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Though there are truly no words that could accurately capture the last week of my life, loquacious as I am I will try to pick out the highlights. There were many moments of raucous song outbreaks and many quiet, holy conversations with the Holy Spirit that will forever remain close to those of us privileged to be there to experience them, yet there are things that are worth sharing.

In light of my last blog, I know undoubtedly how the Israelites must have felt the moment they woke up to manna on their pillows in the desert after dramatically squabbling about their lack of food or water and lamenting that God had left them there in the sand and sun to die.


#NSquad

What a waste of a life to spend it worrying when we serve the God that we do.
The Jehovah Jireh, faithful-to-His-promises, sneaky little leprechaun of a God that we serve, always with something up His sleeve, always rubbing his hands together giggling about the next thing He's got for us.
I love that God.
I believe in that God.
 

The highlights of training camp can best be summed up in five terms that The Lord and I came up with on the long drive home yesterday:

crooning
N Squad is not only naturally full of joy, we are actually America's Next Best Dance Crew. We move like the Jabbawockeez without masks on. Even our morning exercise activity one day was a collective dance party. You name it, we did it – the Wobble, the Wop, the Cupid Shuffle, the let's-stand-back-and-watch-Kurt-because-he-actually-break-dances… I'm telling you, any time music came on, Christian or not, N Squad was busting moves in spontaneous dance parties like we were born to shine. 
 
I think we were born to shine.

N Squad has a joy and a song in our hearts. I was blown away by the consistency of our smiles, the boldness of our shouts, the height of our jumps, and the holy resonance in our laughter. That song and dance that we carry will touch hearts and lives with the abundant joy of the God who laughs and the angels who rejoice. Look out, world, we're coming with our hips oiled and ready to gyrate.
 

<<< Shaking that devil off to Florence and the Machine's Shake it Out.

 

  

Early morning dance workout to Party Rock Anthem. Thanks for the choreography, Kurt.>>>

 

 
 

 

mooning
This is not what you think. I mean it's Christian camp, for goodness' sake. Mooning refers to our nightly sleeping arrangements.
The first night of camp I slept in my tent alone; little did I know this would quickly become the equivalent of the presidential suite at the Ritz-Carlton.

The second night I slept three people to a tent in the same clothes I'd been wearing all day with my t-shirt tied around my ankles and my feet in my beanie for warmth, because N Squad Airlines lost my luggage.
The third night I slept was on a 40-seater bus with 60 total strangers and 120 backpacks, my face smashed against the seat in front of me and my body perpendicular to the floor.
The fourth night I slept in a swamp on a tarp. Literally an actual swamp. If it had been alligator season I am positive I would have woken up with one in my sleeping bag.
The fifth night I slept in my deluxe suite and the sixth night I slept packed in a family-size tent with ten other girls and our packs.
 
 
The bus night. There are no words.
 
[Just in case you're wondering, to make matters worse, many N-Squaders' idea of a thorough shower was a baby wipe. Combine that with the all-day sweat of impromptu dance parties and you've got a tent that smells so foul that the Holy Spirit might blaspheme itself.]

 
fooding
Every day at training camp, you're in a different country. That means that after a very long, physically taxing hike with all my gear the first morning, I was not met with bacon and biscuits like my heart was desiring but with fish head soup, the breakfast equivalent of the WORST THING EVER. By day three, I had actually lost a pound. I found a rib in the shower that I never knew I had. 
 

This is fish head soup. I apologize for any nausea caused by this photo but accept no responsibility for injuries caused by fainting.
 
We ate everything ranging from tacos (delicious) to pot roast with our fingers (delicious, but messy) to spaghetti for breakfast on leftover day (…delicious, but weird). We do appreciate the kitchen staff and their talent to cook a world's variety of food, but staff members – don't you think we didn't see you guys eating fast food and pizza while we were trying to pick up rice with chopsticks.

 

pruning
My favorite part of training camp was, like I mentioned at the beginning, God's faithfulness. His presence. His love. This summer in Spain I heard Andrew Shearman give a lecture on things that happen when we grow, and pruning was one of the words that came up. My World Race will definitely involve pruning, trimming back the unnecessary branches in my faith, and training camp began that process. 
 
Let me tell you something – you don't know your true character and pride until you're asked to do things you hate. That happened to me, and I quickly found some of the thorny branches in me. You know what's just the best, though? 
God loves me enough to challenge and walk me down a difficult path to make me better.
God loves me enough to get rid of those dead branches.
God loves me enough to round out my skill set.
God loves me enough to discipline me gently.

 

I have never been so full of joy as when I came into agreement with God that He could prune me as much as needed in whatever areas He wanted. Obedience leads us to joy and freedom. 
Real joy. Real freedom.
Thank You for gardening with me, God.

too-sooning
Finally, training camp – those awful, mysterious seven days that loomed ominously before me two weeks ago – is now one of the best memories I have, and it became a memory way too soon. There were lifelong relationships begun, long-time wounds healed, God's mercy and grace experienced, and an army of radical, passionate sons and daughters born to take the all-powerful name of Jesus, the most high King, to the sick. To the broken-hearted. To the orphan, the widow, to the hurting. To each other.

And even though training camp ended way too soon, that army cannot come soon enough to the hurting world we're in. 

And that hurting world is about to get rocked with some Jesus, 
whether that's in a dance party,
in a conversation over a bowl of uneaten fish head soup,
around a campfire in a swamp,
in the middle of a worship service,
or in the middle of the street in a country far from here.

Let's do this thing.