Wild LIFE

It’s 2am and I’m up.

3 am up again.

4am.

Sleep for a sec.

5am up.

I’d never experienced sleeping in a tent during a wild thunderstorm until that night. It was fairly exhilarating, honestly. We had prepared well enough for us to experience the storm without any real fear. The thunder felt like it was yelling right at us, but rather than feeling like the world was ending, I felt a part of something.

I could zoom out of the scene and see the four of us girls “sleeping” safely in our tent by the lake with this storm pouring from the sky. I felt closer to the truth of things out there. Closer to the messy waters that give life and are oh so necessary. It was grounding. Maybe because I was literally grounded (new sleeping bag let’s gooo), but there was something so freeing and exciting about being in a tent in the midst of a storm. It was wild and meaningful and… humbling. I felt incredibly small, and yet so secure. I’m used to being in my room, watching lightning from my window. (Cue “Dean Evan Hansen”.) Almost feeling more afraid of storms from the safety of my own home.

There was something about being in it rather than watching it, that was so fulfilling. It kinda felt like we played a little part in it all. We were the girls at campsite 104. We were part of the picture. The thunder made it hard to sleep, but I think I kept waking up because I didn’t want to miss the beauty of feeling like I belonged in something so big. There were times I would wake up and notice one of the other girls also up, eyes fixed on the stormy scene. The reason was clear and unspoken. We just looked out and then drifted back to sleep.

I think up until that point I had been so thirsty for a purpose. I’m an ENFJ. A sanguine/melancholic. I want people and parties and deep, intentional discussion and structure so I can mull it over and begin again. And now… now I just mull things over... and over. And over. Ha! But truly. This year has taken away so much for so many and I feel like we are finding ourselves looking at our empty hands in disbelief. Where did it go? It was just here a second ago, but then I blinked and three months have passed... Where is my mission? Where is my story?

That night in the tent I was reminded that our stories, while they may seem insignificant right now, are still very much alive and, as it turns out, just dwelling in them is enough. We were a small dot on the map that night at the campground, but we were there and that mattered. And even though most of the world actually has to be home behind a window, our stories are still overflowing with purpose.

Isolation, disconnection, disunity, cancellation, they all hurt. These realities are so hard! 

But I hope to remind myself of the feeling I felt that night in the tent. That right there, right in the storms of life, we can find beauty and belonging. He meets us there. He meets us there so we can find the simple truth of who we are- that we matter. And I pray that that fills us with so much life that it’s hard to go back to sleep.

So let us know,

Let us press on to know the Lord.

His going forth is as certain as the dawn;

And he will come to us like the rain,

Like the spring rain watering the earth.

Hosea 6:3