Conflicted

Conflicted.

It might be the word of the week.

As if our insides were tugging in two different directions at once. Fighting against ourselves. Losing as often as we win.

The fifth graders feel it, talking over the top of each other, serious in the same moment that they are goofy. 

Racing to see who can come up with the most things to be thankful for, but writing down real things nonetheless - friends and grandparents, warm homes and supportive parents. Retelling Bible stories while the person next to them interjects with unicorns and rainbows.

Wired on an extra hour of sleep but discombobulated with the change.

And, I tend to forget how carefully we have choreographed the steps to our dance - until something happens to throw it out of sync.

There's a kid who has been making a habit of waiting for me in the children's wing, where we both teach first hour classes. We walk together to middle school. Two minutes, perhaps, that are all his.

This week, I leave early.

I'm watching some kids between services.

It's simple. Thirty minutes, maybe forty. Myself and another leader. We're scheduled to be finished before middle school even gets really started.

But, as we walk down into a game that is already underway, I can tell that I have thrown him for a total loop. Whatever his plans were for the intro time, I messed with them. Messed with the steady security that he thrives on.

Enter: conflict.

Because, for all that he doesn't have the words for it, for all that it wasn't intended to have anything to do with him at all, he feels betrayed.

And, when the kid who would jump in front of a dodge ball before he let it hit me begins to throw Sweet T arts at me - hard - I can see it in his eyes. Because, it's just this side of the playful roughhousing that makes up so much of middle school with these boys, and it's the only way that he know right now to communicate.

Barely thirteen is a rough age for words.

There isn't a right way to say the ones that he needs and still look cool, collected, in control.

"Where were you?" The girls manage to find the words, clinging to my arms - a little roughly, as if it is both accusation and lifeline. "No one knew where you were."

Some of the ones who ask barely do more than say hello on a typical Sunday, but it is a steadiness that they trust, a step to the dance that was missing, that threw off the rhythm of their morning.

The one with the Sweet T arts is daring me to fix it. Daring me to come and hold on until it is better - but also daring me to feel how he feels.

So, he stays close. But, not too close. Barely out of arms reach. Not smiling. Not looking me in the eye.  Only glancing over when he thinks my head is turned. Still. So very, very still.

We are close, but I am not forgiven.

It roils inside of him, in the set of his shoulders and the tilt of his head, this conflict of desires.

Reconciliation or retribution.

The speaker talks about the Fruit of the Spirit, and the girls in breakout group are brutally honest.

Sometimes, if I believe that I need patience in my life, it makes me feel patient and forgiving, BUT, sometimes, believing that makes me feel angry and impatient, anxious and worried. If I believed that and felt any of those things, I could always pray, but I might also de-stress - go on a run, spend time thinking, talk to someone, or sleep on it before acting.

I believe that I need love in my life, that I ned to be loving, and that makes me feel challenged and puzzled and confused, so I do something about it. I pray or ask someone or think about it or read the Bible.

They know that they want these things, but they know that they aren't these things. Not naturally. Not all the time.

There is this conflict, the fruit of the Spirit or the fruit of the flesh.

I love that they are safe enough here to speak truth, even when it isn't pretty. Safe enough to feel honestly, even when the feelings are not happy. Safe enough to act genuinely, even when the actions are not always on task.

These are my kids, my conflicted, messy kids.

I am not perfect, and neither are they. So, we dive deeper into grace, and, next week, we might come up on the other side.