I was driving to work this morning and even though the
change has been gradual, the reality that winter is upon us hit me.
The once glorious foliage that lined the
streets of my neighborhood now lies barren and naked.
The life-giving leaves, fruit have now been
stripped from their host and scatter the ground, dead and decomposing.
It is a season of dormancy, of death, of
sleep.
Last night, I attended the youth ministry I have been a part
of for the last year and half and sat in on a small group of guys that has been
notoriously challenging.
I have been
with these teenagers for enough time to build some respect, but the trust level
is still at a precariously low level.
But
last night was different.
A new kid,
Riley, has been coming this year and last night, he shared his testimony with
the others in the group.
First of all,
it amazed me that the other guys listened with rapt attention to the words of
their peer (a feat neither their leader nor I have been able to achieve).
As he began to share about his journey, a
combination of brokenness and awe came over me.
Riley is 15 years old.
This year, his sophomore year of high school, is his first year back in
a public school setting.
For the last
two years, Riley has been in a residential treatment center for drug use and
delinquent activities.
It was the last
straw for his parents and, though it pained them to do it, there was just no
other choice.
Riley began to share how
the various living situations he found himself in over the last two years were the
proverbial “bottom of the barrel.”
He
was placed with other delinquent youth who had various violent tendencies,
developmental issues, discipline problems and addictions.
In his own words, it scared him to
death.
As he was sharing, he
consistently talked about how he never seemed to know when he would be able to
return home and that he wanted nothing more than to return home.
Yet, this luxury was never promised and this
hope was never given.
As he wasted away,
it hit him one night that there was only one place left to turn.
One night, in an act of desperation, he called out to God –
and God showed up.
The peace and hope
and realization that in at the “bottom of the barrel” there is still someone
willing to love, accept and help – a savior in the midst of the darkness, and
Riley cried out.
This testimony moved me to brokenness.
Riley is still 15, he still makes mistakes,
he still struggles with peer pressure, he still is tempted.
But, as the prodigal has returned, he will
never be the same.
He is starving for
answers, for education, for truth – and whether he’s accepted or ridiculed for
it or not, it’s important to him.
We talked about Christ being made perfect in our
weakness.
It’s amazing that as things
die, life can result.
As we put to death
the desires of our flesh, as we deny ourselves and take up our cross to follow
Christ, life is the result to this paradox.
I wish I had the kind of passion of someone who has truly died has when
they discover life anew.
I wish that
after the winter, I would be able to spring forth with new, more glorious foliage,
just like nature does in the spring.
