn’t so bad, just ask around and get what you need and you’ll be fine. Besides, half your squad is in the same boat, it’s really no big deal. Although you might be thinking this; I was not. I was thinking “I hate asking for help,” “Someone has to be the sacrificial lamb, might as well be me,” “Woe is me, the poor martyr.”
Immediately everyone went into planning mode. Most people had a 2-person tent and so sleeping assignments were not a problem. Well, my buddy had a 1 person tent, so snuggling was ruled out. I asked around a little, but everyone else was trying to get their details situated so I decided I would sleep in a hammock that night and that was final. Sidenote: it was around 40 degrees at night and I was wearing shorts, flip flops, and had no blanket.
My buddy was showering me with other options: she would layer up and sleep in the hammock instead, I could sleep with her, and I could take whatever I needed. But, for some reason I just couldn’t or wouldn’t accept. I was the one who lost my bag and therefore I would be the one to suffer.
Later that night, while I was trying to hold back my motion sickness from the hammock swaying back and forth and keep from waking everyone up with my teeth chattering from the cold, I began to cry. I cried because I was mad, not at the AIM staff for taking my pack, or my squad mates who had no clue I was struggling, or even at God for sending to this terrible place where they torture people (ok enough with the dramatics)…..I was mad at myself. Why couldn’t I take the help from my friend, why couldn’t I just speak up and ask for the things I needed, why can’t I just accept help?
In that moment I realized, I’ve never been good at this principle of being a gracious receiver. I would rather suffer in silence or play some false humility act. How can I expect to spend the next 11 months trying to give to others, when I do everything I can to avoid allowing others to bless me?
I don’t have any answers or any great story of overcoming this struggle. But, I am going to make a conscious effort. My prayer is that by God’s grace, I can learn to lay down my pride, and accept that I need others. I want to be a cheerful giver and receiver.
