It's been almost three and a half years since Jamie and I showed up at our first senior high event. At the time we were hoping to dabble in kids' lives and maybe gain some babysitters. I'm so glad there were a few people praying for more. I remember the moment when I knew retreat was not an option. March 5th, we came home from my birthday dinner. We never actually ate that night because we spent the night weeping with friends at the hospital. When I came home, our answering machine was full. As I played each of the messages, I expected it to be a Briarwood parent or friend from high school. I was wrong because each message was a guy or gal from our Bible Study. Some prayed over the phone. Some cried. Some were silent and simply said they didn't know what to say, but they were there. A halting reality happened for me as I realized I wasn't loving on kids. My brothers and sisters in Christ were on their knees for me.
Now, rarely a day goes by when a teenager doesn't drop by our house. I've learned to text, and how to check my text, even if it comes at 1:30 in the morning. I've gained a more distinct picture of what I want to be when I grow up because they make me want to look like Jesus. I've relived my purple cow days more times than I can recount, and I've learned what it means to be born a unicorn. I've grown to understand an 18-year-old boy can make anything into a toy, and will also eat anything, even molded carrots. But more than anything, I've grown to understand I'm not a youth worker. I've nothing to offer when their worlds fall apart, when they grapple with death and sin. I have no life-changing words when a gal quietly weeps on my shoulder. I'm disgusted to think that I ever imagined I had anything to bring....
But I am a broken vessel. So I beg God for my mouth to be silent, and for His words to speak. I scream at my pride, and hope that the humility of Christ is seen through the darkness. I realize I've taught little to them, but they have taught me so very much of my Savior.
