Island Hopping

There are a few conversations that we keep circling back to these days, all for their own very unique reasons.

Winter retreat. The coming youth pastor. And, the identity of this eighth grade class.

"I feel like we've always been the 'other' class." 

One of the Gryffindor girls air quotes it in the midst of sharing sixth grade memories, her gaze flicking around the room to take stock of the people she is talking about. Make sure that they haven't changed in the last few days. That she she has the right to say it. That she is still speaking the truth.

Truth about these eight graders who are spinning on the floor in the gag pit. Curled up against the wall to talk. Making stories. Telling stories. Always telling stories.

We've told a dozen stories in the last five minutes. Jumping intuitively from the last set of stories to this abstract line of thought.

This idea that her class has never been the ones to sit down and have a long and focused cabin time. Always been sound and movement and hours spent together.

So, we talk about it.

I talk about it with another leader on Saturday. And, H*l*y brings up again the next Sunday.

We're sitting on the floor, just myself and half of the group of girls. Discussion questions asked and answered. But, stalled out before we could get anywhere deep.

"Jessica says that our class is -- oh!"

She finds a sticky name tag on her elbow and the sentence ends abruptly. But, yes. They're already pretty sure that they understand.

"We were talking last week," we laugh; I pick up the train of conversation, "about how your class is either discussing the meaning of the universe in some strange place or just totally everywhere."

They nod. Taking just long enough to picture their friends. Decide whether it could be true.

And then, we're off. Island hopping from one concept to the next. Telling about the junior class that is so much like they are. Understanding that "they" encompasses the twice as many guys sitting downstairs just as much as it describes the girls who are sitting here.

"They'll be your guys' seniors next year. You'll feel right at home."

I share snippets: boomerangs brought to church, bean bags broken open in the parking lot, roofs climbed, late night conversations under Haitian skies. Watch a little of the tension release at this idea of being no longer alone.

"That makes it every third class."

The girl who started the conversation makes the leap from point A to point X. Goes back and forth with me for a few sentences, at the same time that another girl in the corner has gone from W to H. And, within moments we're talking about camp and ministry trips.

John Day. Haiti. Belize.

What they're going to do with their freshman summer.

We stalled out on a question about purpose in a dark world. Took a detour through class identity. Touched briefly on winter retreat. And, ended up here.

This is what it looks like to pile twenty intuitive thinkers in the same room. The tiniest bit of what makes them who they are.

And, it fills my head with all sorts of ideas for next week. For the weeks after. Ways of making this small group thing something that their brains and hearts can understand. Ways of doing better by my Gryffindor girls.

My very non-linear island hoppers.