Simulated Mishaps and The Promise for Real Life
[Training Camp]
I paused for moment, delighted by the fact that I was enjoying myself, almost in disbelief. This time last year, I would not have been OK with this.
I grew up an hour from the Rocky Mountains and always looked forward to family camping trips in the summer. But camp was never really my thing.
Apart from hot weather and cold showers, I had no idea what to expect from Training Camp. It was definitely the last place I expected to be myself.
—
Human destiny rests on a promise.
“If you cling to your life, you will lose it, and if you let your life go, you will [find] it.” (Luke 17:33)
I never knew how to approach these words spoken by Jesus, until the day I found myself living them. I lost everything I thought I wanted. (Click here to read the story).
Vivid dreams slipped through white knuckles. For months, an ocean of tears unlocked layers of pain; wave after wave. Even lost dreams must be grieved.
More than anything, my week at training camp was a beautiful confirmation of the breaking and healing God had done in my life up to that point.
World Race may have been an unexpected twist in my story, but as all good authors do, the Author of my story knew how to lead one chapter into the next.
—
[Training Camp, Day 2]
Day two, we were introduced to our first World Race simulated travel mishap: “the airline lost your luggage”.
My pack was buried under the mound of H-Squad backpacks split between two tarps. I had a 50/50 chance. Please don’t take the left pile; please don’t take the left pile. They took the left pile and for 24 hours I was limited to the clothes on my back and the generosity of my squad mates who had placed their pack on the right pile (thank-you, Julia!).
Three of us shared a 2-person tent, using sarongs as blankets and shirt-stuffed Ziploc bags as pillows. Between the hard ground and hot hair, my head still pounding from caffeine withdrawal, I hardly slept. A nightmare for the INFJ type.
But that night, three strangers bonded as sisters over the common thread in the stories we shared. Comfort was found in the uncomfortable.
—
Day three, and I could feel the red Georgia dirt stick like clay to the pores of my skin. Even a cold bucket shower was out of reach, my stuff still inaccessible under a large grey tarp.
No time to think about a shower. Boot camp was right around the corner; a simulated pressure cooker where I found myself shoulder to shoulder with four other girls, tied together by a long strand of yarn.
First stop, 75 lunges, both legs. Second stop, 100 burpies, in unison. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to cry. Third stop, 150 squats. Wait, what? Are you kidding me!?
Face to face with another group of five ladies, strung together by a delicate piece of rope, I could see that my legs were not the only ones shaking. Looks of deep concentration masked both the burning pain in our quads and the frustration of our consistent failed attempts to stay unified as a group.
What am I doing here?
I had reached my breaking point.
Boot camp was not about testing fitness levels or challenging mental toughness. It was about pushing the boundaries of our comfort zone.
It was about revealing character and challenging our ability to look beyond our own pain and pay attention to each other.
It was a lesson in knowing when to push through and when to adjust for the sake of a suffering teammate.
It was about deciding what kind of women we wanted to be in the face of impossible tasks and unforgiving circumstances.
Boot camp was a powerful simulation for real life.
—
I managed to sneak away for a quick bucket shower between dinner and dishes. My hair still wet and wavy, I felt clean for no longer than an hour when we learned of that night’s sleeping arrangements.
A bus?
Simulated travel mishap number two: “You didn’t make it to the boarder in time.”
Between midnight and 1:00 AM, the tension on that yellow school bus rose exponentially as forty-six restless racers struggled to settle in. Exasperated sighs exposed escalated frustration at the level of discomfort. It was going to be a long night.
I couldn’t help but question, is this part of the promise? What could possibly be found here, on a muggy bus with no actual destination and a group of people I met three days ago?
The thought of my mom at home recovering from chemo and me stuck on this ridiculous bus opened the door to doubt and second-guessing about the Race.
Everything changed in a moment.
It started with a simple a cappella song. The atmosphere shifted as people slowly joined in. The tangible promise of God’s presence filled that bus as we worshiped Him with thanksgiving through the night.
—
Training Camp was a World Race simulation but for me, it was real life.
The eight months leading up to that week was a series of unforeseen circumstances with no defined explanation, my destiny tied to the promise that something greater would be found in letting go.
I may have questioned the process of letting go every time, but every time, I have rediscovered that the Promise Maker is faithful to keep His word. He is the Living Word.
I clung and I lost. I let go and I found. Beautifully broken and shamelessly humbled, I am still discovering the depth of His Promise.
