When Playing Counts

"You're getting in!" One of my sixth graders looks around the room just long enough to realize that I don't have to be in a leaders' meeting. Not yet anyways. 

It's habit by now, this trying to get me into the octagon first thing, before the pit is swarming with bodies ready to play gaga ball, when there's just a few of them starting things off. Most weeks, it doesn't work. Most weeks I send him to play with a few friends instead, while I go to a meeting. 

This week, it works. 

My shoes come off, and he grins one of those little boy smiles that have half of the youth leaders in love with him. He's growing up, just a little bit, and, at twelve I no longer get every last story of his week the way that I did when he was ten. Instead, this kid who I have taught since kindergarten revels in the ability to beat me at a game. 

I'm getting better at it, still not good, but better than the hopeless mess of the first few weeks months, and his face furrows in concentration. He's growing, and it's a hard balance, trying to keep enough control of his body to get me out without striking too hard and sending the ball flying over the edge of the octagon (automatic out to the last person to touch it). 

When he succeeds - because, oh are they ever working together to aim directly for me - it's the first time in weeks that he's been the one to hit me, and his eyes nearly explode with it. 

"I love this game!!"

***

"We want to go with you." My three shadows follow me and my microphone through the fellowship hall. I'm explaining the game, and everyone else is joining a team, but they won't, not yet. Not until I put the microphone down and come with them. 

Most weeks we split games by grade and gender. Most weeks they don't get to choose their leader. This week, they aren't about to let the opportunity slip. (Which, partially, is why I chose this game in the first place.)

We join a group, and sixth grade eyes turn my direction without thinking twice. It's an old habit that is harder than I ever thought it would be to break. Not that I mind. They have other leaders now. The boys have men who are willing and ready to pour into them every week, to put the squirrelly ones into holds during music and teach them to whistle with two fingers. 

But, in moments like this, when we're running and when they're poking their fingers out the front of their shirt to be a cow (charades), their eyes light up with the thrill of doing something well, and I catch it in their faces. They like this part of growing up. 

Because, right now, during this ridiculous game, when things are just enough new and just enough the way that they have always been, they feel in control. 

They don't lose, but they don't win either. And, it doesn't matter, because they have 7,000,010 points, with the ten points being perhaps the most important of all. Those ten points mean that they were listening when I gave the instructions. Those ten points mean that they are old enough to laugh about the rules, rather than just break them without understanding. Those ten points are another layer to years worth of memories that mean church and joy and safety and adults who love them and who love Jesus. 

They could care less about the seven million, so long as I remember the ten. 

***

"None of these fit."One of my calmest, sweetest cluster girls laughs quietly about her Apples to Apples cards while we wait for the power to come back on for the Super Bowl. There's a longstanding tradition that the cards you win describe who you are. Her first card is "Loud," followed by "Cold" and "Animated." 

We text a picture to the leader who isn't there and let her join in on the moment. 

It isn't anything massive, but it is rather rare. Slowing down like this, just playing games, only happens a couple of times a year. Maybe because of that, few people really seem to care about the football game when it come back on, or even about playing this game the way that it is supposed to go. We just chose cards for an hour and a half, people coming in and out whenever they please. This game is only an excuse, like every other game today. 

It's a way to connect, a type of communication that doesn't require stories or even many words. It's a way to prove, at least a little, that we're all on the same page, that we understand each other. 

The game lasts until nearly 8:00pm, and this ends up being youth group, this sitting on the floor, crammed together to play with words and cards and careful irony. 

For this week, just playing counts. 

***

"The body heals with play; the mind heals with laughter, and the spirit heals with joy."