Kids are some of the best teachers!

"Adults are just outdated children" Dr. Seuss

  Okay, I’ll confess. I’m a “kid’s guy.” There’s something about working with kids that I find so fulfilling. Fortunately, I married a “kid’s gal.” My wife, Jane, loves working with kids, too. You’ll rarely see either of us so animated and full of energy than when we’re working with kids. Kids have taught me so many lessons over the years, lessons I hope I never forget.

  Stephen. I think that was his name. I’m not sure but I can still see him in my mind’s eye some forty years later. He was about eight. It was the summer of 1977. I was a counselor at a Camp in New York, in the Tri-State area where New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania come together. The Camp was called, (no, I’m not making this up) Camp Robin Hood. It focused on ministering to kids from the New York City area. Many of whom had no church background and had never been in the great outdoors.  

  The camp was very rustic. It was built during the presidency of Teddy Roosevelt. None of the cabins had electricity or plumbing. The bathroom was up a fairly steep hill, some two hundred feet away from the cabins. Camp lasted for twelve days, so you really got to know your campers. Each cabin had seven or eight kids per counselor and Stephen was horrible. Whatever I asked him to do, he did the opposite. If I was sharing devotions, he was horsing around. If I told the kids to go one place, he started heading the other. I was one of the lifeguards. Yet, even around the water, Stephen didn’t listen and it really scared me. I was only seventeen. It was my first ministry and my first camp experience – and I yelled, all the time. I found myself yelling and yelling at Stephen but it didn’t do any good. I was walking by the Camp Director’s cabin one night. I’d just been yelling at Stephen again and Tim, the Camp Director, gave me some of the best advice I’ve ever heard for working with kids. He gently told me, “Scott, these kids tuned out yelling when they were about two years old. They’re always being yelled at. They’ve been yelled at so much, they don’t hear it anymore.” Right there, I stopped yelling. It’s rare for me to raise my voice. In a loud world, a quiet approach goes a lot further, especially with kids.

  Leroy. Leroy taught me about how bad a bad family can be on a child. Leroy was also in that first group of boys I had in my cabin. He was nearly angelic. I never had a problem with him. He was quiet, non-assuming, though he always looked just a little sad. Until about the last day or so before the kids were to go home, Leroy was nearly perfect but then he became one of my worst campers. I couldn’t believe it. I finally asked him what was going on and he said, “I don’t want to go home.” Later, I found out Leroy had four or five siblings, all with a different Dad. Home life was so horrible that he’d rather stay at a camp with “camp food,” no electricity or indoor plumbing than go “home.”

  Hanna and Joey. Those two taught me how resilient kids are. This was back when many church’s had bus routes and would go out to pick up kids, and bring them to Sunday School. Our church bus picked them up every week. In the winter, their coats were threadbare and Mom sent them out in a t-shirt or with a light dress. It was her chance to sleep in from a night of partying. Lots of different men moved in and out of their apartment in the two years I was in charge of having them picked up on my bus. Looking back, it must have been pretty horrible, yet they were two of the sweetest kids. Mom shoved them out the door and went back to bed. They probably were abused, yet other than the signs of poverty, you never would have known it. In spite of all that was wrong, they both loved their Mom. 

  Marty Wright. I’ll never forget Marty and probably neither will any of the other kids in his youth group. Yet, I really didn’t know Marty. We were on a winter retreat, playing Capture the Flag in the snow and thirteen year-old Marty had a heart attack and died. My first real encounter with Marty was bending over him in the snow, trying to remember how to give CPR. There had been no heart history. It just happened and Marty was gone. It took me a long time to get over it. There’s something about someone’s life, particularly someone so young, seeping out right in front of you. Marty taught me the unforgettable lesson about the fragility of life.

  Lisa, Jeff, Tammy, Tina, Paul, Camille, Darlene and Diane. There were others in that youth group in Detroit, those eight though, will always stick out in my mind. They taught me a powerful lesson – never underestimate teenagers. We worked through the book of Philippians. I was about as green as freshly mowed grass. But they dug in. They wanted to grow. They loved the Lord and wanted to really know Him. Amazingly, over three decades later, though their lives haven’t been a cake walk, though some of them have gone through some very deep waters, seven of them today are still seeking to serve the Lord. They still love Him and want to do the right thing. Tina though had another appointment, one Thanksgiving weekend. None of us saw it coming. Her car slid out of control on an icy road, and that young mother of four went Home to be with Jesus. She was so vibrant, full of life, truly one of a kind, faithful to Christ. We still dearly miss her.

  There have been so many others. Many of them right here at Grace. I love to hear that they still love Jesus, that they’re still growing in grace. It’s exciting to watch them become parents, even grandparents.

  But there’s one more that was like an adopted son to Jane and I, Rick. This young man lived with his Mom and two sisters. He didn’t have a Dad in his life or really any masculine influence. Those of you who know how unhandy I am will probably find this funny. Because even with my limited resources, I taught Rick how to mow a lawn and how to fish. The reality of being a positive influence is that you don’t have to know a lot, you just maybe have to know a little more than the person you’re mentoring. Thirty years later, the kid who should have been a statistic is now a man who loves Jesus and is still serving Him. They love him at his church in Danville. It’s so fulfilling for Jane and I to see how God is using Rick all these years later.

  I don’t know about you but I’m a kid person. There’s just something about shaping a life for the Lord, working with wet cement. Many of you are doing the same. For some, it’s your children. For others, it’s your grandchildren. For many, it’s just because you care about young lives and see ministering to them as your way to honor the Lord! Only eternity will fully reveal the difference you’ve made and all of the lives you’ve touched! “Jesus said, ‘Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven’” (Matthew 19:14).

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