I Almost Died. In a Church.

Since half a dozen people have remarked to me in the last few days that I’ve been silent on the ol’ blog front for the last few days, let me explain what’s going on:

I’m dying.

Fine, that may be overstating it a wee bit.

I feel like I’m dying.

After being sick with a fever for a full week, getting roughly an hour of decent sleep in the morning as my exhausted body finally passes out cold after a fitful night of hacking into my pillow, and soaking more pajamas in sweat than I care to admit, I’ve finally succumbed to the doctor’s diagnosis of a bad cold and/or flu that developed into bronchitis.

At 25, this is the first time I’ve ever had this strange affliction. And after mustering the courage to choke down the hot whisky toddy prescribed to me by my boss, I’ve decided that it’s probably the most aggravating thing in existence—after that horrible bagel-slicing machine that chops your bagel up into tiny chip-like pieces.

And, for a short time, I legitimately imagined that I was actually dying. My mental brush with death came as I was sitting in an unheated, pitch-black church sanctuary on a Saturday night.

It’s almost too cliché, really—a church worker, dying in a church?

Two weeks ago, at the persuasion of some friends, I attended a TEC retreat held at an ancient Lutheran church in downtown St. Louis. I came just as an observer to this retreat, called “Teens Encounter Christ”, held twice yearly for teenagers all over the state.

Unfortunately and somewhat ironically, the youth leader who goes a thousand miles-a-minute running retreats with over a hundred people a pop in attendance nearly passed out in a quiet hour of personal reflection.

I arrived at TEC that Saturday morning as happy as a clam…happier than a clam, actually, as not a single person at the retreat could tell if I was a teenage participant or an adult. In fact, they actually carried all of my bags down to the teenage girls’ dorm before realizing that I was an adult. Even the adults questioned me, saying they were “convinced I was 17 or 18”.

I’ve heard that several times in the last year. It’d make me proud, if I didn’t have other kids asking me if I was 35.

By mid-afternoon, I was freezing to death and wearing 3 sweaters—but my body was burning up.

By that evening, as we sat together in the unlit sanctuary and took a few hours to personally reflect on our faith, I was feeling more miserable than I’ve felt in a long time. I sat quietly on a harsh wooden pew, praying for what seemed like an eternity.

After a while, however, I realized that my prayers were focused around three things:

1) Dear God, I haven’t sat in a wooden pew for a long time. I think my buns are going to fall off in sheer protest.

2) Heavenly Father, as much as I love talking to you, I think I’m slowly dying.

3) Almighty Lord, please don’t let me keel over in this pew and die. I actually think I might, and they won’t be able to find me in the dark. They won’t even hear my last words over the guitar solo playing softly in the background.

I dragged myself to one of the retreat counselors and begged for aspirin. I then limped up to the room and collapsed onto my bed for the next few hours.

I woke up so sick that, by late afternoon that next day, I could hardly keep from passing out every time I stood up.

It wasn’t until the worship leader stepped away from his podium at the front of the room to try to catch me as I stumbled and almost tumbled to the ground in a dead faint that I realized I had to go home. And it wasn’t until my mom strong-armed me from a thousand miles away that I went in to see the doctor, later that week.

However, in my lonely and altogether miserable week of convalescence at home, I managed to learn some fascinating new things about selling your home, since HGTV was the only channel that seemed to have anything halfway decent playing while I was in between bouts of gut-wrenching coughing and horrific chills and sweats.

For instance, did you know that, dollar for dollar, a kitchen remodel is the best return on investment in your entire house?

So, there you have it, folks. I’ve been so miserable that I couldn’t even garner up the strength to write lately—as I explained to one of my students the other day, “You know I was truly sick since I didn’t even do a single load of laundry until I was finally on antibiotics.”

The good news is, of course, that now my sleeping schedule is so screwed up that I’m awake at one in the morning, thinking about how I could totally sell this apartment in the blink of an eye.

It’s all about whether you see the glass as half empty or half full, right?

Personally, I’m just glad I’m not seeing a half-full glass of hot toddy. Ugh.

Things 2009 Taught Me

I’m figuring that most people post some uplifting message about the hopes and dreams of the New Year—that untarnished, sparkling, exciting 2010. Ever the realist, I’ve spent some time thinking of some practical things I learned in the last year—including some things I don’t want to repeat this year.

For instance, I learned that it’s never a good idea to invite kids to do an activity called “Gingerbread Head”. To the pragmatic youth worker who buys rolls and rolls of thick plastic wrap and carefully plans to instruct the kids on how to put this over their head before building a gingerbread house on their face: IT WILL NOT WORK. Those kids will smear frosting all over the poor victim’s face, stab them with licorice strands, and explode several bottles of sprinkles all over their heads. You will spend close to an hour cleaning up this simple, fifteen-minute activity.

I’ve learned that middle school boys have the most disgusting, filthy, foul-smelling things in their gym bags. And, they don’t hesitate to throw them on you if you get to close to them. So, if you’re ever on a mission trip with 28 kids, don’t go near the boys.

I discovered the reality that mashed potatoes will always be flung if you have them out when kids are around. And that it’s impossible to peel an orange with your toes. And that you should simply never host a youth event entitled “Play With Your Food Night” unless you want to spend the rest of the evening removing all of the furniture from the youth center and hosing it down.

I learned that, in a Bigger and Better Scavenger Hunt, kids will wheedle just about anything out of poor, unsuspecting people. And then they’ll hoof it back to the church with these incredibly strange things—everything from full sandboxes and giant clocks to baby swings and ping pong tables. I also found out that a group of 7 kids wheeling a ping pong table down Erb road at 8:30 pm doesn’t even raise the eyebrow of the police officer sitting in his car, clocking speeders.

I figured out that, if you try four times to host a “movie under the stars” outside, it will always rain. And it will only start to rain about twenty minutes before the event starts, so you don’t have time to make other plans.

I discovered that you should never give glow sticks to people under the age of 25. And you should really never play a game that involves calmly sliding the aforesaid glow sticks across a gym floor. The translation to a middle schooler becomes: “Collect as many glow sticks as I can, whale them at my friend’s head as hard as I can, pray that one of the sticks breaks open on his face”.

I’ve also learned that somehow, when children in the state of Missouri pray for a snow day, God answers their prayers. He never answered mine when I was in school. He also did not answer mine this year, when I was hoping for an extra day off of work. Apparently, God listens to those in Missouri more than anyone else. (Really? Do I have to insert a disclaimer here that I don’t actually believe what I just wrote?)

I’ve learned that patience is indeed an incredible virtue, that kids are more interested in relationships than the perfect event, and that sometimes the best days of your life can be driving in a van full of 13 and 14 year-olds.

I’ve learned to always triple-check my files after an event, because that’s always where that missing check will be found. I’ve learned that a hug from a kid is better than an hour of reading a book on youth ministry, that parents should never be undervalued, and that coffee is not necessary when 8^th grade girls are anywhere within earshot.

I’ve learned that God works through the most imperfect vessels, that no feeling on earth can compare to watching the kids in your youth program pick up a Bible unprompted and read it to their peers, and that sometimes the most meaningful conversations occur in the strangest places.

I’ve learned that I can hang in there with a job that sometimes seems impossible and overwhelming, because God’s running the show. And I’ve learned that God is working and will continue to work, despite the daily frustrations I have with the copier, my PC, and myself.

Yes. Good ol’ 2009 was indeed a very valuable year.

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.