In a lot of free thinking moments throughout these past weeks and months, I’ve found myself wanting to be at camp. That’s especially funny because if you talked to me after finishing my second summer at the good – ole Outback, I was convinced I didn’t have a desire to return for a third summer.
But now, I’ve found myself drifting often to – “if I were at camp right now, we would be doing ___.”
I think of the quiet moments in the bathroom with kids whispering on the other side of the door, anxious to begin the day, while I prayed for strength and joy for the day. I think of early mornings and long nights in the kitchen listening to music and talking about everything under the sun. I think about hugging people (which sadly, I’m sure is happening less there right now…).
I went into last summer in a weird place. I had come off of a school year where my faith had been admittedly rocky, and I had doubts bigger than I was even acknowledging. I questioned God’s goodness, His sovereignty, and I especially questioned why on earth he had let me agree to spend my entire summer away from my family and my boyfriend and my life in College Station, and everything that was comfortable and easy.
And in so many ways, my current everyday of so many questions and not enough answers, so much brokenness and not enough light, and so much unknown reminds me of the same place the girl who cried all the way to camp orientation was in around this time last year.
I bet I’m not the only one feeling in-between two seasons, or not exactly loving wherever you are right now, or terrified of the uncertainty ahead of us.
My prayer throughout that summer was simple:
“Lord, get me through this, yet also help me to see the joy and the beauty of what is in front of me.”
And it’s so simple yet also so encouraging for me to go back to that time and praise the Lord literally for the fact I did make it to the end of that summer – and I did allow myself to stop and enjoy myself more often than I would’ve thought.
I remember also praying and asking the Lord questions like this more often than I would’ve thought:
Why is it your will for me to be here?
What good will come from this?
How are you using me through this?
I’d be lying if I said I went into last fall with crystal clear answers to those 3 questions. Outside of Moses and the burning bush, I don’t think too many of us will have those answers perfectly and completely answered this side of heaven.
But right now, looking at the uncertainty ahead of me of an entirely new place, new environment, new people to run into, all on top of a 6-month old virus, I see just a little glimpse of why I spent 13 weeks away from the rest of the world hanging with the coolest middle schoolers.
I am reminded that discomfort grows us and shapes us into someone more Christ-like than we were yesterday.
That doing things we don’t particularly want to do breeds trust and humility and deeper dependence on the Lord and His sovereignty.
That I didn’t have all the answers last summer, but I showed up, and God did too.
And these words and this post feel a little like something I’ve written before, but I think me and you can still use the reminder that God is present and moving and bigger than all of this.
I’m sure this month looks way different than any of us would’ve pictured this time last year, it almost doesn’t need to be said. It has a lot of us lying on the ground after being repeatedly knocked down gingerly asking, “Okay, what’s next?” and preparing to roll with the punches.
As I’ve said here, in my journals, on old Instagram posts, and to friends so many times before this:
Uncertainty and in-between and discomfort pulls the rug from under our feet and shakes up our perfectly curated lives and plans so that we have no choice but to run to God, to our Rock and our Salvation and our only Hope in this world.
I pray that we go into this month embracing it all. Knowing we’re probably still going to get punched (not sure why boxing metaphors is what’s coming out today but here we are), but resting in who God is and trust that He is in control, and we are definitely not.