"Six Breakfasts"

 She met me in the church parking lot, long auburn hair pulled into a side -do.

"Beka! What fun to see you!" I hugged her tightly, delighted by the surprise of seeing her there. 

"Sam invited me, saying you might need help this summer," she twisted her nose ring, grinning. "I'm not sure yet if I can, but..." she trailed off, and I jumped in.

"We'd love to have you work with the teens with us this summer, but no pressure either."

We walked through two glass doors and into the cool interior. Teens gathered at the entrance, sprawled out across a carpeted bench and the floor, talking in knots. Guitar sounds, vocals, and drums came from upstairs as other teens prepared for worship. In the large dining room, teens joked and hung out, waiting for youth group to start.

"Want to scoop ice cream with me?" I asked Beka.

In between sticky servings of cookies and cream, chocolate fudge, and green mint ice cream, we greeted incoming students, motioned towards the spoons, and poured root beer around swirling vanilla mounds. Between conversations with teens and handing out styrofoam bowls of ice cream, I slid questions over to Beka, catching up on her last year of life.

"How long has it been since you graduated?" I asked, trying to get a picture of which students she might recognize from her own youth group days. "Samantha does choir at Centennial," I offered, as blonde Samantha came by. The girls chatted about a familiar choir teacher's fourth pregnancy.

"Almost four years," Beka replied a second later, as the line moved again.

"Four years?! Really?" My eyes were wide as I dished up drippy melting cookies and cream. "As our seventeen years here merge in our minds, I find myself thinking that all my teens know each other." 

"Is this normal chocolate?" a teen in short black hair asked. I agreed, yet pointed him to the chunkier chocolate option too. 

Spread out across the large room students clustered. Rising taller than the rest were five or six older broad-shouldered, college-grads and twenty-something youth leader volunteers too. Beka was the newest one considering joining-- some had already been helping for the last year or two. Mentoring younger students in worship-leading, in soundboard-operating, or by regular attendance and participation, these former students work alongside our long-term adult leaders to serve current students.

Glancing across the dining hall, my heart was happy. Youth ministry is the privilege that never ends. Round-cheeked 6th graders grow into lanky high schoolers, who soon sport woodsmen beards and pay college tuition. Weddings, babies, and school-age children swell the families of former students of ours throughout the years, and their jobs change and grow. We see the impact these former students are having on their worlds now, and it thrills us. 

"Six breakfasts" is what Youth Specialties speaker Tiger McLuen once told a roomful of youth workers. He went on to describe how an adult reached out to him during a spiritually-hard time after his first year of college. For six weeks, they met to talk over breakfast. "Those six breakfasts changed me," he told the somber room of youth pastors and volunteers last spring.

Youth ministry is a privilege that doesn't end. My husband and I are honored to get to know teens of all ages, and for opportunities to connect with them after their youth group years. Tonight, several former students will pull up into our driveway, and sprawl across our sagging couch to learn how to do youth ministries to the new generation of teens, and I will be smiling happy, I know. Older ones mentoring younger ones mentoring younger ones.

We are thankful for chances to offer hope and advice into any of our teens' lives, and we humbly recognize how much we learn and are encouraged by them too.

What about you? Whatever your vocation or volunteer options, who can you invite out for breakfast or coffee? It will be a privilege and joy for you too, my friend.

Confessions of a HomeSchooling Mom

It didn't seem fair to wake them up early for school on Labor Day, after a late night, so I poured myself another cup of coffee, and relaxed my expectations for the day. This was really more of a school introduction today.

As a homeschooling mom to a ninth grader and a kindergartener, with my eldest off in his first year of college, school looks different this year. It is splashy cellophane-wrapped kindergarten kits of calenders and continents, with colorful alphabet banners, twenty-four-piece People Color crayons, and beautiful multicultural faces from around the world. Kindergarten still sits wrapped in cellophane on the table, though, while my ninth grader and I read Physical Science about atoms and molecules, and my kindergartener plays Wii games downstairs.

Confession 1.) Some days, school doesn't start at 9 am. And I haven't taken a shower yet.
Confession 2.) I am as excited as the students are -- often more so-- at the prospect of new books to read and things to learn.

As more people stream in and out of the kitchen and living room where we are reading, Morgan and I sneak away to a quiet bedroom to continue our science.

Confession 3.) I don't always have all items on hand to do the experiments before we read about it.

"Okay, I'm going to need to find two copper wires for this experiment," I admit sheepishly to my Morgan. "Let's read about it now, and then we'll do it later, okay?... Wow, look! We're actually ripping water molecules apart here! That's cool."

Confession 4.) I love learning along with them.

Lunch comes and goes, with family members fending for themselves in between subjects. The scent of grilling cheese and turkey simmer out from the panini-maker, and chunky apple wedges dot the table. Strawberries and chips are a mid-morning snack.

Dirty dishes line one side of my sink, while clean dishes from last night fill two counters to the left of the sink.

Mammoth zucchini boats were shredded down to towering wet mounds of grated green-striped pulp, and folded into muffins last night. The last of those sweet muffins was gobbled up this morning by the earliest risers.

School supplies adorn my kitchen table in glory, while photographic books of India, China, Mongolia and Japan stack in glossy piles according to country on my floor. Legos and plastic army warriors huddle as toys from the night before, scattered between school piles, and I still haven't started kindergarten yet. I think it will be afternoons, three times a week.

Daughter disappears downstairs, clicking into her internet links on Chinese History and Culture, and writing summaries about Chinese school systems, pagodas, the Hidden City, and more.

My husband and college-age son are out playing tennis today on their day off, while I introduce high school and kindergarten to the ones at home. I text both men, asking them to stop and pick up bread, ice cream and maybe some snacks on the way home.

Confession 5.) We're out of "good" food, my kids say, and lunch requires their creativity, or heating up leftovers.

Silence descends on my home as brains are being stretched and used. And that sound of learning? It's beautiful!

Excuse me as I grab some books, open some cellophaned maps and start kindergarten. I can't wait...

Linking with Ann at A Holy Experience.

Three-Tiered Living-- It's Worth it

She drives up wearing pink oval sunglasses, blonde hair pulled into a loose pony tail. Jumping out of the car, N* ambles up, greeting us, and nodding warmly at the younger teen she is picking up. Taller with shorter; a woman in her twenties with a teen in high school, they are headed out on a mentoring/friend date.

I've watched this twenty-something woman grow up. Peering over piles of sticky pancakes when she was in middle school, we talked about the Psalms, and life, and friendships. Perched on tall coffee stools in high school, we had laughed and talked about boys, friendships, family, and our faith.

"Will you mentor me?" she asked once early on, and I was honored, humbled, and ill-equipped. I sought out books on mentoring, and we met regularly, opening up our lives, sharing prayer requests, and talking about what we were learning.

Years passed. N* graduated from high school, from college, and married a Jesus-loving man-- whom we had talked about and prayed for. (I think about our coffee dates now and smile at how God answers prayer.)

This summer she moved back to the region, my dear former youth group girl, now an adult female friend. Sitting in my backyard, we picked at stubby grass and laughed, opening up our lives. We shared what we had been learning, grinned at God's provision, and ended in quiet voices. "Can we pray about this....?"

"Oh, I'm doing a Bible study with K*," she said smiling while preparing to leave, mentioning one of my youth group girls. Brown-haired K*, with twinkling eyes and a determined attitude like her mama, she and I have had coffee dates too, talking about life, friends, families and faith. I see strength and compassion in her, and she is intentional about reaching out to her younger brothers and sisters.

Ahh, this full circle life! This pouring out of life from one person to the next. It is a beautiful thing, and one that brings life and joy. Learning from each other, young and old, we get to pull back the curtain on our lives, growing and praying together, in this three-tiered life. 

And the cycle doesn't stop with us three women. In my early years of parenting, I listened to N's mom in Bible studies, watching how she parented, and feeling relieved by her honesty and humanness; and I learn from K's mom too. N and all of my former teens-- now adults in their twenties and thirties, with their own jobs, homes, and families-- teach and inspire me often. And this current batch of teens in youth group, full of energy and enthusiasm? They teach me too.

And together, we learn and grow, pouring out and into each other. Beside me, I see them swivel to pour into others' lives as well, and it makes me smile.

Who is someone who poured into you when you were younger? 

Linking with Emily at Imperfect Prose.

Photo credit #1
Photo credit #2

What to Bring to College with You (& Maybe With Us Each Day too?)

White terry dish-cloths lie haphazardly across orange dish soap, green scratch pads, and his very first "sauce pan" to make pasta and eggs.

"Have I taught you how to boil noodles?" I ask.

We choose four white plates ("Wide enough to hold lots of food, Mom"), two large red-rimmed bowls deep enough to hold steaming Ramen soup packets, and then nestled silverware for four. In between calls to a roommate's family to see about shower curtains, we choose a matching bath mat, and marvel at how cheap the cans of Comet bath scrubbing powder are. We deliberate glassware and finger pizza cutters, laughingly.

Most of all, though, as he leaves for college, I want him to carry with him-- I want all my students to pack with them!-- these truths:

1.) Your worth and identity in Christ is already built, and is forged in who you are in him. You are loved, chased, pursued, created with purpose and imbued with passions and skills. Your joy and fulfillment will blow you away when you are leaning into him, breathing him in. You have immeasurable value, not because of your grades or anything you have done. You can't earn God by your actions, but he has paid everything to buy you life in him. He calls you dearly-loved, the apple of his eye, and he delights in you.

2.) And you know what? He says that about the people around you too. So often, they don't know it. Walking blindly and silently, or blusteringly loud, they may not know their value and worth, nor the One who made them. Stop and really see them --look deep into their eyes and smile--knowing how God sees them. Hear them: their stories, their fears, their dreams, and love them with his clean, caring love.

 3.) True freedom spills past university doors. It's so much more than the unbridled ease of bedtimes, mealtimes, class-times, free time, and the days being yours. True freedom splashes wild and big throughout your entire life. This freedom flows from knowing whose you are, and that all of life is an adventure of running full-tilt with your Maker. Throw your hands wide, grab each moment in strong hands, and live! 

How has your week gone? What do you wish you had known your first year of college, or in your first years after high school? 

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Photo credit #1 to Rochester.edu.
Photo credit #2 to DakDillon Photography.

To My 18-Yr Old on Your Last Day of School

I remember chubby hands grasping thick crayons, and us singing your name to the tune of "Bingo was his name-oh."

I remember reading The Sign of the Beaver and building teepees and soft leather moccasins.

We've painted medieval family crests; flooded mini Nile Rivers; constructed mud ziggarats; embalmed and  mummified toys; and chipped chicken bones out of frozen dirt like archeologists.

Our countless hikes in the woods on leaf and nature hunts were as much fun for me as for you, and I love the songs we made up to thank Jesus.

I remember the butterflies' curling proboscis tongues (they liked cantaloup best), our panic in remembering that frogs can't swim nonstop once they're no longer tadpoles, and your instant rush home from the party to give them land.

We discovered that goldfish can jump higher than we thought, and sadly practiced subtraction. Ants crawled through blue goo, caterpillars hung upside down, and we moved from fungi to a cell's plasma membrane, from dissections to differential equations.

History timelines marched across our living room, dining room and kitchen, and you and your sister and I read for countless hours on that couch throughout the years.

I'm so proud of the man you are, and are becoming. I see your love for Jesus, and for your family and friends. I see the way you interact respectfully, kindly, and confidently with others, and I see your intentionality. You are a man of schedules and watches and punctuality; a backpack-carrying, purple-cabbage-eating, consistent Bible reading, water-bottle-swigging, guitar-playing young man, with grass-stained toes.

We love you. We're proud of you, and we're cheering you on in this next chapter. You're going to love college.

Love,
Mom