It’s that moment when you open your mouth to explain the Gospel to six 15-year-old girls and you hear yourself saying words that you know are not your own.
It’s turning to the student next to you in lecture to look her in the eyes and realize that she is the image of the Creator.
It’s discussing God’s sovereignty and how one can love hurting people who need a Savior with a teenager while eating cafeteria French fries.
It’s the soreness of jumping up and down in a red t-shirt and khaki shorts and hauling luggage up stairs for hours on end that shows students how to follow Christ’s example of servant leadership.
It’s standing back and watching eleven girls from every walk of life exchanging ideas about the nature of God and man, laughing together, working hard together to exhibit servant leadership, and developing unbreakable friendships.
It’s singing “Father I Adore You” in a round upon realizing that the dorm stairwell has fabulous acoustics, despite the fact that you can’t actually sing well.
It’s the deliriousness of staying up too late to finish obligations and getting up too early to cheerfully knock on doors and sing “Good morning.”
It’s making an utter fool of yourself for the Lord and finding all kinds of new ways to embarrass yourself with every moment onstage in front of entire classrooms filled with students.
It’s hugging a stranger on the street of downtown Waco after a 14-year-old boy single-handedly explains the Gospel to her and prays a life-changing prayer with her.
It’s a note from a student on your pillow on the last night of camp thanking you for living as a Christ-like example all week.
It’s the bonds between staffers that go so much deeper than arms wrapped around each other in sweaty, loving group hugs.
It’s every moment that I wouldn’t trade for the world that has has humbled me to the point of utter realization of two facts: I am nothing. He is everything. None of the awesome moments at camp were my doing. Not a single one of them. The Holy Spirit was at work while I simply allowed myself to be the broken vessel. As Michelle Rees would say, “You have just been used.” And I believe that I have.