Things You Don’t Wanna Hear At A Public Pool…

Yesterday, I took a handful of kids to a water park.

I made a vow to myself yesterday: I will never again set foot in a water park. At least, my feet will not touch the cesspool of human slime they call the wave pool.

Since I came directly from work to this water park, I neglected to pack a bathing suit. Which meant that I was on “poolside duty”, watching the cell phones and wallets of everyone else in my party.

Which, in turn, freed me up to observe the distinctly unique slice of humanity that spends a Tuesday afternoon at a water park in Nowheresville, Missouri.

Without getting into the stomach-turning details, let’s just say you don’t want to know what people do at the pool–and those grubby kids picking their toes and flicking dead skin into the water were on the milder end of public pool offenses.

I’ve been willing to sacrifice my personal standard of cleanliness in order to enjoy an afternoon of fun with friends in the water…but I think I finally experienced the proverbial “straw that broke the camel’s back” yesterday afternoon.

That final straw came when I saw the lifeguards sniffing the air, their noses turned up. They quickly cleared out the wave pool and had everyone get out of the water and stand on the side. To my absolute horror, I saw one of the lifeguards strap on some heavy-duty plastic gloves and go trolling around in the water, checking all the drains.

If you only knew, kid, what's really in that water...

I happened to be talking to my mom on the phone at that point, but I distinctly heard the lifeguard yell to another lifeguard, “I can’t find it…I can definitely smell it, but I can’t find it.”

I then watched her reach into the water, grab a squishy brownish-black floating mass, and toss it over to the side of the pool with the utterance, “Well, that’s not it either..but it shouldn’t be in here anyway.”

That was literally my breaking point. The maximum-gross-capacity of an otherwise total daredevil, a person who’s never turned down a gross challenge before. Including a time in high school where I allowed six guys to mix up whatever they wanted into a cup and I ate the whole thing–horseradish, mustard, Jello, whipped cream, mystery meat, chocolate sauce, hot peppers, and all.

Hey, don’t judge. I made ten bucks off of that dare.

Anyway, that was the final straw for me–that lifeguard sloshing around, pulling squishy brown items out of the pool and cryptically yelling about something she could smell, but couldn’t find.

I literally closed my eyes and tried to block out the world at that point. So, I don’t know if that poor lifeguard ever found what she was looking for.

Sorry. I know, it’s very anti-climactic of me. But hey, real life doesn’t always tie up nicely like a movie.

Sometimes, in comparison to other jobs, the frustrations of my daily job don’t look bad. At all.

And yesterday was one of those days.

The Lightning Bolt to My Brain: Informal, Organic Ministry

I’ve been working in youth ministry full-time for just over two years now, and according to all the research I’ve ever read, this is a dangerous quitting point for the majority of people in youth ministry. Why? No one can put a finger on it and figure it out completely….it’s apparently just the average shelf-life of a youth worker.

Two years in.

Am I in danger of quitting?

Nope.

I spent the majority of my weekend with students, carting several of them to Six Flags with a few other leaders and taking them on an all-day excursion to area thrift stores. I think most people would balk at that. But I can’t think of a better weekend, honestly.

In college, I was trained in all the ideals of ministry–how to lead, pray with, counsel, and set an example to kids. I was even trained in how to appropriately hug students–the “side hug”, initiated only by students.

My college training was invaluable. But in the two years since I graduated from that formal setting, I’ve seen a different side of things.

A more organic, informal side of ministry.

Quite simply, I’m seeing the value of just inviting these kids into my daily life. And coaching other leaders to do the same.

It’s making all the difference in the world as to how I really do ministry, I think, by allowing people to just see the Holy Spirit working in my life, without me getting in the way.

One of my friends recommended for me to read the book “mY Generation” by Josh James Riebock. I’m currently halfway through, and felt that figurative lightning bolt to the brain as I read these words:

“I thought about how our world often only pushes people out, about how rare it is to be invited into someone else’s life, and about how I often feel like the only people that invite me into their lives are those on television–some late night talk show host or weatherman. I thought about that feeling I sometimes get that I don’t know some of my closest friends from Adam, anything about them, what they’re thinking, what they like or why they like it–that feeling that they won’t let me in.

I realized that, maybe, the greatest thing I can do for someone is not try to convince them that I can be trusted or that Glorious God is who they hope for, but maybe the greatest thing I can do for someone is to invite them into my life to see Glorious God in me and let them decide those things for themselves. I realized that, maybe, the greatest thing I can offer someone is what Glorious God…offers to me–an invitation in.”

Unintentionally, I’ve already started to do this in my own life, with my students:

Letting them see me outside of my formal 9-to-5 role as their youth leader.

Allowing them to pick my brain, read what I’m reading, think about what I’m pondering, feel my frustrations and joys.

Giving them a glimpse of the real me, as I pick through old clothes and ratty tennis shoes at the local Goodwill stores.

After all…I doubt that the disciples’ lives were changed more by the meaningful stories and lessons that Jesus taught them more than they were changed by actually being with Jesus–seeing His absolute holiness and power seeping out from every pore.

And hey, if Jesus did it…

Just sayin’.

Guys Always Know How to Say the WRONG Thing

Guys. They always know how to say the wrong thing.

The other day, I was walking up the steps to my apartment. A well-dressed guy about my age was coming down the steps towards me, carrying a stack of bank pamphlets that he had been distributing on every door. 

Upon seeing that this was the perpetrator responsible for peppering my door with useless fake “coupons” for the last few months, I was strained to even stay civil in passing by him on the steps. 

I had the fleeting thought of how useful it would be to have a retractable handbag with a brick in the bottom–whiz, bang, boom…And down goes the guy with all his flyers!

Then, he spoke to me. 

Random Chatterbox: “Hello there. Nice day, hm? Been at the pool, I see!”

Me: “Uh, yeah. But I haven’t been to the pool, I’m just getting home from work.”

Chatterbox: “What? No, really?”

Me: “Really. I just got home from working at the office.”

(Long pause where he looks over my outfit again with a critical eye)

Chatterbox: “Really? You haven’t been hanging at the pool today?”

Me: “No.”

(Awkward pause, in which I glare at him as he confusedly looks at my outfit again)

Chatterbox: “Well…..have a nice night!”

Me: “Thanks. For nothing.” (Ok, I actually responded, “You too.”)

Alright, I’ll answer the burning question on your mind: no, I wasn’t wearing a swimsuit. I was wearing a black cotton skirt, a coral top, earrings, and silver dress shoes. 

This may be the question that goes with me to the grave–why on earth did this fellow think that I had been lounging at the side of the pool all day, when I was actually wearing a quite modest and office-appropriate outfit and walking upstairs with my purse?

The only conclusion I can logically come to is that guys have some gene that prompts them to say the wrong thing when they have the opportunity to say something that could actually be quite complimentary. 

And yes, every woman on the face of this planet knows exactly what I’m talking about.

Take, for instance, a comment my husband has made before: ”You’re wearing that?”

How this is interpreted to the female brain: “That looks hideous. What were you thinking when you purchased something like that and actually thought it looked good?”

If only that random guy would’ve said something like, “Oh, what a nice outfit!” or “Nice earrings”. That’s all. No pithy comment about the pool and sunbathing.

After all, I didn’t tell him that his tie was clearly not summer-appropriate and that it clashed with his yellow shirt, which made him look totally washed out.

Oh, if only they’d learn. The world would be a much happier place.

172 Hours, 30 Kids, and WAAAAAY Too Many Bathroom Stops

Last evening, I returned home from our middle school mission trip to Loveland, Colorado. I think my brain is still recovering. I sure hope it returns to normal capacity soon.

Our new "family"

You see, I spent the last 172 hours straight with 30 kids under the age of 15. 

Ah. Now you get it.

I slept barely four hours a night, sharing a slowly deflating air mattress with a fellow leader, crammed in a tiny classroom with 15 other girls–three of whom talked in their sleep. I nightly attempted to fall asleep to the sound of boys running down the hall and body slamming into each other.

I ran around and played with little kids at a Boys and Girls Club in Colorado, where I had kids sneezing on me and crawling on my lap to whisper their breathy secrets to me. Naturally, I’m now sick.

I have a hard time hearing anything because my ears have been plugged since we left the Rocky Mountain National Park, where I walked around in a constant state of fear as 30 kids scampered around like Bigfoot running from a camera, flying through the woods and scrambling up and down rocky ledges, craning for a view of the unguarded sheer cliffs. 

In the last week, I’ve only had three showers. And, at one point, I joined the desperate kids in bathing in a local lake–in full knowledge that the toddlers a few feet away were probably tinkling in the very water I was washing my hair in.

I’ve basically lived on sandwiches and water–sometimes not even that much, as I had to share my lunch one day with a kid who forgot his.

I’ve helped sweep, mop, wipe down counters, empty trash cans, pick up infinitesimal pieces of paper off the ground, serve food, cut paper, hand things out, pack and repack vans, inflate air mattresses, hand out medicine, balance our budget, plan our routes, hold cameras for kids, juggle phone calls, break up fights, comfort crying kids, direct leaders, discipline kids, and say “because I said so” more times than I can count.

I’ve been alternately sweaty, freezing, sore, ticked off, mischievous, lackadaisical, angry, sobbing, awed, shocked, organized, disorganized, and exhausted.

But, I’ve never seen God so powerfully at work.

While on our trip, we found out that one of our student’s young cousins had been in a car accident and passed away. It was devastating, and beyond heart wrenching to be the one trying to figure out how, when, and where to inform this student about the tragedy that will forever affect his entire family.

It was heartbreaking to inform the entire group, and to see them tearfully embrace each other as they hurt for their friend, but the way that God worked through the kids is something that touched me deeply and will forever impact my own faith.

Seeing these young kids, some of whom have dealt painfully with death already in the last few months, cling to God in their sorrow–praying for each other, sobbing into each other’s shoulders, holding each other, taking care of each other, praising God in the midst of some of the most challenging moments of their lives–it was beyond moving. Every single person in our group cried together.

Without spending the twelve hours I could spend writing about this entire trip–sharing countless inside jokes, insights into the incredible kids on our team, and the gory details of being inside a car with half a dozen teenage boys who just wolfed down Taco Bell–I really just want to give glory where it’s due.

The Holy Spirit moved powerfully in our kids and leaders this week, in undeniable ways.

There’s something special about our group–and I see them now as part of my family. It sounds like such a corny thing to say, like something that would be written in a senior yearbook by the homecoming queen…but I really mean it. 

Our church is special, our leaders are incredible, and our youth are even more amazing. Our kids were willing to do anything–including leave halfway through our trip and driving straight through the night to get to St. Louis–to get their friend home for his cousin’s funeral.

Some of the students even volunteered themselves up to fly home with their friend, offering to pay for part of their ticket by themselves. Anything it took to help their friend. It was incredible to see how they absolutely paid no attention to themselves, but only strove to do everything they could for each other.

Part of me really feels like I was blessed more by this trip than anyone else–interacting with so many kids who poured out their hearts to me, who challenged me in my own faith, and who ran to me when they were hurting was quite an experience I’ll never forget.

I’ve never felt so connected to a group, many of whom I’d never had a significant conversation with at the beginning of the trip.

I’ve never interacting with leaders who I was so sure were the perfect leaders for this trip.

And I’ve certainly never, ever been more impressed with any group of kids. Ever.

God is good.