Getting the Hang of It

A Row with Two Chairs - Chapter 7 excerpt

After “by chance” being invited to a boot camp in the mountains with a famed author and 300 men, I was overwhelmed with all there was to learn, but God needed me to learn one very specific thing first:

Mario and I left the cabin and walked down the hill along the well-tended pathway to the camp auditorium. We walked past the pool, water slide, hot tubs, and ropes course, all of which you might expect to see at a Young Life Camp. I shared with him an abbreviated version of the story that had come to be known as my story, my identity. He stopped, put his hand on my shoulder, and prayed. 

“You are a miracle,” he said with enthusiasm. “God is celebrating to have you here; I cannot wait to see what he has for you this weekend.” I shrugged, still feeling out of sorts, not knowing how I fit in. 

As I walked into the auditorium, I was shocked to see the number of men who had come together, all in one location. I found a place to sit with Mario and looked around in awe. 

The auditorium of this camp was magnificent; three hundred men mostly filled the space, and each brought notebooks, a bible, and writing instruments. The dramatic lighting showcased the bare wood logs from enormous evergreens that gabled the gigantic structure. Those beams and the log-cabin-esque walls let you know you were in the mountains, but the lighting, the sound booth, and the technical equipment punctuated that this was a legit space made for well-crafted presentations. There were stage props on either side of the stage, and it was charming but impressive, rustic, and high-tech, all at the same time.

I loved it. 

The session started with each of the lead team members introducing themselves. Then John Eldredge came onto the stage with a reverence for the moment conveyed in tone and volume: “Men, you made it.” Celebrating such a simple statement filled the room with applause, several hoots, and a whistle or two. After it died down, John continued, 

“I am sure many of you have encountered challenges getting here, so I want to congratulate you for making it. God has brought you here for a reason this weekend, and He has something special planned just for you. I promise you this, as it is not happenstance that you are here. Over five thousand men entered the lottery for this event, and you are the three hundred selected. We chose the lottery randomly, but God chose your entry specifically. Come expecting Him to show you something amazing this weekend.”

I heard these numbers and shook my head. Maybe it was not a mistake that I was there? The first session continued and offered many movie clips and almost a review of the Wild at Heart concepts in preparation for the deeper dive that was to come. I walked away from that session, leaning toward acceptance that I was there for a reason. I may not have the resume or pedigree of most of the men here, but if God brought me here, He must have done it with intention, I thought. We wrapped the first night with a bonfire, but also the recommendation to get some sleep as much was to be covered in the coming two days. 

Awakening the following day early, I peeked out the window, hoping for a dusting of snow overnight, but none came. I loved the snow and hoped we would experience some of it by being in Colorado, but I also knew that this was not why I was there. 

We made it to the dining hall and had a quick breakfast before the first session was to begin at 7:30 a.m. The topics quickly went deep, starting with a personal story from one of the leaders, explaining their history, which would serve as an introduction to the subject of their session. Each session involved a great deal of biblical study, a movie clip or two, and usually, some heavy concepts that come from having years of baggage from being in the church. And I was barely following any of it. 

The words they used were foreign, the concepts out of reach, and the music and movies were ones I had never seen nor could relate to. I took notes as fast as I could, thinking that at some point, the inflow of information would be digested and start making sense, but it just wasn’t taking. These topics were heavy, talking about the wounds from the church, the emasculation of men, the overall loss of fire in organized religion, and the wounds of our lives. We were invited to consider the forgiveness of all before us during our first break. 

It had been almost three hours of frantic note-taking and complete confusion. Despite my past, I didn’t feel like I had an old church wound to forgive; I came here from an alive church where we celebrated what God was doing. I didn’t even consider my years of life before that. In this new time, my church didn’t emasculate me, and I felt empowered by my faith. 

“Why on earth is God having me hear this?” I asked myself repeatedly. “What am I missing?” Over the break, I walked up to the first lead team member I could find and frantically spilled my guts without barely taking a breath: 

“I have been sitting here taking notes and trying to figure out what this means, but I am lost.” 

“I have no idea what I am supposed to be taking in, and I do not know who I am supposed to forgive, and the only real person who has hurt me in my life has been me. What if all the wounding I have was given to me by myself? What if I am unable to forgive myself? What do I do?”

This lead team member looked me square in the eye and listened to every question I spewed, just waiting for a chance to offer something back. Finally, I paused. He smiled. “What’s your name?” 

“Scott,” I told him. 

“Hi, Scott, I am Gary,” he replied with a disarming smile. 

Sitting in the most pregnant pause of a lifetime, he looked me in the eye and discerned the real question amid my ramble. “Scott, what is it you are afraid of?” 

I thought for a minute and offered back my best clarification. 

“I’m afraid that I am missing it. That God brought me here for a reason, and I am missing it. I am so scared that I am not in a place where I can take all of this in and get what God has for me, and I will lose this chance. I fear I will get left behind before I can understand any of it.” 

Tears started rolling down my face, as I was speaking from my wound of how people leave. Gary just looked at me with the most reassuring smile and then said, “Scott. Close your eyes and think of all God has done to get you here. Not only to this event, but to this day, to this time.” 

I stopped, took a big breath in, and closed my eyes. I thought through the fantastic journey that God and I had been on together for the last 125 days, how many beautiful things had to happen for me to get to church on November 6, take a risk on trying Christianity, and meet all these fantastic people. I was even in the mountains on a trip I could not afford without help; it wasn’t snowing, but it was still cool. 

Seeing the thoughts in my mind’s eye had changed, Gary shared the key to it all: “Now, knowing what God has done to get you here, do you think He is just going to let you go?” 

These simple words offered a paradigm shift. It wasn’t me who had to hang on to God. It wasn’t my job to keep him from leaving. Instead, it was his job not to let me go, and he had proven that he would not. My tight shoulders dropped in relaxation, and my breath opened up; the weight of the fear was suddenly released from my body. I opened my tear-filled eyes, returning Gary’s thoughtful gaze, and shook my head no. Gary leaned in and gave me a big hug, a dad-style hug, a pastor’s hug that penetrated my being to reassure me that I was in the right space and would be okay. I took that comfort in and allowed it to soothe my anxiety and fear so I could be in a place to hear what else God had to offer me. 

Looking back, I know it felt like I was missing everything. Yet, writing about it now and reflecting on it, I can see that what happened was precisely what needed to happen. Allowing myself to be loved and held by God was the first step for me to begin working on other wounds. That entire first day’s teaching was irrelevant compared to the understanding that God holds on to me. He isn’t leaving; he isn’t letting go.

God would give me other opportunities to learn what I was missing while getting a crash course in letting Him love me. He needed me to get that first.