This is the fifth time I’ve tried to write this post. I have so much to say, so many moments and experiences I long to share. Yet I am left speechless. My heart has completely burst at the seams and I’m not at all concerned about sewing it up anytime soon.
I’ve scribbled and erased, typed and backspaced. No words seem adequate, nothing can quite explain all that I just experienced.
How is it that training camp was just a week long and yet I feel like I lived an entire lifetime? That people I met barely seven days ago now my family–so dear to me that I can’t believe I lived without them for 23 years? A God I thought I knew deeply even more of a Father and Lover than ever before?
Out of this entire World Race process and experience, training camp was what I dreaded the most. As a person who thrives on agendas, adores lists, and gets a bit too giddy at the thought of purchasing a fresh day planner, I was more than nervous about flying halfway across the country to a place of unknowns. All I knew (and heard and read after stalking blog after blog) was there’d be lots of crying, lots of friend-zoning the comfort zone, lots of curveballs and surprises.
I’m not a big fan of any of those things.
But the moment I arrived at camp, I felt immediately at home. I could tell these people were as crazy as me, and I really, really liked that.
Never have I been part of a community full of such genuine joy and love, not only for each other but for Christ. There was no judgment, no holding back emotions–both smiles and tears. Introductions weren’t scary as I had anticipated, but exciting: I finally met my brothers and sisters who, for months, were just a blur of foreign faces on Facebook.
Gear that sat in boxes, unused and intimidating to me only a week ago is now broken in and dusted with red Georgia dirt. Packing cubes and baby wipe showers now mean something to me (they’re a blessing, guys, trust me). Setting up a tent and even getting a decent night’s sleep on an air pad is actually possible for a manicured girl’s girl like me.
I’m not quite sure how to accurately and appropriately describe what exactly training camp is. Every experience is different, each heart broken and loved on in a variety of ways.
If there’s any way I can explain it, it’s that the Holy Spirit took an individual who hates to swim and drowned her in order for her to breathe life. He released years of tears in order to liberate her from within the emotional walls where crying was seen as weakness. And he poured out love so strong and passionate that her soul threatened to burst into flames.
I get it now. I get why so much of the World Race is not defined, not scheduled, not experienced through expectations: because God isn’t that way.
And when you let go of all that, regardless of what your Myers Briggs personality type tells you, God will show up big. Loud and terrifyingly beautiful. Don’t hold back, don’t allow doubt and fears and expectations to hinder you, and he’ll meet you in a place that can’t ever be described in a blog post.
[Photo cred: Aleisa Mifflin]
**Stay tuned for exciting news and a future post on how to survive training camp (ie. those baby wipes I talked about…)
