When I stepped into this life a decade ago I couldn’t have perceived what giving myself to student ministry would even look like. I thought only of serving Jesus and doing what He had called me to do. I didn’t realize how much it really was not about me at all.
I did not know that I was assuming a career that would reward me so much more than I could possibly ever give back and offer me moments that would absolutely wreck me, usually resulting in change. These moments are quite honestly a necessity and change is almost always good. No part of me could have comprehended how I was even capable of falling in love over and over and over again with girls and guys of every ability, ethnicity, passion, intellect, humor, life story, future. But somehow summer after summer, school year after school year, it inevitably happens...I fall in love again.
Some of these times have reminded me of taking on an excellent run...when deep in the middle of it...when I have finally settled into a natural groove and found my rhythm...I find myself shedding my favorite, most cherished and comfy hoodie...so that I can continue on with ease, with momentum, with stamina. Understanding that someday I would climb that hill again and realizing that every time I came to that place I would remember the thought of having been here before and leaving behind an important part of my heart. Without having let it go, I would not have finished my race as strongly and that piece of sentiment would not have had the chance to move onto undeniably better purposes. This is reminiscent of the times He has called us or opened the door to a different place and to each time I have tearfully had to say good-bye.
I have spent summer after summer,
sleeping in “centipede”-infested bunks lulled by my prehistoric boxed fan and the crickets, late night smoring it, early-morning horsebacking, incessant pranking, being hunted by giant evil bunnies, excessive midnight burger jaunts that left me feeling incredibly yucky, giving a sweet 15 driving lessons in the church parking lot, coming to terms with the fact I may very well be the worst bowler on the face of the planet, racing and sometimes even winning a relay as we ended a night of embracing the homeless, trying to explain a God who was never even a thought, calling out for a city on a dingy parking garage rooftop keenly aware of a ridiculously perfect breeze, walking the flashy sidewalks of the Utopia that is South Beach, surrounded by hundreds incognizant God still exists, listening to a young girl pour her heart out through tears and sweat and remorse and confusion and unforgiveness and lots and lots and lots of kleenexes and trying to help her come to terms with this concept we call grace, watching as a ragged, worn man talks of his past life as an FBI agent but now finds himself spending tiresome nights in cold alleys and abandoned doorways.
The other moments look like...
fasting for endless days because I knew that my words alone could never accomplish what only God could say and anticipating that His words would challenge hearts and resonate in their young minds...and then loving Him for what He always brings together...
praying for and embracing a middle schooler caught in the devastation of a breaking home and then, consequently battling for a summer with headlice and thanking God we finally won, and hoping that not even my enemies would have to endure that serious war...
being friended and unfriended on Facebook and constantly, continuously, hilariously hacked...
finding some of the best friends I have ever had...
having countless seconds when I didn’t even know what to say...
coming to terms with the thought that my children may have the most unusual life of anyone we know and once in awhile, feeling really guilty about it, but never ever regretting the fact that they are so completely surrounded by affection and adoration and so wonderfully affected by all the young lives that have fantastically weaved their way into our own life...
picking up a student, forgotten by her family, from her shack of a house, while her dad tried to buy fulfillment...
watching a boy mature into a man as he leads hundreds of students in worship and just catching a glimpse of God’s unbelievable plan for him unfold...
witnessing a young woman who sewed years into teaching the younger generation in our ministry, earn the title of youth pastor’s wife and first-time mommy, with complete confidence that she will welcome this new stage with unparalleled strength, love, and wisdom...so proud of the exquisite person she has become...
allowing that young adult with no place to call home, on a whim, to bunk at our house and praying that somehow he finds his way and his purpose...
and story after story that have saturated my mind and my spirit with unforgettable, beautiful memories...
I now know this. There are precious moments that God and He alone can orchestrate and I cannot get the thoughts of Shauna Niequist, in Bittersweet, out of my head these days, “I’m less and less interested in the ruminations of a scholar and more and more compelled by stories with grit and texture and blood and guts and humanity.” And she’s couldn’t have said it better. These are the stories that I want to live. These are the stories that matter. These are the moments that change me.
Most importantly, through love and relationship and time and also occasionally, heartache and hurt, I have concluded that our basic need, from birth to aging, our deepest longing, is love. Outside of genuine relationship and caring, there is nothing more significant in this life. And if I can do one thing, I can love. I can find time to listen and I can take a second to pray and I can send a text or friend you on Facebook or meet with you for early-morning coffee...because possibly I, possibly you, can be the liaison between a young person and God...the catalyst that points them to the only thing that may cause transformation and ultimately bring sense to this life, in a time when so many question their reason for being or even their very existence.
A 13-year old student told me just this morning, that she is feeling, has been feeling for almost 2 years, “That there is more.” I answered, “That ‘more’ is a dream...the God-given dream that he has created inside of you.”
Everyday I wake with exactly the same feeling. It is the hope God plants right at the tip of our heart, to keep us engaged in this life. So for you, precious girl, that is like my own child, and for every other student I have come to love, be excited by this. Take hold of that dream. Let it lead you. Do whatever it takes to make the desire for something bigger, something yet discovered, play out every single day of your life. And know God will take your dream; he will teach your voice to sing; he will move your feet to dance; he will write your life. He, without a doubt, will.
