Cluster

"What happens in cluster stays in cluster."

No blogging allowed. But, a few snapshots that are classically this group of high school girls... 

Knitting. Our Christmas party involved tacos, a gift exchange, the Polar Express, and piles of girls knitting/Knify Knitting/crocheting for several contented hours. The winter months mean yarn and needles/hooks coming to cluster, just like the summer months mean hair wraps and henna.

Pushups. This is our second time through the E100 Bible reading plan, and the girls decided early last summer that there was a penalty of five pushups for every missed day of reading. Only small group I've ever been involved in where pushups are a regular part of the schedule!

Steel drums. Several of the girls play steel drums together. It sounds awesome. Enough said. 

What Works for Me: Relay Races

 Every few years, I end up with a group of Sunday school kids who think that relay races are the best thing ever invented. Typically, it has been my 3rd or 4th graders (or 5th graders with limited exposure to running like crazies at church). The great thing about relay races is that they are a wonderful way to work on memory verses.

And they can be modified to fit the needs of the group.

In the past, we have used rocks to spell out virtues (summer months), or kept it simple with "Run down. Read the verse off the sheet. Run back. Tag the next person." Weeks with more visual, tactile kids who are confidant in their spelling/copywork skills have involved a giant sheet of paper and a large Sharpie. The week we talked about Abraham leaving his home involved adding a couple of Kenyan skirts to the mix.

Lately, though, we have gone from an all girls 4th grade group to having 25-35% of the group as 4th grade boys - and often been adding 5th graders into the crew at the end of the hour. Reading all of those big words, with the added pressure of needing to do so quickly, has tended to put our 4th grade boys at a disadvantage, and, well, no one likes knowing that they are going to loose, so...

Our most recent modifications:

1) Two lines. Run down to Jessica. Draw a card from the stack. Follow the instructions to get back. Tag the next person. 

On the back of each card is a sticky note (so that we can use the cards more than once) with part of the verse. First team to get all of their cards back and put the verse in order wins.

We often, but not always, give them the large print sheet to leave on the floor between the teams for reference.

2) Run down to Jessica. Pick up one puzzle piece. Run back. Tag the next person. First team to get their puzzle assembled wins. 

This time, two of the girls helped me fill in this template in the few minutes before music. 

Classic Sunday Afternoon Post:

One of those "easy" days in Sunday school this morning, where it feels like you've hit a sweet spot and the temptation is to think that you might be able to do this without praying. Because, well, this is simple, right? You put smiles into kids and you get smiles back. Kumbaya and daises and all of that.

(Good news for my heart and humility is that, most weeks are far more likely to be messy, train wreck, herding cats, too much caffeine, and too many big feelings in too small of bodies sorts of days, where you hold on tight and pray that there is a divine plan under all of the layers of hurt and hyper.)

4th graders listened well during a long story, sang their best - even with songs that they weren't sure they knew - and, let me squeeze their brains into trying to understand Isaiah 53:7 for the memory verse. We "kept" the boys rather than sending them off to fifth grade and split off into two groups. They checked and double checked to make sure that the goofy thing that I did when the story teller asked for a volunteer was supposed to happen. We talked about promises and how, even though there are sometimes good reasons for humans not keeping promises, God keeps his no matter what. We ran a relay race to work on the memory verse and, then, after the fifth graders joined us, we ran it again.

And, it was nothing special, but they left content.

Easy peasy lemon squeezey.

A 6th grader caught me on the way and walked me over to middle school, where we found a couple other kids, talked for a while, and set up the octagon. Leaders meeting. Octagon. Still a klutz, but slowly improving. Continued conversations and narratives from previous weeks. Pulled in some kids who haven't been there in months. Played a game. Listened to a talk. Broke out into small groups and talked about every sort of God thing under the sun. 

These girls that we so often draaaggg answers out of had questions and thoughts and more questions and more thoughts, and one topic would spiral into another and another and another, until we had covered more ground than I thought was possible in twenty-five minutes.

Everything from the concept of truth to Ancient Egypt, American coins, 2012, sharing faith with friends, and inner and outer beauty and pride.

Yep. Jessica. Alone. In a room with twelve preteen girls. Talking about beauty.

This... is one of those things that my middle school aged self would have sworn was never going to happen. Proof positive that I really do, very emphatically, love these girls. (Although, yes, I did go directly from that breakout group to playing running, chasing games with "my" 6th grade boys. So, not all is bizarre.)

Again, simple, content.

Sweet spot for the week? Found.

What Works For Me: Large Print Verses

Each week, for the 4th graders, I have been printing off one large print copy of the current memory verse in the biggest font size I can get away with and still keep all of the words on one page. If their crumpled, beaten status at the end of every week is any indication, they are well used. 

1) If I hold it up, everyone can see well enough to choral read without crowding. This helps all of the kids get familiar with reading the crazy words in the verse before they are asked to do it on their own later.

2) It's big enough to mark up. I'll often have two or three kids come and put stars by any words that they don't know, so that we can use one of our tricks to make the crazy words seem less crazy. 

3) It's great for a cheat sheet. We often play some sort of a memory verse game. For things like freeze tag, where they have to tell me the verse to get unfrozen, we often give them an "assist" by holding the verse out and letting them read it. 

What Works For Me: Goofy Explanations

Isaiah 53 has a lot of hard words, especially for fourth graders. Fourth graders are pretty quick, though. They're at one of those stages of life where they are learning new terms every time they turn around. It just takes a few tricks, and a little repetition, to help things stick. 

One of the things that works for us in Sunday school this year is adding a little bit of silly to our explorations and explanations. After a few kids have given ideas for word definitions - or researched them for us - it is time for the goofy definitions to roll in. 

For example, the word "oppression" contains the word "press." So, I might reach over and press down (gently) on the kid/s nearest me and explain that oppression means that someone bigger - a grown up to a kid or a boss to an employee - or with more power is doing something unfair to someone smaller than they are, holding them down or "pressing" them down.

Then, I might let a few of them "oppress" me in return.

We pictured "afflicted" by my reaching over and repeatedly "flicking" the kid beside me (Yeah. I know that the spelling doesn't match up, but it sounds right to them, and that is what most of them need to be able to remember). Affliction is something painful - like being flicked - done to you by someone else  - like Jessica.

Ask them those two. They remember them. Actually, they remember a lot of words, but those two were/are their favorites, because I let them do them to me in return.

Every week is something a little different, depending on the kids who show up and 98% off the cuff, but, if silly can help make crazy/hard words memorable, then that works for me.

What Works For Me: Researchers

I am all about kids people memorizing Bible verses. In fact, we spend a good chunk of our small group time each week working on a verse with the 4th graders. But, as per the curriculum, we are currently working our way through Isaiah 53, which has more than a few words and phrases that the kids are not familiar with - as well as a mind bending habit of mixing metaphors and going on "rabbit trail" verses.

They each go home at the start of the month with a verse sheet like the one below, with definitions on the bottom of the page (dictionary definitions simplified and translated into 4th grader speak, because, it is very uniquely frustrating to look up a definition and find out that you are going to have to look up another definition, just to figure out what the first one meant). 

By no means, though, does that mean that they actually read the definitions on their own. So, we define the crazy words at Sunday school. One of the ways that we do that is to assign 2+ children as "researchers." Those researchers use the page to "look up" any words that the rest of the class is confused about. 

They love being the ones disseminating the information, and I love that they are practicing finding the answers for themselves. 

(Other weeks we might let the kids guess as to what the crazy words mean - they are often remarkably good at hunting down related or root words - or we jump right in with some sort of crazy teacher definition. Totally depends on the words and how familiar/foreign they are to that week's group of kids.) 

"Their Story" - Sunnyside

Cards

My 4th and 5th graders this year are actually all 4th graders, and nearly all girls. Eleven girls and one boy today - who opted to stay with us since his twin sister was also there. Can you see the mass amount of pink?

So, things run a little differently then they did last year. Smaller (not as many kids 1st hour). Quieter. Stiller. And, much more interested in "projects."

This week, we filled out the review worksheet, went out to the hall to run/hop/skip/gallop two relays with the memory verse, and came back in to make cards for church staff while the other leader led them through the discussion questions. Next week, they've been promised an exploratory adventure to deliver the cards to their appropriate destinations.

Active? Yes. Comparatively? We all but laid down to take a nap.

We did, however, take a very familiar trip to get bandaids for a bloody knee. Because, even when no one falls, we still manage to somehow somehow draw blood. This year, however, there are two of us working with a single small group (myself and a high school senior), so the entire crew does not have to be drug along on every bandaid expedition.

But, I am in love with their hearts that would settle in and work so diligently on cards for people whom they have never met with jobs that they only barely understand. They are full of ideas for cards and cookies and canned food drives, simple "random acts of kindness" that they could use to serve others.

And, they're flat out funny.

Languages

(wrapping up the evening at the most recent 7:11 with a ping pong ball explosion)

Middle school ministry continues to be an adventure. One of my old youth pastors used to tell us that the most important question to any middle schooler was, "do you like me?" (With high schoolers tacking on an extra question at the end of, "do I like you?") Personally, I might translate the question to, "am I worth your attention?"

Of course, it is never rarely asked so straightforward as that. These are middle schoolers, after all, who still have many of the languages of childhood at their disposal, as well as most of the languages of adults. Not all of the languages happen at the same time, and it can take less than an instant to trigger a switch from one to another (also occasionally known as mood swings). But, all of the languages are there, and they are all asking essentially the same question. 

Sometimes they have polite words: "If I get in the octagon (gaga pit) will you get in too?" Am I worth enough for you to do something you're bad at just so that we can interact?

Sometimes they have conversational words: "I'm still sore from my football game yesterday." Am I worth the attention that it will take to finish this conversation?

Sometimes they have feeling words: "I hate it when the boys try to get the girls out [of the game]! It makes me so mad!" Am I worth your attention even when I am not perfect?

Sometimes they have commanding words: "You're playing next time!" Am I worth listening to, even when I can't find quite the 'right' words to ask for what I need? Will you give me your attention anyways?

Sometimes they have community words: "Then we grabbed our spoons and no one else noticed!" I had your attention there. I was worth it. Right?

Sometimes they have empathy words: "Is that kid alright?" Are we both worth the attention that it is going to take to resolve this situation?

Sometimes they have easily translatable actions: A kid who runs up, tags you, and runs away...wants to be chased. Am I worth dropping everything to follow? Am I worth a moment of your full attention?

Sometimes they have body language: Eyes that turn around and spark at you...want to know if you just saw/heard what they did. I am worth the attention that it takes to notice things when they happen?

Sometimes they have behaviors: [which is teacher speak for, "this child is not doing what those in charge think they should be doing"] If I don't have the words, or even the direct actions that I need to communicate, am I still worth enough of your attention for you to try to understand what I want to say?

And, from at least one child a week, there are brief tears of pain or frustration that somehow manage to be both genuine and a question: What about NOW? When I am hurt, are you still going to stay here? Am I still worth your attention?

The trick seems to be remembering to listen to all of their languages. 

Work

For the sake of my own brain when I turn around a few years from now and try to remember what on earth I was doing with my life in 2012:

I am currently working a few hours a week at the church, watching littles while their moms exercise, and then booking it out of there to spend a few hours a day at Ed*son Elementary. 

My first sub job of the year was at Kennew*ck High with a special needs S omali girl. First time ever in an active high school classroom! Much time spent trying to look less lost than the freshmen. Sweet kids. Interesting experience. (Still not a fan of the current secondary education model. Surely, there is a better way to do it.)

Straight from there back to Ed*son, where I worked last year. 

Being back at a school where I already know and am known is wonderfully refreshing, and, again, a brand new experience. In the past, a new year has meant a new school within the district. (And, I finally have a seniority date.)

Largely, I get paid to love on kids. Lots of hugs. Lots of watching tricks. Lots of listening to stories and looking at butterflies they have caught. Lots of sending kids in for ice and standing by while they "fix" their own problems. Lots of catching kids who come at me with a running leap, and lots of reminders that, "feet stay on the ground when we hug." Lots of classrooms, lots of teachers, and lots of different rules. Lots of little fingers examining each of my bracelets. Lots of promises that I'll teach them, later in the year, how to make their own. Lots of silly faces in the hallway. Lots of "games" that carried over from last year. Lots of hugs. Lots of smiles. Lots of goofy conversations. Lots of time with kids claiming my hands and arms as their own. Plenty of reminders to, "eat your food, so you're not hungry later." And, have I mentioned, lots of hugs?

Because, I walked out on the fourth and fifth grade playground for the first time this year - after being thoroughly reprimanded by a dozen fourth graders the week before for the fact that they, "never get to see [me] this year" - and was nearly bowled over by children. First a wave of all-at-once, all-but-shoving-each-other-out-of-the-way boys came running barreling over with a shout of, "Ms. Jessica's here!" from the one who can spot me from a mile away. Tangles of arms everywhere and sweaty little boys wrapped so tightly around my sides that I can feel their hearts still racing from whatever game they've just been playing.

As soon as it was safe, they were followed by a pile of girls, who were instantly relaying any and every crime that the boys had committed over the last twenty-four hours - including offering an iPad to any girl willing to date them. Repeated conversation about never going out with a guy who buys you over with presents.

Similar conversation with fifth grade girls who have been offered $25 to go out with a guy from their class. (Very much hoping that it sticks, because, as innocent and joking as the offers are now, they're potentially less than a year away from facing the same conversation with older guys who fully intend to traffic them.)

Little boys in an out of the conversation, as if my hugs expire every four minutes or so and they have to come back to get them renewed. Reminders, as I see that I have their ears, that real men don't bribe girls to go out with them and that both parties have the right to say yes or no, without anyone else deciding for them. Teasing questions about how they're going to pick the girls up for a date, and they crumple to the grass dramatically. "Stop it. Stop it! You're ruining it!"

But, a few days later, they're back, draping my arms over their shoulders like a security blanket as they tell me that they got dumped.

Guys, you're nine and ten years old. Forget about it. Go play chicken on the parallel bars or catch butterflies like everyone else is doing. Girls will still be around in a few years when you suddenly realize that you really do care - and when their ideal of a man is no longer Justin Bieber or One Direction.

(It is, apparently, something of crime in tween girl-dom to like both. Only total devotion to one or the other is acceptable.)

Always Good

"Ooh!" Said Susan, "I'd thought he was a man. Is he - quite safe? I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion." 

"That you will, dearie, and no mistake," said Mrs. Beaver; "if there's anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees locking, they're either braver than most or else just silly."

"Then he isn't safe?" said Lucy? 

"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver; "don't you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the king, I tell you." 

- The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, C.S. Lewis

Nope, not safe at all, particularly if your version of safe involves a carefully constructed world that ought never to be turned upside down. Because, He tends to do things like...

 ...take a group of American teenagers and their leaders...

...and plop them down in Haiti...

...in the middle of a village with no water source...

 ...and then send them home...

 ...to a group that is selling bracelets to raise money for a well.

fundraiser + need = solution!

They held a yard sale that raised over $800 in one day, and are currently selling bracelets and other crafts here to raise the funds for a $4,000 well. (Check out their blog to see what they're up to. The full story of the adventure should be up soon.)

But, really, that wasn't the start of the story at all.

Really, there was a team in Haiti this summer...

...because a different group went last summer...

 ...while some kids back home were designing a web site...

 ...and making bracelets, that they thought were going to be for a totally different well.

Last summer, one of the girls wore her "water bracelet" to Haiti. Last summer, one of the guys from this year's team sat with the Focus group discussing names for a fundraiser that would turn out to be for a village that he would visit on a trip that he didn't even know he was going on.

Last summer, we didn't know anything more than that we were being obedient. We never dreamed how far that obedience would take us!

Never safe. Never tame. But, always good.

Tail Gate

Church. Grass. Wind. Sun. 2,000 folding chairs. Food. Snow cones. Smiles. Laughter. Root beer floats. Ice cube fights. Relationship. Wind. Shade. Music. Worship. Sermon. Conversation. Family. Wind. Life.

Once a year, we do church service outside, on the front lawn or a high school stadium.

The main purpose seems to be to hang out afterwards, eat food, and let the kids get away with eating more sugar than they do on any other day of the year that isn't a commercial holiday.

Each small group pulls up a vehicle to form a giant circle (think Oregon trail, circling the wagons) and sets up their own tail gate; pulled pork tacos, corn on the cob, snow cones, nachos, yogurt and granola. And, everyone else wanders around, eating whatever looks good and talking to whoever they can catch.

Often, the kids start with a snow cone, add an ice cream sandwich on top, wash it down with a root beer float, and top it off with a cookie and some cotton candy; while the adults go for the chicken wings and fresh baked bread.

This year, from my vantage point by the shaved ice machine, much of it looked like a never-ending "snow ball" and ice cube fight that simply ebbed and flowed with the pattern of the sun peeking out from behind clouds. Because, wind strong enough to send canopies flying during service rarely phases anyone in Tri-town, but, the minute the sun disappears, we wrap up in blankets and hunker down - it's not even 80 degrees out...we might freeze!

We create assembly lines of far more helpers than needed, because, hey, the kids want to work; they want to be a part of this thing that connects them to the rest of the church. (And, for the high schoolers, it is a chance to "prove" what ought to be painfully obvious, to prove that they love one another, that they love others, and that they are willing, a thousand times over, to put that love into action.) So, we use eight middle schoolers to make snow cones: an ice scooper, a button pusher, two snow cone formers, a cup separator, an ice provider, and two flavor pourers. The high school table is surrounded by kids waiting their "turn" to make root beer floats and hand out information cards, not because that many are required for either station, but because that many have volunteered.

They come in and out, sometimes leaving with a handful of ice or a carefully formed snow ball, sometimes coming back wetter than they left, but almost always smiling, because what kind of summer party would it be if you couldn't play in the snow?

Transitions

So there are these boys. Eleven-years-old and full of more life than I could ever imagine, bold as lions in their courage, and yet, still absolutely petrified by the move up to middle school. There are these boys, who will carry a friend across a field on their shoulders, just to prove to me that they are strong. And, there are these boys, who, when hit with an ice cube from my hand, will come back, fully expecting to be allowed to peg me in the head in return, because it has never crossed their minds that I could mean to hurt them.

There are these boys who still grin like banshees when a game gives an excuse for me to chase them and who respond to uncertainty by moving closer, my name echoing across open spaces often and loudly.

There are these girls who can somehow manage to talk about nothing and everything at the same time, eleven-years-old and as protective of their friends as a mama whose cubs are threatened. There are these girls who light up from across the room, and then proceed to give me the whereabouts of anyone and everyone that we both know. There are these girls who can throw a seed pod hard enough to leave welts and these girls who expect sympathy for their newest scratch.

There are these girls who love nothing more than to remember stories and who come back with a murmured, "ask Jessica," just as often as they move out to explore the world on their own.

There are these kids, who somehow managed to convince me to move up to middle school with them, as if three years of being their Sunday school teacher hadn't been enough.

(kindergarten, 4th, and 5th)

And, week by week, in between the crazies of summer and ministry trips and days spent split between children's and middle school, we are figuring out how to make the transition.

They are learning, layer by layer and moment by moment, that they are seen and cared for by leaders other than just Jessica. And, for all that I love them with everything that I have - perhaps because of it - I can't help but grin every time that I see them in conversation with someone else, every time that a hand that is not mine reaches down to tousle short hair or wrap a hug around growing shoulders. Because, in a time of their lives where everything is changing, these are good, healthy, normal transitions.

Even "without" a small group, (middle school splits for discussion groups by gender and grade, and they are slowly adjusting to the idea that 8-10 minutes of discussion time at the end of the hour "counts") they come to check in with me before splitting off on their own adventures.

When they are excited, they stay for longer, running in circles around me and spouting off pieces of stories.

When they are anxious, they hover just out of reach, always checking to make sure I am watching.

When the girls are "gone," the boys pull me into their game, with a knowing smirk that is the confidence that they can beat me - or at least come close.

And, when they are sad, I gain a quiet shadow that doesn't give a rip what is or isn't cool so long as they can be close.

Slowly, we are picking up a rhythm. Slowly, we are all learning to transition to a new way of doing things, a new way of living life together. Slowly, they are learning that they are braver than they thought and stronger than they knew - and that eighth graders only sometimes bite. (One of the boys informed me, after the first partial week of school, that he hadn't been eaten, but had, perhaps, been chewed on a little and then thrown back up.) And, eventually, if I am doing my job right, there will be the names of other leaders uttered just as often - if not more - than my own. Eventually, my face will join a long list of faces. Because, there are these kids, who I wish could have the whole world on their side.

But, for now, a few middle school leaders ought to do some of the trick. (:

When You Come Home but the Trip Isn't Over

Really, this is true for every trip. There are still kids at church wearing their camp bracelets, and they slip easily into patterns that we set over a week up in the mountains. (Which means that the two finger whistle the boys' counselor taught them still shrieks across the fellowship hall when they are feeling particularly mischievous. Thank you, again.)

At cluster I hear, "At bridgetown they said..." inserted into our conversations as we talk about prayer and passion and priorities. 

And, every time I turn around, we are talking about Haiti. Every week or so someone will post something to Facebook. Everyday conversations still contain quiet references. If their eyes light up with a quiet, knowing, joy; there is a decent chance that it has some connection to Haiti. 

At times we are talking about the house where we painted walls - the house that lost its roof to Hurricane Isaac - or the kids, the travel, the difference from last year, the churches, random things that happened on the team. Often, we are talking about Village Cannis - where we spent a single morning that they might just remember for the rest of their lives. 

That village that broke their hearts is, almost two months later, still a passion that drives them forwards. 

Together with their youth pastor, they have decided that this is the year to raise money for two wells. The first well will go here, to a village on the edge of a saltwater lake, set against an absolutely majestic shoreline - that provides absolutely no potable water. It will cost $4,000. 

They have already raised 34% of the costs for that first well, and there are some truly crazy plans in the works to raise the rest. They may be home (until next summer), but they have made sure that this trip is far from over. 

Haiti Video

Haiti VBS trip 2012 - Haitian Christian Mission from Jessica Mac on Vimeo.

SOLD in Sunnyside

The SOLD exhibit made it's second appearance this weekend in conjunction with Sunnyside's Promise and Oasis Community Church.

We were able to come alongside organizations and individuals who have their hands in deep on issues of trafficking in their area and give them another tool for building awareness. They provided wonderful volunteers, strong backs, and eager hearts, and managed to get even their mayor to go through the exhibit.

Our amazing audio guys remixed the narrative track for this showing - with even more improvements on the way, including a public school friendly version. The high school youth group at Bethel gave up time on a Sunday night to create more Red Hand petitions for the Yemen room. My parents volunteered their weekend to serve at the exhibit. And, folks in Sunnyside put in countless hours rounding up volunteers and making sure that the word got out.

Set up and tear down went smoothly thanks to a largely teenaged work crew, and volunteers from VISTA and elsewhere in the valley helped two eight hour days to go by without a glitch.

Now, we just need to find out where we're going next!

This is How We Do

Proof of the oddity that is the Focus group (the justice group that carried over from last summer), not so much in the what of this picture but more so in the who of it.

Thursday morning/afternoon, six of us met to talk, research, scheme, drive all over town, play car games designed to frustrate those who have never heard them before, and, eventually, chalk clean water statistics in the park. Because, building awareness seems to be our thing, and we're still raising money for a well.

Four hours of laughter, planning, fast food stops, and constant explanations of old inside jokes. Special times that were pretty typically us.

By the time we got to the chalking, the above were our crew: an incoming sixth grader, an incoming high school freshman, and one about to leave for her freshman year of college. By most "church" standards, they should have been split, at the very least, into three separate "ministries" according to their respective ages. There, they would play different games, sing different songs, and learn progressively more "complicated" things about Jesus. In a church our size, they would rarely even cross paths.

After all, middle schoolers are insecure and hyper; high schoolers only care about whether their friends think they're cool, and college students are motivated by nothing besides coffee and free pizza. Right?

And, yet, they're here, spending a hot summer afternoon - one of precious few before school starts again - working on a project with people that they never would have otherwise known. Because, God doesn't always work in the boxes we create.

(In fact, He seems to rather enjoy smashing them to pieces.)

Chalk

The Focus group met for four hours on Thursday to research, check links, be generally strange, and pull out the chalk for the first time this summer. Yep. We actually managed to make it through to August without ever breaking out the chalk. Which, clearly, had to come to an end at some point, because, not only do we remember what we chalk, but it gives other people an awesome chance to self educate as well.

And, the kids get the greatest grins on their faces when they see someone stop to read something that they've written. There's nothing like hands on learning combined with instant gratification to make this all a little addictive.

Bracelets

The Focus group met up at the library again today to photograph all of the new bracelets and get them prepped to go up on the blog. There are nineteen new bracelets up for sale, various sizes but all fully adjustable.

New faces meant going over old ideas with fresh eyes and re-looking at the prospect of putting together a 30 Hour Famine event for middle school, high school, and possibly college students. We also spent time filling each other in on what is going on in other parts of the youth group with regards to clean water. This group is no longer alone in their desire to put in wells.

Some of the kids who went to Haiti this year have also been scheming up all sorts of crazy ways to raise the money for a well in Village Cannis. (More on that at a later date.)

Bridgetown 3

Friday morning, we rearranged the vans and took off for the Real:Life exhibit, with the admonition that missional people are aware of the things going on in their world. 

So, they learned about everything that you could possibly imagine cramming into a kid in the course of one exhibit, and they learned about it slowly and carefully and well. Most of them had been through on prior trips, but that did nothing to dampen the respect or earnestness with which they encountered each story. 

We talked through it a little. They blew off some steam at the park. We talked through it again in smaller groups. They blew off some more steam. And, then, we took all of the thoughts still floating in their eyes, and we brought them with us. 

In the case of our van, we took those thoughts back to the church, where we were confronted with piles of paper and boxes of crayons. "You need to create twenty-three invitations to tonight's Love Feast. Here's what they need to say."

Oh, the irony. The artists are out scrubbing graffiti off of power boxes, while eight of us sit here, tongues between our teeth, hunched over meticulously folded cards, just trying to make sure that someone else will be able to read what we write. When we say buckle down and get 'er done, we quite actually mean that we are going to take the kid who rides bulls as a pastime and see how he does with a different kind of challenge. 

And, as if that were not enough, the next job was to set twelve tables for an English style high tea. 

Huh?

Yep. Pardon us while we Google to make sure which side the fork goes on. 

But, they did it. With much excitement and many "proper" pinkies being waved in the air, they welcomed back the graffiti removal crew and all headed out to invite their personal guest to a multi-course English style tea. And, then, they sat, and they listened, and they ate, until their stomaches, hearts, and minds were full to bursting. 

They washed hundreds of dishes, cleaned everything that could possibly be cleaned, took loads across the street to the Portland Rescue Mission, and then went absolutely, deliriously, manic, nuts. We pulled into a parking lot and the leaders stepped out, only to turn around and see all three vans rocking and jumping. 

We opened the doors, and they had a dance party in the parking lot. 

I have never been in a louder van. 

And, yet, in the middle of all of that, they caught a story about a newly runaway girl on the radio, and everything went silent as they stopped to pray for her. 

And, yet, they stopped on a worship song and sang, because they knew that all of the fullness inside of them had a reason and a purpose, even if they couldn't put it into words. 

Back at the bunkhouse, they played quarters (bloody knuckles) until the pain had slowed their bodies down enough to listen, and then they hung out with each other and colored and laughed and talked about strange things in the dark in our cabin until they couldn't help but fall asleep. 

In the morning, they cleaned and packed and cleaned some more, then handed out more flyers, in a different apartment complex, for a different kids' club and talked a little bit about Haiti - Yes, they are already thinking about next year. We headed to two other neighborhoods for kids' club, and they spent two hours painting faces, running games, handing out food, and giving constant piggy back rides. 

(Jessica's brain may have nearly exploded when a little Som*li boy came up and asked for a piggy back ride like it was the most natural thing in the world.)

Basically, they spent two hours continuing to love well. I could go into more of it, but I have already written half a book as it is!

And, then, we shook up the seating arrangements once again, and headed for home. 

Now, they are left with the hard job of fitting all the pieces together into this puzzle that we call life. 

Bridgetown 2

Wednesday morning, they split up into teams for a prayer walk with the exhortation that, "What missional people (intentional Christians) are passionate about, they pray for." And, off they went, map in hand, leaders trotting after them like obedient puppies, instructed only to intervene if they were about to put themselves in legitimate danger. Which, in the case of Jessica's team, this week, meant never.

My team of four managed to check all of the suggested "stops" off the guide sheet with pro map reading skills and minimal discussion, but in the most random order possible. Just because we're cool like that.

They wandered down to the waterfront at the direction of one of the girls and stood to move on at a moment picked by our only guy. Not thirty seconds later, we "happened upon" a teenage girl who was out of phone minutes but needed to call a friend.

She supplied none of her information, just smiled and thanked us, but they heard her when she laughed the way that teenagers do and mentioned that no one else would let her borrow a phone because they all thought she might steal it. They stood respectfully when she made her call and didn't push it when she left, but they listened, and they remembered the story that they were allowed to hear. 

They remembered the girl who was their age, who had spent the night with a group of drunk traveling kids, and who was waiting by the fountain, in a city she didn't know, for friends who were running two hours late. 

And, like all of the other teams, they came back and shared those stories with their friends, creating a web of stories and wrapping a layer of reality around these people whom they were passing. Because, it's not just in Haiti that our kids notice everything.

Their next challenge involved a scavenger hunt.

My team = slightly less than competitive. But, we did get some Voodoo donuts at one of our stops, and took a moment to pose when a man who was houseless offered to take our picture near a wall of painted doors.

Pretty sweet, seeing as we don't exactly have anything like this wall in Tri-Town.

We may have come in dead last on the scavenger hunt, but, when we moved on to delivering kids' club flyers to an apartment complex in Gresham, they put their logical sides to use and busted through their assigned buildings with a friendly efficiency.

The first few doors were an exercise in how-much-do-I-really-want-to-be-willing-to-serve-in-whatever-way-they-ask, but, classic Bethel kids, they put on their game faces and got it done anyways. And, within three answered doors, they were pro. One upstairs. One downstairs. The other pair the next set of doors down. And, pretty soon, they were collecting flyers from other teams, because they had delivered all of theirs.

If you ever need people to canvas for an event, I've got your team!

Lunch happened somewhere in there, as well as our only sit down dinner as a team. And, then, we sent them out, armed with sandwiches, hot coffee, and clean socks, to find stories and faces, to let real voices paint them a better picture of life on the streets.

They met Dave, who wants to run for Mayor of Portland; Terri, who got kicked out of his apartment complex after he flipped the manager the bird for bullying other seniors; Papa Wolf, a vet who rode a motorized wheelchair and made sure that the street kids had everything they needed; the Guardian, who watched over people while they slept and kept their stuff safe while they were awake and who had provided a safe place in the center of the park for those who were not a part of the clash between some Occupiers and the police.

And, they met some street kids who offered them a ride in their shopping cart and some beer, until one retracted the offer of beer with the statement, "No, they're too little for that."

They came back together to share stories of this community that had been so willing to teach them, and, then, in a classic youth group move, we fed them each a Voodoo donut, gave the sugar a few minutes to settle in, and then announced that it was time for bed. Ha!

But, eventually they did go to bed, on the floor of a church, with only whatever three items they had chosen to bring from the bunkhouse.

Thursday morning, we got eighteen females up and ready in ten minutes or less. No changing of clothes, and the potential for either brushing teeth, brushing hair, or putting on deodorant, but not all three. Blankets had been shared all night. Hairbrushes had been shared. Deodorant had been shared.

Toothbrushes. Not so much.

And, then, they were released. "Come back at 4:00pm. Eat somewhere in between if you can, but not someplace another team has already been. Good luck."

And, we got to explore just how far their good attitudes could stretch, which, was, apparently, pretty stinking far. (One snack sized bag of Sun Chips at 2:00, some leftover pastry from another group at 4:00, and they were good to go until dinner - 8:00 for some of them, 10:00 for the others.)

They wandered the length of downtown - several times - in the hunt for food, made a semi-serious attempt at spanging, talked with a friend from the night before, made the world's quickest tour of a mall, and hung out in a giant fountain. 

They discovered the frustration of having nothing but time to spend when you are hungry and the peace of having nothing but time to spend when you just want to relax. They realized a little more of how hard it would be to get a job while living with no food security. And, they decided that, if time really were money, people who were homeless would pay more for their meals than just about anyone else. 

(On average, our teams waited 1.5-2 hours in line at a soup kitchen. Multiply by three meals a day, and you are potentially putting in a six hour work day just to eat.)

From there, they worked under the bridge at Night Strike, serving food, picking up trash, greeting people and sitting down with them, giving out clothes, painting nails, and washing feet. This, down here, this is how Church should be. 

They served with everything they had - and caught the eye of more than one BT staff member with their willing service - and then came back to bunkhouse and let the volume fly. (So many thoughts and feelings. Not enough words to express. Must. Act. CRaZy!)

But, classic Bethel kids: boys' rooms are on one side of the staircase; girls' rooms are on the other, so, not matter how hyper loud we get, we will continue to talk with each other from across the divide. Because, well, "No purple!"

Bridgetown

Last Monday, I got one of those texts. "Hey, you bored sitting around? I just had a student injure himself so he can't go to BT, opening up a spot... you wanna roll with us this week?"

So, Tuesday afternoon, I took off on a second high school ministry trip, this time with twenty-three students and five other leaders, to Portland, OR. (As if I would ever miss a chance to be blown away by these kids and their incredible ability to love!)

(Once again, the placement of the pictures is whatever blogger felt like doing. I haven't rearranged them to fit with the narration.)

This is one of those odd trips, where 65% of your time seems to be is spent on things other than hands on service, which is, quite possibly, one of the most uncomfortable things that you could ask of a group from Bethel. 

Doing things to help people? Down to a science. Bethel teams can fly by the seat of their pants and accomplish anything that you ask from them. If there are things to be done with our hands, we are 1,000% all over that one. Stopping to just sit and learn? Traditionally, not our strong suit. Thus, for the sixth year in a row, the high school youth group took a team to Portland, to learn from and with Bridgetown Inc. 

(The first high school team went my senior year, with a different youth pastor, and a very different set of kids. Subtle things about the trip have been tweaked and changed, but much of it is just as it was five years ago.)

Twenty-three kids were divided up into five groups, where we spent much of our time wandering the streets of downtown Portland. On Wednesday, they spent two hours on a prayer walk, two hours on a scavenger hunt, an hour and a half on "walk about," and an additional hour canvasing an apartment complex for Saturday's kids' club.

The next day, they walked for eight hours and stood for another two.

The closest thing to a complaint sounded like, "I am going to have buns of steel."

I don't think that I will ever cease to be amazed by the energy and tenacity with which they go after things. This crew of (largely) fourteen and fifteen year olds offered everything of themselves that they were allowed the chance to give. For introverts to come on a trip where 90% of the "service" actually involves just sitting down and asking people for their stories. For extroverts to slow down and bite their tongues and wait for quieter team members to speak first. For them to brag on each other like every success was worthy of a nobel prize. For teenagers to verbalize their desire to do more, know more, see more. For disappointments to turn into stories and for their loudest moments to still remain fully under control.

For all of that, there is a testimony not only to the greatness of their God but also to the greatness of their character.

After a four hour van ride, a stop at the falls, and a stop at the mall for dinner, they finally set foot in downtown Portland and settled down on the red bricks to listen. Here, they listened to the story of the group that they were about to join. While they watched, they listened and took note, and, this being Portland, a few random strangers stopped in to listen too.

Back at the bunk house, they listened to the story of the one who was going to be their boss - not the sort of half hearted listening that they have perfected in school, but really truly listened. And, they watched as they listened, watched to see if his eyes and his body matched up with his words, watched to see if their teammates were hearing the same things that they were.

Because, these kids will do everything in their power to find the truth.

Just when I thought that we had pushed them beyond the limits of even the best attention span, it was time to journal. And, they jumped into it with a passion that was astounding. They got their hearts right. They gave up their expectations. They wrote each other letters of encouragement.

And, I got a necessary smack on the head reminding me just how much I love these kids.

Prior to that moment, I may have entertained some not so positive but very beaver-like thoughts about being a last minute addition and not fitting into whatever team dynamic they had already established. Yeah. Shut up, MacFarlan. You love these kids. So, be here to love on them and enable them to love others.

Luckily for me, one good "duh" moment was enough to return to your regularly scheduled programing of constant bragging about these kids.

Which, was a good thing, because, as per usual, they were rockstars.

Not enough bunks in the girls' rooms (which they referred to all week as "cabins")? No complaints. This is why we brought sleeping bags.

One bathroom for eighteen girls? Meh. Why not shower downstairs?

"I need three volunteers." Eight hands shoot into the air faster than lightening.

Dishes in the sink? There's a high schooler in there washing them before the rest of us have even finished eating.

Just woke up an hour early for a coffee shop that doesn't seem like it's going to open today? Guess we'll drink orange juice instead.

You won't tell us what we're doing next? Guess we'll just wait and see.

No technology? Okay. Can I text my mom to let her know I won't have my phone?

This is a generation used to having the answers for everything at their fingertips. And, yet, they turned it all off for a few days and concentrated on the people around them. They learned stories and made constant connections, delving into a world that is so different from their own and yet could so easily be theirs were just a few things in their lives slightly different.