Sunday comes, and it is almost so par for the course that I don't take note of it.
But, I know that I'll want this record next year, when I am trying to sort through behaviors, trying to find the patterns and the normal. And, I know that our par for the course, is not necessarily par for the course.
So.
Advent comes gently this year, a Sunday right on the tail end of Thanksgiving break.
They come in well rested and well fed, and, if doesn't make it easy, it makes it easier. Makes this first weekend of Advent more like a late night with friends waiting for a midnight premier, and less like white knuckling through.
The fifth graders come in full of questions and humor and stories. Full of life and the desire to move. Eager for Christmas songs and simple games.
We work on a project and notebook. Run wild around corners in a relay matching up bits from Proverbs and Ecclesiastics, and play fly up until the parents get there. Sing songs, and listen to teaching.
There is a rhythm to it that they fall into easily these days, a knowing of what comes next. They know what we do, and when and where and how we do it. And, it makes the rest of it fade into the background a little.
My one who fidgets and bounces her body off of mine, but adjusts the impulsive sarcasm at my gentle reminder that it is beginning to be hurtful. The iPod that continues to go off with texts during the lesson. The whispers that are louder than they should be. The irony of the sudden volume and violent shaking of my arms that comes with their excitement over Silent Night.
And, the kid who stays with my group of girls simply because he knows me and it seems like a better idea than going with the rest of the boys and a leader he has never met. He stays, and no one dies from cooties on either side of the equation.
We finish. One of the seventh graders and I walk to middle school together.
And, it's different, but still so very much the same.
They come in bouncing and eager and full of the need to have eyes turned their way.
I pass out bandaids and gum, and, when we split off into groups for the game, point the ones who drift towards me in the direction that they need to go. Because, it might be the age or the season or the unexpected method of diving up groups, but it takes a while for everyone to figure out where they need to go, and they drift back close while they try to figure it out, like boats coming back to the harbor.
But, they make it, eventually.
We take a Thanksgiving quiz, and they're pretty sure that Columbus sailed the Mayflower in 1492, loudly certain of it, while the little peace maker of a sixth grader murmurs confident answers beside me. One of the more exuberant boys tries to google whether wild turkey's fly and somehow comes up with the wrong answer.
(That they can be in middle school in 2013 and not know how to research something is an entirely separate conversation about the American education system.)
Boisterously talkative. Silly. Grabbing. Pointing. Poking. Circling.
Not quite hyped up. But, not quite settled, either.
We finish, and my circle dissipates, coming back to check in a few times, but largely finding other places to sit. In their place come the kids who were once my small group.
They cluster in, not as tight as last week, but very conspicuously here, as if we've given them a broken compass and this is the one place that they can find. And, there are a thousand things going on beneath the surface that we try to deal with at the same time that I try to hush them into "acceptable" behaviors.
*nn* reminds me to smile. M*t** reminds me to laugh.
And, even if they are loud enough to draw another leader, every hand goes up during worship. And, it might seem small, that they are doing the same thing as every other kid in the room. But, it isn't. Not for these kids.
Their hands are up. If only for a moment. There are words coming out. And, I will take it.
On this week, when they can't keep their hands and feet off of each other. When the youth pastor talks about being distracted and they are too focused on other things to even glance at me guiltily. When there are no breakout groups and the extra time sitting is like pulling their teeth, but somehow still easier than it would have been to send them away.
When even the shy ones stand close and spend long minutes sticking a name tag to my sleeve over and over and over again. When church runs long but they stay close instead of going to the storage room. When they need me to chase them or jump into the octagon.
When it is gentle but still Advent.
On this week, I will take it.
This is easier. Easier than it could be. Easier than it has been.
Even the high schoolers grin and laugh during the game at Intersect PM. Run around. Just act goofy. Play.
They tell me ridiculous things, and, even though it isn't light or fluffy, there is a settledness to this waiting. An end game. History.
Advent means coming. Jesus is coming.
Already present but coming again.
So, we pour a little extra oil in our lamps, and we sit close to one another, because the night can get cold. And, we wait.
And, it's different, but still so very much the same.
They come in bouncing and eager and full of the need to have eyes turned their way.
I pass out bandaids and gum, and, when we split off into groups for the game, point the ones who drift towards me in the direction that they need to go. Because, it might be the age or the season or the unexpected method of diving up groups, but it takes a while for everyone to figure out where they need to go, and they drift back close while they try to figure it out, like boats coming back to the harbor.
But, they make it, eventually.
We take a Thanksgiving quiz, and they're pretty sure that Columbus sailed the Mayflower in 1492, loudly certain of it, while the little peace maker of a sixth grader murmurs confident answers beside me. One of the more exuberant boys tries to google whether wild turkey's fly and somehow comes up with the wrong answer.
(That they can be in middle school in 2013 and not know how to research something is an entirely separate conversation about the American education system.)
Boisterously talkative. Silly. Grabbing. Pointing. Poking. Circling.
Not quite hyped up. But, not quite settled, either.
We finish, and my circle dissipates, coming back to check in a few times, but largely finding other places to sit. In their place come the kids who were once my small group.
They cluster in, not as tight as last week, but very conspicuously here, as if we've given them a broken compass and this is the one place that they can find. And, there are a thousand things going on beneath the surface that we try to deal with at the same time that I try to hush them into "acceptable" behaviors.
*nn* reminds me to smile. M*t** reminds me to laugh.
And, even if they are loud enough to draw another leader, every hand goes up during worship. And, it might seem small, that they are doing the same thing as every other kid in the room. But, it isn't. Not for these kids.
Their hands are up. If only for a moment. There are words coming out. And, I will take it.
On this week, when they can't keep their hands and feet off of each other. When the youth pastor talks about being distracted and they are too focused on other things to even glance at me guiltily. When there are no breakout groups and the extra time sitting is like pulling their teeth, but somehow still easier than it would have been to send them away.
When even the shy ones stand close and spend long minutes sticking a name tag to my sleeve over and over and over again. When church runs long but they stay close instead of going to the storage room. When they need me to chase them or jump into the octagon.
When it is gentle but still Advent.
On this week, I will take it.
This is easier. Easier than it could be. Easier than it has been.
Even the high schoolers grin and laugh during the game at Intersect PM. Run around. Just act goofy. Play.
They tell me ridiculous things, and, even though it isn't light or fluffy, there is a settledness to this waiting. An end game. History.
Advent means coming. Jesus is coming.
Already present but coming again.
So, we pour a little extra oil in our lamps, and we sit close to one another, because the night can get cold. And, we wait.
No comments:
Post a Comment