It was 2:07am. I was shivering in my little orange tent. Curled up in layers of clothes next to my backpack. Woefully unprepared for the thirtysomething degrees Georgia had gifted us during Training Camp. I took Nyquil hours earlier, hoping it would allow me to sleep through the cold. It didn’t.
I got used to waking up every hour or so. It became routine. At first, I hated it. It was uncomfortable and miserable. My body ached from our jogs and hikes. All I wanted was sleep. Hours and hours of warm sleep.
But in the quiet darkness of my tent, phone on 10%, books too much of a hassle to dig out, I began to pray. At first my prayers were pretty basic and self-serving: “Dear God, please let me sleep. Pleaassseeee make me warm.” But as the nights wore on, as I began to rest in His presence; as my priorities began to shift, I began to love the moments I spent awake, silently communing with Jesus. I found myself thanking Him for these quiet moments without distractions…and I would eventually drift back to sleep, warm and content, which, funny enough, was where my initial prayers had begun.
Training Camp was nuts, you guys. Truly. It’s sort of like rehab meets Survivor meets church camp for adults meets boot camp meets the Amazing Race meets Boy Scout camp meets group therapy meets ministry training. I just pretended I was Bear Grylls most of the time. I’m still processing it all – and will be for some time – and I wish I could empty my journal out onto this blog so you could share in all that God has been teaching me through WR leadership, my squad mates, and Scripture. But ain’t nobody got time for dat. (Unless you do, in which case, I’d be happy to share.J)
For now, I’ll leave you with this: vulnerability, brokenness, rawness… this state is a lot like the cold. It’s uncomfortable. I’ve spent most of my life hating it. I’ve spent most of my life trying to seem strong, like I’ve got everything together, under control, buttoned up, praying that God would eventually give me the strength I was pretending to have.
But let’s be real for a moment. I’m broken. We all are. I’ve struggled throughout my life with body image, compulsive overeating, self-worth, pride, pleasing others…the list goes on and on. Over the last year or so, God has been teaching me something revolutionary, and it really hit home while I was at Training Camp.
Jesus loves me…like, all of me.
I know what you’re thinking: “Um. Erika. Yes. And you’ve been singing it since you were 5.”
True. But have I rested in it? Have you? Am I comfortable embracing His love just as I am? Or am I constantly trying to scrub up first…trying to somehow make myself worthy? Why have I been so terrified of brokenness, of vulnerability?
God used the cold nights – for which I was under-dressed, unprepared, and ill-equipped – to focus my heart and allow me to rest in His presence. I simply had to call on Him.
He uses our brokenness and vulnerability in much the same way.
Jesus died for me while I was broken. Not in spite of it. He did the same for you.
There’s beautiful freedom in resting in who God says I am. When I say, “I’m broken.” He says I’m worthy. Worthy to be loved; worthy to be His hands and feet around the world. He says you’re worthy, too.
“We can ignore even pleasure. But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” – CS Lewis
With love and joy (and enormous amounts of gratitude),
E
P.S. The cold nights also reminded me that as the temperature drops, there are hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children in the United States who are without shelter on any given night. Please check into how you can help those in your community without a home. For my Alton friends, you can call the Salvation Army Booth House at 618-465-7764.
