It’s For The Kids (Part 1)

I asked my pastor if I could lead my youth group in August of 1998.

At the time our “youth group” consisted of me, my best friend Mike, and my sister Amanda. We would sit in a room downstairs and listen to and old missionary tell us story after story about being a missionary. Some of them were interesting, some weren’t, and not a few of them put me into a comatose state. None of them involved actually opening a bible and walking us through what it was saying. I’m not saying he never opened a bible, but when he did it was like a tool for telling his missionary story. He was and still is a good man.

My problem is that I wanted more, but not for myself.

Earlier that year while working at my summer camp I witnessed something that changed my life. There was a camper there who needed to go home early although I’m not sure why. She was probably between 12 and 14 and I remember watching her from the steps of the camp chapel. She was small, sitting next to the dining hall on the other side of the dirt road, clutching some stuffed animal and staring at the bugs on the ground. By the way she was moving I could tell she was crying.

“I really should go talk to her” is what I told myself.

I didn’t. I don’t remember why I didn’t talk to her. It was probably a combination of thinking I didn’t really have anything to say and being wrapped up with other things that were happening. So I sat there and watched her cry. I thought maybe she was homesick.

That’s when the car pulled up and a man stepped out. From the moment he got out of the car he started yelling. “Thanks for nothing! I had to leave work early to come pick you up! Why are you crying?? Oh your mother is just going to LOVE this!” I have no idea who let this guy on camp or why he was picking this kid up next to the dining hall which was located in the back of the camp — most pickups took place at the front of the camp. I watched this kid get into the car and drive away.

That scene is burned into my head. It weighs on my conscience. It was on my mind when I asked if I could lead the youth group. I know, I was only 17 but in my world that doesn’t mean a whole lot. In my world I let a hurting person slip through my sphere of influence. I promised myself that I would never deliberately let it happen again.

When I became the pastor of my church I did it for a bunch of reasons: I loved my church, I didn’t want it to die, I loved the people, and I had a gift that I thought could be used to help it grow. But of all the reasons there was one that always stuck with me as primary — how can I help the hurting kids? And the reason that question was on my mind is because what was once a thriving youth group was now a program on life support. But of course, that’s all for part 2.

Remind me next time to tell you about Rocky.