My roommate (the other one; the one who was not mentioned in my previous blog) loves talking about feelings. She also likes to remind me, no matter how many times I deny it, that I do cry. But I keep denying it. “I’m not a crier!,” I say over and over again, and I cringe every time I have to talk about my feelings. Can I just listen to other people talk about their feelings? I like that! I want to see myself as a strong person who doesn’t shed a tear and who has it all together. Ha. As if any of us actually do.
My ideal scenario of a good cry is one that happens when you are rolling off the couch and on the floor laughing so hard that tears start streaming down your face. I love that kind of cry. The other cry, the painful one, is one that I would much rather reserve for when I am alone and nobody can see my face deform, my eyes get red, and my shoulders shake. I really don’t like crying in public.
When I took off for Training Camp the night of October 12th, I knew I would be breaking out of my comfort zone in countless ways, but to what I extreme I did not know. That week in Tennessee forcibly pushed me out of my comfort zone and threw me into a place so unknown I couldn’t even see my comfort zone with a telescope.
On my first night there, I cried. And not the “Hey, look, there’s a tear on my face” type of cry, but the type of cry where you think someone just installed a faucet inside your eyes and you can’t seem to figure out how to turn it off.
We were in the middle of praying over other people that night and I was feeling at peace. Then, one of our speakers got on stage and started speaking towards the people who were being prayed over, and suddenly one of his words struck my heart and yanked my tear ducts wide open. I started sobbing, shaking, covering my face because I didn’t want other people to see me cry. But I couldn’t help it. People around me saw me and heard me, and started laying hands on me and praying, even though they had no idea why I was crying. During the entire time worship lasted, I would calm down for a little while, but then I would start sobbing again. Two girls besides me took my hands as I cried, calmed down, cried, calmed down, and at one point I realized I had no control over my hands. When I was 16 I was shocked with 220 volts on my hand, and I still recall the feeling of electricity going through my body and the speechlessness and physical shock that happened afterwards. I have never felt anything like it, until that night at Training Camp. Both my hands were being flooded by an electric current that could’ve only been the Holy Spirit, and I had no control over the trembling, shaking, and strength of grasp of my hands. I knew I was squeezing the two girls’ hands, but as much as I tried I couldn’t move my fingers. At all. Finally, when worship ended and the girls forced their hands out of my tight grasp, I managed to sit down. I could barely speak, and my hands were still stuck in the position they were when they were being held. It took me about ten minutes of sitting down to regain mobility in my fingers and get words out of me. The Holy Spirit rocked me that night.
Throughout the week, my comfort zone vanished. I slept in a tent for a week, I had to be ready for the day by 7:00am, I had to exercise for half an hour each day, I had to share my space with spiders and other sorts of bugs, I had to skip some of my treasured daily morning showers, I shared my testimony, I cried in public, I had to listen to feedback without defending myself, I prayed out loud, I had to endure the cold, I had to share a plate with seven other people, I had to eat without a knife… I even had to eat without utensils! If you know me at all, you are probably reading all of these going, “YOU DID WHAT????” (And yes, I ate chicken without utensils probably for the first time in my life).
One day, I noticed something was off. As people kept sharing their stories around the campfire and I kept quiet, I felt a weight inside of me begin to build up. At first I didn’t know what it was, and I worried, but God eventually spoke and then I knew. I was keeping my story to myself once again. He kept telling me I had to share, but that the moment hadn’t come yet. The last day of Training Camp, He spoke to me about vulnerability. It’s crazy how God absolutely knows when He’s telling you things that you don’t want to hear, because He’ll take extra steps to be absolutely certain that you will listen. And He talked to me about vulnerability a lot that Friday. So I knew I had to open up. I’ve missed out on community in the past because I put up walls, and going on the World Race with walls is a terrible idea.
Friday night’s campfire started and everybody was having scattered conversations. I sat in silence staring at the fire thinking “Really, God?? You finally convince me to open up after this whole week, and now I won’t have the chance??” One girl shared a praise report, and I felt like speaking up next, but everyone went back to their conversations. I told God, “Okay, if one more person shares, then I’ll share.” A few minutes later, another girl spoke up and said she felt called to share her testimony, and immediately I thought “Aw, crap, that means I have to speak up too,” and my heart raced, and my stomach flipped, and my hands clutched the grass on which I was sitting. I do not like opening up.
So after she was done, I raised my hand. In the few minutes it took for me to start talking, I started to cry. I was so nervous, but I also knew that I needed to do this. So I did. In tears at first, and peaceful by the end, I shared my testimony. Granted I was looking at the fire the entire time and the lack of eye contact with anyone made it easier to speak, but I did it nonetheless. I even shared things that I usually do not share, and God gave me the courage at the end to ask for prayer on those things that I still need to work on. And yet again, Jesus had made me cry in public.
It was beautiful to have that weight lift off. It was beautiful to experience God tearing down my walls. It was beautiful to feel like I don’t need to put on a mask and pretend like I have it all together. It is beautiful to be reminded that God has done amazing work in my life and that if I keep my story locked up with fear I won’t be giving Him the glory and credit He deserves.
So through all the challenges, spiritual attack, heaviness, tears, dance parties, team-building activities, worship nights, border-crossings, meal time struggles, baggage-hauling, squad wars, campfires, talks, prayer sessions, etc… I have experienced God in a way I have never experienced Him before. He moved in me and changed me in those Tennessee mountains. Not only that, but He gave this only child 47 new brothers and sisters, who I treasure and love more than words can even express.
And He blessed me with the best team I could have ever asked for: April, Charmagne, Erica, Jackie, Sarah Kathryn, and Taylor. I love you girls so much!!!!!!! Here’s to 2014, to Spirit-filled adventure, and to spreading Joy Bombs around the world!
It’s gonna be wild, it’s gonna be great, and it’s gonna be full of Jesus.
