Skateboards, Seventh Grade Boys, and Community

I was waiting in the church hall to pick up my daughter from her second youth group meeting at Faith Church in Dyer, Indiana.

After songs and a lesson on Christian community, the kids had been divided into small groups and were scattered throughout the church building to get better acquainted and to discuss the lesson.

This group of six boys were the first to finish "sharing", and I heard them coming before I saw them. They crashed into the main hall, shoving and pushing into one another. They ranged in height from three to five feet, all wearing hoodies marked with Abercrombie or Aeropostale. They carried skateboards and basketballs. Their hair was shaggy - one taller boy sported a white-boy's afro nearly shrouding his pimply face.

A short dark haired boy brought up the end of the group. He looked stressed, his worried eyes were darting back and forth. "Can I use your phone?" he asked. I pointed him to the leader who handed him a cell phone.

"Mom," I heard him say. "Where are you?! I think you forgot me!" At this point, he broke into choking sobs. "Mom!" he pleaded once more. "Where are you?"

He handed back the phone to the leader and melted down. His backpack fell to the floor and he put his head down onto the table to cry.

But before the leader or I could make a move to comfort him, his buddies turned around. Those boys, who one moment before had been intent on heading out to the basketball court, now crowded in to comfort their new friend.

"Hey, dude," said the tall shaggy haired one. "I'm sure your mom didn't forget you."

"Yeah - man," said a short one. "I know your mom. She wouldn't just leave you like that."

The boy continued to sob, losing all sense of his 7th-grade dignity.

"Hey - come on," said shaggy boy. He took the backpack and put an arm around the little guy's shoulders. Together they walked out around the parking lot to look for his mom. As they talked, his sobs decreased just a bit.

Moments later, the leader's phone rang. It was the boy's mom. She was on her way.

But the crisis was over. The lesson on community that the youth pastor had so eloquently expressed earlier in the night had evidently sunk into those boys' hearts.

Their love for one another made the whole room a better place to be.

Comments

jasrockstar said…

Totally awesome story! Thanks for sharing!

September 30, 2010 at 5:30 PM

Mary McLeod Bethune: She Has Given Her Best

I first heard about Mary McLeod Bethune when I was a student at Moody Bible Institute. She was an early graduate of my college - and an African American woman. I knew she had gone on to become one of the greatest women in our country. She was so well known that she earned the status of being featured on our postage stamps. But I didn't really know much about her. As I researched Mary McLeod Bethune for my book, When Others Shuddered: Eight Women Who Refused to Give Up . I learned a bit more about her remarkable life: She was the 15th of 17 children, born to former slaves. From an early age, she hungered for education. She graduated from Moody Bible Institute with a desire for missionary service to Africa - an opportunity she was denied because of her race. Undeterred, she started a school for African American girls in Daytona Beach, Florida, that went on to become Bethune Cookman University. She was asked to work with Franklin D. Roosevelt and led many African Am

Pacific Garden Mission: A Bed, A Meal and the Bright Light of Hope

In 1877, a woman named Sarah Dunn Clarke and her newly-wedded husband George started a rescue mission on Chicago’s south side. They were wealthy, but their hearts were broken by the men and women who struggled to survive on the city’s streets. The Pacific Garden Mission is the 2 nd oldest operating rescue mission in the United States. Now located on 14 th St and Canal – just south of Chicago’s loop – they offer shelter to as many as a thousand men and women on any given night. As part of my book research to understand how the work of Sarah Clarke continues today, I visited the mission with my friend Dawn Pulgine. Entering through the side, we felt a bit out of our element. Men, black and white, old and young, clustered near the doorway. Some carried bags of personal belongings. Others were working the desk and security. It was mid-day at the Mission. We were given a tour by one of the “program men” – residents who choose to stay and live at the

Your Roots Are Showing

I'm older. I know that. But, honestly, I still feel pretty young. Well, most days at least Today I received a not-requested senior discount at Einstein Bagels. It appeared as a $1.03 credit on my receipt, along with the cheery explanation. And if other people don't tell me I'm older, my body definitely does. I traveled to and from Chicago last week with my daughter and her friend. Being the self sufficient woman I am, I helped the girls boost their luggage into the airline's overhead bin. Later that day, I felt my mistake. My back has not been happy ever since. I've been putting those sticky heat patches on it, Ben Gay rub, ice, heat wraps, you name it. And still when I turn incorrectly . . . ouch. There are other signs too. I wear glasses now . . . all the time. It started with readers, and then progressed to progressives. And I HAVE to color my hair now. Those pesky roots keep reappearing in an ever-shinier shade of silver. I (briefly) considered embr

Jamie Janosz

Search This Blog