4th Grade

Paper. Markers. A calculator app that one of the boys whips out of his pocket, and a list straight out of a World Vision catalog.

All year we've been marking down points for Bibles brought, verses memorized, and general awesome behavior. They've marked a thermometer, steadily filling it up with red. Because, today, they get to spend their points, each one worth a nickel for someone in need.

They're shopping now, calculating as they go, discussing the merits of rabbits versus goats, saplings versus a warm blanket.

I answer questions but leave the decisions up to them, because these are their points; this is the reward they've been working towards all year. And, because they love this.

We leave four to double check the math, to write me a final shopping list, and set up six of them to complete another project.

They've been filling a book with thank you's for the story presenter, and they need to finish. They settle into a circle with glue sticks and markers to add the final touches; tags that they've cut out of scrapbook paper, notes that are carefully folded into brightly decorated pockets, folded shapes that explode out of the pages.

Next week, they'll give it to her, this mass of artwork and tape and fourth grade gratitude.

Before then, I'll flip through the pages, not to edit but to look. Up till now, this has been completely theirs. Even I don't know everything that is inside.

Today, they finish just in time, as three of the kids work with me to fill out a certificate for each of them, something to show their parents a little of what they've done.

"Certificate of Awesomeness"

They fill in names and the amount that they earned. A few make notes before they leave, marking down what specifically it is that they've purchased. Many of them grab an extra glass stone on the way out the door, a tangible reminder of God's promises for a sibling or parent or friend.

Because, when I have fourth graders who love to serve, this is what we do with our small group time.

We let them serve.

Whirlwind

13.

"Thirteen days of justice."

We start with a prayer meeting on Thursday night. Two showings of a documentary Friday and Saturday. Minor sex trafficking in Cambodia.

Saturday morning is a "Run for Rice." The afternoon is set-up for SOLD, tweaking things as we come full circle back to the church that funded the exhibit to begin with.

Sunday is a video testimony. Monday a seminar on shame and forgiveness and the opening of SOLD. 

SOLD Monday through Sunday. Spoken word Thursday night. Poetry slam twice on Friday. Faith Justice Network meeting. The start of a high school fundraiser. Kids bring ten dollars to spend the night and raise money for water filters for a village in Haiti.

Lights out a little before 3:00 and up again a little before 7:00. Car wash from 9:00 to 1:00, where a couple dozen high school students raise over $900 for clean water.

Lunch with speakers from Cambodia. An evening of spoken word, worship, and art.

Spoken word and a sermon on justice Sunday morning. Anti-trafficking training in the afternoon and a tear down of SOLD that evening. Part two of the training Monday night. Women's brunch Tuesday morning with one of the trainers.

And, a deep breath as we all fall into our pillows.

(Somewhere on Sunday there was also 4th grade Sunday school; middle school game, farewell to the 8th graders, and more donuts; Haiti training, Intersect, and a welcome to the freshmen.)

Their Trip

Late may. The sky is heavy with coming summer. Variegated clouds that burn with brilliant sunsets. Rain and sun that alternate unpredictably.

And, we're beginning to get ready for Haiti.

We sit in our first meeting and the outreach team goes over dress code, expectations, reminders to check on passports and immunizations. Hands raise, not in questions, but to clarify. Returning team members and parents explaining the things that seem important for newcomers to know.

Skirts to the knee - even when sitting.
Sunlight tests to make sure they can't be seen through.
Collared shirts for the guys.
Closed toed shoes All.The.Time.

Silly little things that we've learned make up the pulse of the trip.

Because, we'd much rather focus on VBS than on fighting over clothes. Because coming prepared makes the rest of the trip that much easier. Because there is a list of things that we've learned the hard way. But, mostly because this is B*thel, where it is okay for high schoolers to correct the global outreach coordinator. Because this might be her job, but it is their trip.

Perhaps more so this year than it ever has been before.

For some of them, this is the third time back, more constant than friend groups or relationships or grades in classes. The freshmen who are coming have never known a youth group not defined by Haiti.

We've talked about it after the Real. Life. exhibit, while canvassing apartment complexes outside of Portland, and while standing around a fire in the parking lot. They've fundraised for water filters for a place they've never seen and washed dozens of cars before plane tickets were ever purchased.

Half the group would get on a plane now, if we handed them a passport and an appropriate set of clothes.

This is in their blood and in their hearts.

Even Sacred Road has never had this wide of an impact on the youth group. Denver or Bridgetown have never spread this far or gone this deep.

More than anything that I have ever seen, this is their trip, and, although we'll be there as leaders every step along the way, it is largely up to them what they make of it.

Run

"One of the sixth grade boys brought a friend," the middle school pastor mentions it as we're closing up our leaders meeting Sunday morning, passing on what little backstory the parent gave, so that the guy leaders can carefully pull him in, make sure that he gets connected somewhere in our sea of faces. 

It's one of those stories that remind us just how much hurt some of our kids have seen, one of those that freezes a few of the leaders in their tracks, minds spinning to come up with a strategy. As things turn out, he came with Dyl*n, so my boys introduce us before anyone else can get close.

"Watch this." I hear M*t** tell the kid who is following at his shoulder, and I know what it is that he wants. "That's Jessica." My back goes to him under the pretense of watching the game in the octagon. He 'sneaks' up behind me and shoves, just hard enough to set me off balance, and then takes off running, grinning like a banshee.

He's pro at this, almost scary good at distracting trauma kids, reading their moods, pulling them in deep, making them feel safe and accepted.

I chase him.

I chase M*t** and Dyl*n and Ry*n and their friend. Even N*c jumps into the middle, sending me skidding along the floor as he rolls away, and P*rk*r laughs from the sidelines. Over and over again we play this game. Sneak. Shove. Run. Chase. Catch. Torture. Release. There are more of them than me, and they come back time and time again.

Sneak. Shove. Run. Chase. Catch. Torture. Release, until we are breathless and laughing and the youth pastor is calling everyone together.

"That was good of you," one of the older leaders comments as we shift gears, "to have fun with them like that."

There is a probing curiosity in his voice, perhaps wondering if I am only chasing and catching and generally looking like a fool because we were instructed during the leaders' briefing to "have fun with the kids." And, I find myself trying to explain the unexplainable in ten seconds or less.

This is how we build trust. For these sixth graders, this is part of how you make their world seem safe - predictable, responsive to their agency. This is one of the languages that they speak. 

We're in the middle of something, not at the end of it, and every single one of us is learning as we go. For now, I'll be hands and feet and this curious leader will be the mouth. I'll draw smiles out of the new kid with the incomprehensible past, and he'll give next week's lesson.

Ascension comes next Sunday, and they'll start to let go a little bit, start to buckle into a new way of doing things. But it's not here yet. So, in the meantime, like the disciples might have, if they were really as young as some people say, we run and laugh and make the most of moments while they last.