Something To Give

It’s a loud, busy place. I would usually consider myself a confident, outgoing, unafraid university student who can blend in with almost any social structure. But every time I step through those doors and immerse myself in the crowd, I get nervous.

Every Tuesday I go to Wa-Hi and eat lunch with the high school kids. More specifically, I am eating lunch with the students currently attending the after school program and youth group every week at the City Church. Part of my job as a leader is to go and hang out with my kids every Tuesday in the midst of mayhem known only as a “public school lunch room.” The crowd is intimidating, the meals are barely palatable, and my job description is obscure. It’s an odd place to find an Adventist teacher’s kid who has been brought up in private schools their entire life. But, this is exactly where I find myself every Tuesday.

I must admit that I always end up enjoying myself as I mingle with the students. It’s refreshing to be immersed in an environment that is less. . . mature. Odd, I know, but true. Life is still mostly about fun for them and they aren’t afraid to let you know. They think that they rule the world and aren’t afraid to let you know. But I’ve found, in my interaction with them, that there are even more things they are terribly afraid to let you know.

What am I supposed to do about this? As I sat there at the lunch table, endeavoring to choke down what I hoped was chicken, I looked at all the young faces around me and I had to ask myself, “What do I have to give them?” By all accounts, it’s not much. I’m an over-worked college student who has $4 a month to her name. I hang out with a lot of other, over-worked college students who might have $14 a month to their names. We live in a world of over-worked people, who all work for over-worked people, and somewhere near the top of the food-chain there’s supposed to be someone who has it all figured out and can show us all how it’s done. ... I’m still looking for that person. I’m still looking for something to give.

In reality, when I look at those kids I see a lot of hurt. I see a lot of pain. I see empty eyes, beating hearts, and some clever masks. And the scary thing is, it looks a lot like my mirror. It’s too familiar. Far too familiar. So what makes me different? What am I supposed to give these kids? What am I supposed to do about this?

The truth is, I’m not any different. They’ve been hurt, I’ve been hurt. They need love, I need love. They are searching, I am searching. They mess up and make mistakes, I mess up and make mistakes. They fall and it hurts, I fall and it hurts. And I’m so glad that we are the same. Because I have been healed, so they can be healed. I have a God who chases me, and they have a God who chases them. I stand back up when I fall, they can stand up too. I’ve found something worth living for, and they can find something worth living for. Because there is a God who died for both of us...

I’m still not sure what I have to give to these kids, or to the world. Tuesday lunches will still be intimidating and hard to digest. But maybe the kid sitting across from me finds lunch time intimidating and hard to digest. And that’s all I need to know... God doesn’t need me to have a resume ready to hand people so they can hire me to fix their problems. I just need to know that I need Him. And I need to know that you need Him too. End of story.