How can I describe to you, in a concise way, the tremendous impact that has been made on me in the past nine weeks? How can words adequately convey feelings which I cannot even still comprehend, nor express? How does one begin to form sentences that are bound as tightly together as the community in which I lived this summer? When I think about these questions the answer remains the same: I can’t.
There are no words precious enough to showcase the love and tenderness of the hearts I saw, no sentence structure as complex as the puzzle that was Summer Missions, and no descriptive words beautiful enough to paint the picture that was my summer. I suppose it goes without saying, that before you continue to read this, know that there is, in no way, that I can write in a way that does my Summer Mission family, or my God the justice they deserve. Words can only go so far, and the depth which I experienced both entities supersedes all my literary capabilities. Rather than giving an account of everything that happened this summer, let me share, instead, a story.
A nineteen-year-old girl left her first year of college ran rugged. She struggled with the things that typical college students struggle with; drinking, depression, anxiety, and general fatigue in every sense imaginable. She had no plans for her summer prior to the week before final exams wherein she leaped into a college ministry called Cru. She knew but a handful of people, was as uncomfortable as one could be in a room full of strangers, but entered the weekly meetings with a heart searching for some release from the weight of school, expectations, responsibilities, deadlines, etc. she carried on her shoulders. On hearing the opportunity to embark on a 10-week long trip that focused on growing her relationship with God, and ministering through the work place, the girl thought, It’s better than staying at home all summer, I suppose. and filled out the application. Two weeks, several phone calls, and a slightly concerned mother later, she packed up her belongings and drove the 8 ½ drive to Branson, Missouri, carrying the same weight as she had been for the past six years. She arrived at the quaint Honeysuckle Inn, overwhelmed by the atmosphere altogether, walked into her room with two bunk beds, unpacked her belongings and headed downstairs to meet these strangers she would be living with for the next two weeks. That first night, the mission drove to College of the Ozarks and gathered around the outlook. Here, the girl shared that her desire for the summer was to see God’s plan for her life and to be willing and able to follow that plan. She listened as all 24 of the remaining students shared their vision and expectations for the summer, and knew that there was no way she could match these peoples’ love for Jesus or knowledge of the Bible.
Fast-forward sixty-one days.
The nineteen-year-old girl sits in the same spot as when she first arrived at the outlook, only this time it’s different. As twenty-four students share what they experienced throughout the summer, she feels a different weight weighing down upon her- the weight of returning to a life without these individuals by her side. As the session closes with prayer, she bows her head to find tears dripping from her face. She watches them hit the rock below, one after the other, and feels the hand of a brother in Christ on her shoulder (which only makes her cry more…thank you Victor). She stands to leave, grabs the journal of encouragements written for her, and walks to the car. She gets in the passenger’s seat, closes the door, and turns her flashlight on to read the journal in the dark. Her eyes drink in every word and expel just as many tears as you could expect a teenage girl to have. The next four hours are filled with what I can only estimate as gallons of tears, dozens of hugs (the good squishy kind) and so many beautiful words of affirmation and unconditional love. There is not one person who has not known and been known by the girl, not one who has escaped her sight, not one who is not loved and cherished, and as she weeps bitterly in front of them all, the only thought that runs through her mind is, This is how we ought to love each other- with no words to convey our feelings, but only actions, only tears. When the tears run dry and throats are coarse from the wheezing and Kim Kardashian approved sobs, there is nothing left to do but to hug and hold and know that nothing can express the sorrow felt at the thought of leaving the Honey and the people in it. Where once feelings of insecurity, inadequacy, and exclusion plagued the girls mind, she now rejoices in the affirmation, encouragement, love, acceptance, admiration, inspiration, and jubilance that has been shared with her by those same twenty-four students whose name she once fought to remember, and the loving God that they all serve.
I could never share the growth that I experienced on Summer Missions behind the screen of a computer. Such news deserves to be shared with eyes lit up with excitement, weird and extravagant hand gestures, and a voice that’s probably too loud and filled with joy to seem real. I won’t do my twenty-four new friends, nor the God who carried me through all of it, the disservice of trying to convey such transformations in vain because of the restrictions found in words alone. I hope that every single person who reads this can in some way know that I am a better person for Summer Mission, that I am renewed in Christ, that I have found and experienced the body of Christ, and am dedicated to living the remainder of my life in a way that reflects such change.
I know that this isn’t a very educated or elegant way of phrasing this thought, but I hope so freaking bad that you can see the passion behind these words, that you are intrigued to hear the extended version of my story, and that you desire a summer so full of growth that you are willing to sacrifice 10-weeks to experience God in the way that we have on Summer Missions.
My heart aches at the thought of living apart from each and every one of the wonderful souls who shaped me and allowed me the privilege of shaping them. God has used the shards of this broken heart to chip away and break down the walls of others so that we may walk in truth and light on our way to Heaven. My friends who read this: for as much heartache as I feel now, there is a lifetime of rejoicing in having known and loved you, and in being known and loved by you.
