This summer, I spent eight weeks in Lampe, Missouri. After years of being a camper, I found myself back at Kanakuk Kamps wearing a watch and a staff shirt. I entered the Kamp gates with level 10 knowledge about K2, and I was ready to share the gospel with high school girls. Little did I know, the Lord was prepared to rock my own world… hard.

Within the first two weeks that campers arrived, I sat outside my cabin and wrote my mom a letter filled with every little detail about Term 1. “I knew coming into Kamp that I would love these girls,” I told her, “but I had no idea just how much I would love these girls.” New realizations flooded my being every day: I truly did not know how to care for people. My love was conditional. It was selfish and one-sided. I loved others when it was convenient, and I refused to allow myself to be made uncomfortable or vulnerable. Slowly but surely, the Lord chipped at the hardened parts of my heart, and through Christ, I began to genuinely love those 15-year-olds more than I ever could on my own.

Assured that the Lord was teaching me how to love people well, I went on with my next couple of weeks. It became my daily prayer that each person I crossed paths with would be made to feel special in some way. In a place like Kanakuk, where so many hearts beat with eternal perspective, you begin to see God in the face of each person and it becomes easy to love others.

All of the sudden, however, my Kamp bubble was popped, and I was forced to look beyond the gates of comfort. My debit card number was stolen, and my card was shut down. A couple of unexpected changes for my coming school year created obstacles that needed to be overcome. I was absent from the life of a friend who needed to be encouraged and loved. And though each thing seems so minute (and they are… easy fixes), I was in Lampe, Missouri with no phone, no car, and no money.

My dad began to mail hotel money for my nights off, and the pieces seemed as though they were falling back into place. I was comfortable again. Then, one Friday afternoon, I raced into the office to claim my hotel money. It wasn’t there. I was leaving for my night off in two short hours. It was raining; I was crying. A sweet friend walked in, placed her debit card in my hand with no hesitation and said, “Just don’t spend over $500.” Words of protest began to flood my mouth. The Lord began to tug on my heart. “Let them love you well.” Over and over, “I can do this on my own,” shifted through my mind. As if she could hear my thoughts, my sweet friend nodded and said, “Let me do this for you.”

Just beyond the prideful noise that pounded my brain, there was a quiet whisper that said, "Let them love you well.” In a fit of gratefulness, I hugged her neck and accepted the help. Another friend slipped a $20 bill in my hand on the way out and said, “Just in case.” “Okay,” I thought, "Let them love you well… just this time.” Over the course of the next few weeks, I often reverted back to my old ways. I wanted to be independent, and the thought of having to depend on another filled my head with accusations of weakness. Each time, God would break my knees. He forced me to be dependent, not only on Him, but on others. There were many times that all I could do was laugh at myself. (Example: I was forced to ask someone to scuba dive Table Rock Lake for my license one day. Because I am just that clumsy.)

For the first time in my life, I understood community. Community moves us beyond the isolation of our own private lives; it far surpasses our current day notion of “Christian fellowship.” Community binds our souls. What would happen to our lives if we began to view community, not as a few familiar faces in Sunday morning worship, but rather the people we plan to live alongside in eternity (…whether they know Jesus quite yet or not)?

In Acts 2:42-47, we are given a picture of how we, as believers, are called to live. It reads, “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe at the many wonders and signs performed by the apostles. All the believers were together and had everything in common. They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.”

As I reflect on my eight weeks at Kanakuk Kamps, I don’t have the words to best describe all God has done to my own heart. He has shattered my perception of “doing life.” During my weeks in Lampe, I experienced the gift of community better than I ever had. We laughed together. We cried together. We learned to fill the gaps where others’ gifts weren’t as strong, and we allowed each other to step in where we, ourselves, lacked. Most importantly, we recognized that we desperately needed Jesus, and we pointed each other to that truth daily. It truly was the first time I understood why we are called to be interdependent rather than independent, and the biggest lie I ever believed is that life is better lived alone.

We are not called to keep people at an arm’s length. We are designed to love others and to live genuinely. Recently, I have been reading a book lent to me by another sweet Kanakuk friend. It’s called The Irresistible Revolution. On page 87, it reads, “They had not chosen to live in “intentional community.” Their survival demanded community. Community was their way of life. The gospel was their language.” How beautiful would it be to live as though we knew that we could not do all things on our own, if we loved others without seeking self gain, if we refused to meet a stranger, and if we truly became the hands and feet of Jesus here on earth?