Transition Jitters

First Sunday back. Last Sunday before school starts. And, we dance with this transition like it is a tangible thing.

Haiti fills conversations and lessons and leaders' meetings. Atlanta the most common question I hear all day. I am captured by the idea that there were this many people aware of us. This many people praying.

A small team from a large congregation. But, we had warriors on our side.

My cluster girls want to talk and talk. The Haiti kids get together for coffee before youth group. Intersect is alive with bodies and words.

As if we could possibly sit close enough to transport back to where we were last Sunday. Tell enough stories, fill the night with enough words, to stretch these last hours of Summer into extra time.

Ultimate Spoons and music, Haiti and breakout groups.

And, I am reminded once again of the physicality of the way that we do uncertain emotion. This need to throw beanbags and frisbees, jump over chairs, blocks paths, and fight through barricades of pillows.

"This is how you know it's almost school."

The explanation comes easily to this new eight grader who has been brought over for introduction eyes wide at the running bodies and flying objects that fill the room between where she started and where we are now standing.

"It's always crazy in here, but this is just a little extra crazy."

The other girls nod, and we duck and dodge whenever necessary, the boys laughing as I manage to stand in just the right place to catch a gaga ball with my face. Twice, before they finish a single game. Skills, I tell you. Skills.

My eighth grade boys are wild and unpredictably predictable. Throwing thing. Chasing each other. Wrestling on the floor.

The girls are a little off kilter. Or, maybe I am. Horrifically bad this week at keeping more than one conversation in the air at a time. But, sixth and eighth graders have elementary Sunday school in common, so we talk about that. Talk about how Jessica's groups always climb the tree. Give brief lessons on survival at Ignite.

"If you hear someone yell my name, get out of the way. It means that bodies are coming through."

Because, some things are tentatively the same, even for kids trying to figure out what eighth grade really means.

This one will barrel past with a, "Jessica!!" when he is being chased, fully expecting that I will somehow provide protection from whatever game it is he's started. That one will forgive my absence in time to hide behind me from a dodge ball. No words, no eye contact, just a human shield, a dance around what will be and what has always been. 

Later, he'll bump into me, and I'll chase him for a very familiar moment or two. But, in the meantime, he will choose to sit with one of the male leaders. Choose to play the game with one of the male leaders.

Because, oh-my-goodness, they may have finally decided that these men (and high school guys) are to be trusted!

If you asked them this week who their leader was, they would point to Mike, to Matt, to Christopher or to Jonathan. And, I don't know if I can fully explain how awesome that is.

There isn't anything simple about it, nuances and details that could go on for pages. Disclaimers and caveats and overly explanatory explanations. Specificity that spices joy with sorrow, confidence with anxiety.

But, we'll deal with the details another time.

For now, there are nets of leaders surrounding my kids. Dozens of people praying for them the way that dozens of people were praying for us. And, that, in itself, is beautiful, incredible, awesome.

We'll take it.