We were lined up shoulder to shoulder. The intensity was turned up all the way to ten and I could feel the excitement building in my chest. Ahead was the mirrored image of the opposing team staring back at us with the same intensity and the only thing standing between was a line of red, blue and white “dodgeballs”. It. Was. On.
In that instant I was brought back to my Youth Group days, enjoying a weekend retreat put on by our church (at Jumonville or Castle for all my Dutilh people). I was 15 years old again and the grass I was staring down at was that of a field in Western Pennsylvania. I was there for a weekend of fun with my friends. Soon after we would be headed to session where we would hear a message from an insightful speaker and then we would gather back in our bunks where my friends and I would stay up all night talking about the cute boys at camp, or from school, or the ones we’d seen in a passing car (the subject never seemed to stray far from that), as our youth leaders would come in every 15 minutes and remind us that “lights out” was an hour ago.
I floated away to those fond memories for a few moments, staring at the grass-speckled field in front of me. Then, I happened to look down to my right at the feet of the girl beside me and was brought back to present day in an instant. Beside me I saw faded, floral pajama pants, tucked into tall, what-were-once-white gym socks, covered by some shiny, red dress flats.
Suddenly I wasn’t in Pennsylvania anymore, or even America. I wasn’t 15 years old and tonight when we got back to the cabins I would be the one shushing the girls who were staying up to talk about boys and reminding them that lights out was an hour ago.
I was a counselor for a youth retreat of 112 South African teens, ages 13-18, who lived in one of the squatter camps in town, 71% of which did not consider themselves Christians. These kids had never before experienced anything like this camp: crazy team games and contests, sessions in the camp hall where someone shared a message with the kids, creative skits, a rockin’ worship time and girls and boys break out discussions. The creaky bunks at camp most likely far surpassed the one, full sized bed at home that they shared with their mother and two younger siblings. The cold showers available every night that most of us counselors would complain about, were well worth the wait in line for girls and boys who simply had a spigot and a hose back at home.
In our group discussions at night after sessions, my girls would share with me what they learned that day, and what it meant to them to be a Daughter of The King. I asked them if they knew what I meant when I talked about “finding your identity”. They said they didn’t, so I asked them to tell me some of the titles or labels they would give themselves. “A singer”, “a good friend”, “a dancer” and “a student” were some of the ones I heard. “Those are good things to identify yourself with. Those things do help make you unique and they are important, but what would happen if those things went away? If you lost those ‘identities’?” With confusion on their faces I continued. “If that’s where you found your whole identity and that’s all you ever thought you were was a singer or a dancer or a student, and those things fell away, would you then feel like you were nothing? Like you had lost your identity?”
“Yes,” they responded; brows un-crinkling as it all began to piece together. “Well, there is only one title you can place your full identity in that will never fall away, and that is your title as a Daughter of The King. This title will never leave you, and if this is where you place your worth and identity, then when all the others fall away you won’t feel like you’re nothing, you’ll still know that you are royalty; a princess.”
I shared with them stories from my teenage days, of things I placed my identity in that quickly fell away. As I shared with them I realized that I was now the youth leader or mentor that I once cried to several years ago. How did that happen?
How did I get here?
When did that change happen? When did I stop being the teenage girl who went to these retreats so that the speakers and side discussions could make me feel warm and fuzzy inside, only to have that feeling fade away upon returning home?
What happened was that somewhere in between then and now I realized that God wasn’t an experience, He was and is an ever-present friend and father, and He can give me that peace and joy in my heart at any and all hours of the day. I don’t have to go to a retreat to find Him because I carry Him with me wherever I go.
So how did I get here?
I found what it really meant to have a relationship with Christ, and the indescribable joy and passion that came along with that lit a fuse in me that sent me halfway around the world to show these South African children the same thing. To share with them the good news that they don’t have to go it alone and that they have a father and a friend who wants the best for them and who will never ever leave their side.
I am so thankful for this experience and for the opportunity to have been a part of it. I thank God that kids halfway across the world are still getting the opportunity to play egg toss games and pie their youth leaders in the face. I thank God for the people who have moved their lives overseas to make that a reality for these kids and for those who are from this area who simply felt the call to invest in their community and raise up a generation of strong leaders.
I pray that the kids loved every minute of this retreat and that they experienced the love of Jesus when they were there. I also pray they know that when they packed up their bags to go home, they could pack Him up and take Him home with them too. That they didn’t need to leave Him on that dodgeball field where their new friends were cheering them on, or in that camp mess hall where they heard that speaker tell them for the first time that they were loved and they were special. That they could hear Him and feel Him in the tin-roofed, one-bedroom home they would be returning to. That they would feel His protection and truth in the midst of harsh words and lies from neglectful parents or school bullies who tell them they are not worthy of love. I pray that this weekend these kids took away with them the one thing that took me years to understand: that it’s not about the good things they do or how much of their bible they have memorized, it’s about a relationship with their heavenly Father. It’s about knowing that, above all else they are deeply loved and intimately known by their creator as sons and daughters of the One True King.
And guess what?
So are you.
