One of the joys of working with youth is that there is never a shortage of laughter. They are pretty funny people. Their observations tend to be skewed by their inexperience, but it's almost always good for a laugh. Teenagers are also the masters of a good comeback. Their timing is usually impeccable and it comes at time when the mood is getting way too somber for teens.
This became very evident to me over Labor Day Weekend at our Youth Group Retreat. Nothing bonds a group more than spending every waking moment with each other, eating, not sleeping, talking and eating some more. Sleep deprivation adds a certain element to every comment, question and comeback that enhances the "funny" quotient and makes ordinary things the most hilarious situation you've ever come upon.
Not to say that my family provides a lack of humor. My family get-togethers, while too far and far between, usually include late night card games. We begin the competition ready to wage battle and it almost always deteriorates to tears as we laugh so hard that soda comes out someone's nose (usually mine).
Anyway, this Labor Day weekend left me thanking God once again for job that allows me to spend time with teenagers. It really keeps you humble. You can't get too cocky when the kids are telling stories about your hair being so scary that it terrified three obnoxious seventh grade boys and made them scream like little girls.
The first night of any trip is a complete sleep loss as you try to quiet excited kids and "make" them go to sleep. No one can make anyone go to sleep. The best you can hope for is silent. Teenagers will try anything to keep you from knowing they are awake and doing things you would prefer they didn't. It was during this first night, somewhere around 3 a.m. that I started to think about stupid questions that no one should ever ask... or worse yet, answer.
Stupid Question #1 - Do I look stupid? OK, well.... um... yeah. Never ask this question, especially to teenagers. They will have a good answer and you won't like it.
Stupid Question #1A - How stupid do I look? Do you really want to know? I don't think so.
Stupid Question #2 - Do I look like I was born yesterday? Well, obviously not. I don't color my hair for no reason at all.
Stupid Question #3 - Do you expect me to believe that? Yes, or they wouldn't have gone through the trouble of making it up.
As the weekend progressed, we tackled some pretty deep issues for a teenage mind. At one point, I was confronted by one of my biggest pet peeves - the cracking of joints, necks, etc. I made the comment that this drives me crazy. At this point, one of the boys asked, "can I come?", which was followed closely by "shotgun"! I guess the second teenage boy was hoping to get the front passenger seat.
While working as a Pharmacy Technician at a hospital, we often had students rotate through our department. This was where the rubber met the road. Time to turn book learning into practical experience. These students were always good for a laugh. After spending several minutes trying to calculate a dosage of potassium chloride for a patient, the student presented their recommendation to the pharmacist. The pharmacist looked at the dosage and declared, deadpan "this is great.... if you want the patient to die." Of course, this would seem morbid to those who don't work in a high stress environment. It was clearly a teaching moment.
Life is tough. Some situations have no humor in them. There are days that seem so heavy with burden that it takes effort just to stand up straight. God knows this. When things look the bleakest, look around you. You can fun laughter in the smallest things. God has left that for you to find, knowing that you would need it.
Help someone else find laughter in their day today. It will be a gift to them and to you. I am blessed, as God has created my life in such a way that I am never at a shortage of material. I mean, look at me -- scary hair, sleep deprivation. If that can't get a laugh, nothing will.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Life as PK
There is a popular myth being circulated about Pks (aka Preacher's Kids). I'm sure that you have heard it - they have a wild side. Looks are deceiving - they may be starched and in the front pew listening intently to every word that their pastor parent speaks. Get them out of their church clothes, however, and it's a different story.
Well, I'm hear to partially debunk that myth. I can speak from 38 years of being a preacher's kid that every PK is different. We don't all have a sudden urge to test out of firestarting techniques in the back of the sanctuary. We don't have hot tub parties in the baptismal font -- OK, well I'm Methodist and we don't baptize by submersion. But I still wouldn't have a hot tub party. As my father would say, we Methodists like to let our hair down, but we are pretty short haired people.
Living with a minister in the house does tend to give their children a slightly different upbringing than other children. Not good or bad, just different. I know how to take complete phone messages from time I was in kindergarten. Name of person, message, phone number, time of call. I have been to more marriage counseling sessions than most married people.
Death was a common theme in our house. There were frequent funerals and I could recognizethe sound of the funeral director's voice on the phone. Police showing up at the front door in the middle of the night meant that I knew before someone else's family knew that a loved one had tragically died. My father was a young minister during the end of the Vietnam War and we did have "army men" show up to ask my father to accompany them to a family's house to give them a death notification.
I grew up nourished on pot luck dinner and funeral lunch left overs. I know that you have not truly mourned until you have eaten an open faced cheese whiz sandwich with a piece of green olive on the top. I consider hamburger hotdish and jello comfort foods. Funeral sandwiches would often show up on the lunch table and we enjoyed the left over cake from the funeral lunch.
Everything was not always leftovers and Christmas cookies. Being a Pastor's family meant that you were always held under the microscope. If you left too many lights on in the house, you were wasting church money because they paid the utility bill. You lived in a house you did not own and white walls with brown carpet are a universal color scheme. You can't walk on the carpet in high heels. As a PK, you knew that if your father stopped his sermon to look at you, you'd better pray that Jesus came back before the benediction or you were toast!
People that go to church are just like any other group of people. Some of them are nice and some of them are not. For some reason that has alluded me, people think that the staff at church can be used as target practice. Someone will start a rumor, voice a disapproval or point out a fault and away you go. There are meetings and letters, phone calls and gossip. Pretty soon you start to avoid people on your way to get the mail. You are not quite sure who your friends are, or even if a pastor can have friends that are also parisioners.
And yet, when someone dies or a tragedy strikes, you pick up the phone and call your Pastor. And they come. Your expectations are always higher of your parsonage family than your own family. You expect them to forgive and forget, work tirelessly on any church project, visit the sick and those in prison, feed the hungry, be kind to everyone and always have the answers to life's hardest questions.
I don't mean to rant about church people. There people are those that I consider some of my closest friends. I have shared their table for holidays and have been invited to family events. I get to share in their largest triumphs and their darkest moments. I consider it a privilege to share this season with them.
I grew up knowing that death was a part of life and that there are things in life worse than death. I understood that by inviting those who would be alone for the holidays to break bread with you, you were giving them a wonderful gift. My family is closer for all of the moves that brought us to a new place, a new home and a new church family. Knowing Vaughn was right down the hall in a classroom full of strangers made me braver as I faced a similar classroom. We both knew that the world was bigger than that little corner of the world.
Pastor Appreciation month is in October. Please take some time to think about how you can encourage your pastor and their family. They have made the decision to serve the Lord where they are sent and your affirmation makes that path a little easier to trod. Remember that they are human and suceptible to weakness and doubt. Lift them up to the Lord in prayer and ask for God's wisdom as they face difficult decisions every day. Love them as family. Forgive them as Jesus taught. Those would be the greatest gifts.
Well, I'm hear to partially debunk that myth. I can speak from 38 years of being a preacher's kid that every PK is different. We don't all have a sudden urge to test out of firestarting techniques in the back of the sanctuary. We don't have hot tub parties in the baptismal font -- OK, well I'm Methodist and we don't baptize by submersion. But I still wouldn't have a hot tub party. As my father would say, we Methodists like to let our hair down, but we are pretty short haired people.
Living with a minister in the house does tend to give their children a slightly different upbringing than other children. Not good or bad, just different. I know how to take complete phone messages from time I was in kindergarten. Name of person, message, phone number, time of call. I have been to more marriage counseling sessions than most married people.
Death was a common theme in our house. There were frequent funerals and I could recognizethe sound of the funeral director's voice on the phone. Police showing up at the front door in the middle of the night meant that I knew before someone else's family knew that a loved one had tragically died. My father was a young minister during the end of the Vietnam War and we did have "army men" show up to ask my father to accompany them to a family's house to give them a death notification.
I grew up nourished on pot luck dinner and funeral lunch left overs. I know that you have not truly mourned until you have eaten an open faced cheese whiz sandwich with a piece of green olive on the top. I consider hamburger hotdish and jello comfort foods. Funeral sandwiches would often show up on the lunch table and we enjoyed the left over cake from the funeral lunch.
Everything was not always leftovers and Christmas cookies. Being a Pastor's family meant that you were always held under the microscope. If you left too many lights on in the house, you were wasting church money because they paid the utility bill. You lived in a house you did not own and white walls with brown carpet are a universal color scheme. You can't walk on the carpet in high heels. As a PK, you knew that if your father stopped his sermon to look at you, you'd better pray that Jesus came back before the benediction or you were toast!
People that go to church are just like any other group of people. Some of them are nice and some of them are not. For some reason that has alluded me, people think that the staff at church can be used as target practice. Someone will start a rumor, voice a disapproval or point out a fault and away you go. There are meetings and letters, phone calls and gossip. Pretty soon you start to avoid people on your way to get the mail. You are not quite sure who your friends are, or even if a pastor can have friends that are also parisioners.
And yet, when someone dies or a tragedy strikes, you pick up the phone and call your Pastor. And they come. Your expectations are always higher of your parsonage family than your own family. You expect them to forgive and forget, work tirelessly on any church project, visit the sick and those in prison, feed the hungry, be kind to everyone and always have the answers to life's hardest questions.
I don't mean to rant about church people. There people are those that I consider some of my closest friends. I have shared their table for holidays and have been invited to family events. I get to share in their largest triumphs and their darkest moments. I consider it a privilege to share this season with them.
I grew up knowing that death was a part of life and that there are things in life worse than death. I understood that by inviting those who would be alone for the holidays to break bread with you, you were giving them a wonderful gift. My family is closer for all of the moves that brought us to a new place, a new home and a new church family. Knowing Vaughn was right down the hall in a classroom full of strangers made me braver as I faced a similar classroom. We both knew that the world was bigger than that little corner of the world.
Pastor Appreciation month is in October. Please take some time to think about how you can encourage your pastor and their family. They have made the decision to serve the Lord where they are sent and your affirmation makes that path a little easier to trod. Remember that they are human and suceptible to weakness and doubt. Lift them up to the Lord in prayer and ask for God's wisdom as they face difficult decisions every day. Love them as family. Forgive them as Jesus taught. Those would be the greatest gifts.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Packing Up
I am, once again, packing my bags. The Youth Group will be leaving for their annual Labor Day Retreat this Saturday. Our destination is about an hour from home. We will return home on Monday before lunch. Just enough time to do laundry, catch up on my sleep and nap before bedtime.
Part of the preparation for any youth group trip begins with a letter sent to parents and youth. This packet includes permission forms, emergency contact numbers and a packing list. This packing list is always detailed and helps guide the youth and their folks as they decide what to bring along. The list may contain such items as a jacket (we live in North Dakota and should be prepared for snow at any time), personal hygiene items (please shower while we are gone!) and miscellaneous paraphenalia for whatever adventure we are embarking upon.
You can always tell when Moms have been packing. The youth is wrinkle free, always has enough socks and underwear to wait out the Great Tribulation and a ziplock for their toothbrush. You can also spot those who have packed for themselves. A teenage boys may have a large bag of skittles, an extra shirt and their MP3 player. This youth is going to spend the ride home deflecting comments about having to go "commando" for the weekend.
Teenage girls, on the other hand, tend to pack as though we are going to a remote artic substation for several months. Four pairs of shoes, seventeen outfits and a make up bag that has comes on wheels. No, just kidding.... only 15 outfits.
You can tell alot about someone by the way they pack. Are they carefree? I once had a roommate that would slip a toothbrush in her purse and leave for a weeks' vacation. Are they a mom? They pack for every contingency including famine, plague and an outbreak of malaria? God bless them. They will have extra tissues, mints and a cache of extra socks.
I am a list maker and I have packing list. This list contains a good cross-section of possible scenarios. I have frozen in the middle of July from overzealous air conditioning. Unexpected torrential rainfall has made a weekend of outdoor concerts sauna-like. When I go on the retreat, the make-up bag does not get packed. Foundation, power and mascara are useless to hide the fact that I got two hours of sleep. As a matter of fact, applying mascara while sleep deprivated can be downright dangerous.
When we all gather in the church parking lot with our baggage piled up, a new challenge faces us. How do we get all this stuff into our vehicles?!? Remember that the drivers must have a clear view out their rear windows. The sleeping bags and air mattresses can pose a paticular problem. Sometimes we must load some of the kids first and "pack" around them. And somehow it always fits. However... at the end of the weekend, when you go to repack for the jounrey home, all of the stuff has expanded. It won't fit back into it's original containment device - ie. suitcase, sleeping bag cover, etc.
When I arrive back home, I like to unpack right away and get the washer started. After packing, lugging my bag around all weekend, repacking it and finally unpacking it, I always resolve to pack lighter for the next trip. It's never happened. When Jesus comes back in the clouds to call His believers home and we are taken in the blink of an eye, I will not have to pack. Everything I need will be in heaven with Him. A size four robe will fit perfectly and my only agenda item will be worship.
Until then, I'd better throw in the bug spray, sunscreen and another couple pairs of socks.
Part of the preparation for any youth group trip begins with a letter sent to parents and youth. This packet includes permission forms, emergency contact numbers and a packing list. This packing list is always detailed and helps guide the youth and their folks as they decide what to bring along. The list may contain such items as a jacket (we live in North Dakota and should be prepared for snow at any time), personal hygiene items (please shower while we are gone!) and miscellaneous paraphenalia for whatever adventure we are embarking upon.
You can always tell when Moms have been packing. The youth is wrinkle free, always has enough socks and underwear to wait out the Great Tribulation and a ziplock for their toothbrush. You can also spot those who have packed for themselves. A teenage boys may have a large bag of skittles, an extra shirt and their MP3 player. This youth is going to spend the ride home deflecting comments about having to go "commando" for the weekend.
Teenage girls, on the other hand, tend to pack as though we are going to a remote artic substation for several months. Four pairs of shoes, seventeen outfits and a make up bag that has comes on wheels. No, just kidding.... only 15 outfits.
You can tell alot about someone by the way they pack. Are they carefree? I once had a roommate that would slip a toothbrush in her purse and leave for a weeks' vacation. Are they a mom? They pack for every contingency including famine, plague and an outbreak of malaria? God bless them. They will have extra tissues, mints and a cache of extra socks.
I am a list maker and I have packing list. This list contains a good cross-section of possible scenarios. I have frozen in the middle of July from overzealous air conditioning. Unexpected torrential rainfall has made a weekend of outdoor concerts sauna-like. When I go on the retreat, the make-up bag does not get packed. Foundation, power and mascara are useless to hide the fact that I got two hours of sleep. As a matter of fact, applying mascara while sleep deprivated can be downright dangerous.
When we all gather in the church parking lot with our baggage piled up, a new challenge faces us. How do we get all this stuff into our vehicles?!? Remember that the drivers must have a clear view out their rear windows. The sleeping bags and air mattresses can pose a paticular problem. Sometimes we must load some of the kids first and "pack" around them. And somehow it always fits. However... at the end of the weekend, when you go to repack for the jounrey home, all of the stuff has expanded. It won't fit back into it's original containment device - ie. suitcase, sleeping bag cover, etc.
When I arrive back home, I like to unpack right away and get the washer started. After packing, lugging my bag around all weekend, repacking it and finally unpacking it, I always resolve to pack lighter for the next trip. It's never happened. When Jesus comes back in the clouds to call His believers home and we are taken in the blink of an eye, I will not have to pack. Everything I need will be in heaven with Him. A size four robe will fit perfectly and my only agenda item will be worship.
Until then, I'd better throw in the bug spray, sunscreen and another couple pairs of socks.
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