What Just Happened?

Except in rare, pensive moments, I can't believe Summer Project's over. The project's participants are scattered across America (mostly in California and the Midwest). I'm in Illinois, at Danny's house in Hinsdale.

We're not living in a ramshackle, jam-packed house with a hundred college students anymore. We're not spending our evenings on a crowded boardwalk trying to get bratty high school kids to talk about Jesus with us. I'm not working at Rite Aid (ever again).

Sometimes I feel like I get to my emotions late. I didn't cry when everyone left, in a series of scattered waves that got easier each time. It didn't seem real.

I mean, it seemed real that they were leaving. Cars kept driving off and friends kept crying for friends. But somehow the whole summer didn't seem real. I had formed some deep bonds with people, but I almost couldn't admit that to myself. It happened too fast -- as a friend put it, "You know peoples' deepest sin struggles but not their favorite color."

And I had learned so much about God and life and myself, but part of me wanted to say, "You just had a weird experience. Let's be real, you're the same person you were on June fifth, clambering into that silver Cavalier between stacks of suitcases."

Everyone stood on the sidewalk of the Ambassador's Inn bawling their eyes out at the loss of something indefinable that an intentional summer with a hundred intentional people had created, but I couldn't admit that we had ever had that in the first place.

It's only later, in little nuggets, that I get to see that indefinable something that I had been too busy experiencing to notice. Like telling home friends about project friends -- they never quite get it, but I wish I could pull them in and have them listen to Armani's laugh or see Peter in a rambling mood. If only they could have been there when we turned off all the lights and pretended to be zombies for hours on end.

And it's weird because the things I miss most aren't the things I expected to miss. And the people I miss most aren't the people I expected to miss. And I feel like even if I had back the people whose company I miss, it still wouldn't be the same indefinable project something. I don't just miss their selves -- I miss the way they told jokes in a group or sarcastically bantered with someone else, or the way their voice rose when they shared a story in front of the whole project after a night of outreach.

The more I realize how impossible it is to fully capture the essence of what project was, the more I feel an empty longing.

But at the same time, I wouldn't go back. Project was great and I learned a lot and spent tons of quality time with great people, but it was as stressful as it was fulfilling. Since I had so much work, I felt a constant pressure to use the free time I had well -- being intentional with relationships, evangelizing, having quiet times. And usually I felt like I wasn't efficient enough with my time and didn't achieve quite as much as I should have.

And it was also too surreal. Everyone was so interested in everyone else and so jazzed up about Jesus and just wanted to talk about Jesus-y things and prove that they cared about evangelism and get more into Christianity and read all those books and listen to all those sermons and things. It was crazy Christian.

The real world isn't like that and, more importantly, those same people in the real world aren't like that. They don't confess their sin so quickly at home, or build into other guys so much, or fight their pride so hard. It's sweet that that happened on project, but I'm ready to return to the real world and learn how to be a self-feeder when I'm not surrounded by guys obsessed with Jesus.

Project was awesome, but I can't wait to be back at Northwestern.

**

It's hard to think of all I learned when I reflect on project. I feel like I was a youth before project and now I'm an adolescent, but the specific lessons are hard to put a finger on. Here are, to my best recollection, my takeaways:

1) I suck in a lot of ways. I have crappy motivations for even the good stuff I do. I'm judgmental and mean and sarcastic. Even after a summer of growing, I couldn't even start to make a list of all the ways I come up short. I'm arrogant and usually think I'm right and I have a tough time thinking well of other people or being encouraging. If there's one thing I want to remember four months from now, it's how crappy I am.

2) Jesus died for my sarcastic insults and judgmentalism. God doesn't see me as an egocentric jerk, most of whose nice actions are motivated by self-interest. He sees me as perfect and humble and loving and kind. That's ridiculous.

3) Evangelism is as simple as it is necessary. All it takes is stomaching the awkwardness of the initial encounter and then being interested in what the person has to say. When I care more about Doing Evangelism than listening to the person, it gets weird. Evangelism isn't as hard as I make it out to be in my mind.

4) The majority of my sarcasm is unacceptable. I think it's all just jokes and laughs, but a lot of times it hurts more than I imagine.

5) I'm not a very encouraging person, but being intentional about noticing things to encourage in other people deepens relationships in a way that inside jokes and playful taunting never will. My lack of encouragement is not okay.

6) The quicker I confess my sin, the better I feel. And confession to Danny and God doesn't always count. If I'm harboring resentment toward someone, I need to confess it to that person. As much as that sucks.

7) I need alone time and I need time with God. If I short myself on the first, I get moody and irrational and I have trouble knowing what I'm thinking. If I short myself on the second, my life gets off track and it's difficult to remember my life goals -- I end up doing whatever feels best. But one commodity I need less than I thought is sleep. Turns out I can function alright for an extended time on six or fewer hours a night.

8) I could never work as a cashier for any length of time.

**

That was a life-changing summer. Definitely a one-of-a-kind experience. Thanks for your support, whether that was money or prayer or encouragement.

I'm excited for the year ahead.