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.