Picture this with me:
I'm in the middle of Chattanooga, Tennessee, being "trained" to travel the world in September (if that's even possible.) I've only been here for three days, but it feels more like three months.
Outside, a monstrous thunderstorm is raging through our campsite.
I can look out into the field that held our tents last night and see mountains of backpacks tarped to protect them from the rain (…hopefully.)
I'm hot, I'm sticky, and I'm constantly sweating. I haven't felt clean since I arrived three days ago. I'm absolutely exhausted.
… I should probably mention that I've never been camping. Ever.
I can definitely say that I do not love it.
These have been the hardest few days of my life. To be honest, I've questioned whether I should be on this trip more times than I'd care to admit.
How could I possibly do this for a year? How can I live out of a backpack, willingly becoming a nomad with no real place to call "home"? How can I spend a year away from the family and friends I love so dearly?
But then, I stand in a room with 300 members of my generation as we cry out to a living and very much victorious God.
Then I watch as the Holy Spirit moves before my very eyes.
Then I see people healed.
And then I am healed.
It poured most nights. I lost my luggage.
I "slept" two feet from speakers blaring rock music. I ate with my hands.
Okay, God, I get it… this is going to be hard. Really hard. The hardest thing I've ever done in my life.
But, somewhere between the tears, the laughter, and the rain, it hits me.
At some point, I have to make the decision between doing what is easy
and doing what is right.
So, world, guess I'll see you in September.
My amazing new family, Z Squad:
