7 Observations about Today’s Middle School Kids…

I’m still recovering from our annual confirmation retreat, which was a few weekends ago.

Yes, still recovering. I’m old. My 26-year-old self can’t pull those all-nighters like I could just a few years ago in college.

Earlier this month, I spent my beautiful fall weekend running a huge retreat for our 7th and 8th grade students, at a camp about an hour and a  half away from our church. I spent pretty much the entirety of my waking moments meticulously running through checklists, transportation arrangements, schedules, songs, props, and handouts…not to mention constantly giving direction and instruction, problem-solving on the fly, breaking up rowdy fights between 7th grade boys, hugging crying girls, speaking and teaching, checking in with leaders and musicians and tech people, shouting through a megaphone, and acting as liaison between our group and the camp staff (translation = every time a kid wanted to go shoot arrows at the archery course, I had to stand and supervise to make sure no one came home missing an eye).

It was a great weekend. I managed to get about three whole hours of sleep each night in my room of non-stop hyperactive girls, I only got hit in the face with a dodgeball twice, and only one student dared pull a prank on my water bottle.

I use this time, each retreat, to scrutinize each wave of students. I love to learn their culture, their norms, and their group’s personality, as well as what they struggle with, what they need, and what they’re growing up to be.

Here are 7 of the observations I made about this particular generation of students:

• We are, without a doubt, seeing the impact of strictly scheduled kids who are completely immersed in technology. Kids don’t really know what to do with true free time. These kids are so used to being told what to do, every second of their day, that they don’t understand how to think on their own or structure their free time at all. They also wouldn’t stop asking about the schedule. It’s clear that they are used to keeping their own schedules and knowing what’s happening each day, and even though we told them “not to worry about the schedule”, they did.

• I think these kids crave a release from their technological world. We don’t hear many complaints about it not allowing cell phones at our retreat anymore, whereas it was a constant complaint just a few years ago. Kids seemed all too happy to be away from the “stress of keeping up with Facebook and their texts from friends”. I just wrote an article about this at my youth ministry column at thESource, if you want to dive into this topic more here.

• These kids are more noticeably distant from adults and older teenagers. Even our high school students, who helped out as leaders at one of these retreats for the very first time, noticed this and commented on it. Our middle school kids were polite, but distant. I wonder if this is a reaction to the fact that they are constantly ordered around by adults, with their highly structured teams, clubs, and other organizations—and deep down, maybe unknowingly resentful that these adults don’t care enough about them to force them to unplug, take downtime, and quit the activities that they can’t mentally and physically keep up with.

• This group of students is losing the ability to read and write at the level that should be standard for their age group. Many was very rudimentary in their ability to think critically, fill out answers, and spell. I know this is the generation that is the techie generation, and it’s clear to me that using autocorrect and not learning how to write things out by hand is eroding their ability to spell, construct sentences, and even their handwriting itself. I fear for their college professors–and the future of literature.

• Attention spans are getting shorter and shorter. The old adage I’ve heard that a student has about a minute of undivided focus for each year old they are (so, about 12-14 minutes at a time for these kids) seems to be shortening. They want everything instantly, and they get antsy even if they have to wait in line for something. They lose focus in the amount of time it takes to hand something out to their group.

• I think these kids are absolutely dying for individual attention. It’s a trademark of their age, of course, but it seems like even the smallest amount of personal, one-on-one time just completely lifts them up. One really cool thing we did this year was have all of our small group leaders pray individually with kids, while we were doing our closing worship service—so each student there was prayed for personally by an adult. Many kids were crying, even though most of the adults spent only a few moments praying with them. I wonder if this is another effect of them feeling like they are over-programmed and expected to produce results in most everything they do—that simply by having an adult love them, without expecting anything from them in return, is something they aren’t used to.

• At one point, when I told the entire room that we had had a prayer team of 80 people (including 60 teenagers who had gone on the retreat before), praying for them by name for the entire month of October, I saw jaws drop open. I think the idea of being a part of something that’s a legacy is something that’s important to this group–which makes perfect sense, because the technology they’re so used to is so temporary that they crave something that lasts for a long time. Kids were coming up to me and telling me they were excited to get to pray for this group when they became teenagers, and many were asking me if they could come back to the retreat as teen leaders in the future. I think this wave of kids will be very interested in their personal genealogies, and will be captured by the idea of being a part of something that’s bigger than themselves.

All observations aside, I need to add one purely emotional statement that comes straight from the gut:

I love these kids and leaders.

Even with the kids’ wild dodgeball-chucking energy, and that twinkling in their eyes that indicates that they just poured a cup of sugar into my ice water, and their insistence that we stay up “just a little bit longer” to tell stories in our room late at night, and our leaders’ good-natured assistance with pranks, stealing creepy dolls out of rooms when no one is looking, and hiding candy bars in their Bibles…they make retreats like this a blast.

And now, for the first time in weeks, I can relax…and leisurely sip my sugar-free water.

Things I Probably NEVER Should’ve Said Out Loud…

While in the office today, chatting with some of my male coworkers, they confessed that they think I’m a very intimidating person.

Dare I mention that one of these coworkers saying this was my own husband?

When I pressed the issue–genuinely a bit concerned, I might add–they wouldn’t stop laughing long enough to give me serious reasons why they view me this way. I think they were snickering at my disbelief.

Finally, one of my coworkers stopped giggling long enough to say, “When you write things like, ‘I’m going to chop your fingers off’, that scares people!”

Hm. Good point.

Let me explain…it’s not as bad as it sounds.

I think.

Back away from the cookies....

About two years ago, I had a problem with people from the office sneaking into my candy and cookie stash that I was saving for middle school events. When I dragged in several large cookie trays one day and had to leave them overnight, I was obviously concerned for the welfare of said cookies. So, I did what any other creative young individual would do, to deter people from creeping into my cookie stockpile:

I wrote a note saying, “If you steal a cookie from here, I will chop off your sticky fingers and feed them to you.”

It worked. Not a single cookie was stolen.

However, I haven’t lived it down since then. It gets brought up at least once a week around here.

I had another one of those, “Oops, I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud” moments a few weeks ago, as I was teaching a Communion Instruction class at church on a Sunday afternoon. As it was a large group and I was busy with organizing paperwork and prepping for the long lesson I’d be teaching, I had a few young students standing around me, pestering me mercilessly.

Since I was about ready to get up and teach the large class of students and parents, I had to get this youngsters to leave me in peace for a few moments. So I asked them to leave me alone and go sit down.

I actually don’t remember what I said, to be quite honest–but plenty of witnesses later reminded me of exactly what I said:

“Hey, go sit down or I’ll have to stab you with a pencil.”

Their response? “Whaaaaat?! You wouldn’t stab us, would you, Cassie?”

Me: (glancing around the table) “Well, you got lucky today. I only see pens here. Go away.”

I know, you’re wondering if I would actually stab a sixth grader with a pencil, aren’t you?

Come on–I don’t want to ruin my pencils. Silly.

I think the problem stems from the fact that I’m coupling my sarcastic and witty humor along with the fact that I work with such a turbulent and boisterous age group.

Often, I’ve caught myself saying things at youth events like, “Don’t make me throw you off the roof, pal” and ”If you don’t put that basketball away, I’ll shove it up your nose”.

You think I’m joking? Ask my kids.

Or my coworkers.

Or…anyone that knows me.

I’ve become infamous lately for the “Focus Fist”, an effective (albeit cruel-sounding) form of silencing a large crowd during Bible study. The “Focus Fist” actually used to be the much more humane “Focus Fox”, where I held up my hand and formed an adorable little fox by extending my index and pinky fingers and clamping the other fingers down into a little snout. The purpose of the “Focus Fox” is to distract the group just long enough to refocus them. And it’s usually quite effective.

But, after an extremely long day at work and an evening capped off by attempting to lead a Bible study with the most tenacious group of ten and twelve year olds you’ve ever seen in your life, I abandoned the “Focus Fox” and instead waved my fist at them. Thus, the “Focus Fist” was born, and a new youth group tradition was started. And quickly spread to other youth groups a few weeks later, at a retreat.

My legacy: one of fear and control. How nice.

I guess my coworkers are right. I’m quite an intimidating person.

Now, stop reading my blog or I’ll throw you off the roof, buddy.

I’m 25, and Being Bullied. Seriously.

I never expected that, at the age of 25, I would experience my first real battle with bullying.

But, as I sit here in my office, surveying my desk–now devoid of several precious objects–I have to admit it:

I’m being bullied…by a bunch of guys who are bigger than me.

Oh, that’s not to say that I haven’t ever dealt with this issue of meanness. I went through middle school, after all–that horrible age when girls are ready to claw your eyes out and then pretend to be your best friend to your face as soon as you walk back to your seat from the pencil sharpener.

Or, in my case, threatened to break my legs and chop my long blonde hair off. And did things like smear Twinkies in my friends’ faces and throw sharpened pencils across the room at each other.

I first started dealing with bullies in grade school. First grade, to be precise. Somehow, I caught the attention of the grade’s biggest bully, Elizabeth–and we continued to battle like angry rams throughout the seven years I was at that school. I was pretty much the only kid in my grade that ever stood up to her–boys included–and when my popularity eventually eclipsed the web of fear she had cast over my classmates, I relished my role as the triumphant victor. My classmates were free from her tyranny, finally able to enjoy their lives, as I was the quintessential “good girl” who was nice to everyone (except Elizabeth, of course).

How did I manage this exceptional feat?

Long story short–she ended up stuffed in a trash can in the locker room.

And she never really bothered me much after that.

In the years since grade school, I’m actually surprised that I was never bullied again. Sure, there were a few isolated incidents here and there–for instance, the boys in 8th grade used to pull my hoodie over my head and tie my strings in a knot behind my back, so I helplessly flopped around the classroom like a patient from the mental ward with a few loose strands of hair and one eye peeking out between the folds of fabric.

And even now, I have to admit that it wasn’t a painful experience. In fact, it’s a prank I’ve been known to pull on some of my more aggravating students in the middle of winter. Shhh.

So you can imagine my dismay at this point, as I’m a quarter of a century old, upon finding myself being bullied.

I realize now, too late, that I’ve made several critical mistakes in working in an office setting:

• I brought cool toys in, like a glittery bouncy ball that swirled magically, a cool modern hourglass, and a special zen art board.
• I told people how much I liked these toys.
• I told people that if these toys ever got stolen, my heart would be broken.

Naturally, now my bouncy ball and my hourglass are both gone.

And when I say gone, I actually mean “kidnapped”.

You see, the thief/thieves actually took pictures of the items, created Facebook pages and have been posting updates as the toys themselves, and have been making phone calls to me frequently–calls both from the toys, telling me how much they miss me, and from the captors, telling me to follow “a specific set of instructions if I ever want to see my toys again”.

I wish I was making this up. But in all seriousness, you can search Facebook and find “Cassie’s Ball” and “Cassie’s Hourglass” and add them as your friends, too. Currently, they have about 19 friends between them.

Unfortunately, I cannot pinpoint who the thief (or multiple thieves) is. He’s tricky enough to be calling me from a computer program that both disguises his voice and shows up as various staff members’ cell phone numbers–throwing me off the trail completely.

I’ve narrowed the suspect list down to a half-dozen guys I work with. And, in the last few days, I’ve grilled them–even going so far as to yell “hands up!” and make them all surrender their phones as I’m getting an incoming call from the thief.

No luck so far. But I’m confident that my detective skills will pay off in the long run. Besides, they don’t know about all the spies I’ve recruited to work for me.

They should’ve picked an easier victim. I am not going down without a fight.

I sometimes wonder if my life is really as random as it seems when I blog about it. I guess it is. Which, again, leads me to wonder–what would our office look like as a sitcom?

Vegas…or A Weekend With Middle Schoolers?

It’s been too long since I last posted. I know, because I’ve heard it from nearly a dozen of you people–”Cassssssie, when are you going to write another post?”

It harkens me back to my days on the mission trip this summer, when I literally got sick of hearing my own name because I heard it so dang often:

“Cassie, what time is dinner?”

“Cassie, where’s my medicine?”

“Cassie, where are we going next?”

Multiply that by 30 kids for 7 days straight, and you get the picture.

So, the reason for my absence from the blogosphere is pretty simple–I’ve been crazy busy. In the last few weeks, I’ve been writing curriculum for our Wednesday night Bible studies, planning a whole slew of winter and spring classes and activities, and putting together our annual Encounter Camp, a giant retreat for our middle school students and their small group  leaders–among the other rigorous duties of my job.

Incidentally, while I was spending my weekend with a slew of middle schoolers busy teepeeing my door at 3:00 am, my brother was at a conference in Vegas, schmoozing it up with cocktails, fancy dinners, and expensive shows.

Hmm...must be nice...

I don’t have the most glamorous job in the world, that’s for sure.

But–sometimes glamor fizzles in the face of unmistakably real, life-shaking events that punctuate my ministry on occasion.

Let me explain.

Our Encounter Camp was incredible this year. It’s always a privilege to work with such wonderful and servant-minded leaders, and I always leave this weekend feeling blessed to interact with so many people.

This year, for only the second time, we had a “Parent Recap”, where we spent half an hour sharing details from the weekend–highlights of where we had seen God working, what we talked about, our favorite things from the Camp, and how parents could help their kids carry that spiritual growth they experienced at Camp with them through their daily life. It was inspiring to see so many parents excited about their kids’ relationship with Christ.

Honestly, I think one of my favorite parts of this whole weekend was simply hanging out with people. I absolutely love getting to know these kids and adult leaders–and it’s been fascinating to watch how the Holy Spirit has worked through them to mold them in the last few years.

I’ve been able to witness first-hand how some of these kids have grown into Godly young adults.

I’ve been privy to conversations about how some of our students didn’t know Christ at all, and now have a thriving relationship with him.

I’ve watched kids cry as they start to comprehend how much their God has done for them for the first time.

I’ve seen boys grow from hashbrown-slinging terrors into young men eager to live meaningful lives of purpose.

I’ve watched girls toss their ridiculous drama aside and strive to live up to their calling as Christian women.

Recently, one of my youth confided to me that when she came into the confirmation program last year, she was a Wiccan. Now, her faith in Christ is so solid that she’s not only rejected all of her old ways, but she’s reaching out to others who are caught up in the same spiral of evil and sharing her testimony with them.

Over the weekend, I saw one of our eighth grade girls stand up and choose to learn about God rather than go to a hockey game and get a backstage pass to meet her favorite hockey player, who’s been her role model for over half her life. Even though her parents drove up an hour and a half to present her with this surprise present, she chose to stay at the Camp and learn more about her God–because, as she put it, “This hockey player is my idol, but he’s not my Savior.”

Additionally, in the last few weeks, I’ve had the absolutely incredible experience of watching two young men start to step into leadership roles. They started out helping in small ways with our Fusion 56 Wednesday night Bible studies, and with a little encouragement, started taking on more and more leadership responsibility. Last week, they both led small groups for the first time–all on their own.

The coolest part? They totally rocked those small groups. The fifth and sixth grade kids were completely enthralled with having these teenagers as teachers. And I was blown away by the teaching ability of these two young men. I mean, seriously–I was floored. I felt like I just stumbled across a buried treasure that was hidden in plain sight, right in front of me all along.

I guess I’m rambling right now…this isn’t exactly my most cohesive and well-planned post. But, it’s a glimpse of what’s swirling around in my mind right now.

Even though my brother may be livin’ it up in Las Vegas, I’m still pretty happy with my weekend and the little rays of sunshine that shine into my life every once in a while.

However, don’t get me started on missing out on the famous Monte Carlo buffet…

Teens Say the Darndest Things…

I’ve spent quite a bit of time with my teens in the last few weeks, savoring the  sweet dregs of last-minute freedom before school starts tomorrow.

Yep. I’m pretty much as bummed as they are. No more spontaneous trips for ice cream and snow cones, no more Saturdays at Six Flags, no more trips to the mall on lazy Sunday afternoons, no more surprise fake mustaches showing up in hidden spots all over my car after giving the kids money to buy vending machine goodies, and no more random kids jogging to my office on a 101 degree day to just “hang out” with me.

One parent asked me (in half seriousness, I think) if I wanted to sign the adoption papers to take custody of her son. I think she was surprised when I readily agreed.

Sure. Skip the baby part. I’ll go from being childless to having a 14-year-old overnight. Sounds great to me.

I’ve been keeping a mental log of the memorable things I’ve heard come out of these kids’ mouths over the last week or so, just so I can either laugh uproariously about them in the privacy of my own home or ponder their sweetness later on. So here, for your pleasure, are a couple of the stand outs that these kids have said to me in the last week:

#1.”Cassie, I really can’t figure out how old you actually are. You just seem so much like you’re totally my age.”

Why I Like It: I still feel like I’m their age–just wiser and with a better sense of fashion than my 14-year-old self. Oh, and a college degree and a ring on my finger, too. I’ve realized that because I can just hang with these kids and live my life with them, side-by-side, they don’t see me as an adult from Planet Lame. And, because of that, they trust me. So I hear the inside scoop–on everything. And yes, I mean everything.

#2. “It’s hard being Cassie Moore sometimes, isn’t it?”

Why I Like It: Working with teens is no job for those who only desire to be popular and well-liked all the time, I’ve discovered. There have been plenty of times where I’ve had to put my foot down and discipline kids. No, I don’t like being the Bad Guy–and that’s exactly what was happening when one of my younger students made this comment to me. In the course of one morning, he saw me balancing the challenging tension of having fun, connecting with students and leaders, and reigning in the unruly troublemakers. I guess the demands of my job that day looked pretty darn unappealing to this poor, innocent youngster.

#3. “I’ve prayed for you, every single night for the last two years.”

Why I Like It: As I watched my 44 students walk across the stage a few weekends ago to be confirmed, I realized that I had prayed for each one of them by name dozens of times–some of them, likely hundreds of times. I had tears in my eyes through both confirmation services, just thinking about how much I truly care for each one of these kids–and most of them don’t even know how much I care about them. To know that one of my dear students was doing the same thing in praying so faithfully for me, unbeknownst to me, gave me chills.

#4. “I think you’ve become my second mom…sooo, you wouldn’t mind buying me a snow cone now, right Mom?”

Why I Like It: One of my students joked last week that he was going to change my name in his cell phone  to “Mom 2″, because I always take “such good care of him”. I’ve bought this kid everything from shoes to dinner, so sometimes I do feel like his mother. I’m grateful that my students know I care for them–that I’m not just going to temporarily plug into their lives and then unplug as soon as the next wave of students comes through my program. I’m invested in them for the long haul, as a good mother would be.

#5. “You know slavery is illegal in the United States now, right?”

Why I Like It: Working with teenagers is challenging–usually it feels like you’re working in the complete dark, because you so rarely see the results of your investment. But, every once in a while, you get a little glimmer of the seeds you’ve sown growing and producing fruit. Last weekend, I spent an entire day at a theme park with twelve teenagers and three other adults, enduring sticky humidity and sore feet and a profusion of “your momma” jokes. At the end of the night, one of my students asked me how he could help me because I was “always helping him”. When I jokingly told him that I was always swamped at work in the summer and that I needed some “slaves” to help me file papers and organize the building, he committed to coming in the next day and working for me. Despite my pleas to not give up a precious last day of freedom before school started, he recruited a friend and spent eight long hours assisting me, tirelessly working without breaks. Their work ethic so clearly revealed the power of the Holy Spirit working in them that it gave me goosebumps–and reminded me that while working with teens is definitely harder than herding cats, it’s infinitely more rewarding (even when you only get an occasional sliver of the results).

#6. “I want to be hanging out with you in 30 years.”

Why I Like It: I want to be hanging out with them in thirty years, too. A few months ago, two of the girls in my small group confided that they had been utterly crushed one afternoon last year, as they realized how insignificant they probably were in my life. In their minds, I was going to leave this church someday and completely forget about them. As they laughingly told me, “You matter too much to us–you’ve changed our lives–but we thought we were going to be nothing to you, that you wouldn’t even remember our names after you left.”  Honestly, I went home and cried over this. I know exactly what they were feeling–I’ve felt it, too. There have been people I’ve connected with and looked up to, and I doubt they can even remember me now. That hurts. But, the fact that these girls know that I won’t do that to them–that they’ve changed my life just as much–is something I’m grateful for. And the reality that they want to be involved in the rest of my life is something that causes me to fall to my knees in thankfulness.

The Culmination of My Weird Week: Getting Hit By A Shopping Cart

It started last Sunday evening, as I stepped outside my apartment doorstep on a balmy evening to take the dogs out at midnight before I hit the hay.

I took one step before I landed right on top of it.

A folder.

Nestled right outside my front door.

In this neat, color-coded file folder was a whole collection of assignments from one of the kids in my confirmation small group.

Apparently, my dear little friend Ashley had been too embarrassed to knock on my door that late at night–so she just ditched her folder on my welcome mat without saying a word to me.

All I could think about was a movie I saw one time, in which a disgruntled ex-boyfriend kills his girlfriend’s dog and leaves the poor puppy’s head on her front stoop to terrify her.

I don’t think that was the kind of message Ashley was trying to send to me, don’t worry. But of all the things to have left on my welcome mat, I never expected to see homework assignments there. Sort’ve like my work truly followed me home.

Hm. Strike one on the Weekly Weirdness scale of my life.

Strike two followed swiftly after that–the very next evening, in fact.

I was preparing myself for a highly stressful week, so I had invited some of my ninth graders over to my apartment to watch a movie that evening. At the last minute, they all backed out on me, so I was left with a gloriously empty evening, stretching out in front of me–one filled with wasteful hours of eating dry Fruit Loops and watching “Criminal Minds” reruns while lounging in my pajamas.

Suddenly, my dreams of doing absolutely nothing were shattered by one forceful “bang-bang-BANG-BANG” on the door.

My first thought was, “That’s gotta be a neighbor. My ninth-grade students can’t drive yet–there’s no way I have to worry about them just showing up at my door randomly.”

I cracked open the door, and found out just how wrong I was.

Apparently, while my students can’t yet legally drive themselves to my house without any warning, their parents still can.

Within half an hour, I found myself managing the utter chaos of having five unruly teenagers goofing around in my apartment. I never really realized how many breakable things we own until I saw two of the biggest klutzes I’ve ever met handling these objects.

Hastily, I drove them to the only place I knew where they couldn’t break anything:

The church parking lot.

Bingo. Sometimes, it does pay to be a church worker.

Strike three was even weirder, as hard as that seems to believe. It’s a long story, but it involves a handful of kiddos eating a frozen french silk pie in my car, late at night. I still have the crumbs on my dashboard to prove that it actually happened–it wasn’t just a sleep-deprived hallucination.

Strike four occurred just yesterday, as I was at Walmart.

I know, I know…that place is a magnet for all things bizarre. You’re not phased by me telling you that something strange happened at Walmart.

In fact, Lady Gaga looks downright normal compared to some of the people I’ve seen at that store.

So it should come as no surprise to you that I actually got run over by a cart at Walmart yesterday.

Yep. Poor me, looking for thank-you cards for my confirmation leaders…I step around the corner cautiously, and get nailed by a suburban housewife looking for school supplies.

I kid you not. She rammed her cart right into me.

It's out to get me...

My eyes must’ve been as big as saucers as I backed away from the Killer Cart Lady, listening to her apologize profusely for her carelessness. I managed to squeak out, “Oh, no, it’s ok! I’m fine! Really!” before I practically sprinted over to another aisle to get away from her.

I think I was in shock that I actually managed to get hit by a shopping cart–especially considering that I had been peeking around the corner so carefully…a habit I’ve learned by watching other people almost get run over by these metal monsters.

I walked over to the scrapbooking supply aisle in a daze. I turned and stared at some stickers, and suddenly heard an ominous sound behind me.

I spun around, only to see the same lady–Killer Cart Lady–about to run over me again.

Like I’ve said many times: I can’t make this stuff up.

She dragged her eyes away from the display and locked eyes with me, startled. When she realized it was me again, she froze and screeched her cart to a stop. I literally backed away, palms up, to another aisle.

We didn’t say a word to each other. It was a mutual agreement that we’d never meet again in this fashion.

As I hastily left Walmart, I began to realize the truth:

I’m on someone’s hit list.

Come on–that has to be it. There’s simply no other explanation. Who almost gets run over by the same lady twice, other than someone who’s on a hit list?

Now, I just need to figure out why I’m on that list…and who else in nice, quiet, suburban Oakville is going to come at me this week…

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.

The Night My Youth Group Almost Got Attacked By A Knife-Wielding 8-Year-Old

It’s every youth leader’s worst nightmare:

Leader: “Hey kids, how did your scavenger hunt around the neighborhood go?”

Kids: “Wowie, it was great! We almost got attacked by an insane little Asian boy wielding a 10-inch butcher knife, yelling and compulsively pulling his pants up over his bellybutton!”

Yes. As I often say, I’m not creative enough to make this stuff up. It actually happens.

Let me rewind a minute for you. Last Friday, after a grueling week of Vacation Bible School in which I made a fool of myself in front of hundreds of kids and parents (and furthered the personal torture by somehow managing to get interviewed on camera by our video team while wearing my bee-bopper costume and bouncing Styrofoam antenna, which naturally ended up being selected from the hundreds of other interviews the teams did…which meant that my sweaty mug was plastered all over the screens at our 3 sites and thousands of people on Sunday), I had a youth event.

Our youth event was our annual “Bigger and Better Scavenger Hunt”. The premise is simple: kids split into teams. Each team gets a small object–like a straw or little coffee creamer–and races around the neighborhoods near the church, knocking on doors and asking for anything “bigger or better” than what they have. All the donations either go to the church or to charity, so people are more than willing to give us their junk.

We take whatever we can carry and hike it back to our church, where we gloat over our spoils of war like brave and tired little soldiers.

This is the third time we’ve done this event. Two years ago, the winning item was a ping-pong table. (Yes, that’s right: we carried a full-sized ping-pong table all the way back to the church. Uphill. Past a police officer, who didn’t even blink upon seeing a gaggle of kids pushing a ping-pong table down a busy street at dusk.)

Last year, the winning item was a large sandbox, full of sand and sand toys.

This year, however, topped the charts with weirdness.

To begin with, the group of boys I was with got a fence.

Yup--they hauled these babies all over the neighborhood!

Yes, a fence. They pulled it out of the ground themselves.

By the time we finished our 2-hour scavenger hunt, our group had managed to procure two large sections of fence, an exercise ball, a large fake Christmas tree, several electronic toys, a plastic fire truck, 3 rusty nails, a yoga mat, a purse, a candle, a brand-new tennis racket, a box of brownie mix,  envelopes, and a car vacuum. We almost got a dog, but had to turn it down at the last second.

Despite my personal feeling that nothing could ever top the sight of 6 boys slowly dragging all this rubbish through the neighborhood on a 95-degree night, I was wrong.

Upon arriving back and meeting up with the other teams, I discovered that they had dragged suitcases, a bathroom stall door, and boxes of European chocolates with them back to our headquarters.

But, that wasn’t all they dragged back. They dragged back a wild, almost-unbelievable story about a little Asian boy with a knife.

Of course, this happened to be the group of kids who took off with my husband, Tyler. The weird things seem to stick to him like sprinkles on honey (sorry, latent VBS joke…I’m still trying to get it out of my system.)

Apparently, they had knocked on the door of a large suburban house, only to have the door creaked open by a small but fiesty Asian boy around 8 years old. He shouted at them in a language they couldn’t understand, and then screamed something about how his parents weren’t home and they had to leave him alone. As the group turned to leave, the boy whipped the door open again to reveal the said shiny knife and the pants pulled up over his bellybutton, a la Steve Urkel.

At this point, the entire group backed away slowly. The boy flashed the knife around, saying, “Come in, one at time! One at time, inside!” while the group shouted their apologies and made a hasty exit to the street.

No harm, no foul–but boy, was I cringing as I listened to the kids tell their parents how they “almost got attacked” at the youth event. It was one of those rumors I wasn’t too excited to have posted on Facebook that night.

When the kids clamored around me, shouting their versions of the story, my knee-jerk reaction was to pretend I hadn’t heard this. It’s the same sort of feeling I got after finding out that one of the high schoolers had shimmied up the very slick roof of our student center to chase after a loose frisbee–like if I just pretend that I didn’t hear it, I can continue to revel in my ignorance.

And I wonder how I earned the endearing nickname “The Fun Stopper” from my dear husband?

Thankfully, in the end, no one was stabbed by that pesky 8-year-old with the knife.

But, if they had been attacked, they could’ve used the bathroom stall door to defend themselves.

I guess next year I’ll just have to send the kids out with army tanks….

Never Say Never

Complicated, hyper, changing-their-mood-faster-than-they-can-text, nutty little things. Something to be examined from afar—don’t get too close, or they’ll suck you into their talk of Miley Cyrus and Facebook. Spend too much time with them, and you might end up having them actually confiding their latest crushes to you.

I never thought I could work with middle schoolers. Leave that to the people who never grew out of middle school, right?

A year and a half into my job as the middle school ministry coordinator here at Faith, and I’m not sure I could ever work without middle schoolers. I absolutely adore this age–the complexities and challenges, the joys and pull-my-hair-out frustrations of this tween generation. Without even a hint of sugarcoating, I can honestly say that the biggest joy of my life right now is seeing God working in, through, and amongst the kids here.  What an incredible gift He has given us in these youth—not only in blessing us with these kids, but in allowing us to have a hand in molding them into young men and women of God.

Sometimes I feel like the little kid who was just promoted from the kiddie table at Thanksgiving, and allowed to feast with a proper knife and fork at the Big Table. I often picture myself squinting at God and saying, “Are you sure? Me? Lead your children? But…what if I mess up? What if I don’t know exactly what to do?”

However, that’s the beauty of what God has entrusted us to do. He has blessed us with these kids, and told us to raise our children up and to make them “wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus” (2 Timothy 3:14-15).When we’re confused, unsure, or feel like we’ve made a mess of the whole process, we can turn to God and plead anew for help—and not only does He always give us another chance, but He turns our mess into good (“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose”, Romans 8:28).

Jesus says, “You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit—fruit that will last” (John 15:16). Notice that Jesus didn’t say, “Oh yeah, the fruit? It might be ok. Well, I’m not sure really sure if it’ll last or not…it might, or it might not.” He simply says, “I chose you and appointed you. The fruit will last.”

Last week, I was invited to my first eighth grade party. The last time anyone bestowed the honor of inviting me to an eighth grade party was…well, was when I myself was in eighth grade. That made me realize something: if God can work through me—a ball of stress who worries about paying the bills, is cranky in the morning, and yells a bit too loudly at her puppy for having an accident on the carpet—then God can work through anyone. And He does.

Somehow, through our imperfections and shortcomings, His work is still being accomplished. If that doesn’t show the glorious grace of God, I don’t know what does.