Jacqueline, Laura, and I were driving down to La Cumbre Junior High last week talking about mentors in our lives. They had incredible stories to share about church members who had befriended them in grade school or junior high, stood by them in difficult times, and are still walking with them now. Our discussion brought me to think about the influence of older people in my life as a youth.
Because my family wasn’t well connected with any of the churches we attended throughout my childhood and years in high school, I didn’t have many older people or mentors in my life. But for twelve years I did participate in AWANA, a Bible club that emphasizes Scripture memorization. Aside from my Christian parents and experience at church, this was where I received “grounding” for my faith.
Not once during my time as a Cubby, Sparky, Guard, JVer, or high school LIT did I remember having a discussion with an adult about the love of God for me and others, how to have a relationship with Him, or about the Holy Spirit alive within us. What I do remember: As a fifth grader, reciting Isaiah 64.6 by memory and stumbling through “all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags” because there were so many s’s in “righteousnesses.” As a fifth and sixth grade Guard, being extremely competitive, I was there for the game circle, points, and prizes. If memorizing verses was going to make the Green team win, then I was going to recite them!
In our AWANA handbooks, my least favorite section was the one where we were required to invite a friend to AWANA or church. My family was going to New Hope Christian Fellowship at this time, and every year I would muster up the courage to ask my 70-year-old great Uncle Bill to come to the huge Easter Service that would take place in the Blaisdell Stadium. With skits, singers, confetti, dancers with colorful ribbon, and a short message, perhaps, Uncle Bill encountered God through this vibrant interpretation of the Gospel? Once my sister and I got both Uncle Bill and Grandma to come to church. This meant double points, of course!
In junior high, I started wearing bandanas around my forehead like a motorcycle ganster and would make fun (in my head) of the girls who used glittery eye shadow. My favorite color was orange because I knew no one liked it. I even bought a pair of orange pants from the boys section in Gap that I would wear with my orange shirt my dad bought me during our family vacation in Maui. I was proud that my convict-style fashion was my thing as it definitely was no one else’s. I started losing interest in AWANA because we’d play outdoor games like volleyball, a sport I still don’t like to play to this day. I would get excited on Capture the Flag nights, but sooner or later we’d go inside and talk about serious stuff, most of which I can’t recall now. I do remember learning about becoming a new creation and the illustrations in our handbooks about putting on new clothes. I’m not sure if it meant very much to me. I liked my clothes. I like my camouflage-print bandana.
AWANA Scholarship Camp at Camp Erdman the summer before my freshman year of high school was one of the best summers of my life. It was the third time I would be going to camp, and I remember counting down the days till leaving for the North Shore. I just wanted the Blue team to win, to pour extra-large pixie sugar sticks down my throat, and make the best cardboard boat to race in the pool. I still wasn’t comfortable singing worship songs then, especially the new part of “I Could Sing of Your Love Forever.” I didn’t feel like dancing, it was foolishness I know! At every scholarship camp, campers were to memorize a passage of the Bible by the end of the week. I believe I can still recite Ephesians 6.10-18 by heart . . . in New King James. Mrs. Fukunaga was my camp counselor twice in a row, and I remember her telling me to come into our cabin after quiet hours because I was fooling around outside with my glow sticks. I would reminicse for days after coming home from camp about all the fun I had, remembering each day’s bliss.
Then high school Trin. I cut my hair a few inches short, died in red, spiked it, and painted my finger nails black. One of my favorite things to do was to go to Windward Mall with my sisters and buy their 10 for $5 spiked earrings, bracelets, and chokers. I’ve kept one of my bracelets from my punk years to remember how silly I once was. But AWANA was a complete drag. There were no more games, and I still wanted to play. I guess I didn’t want to grow up just yet. I remember getting so bored sitting in our half-circle, half-listening to all the smart kids who would go on and on about all that they knew about Romans. I remember not being confident reading out loud, so I would get really nervous whenever I was asked to read something from our workbooks or the Bible. I became really embarrassed once because I continually stumbled on the word “firmament,” which unfortunately appears three times in Genesis 1.7.
Part of our requirements was to read the entire Bible within our four years in the high school program and to write a short summary for each book we read. I remember my senior year, as I cranked out the summaries, I’d skim a book, pick out a verse I liked, and write a really nice paragraph about it with personal application. Mrs. Hepburn loved them and would always return them to me with smily faces and notes about how impressed she was by my writing. By the end of year, I would have been ready to preach a series of proof-texted mini-sermons. I was that good.
To fulfill the service part of my requirement for the high school program, I became a Leader-in-Training or LIT. After our high school gathering, we would help with the younger AWANA clubbers or “Gray Shirts,” listening to them recite their verses, signing off on their sections, and giving them AWANA bucks to spend at the store. Once I remember one of the fifth graders, Akela, and I standing on the Red team line all straight and tall as the whistle blew three times. She looked over at me and whispered, “Hey! I’m taller than you!” Not funny. During this time as an LIT, I wasn’t taught anything about discipleship or mentoring those younger than me. I don’t remember feeling particularly loving towards any of the fifth graders I hung out with every week. I just showed up and followed the program because that’s what good Christian leaders do, ya know?
As a high schooler I became increasing emo despite my hair growing longer and the lessening of black jelly bracelets and spiky jewelry. Towards my junior and senior years, I became consumed with academics and disconnected from friends who I no longer had much in common with. Feeling very alone, I remember journaling a lot and describing my frustration with myself, God, and family in writing. AWANA was something I wanted to hurriedly get done. Although I wanted to stop going, my mom encouraged me to stick with it as it wouldn’t look good to put on my college resume that I failed to finish all four years of the high school program. I was struggling more than I knew with figuring out who I was, who God was to me, and with my lack of purpose and hope.
It was during my sophomore year that I started taking drama classes with a couple, Josiah and Bethany, who were recent graduates from Seattle Pacific University. They were the coolest people I knew, and I loved drama and improv. Josiah and Bethany were fun, knew more than I did about life, and they were younger than my parents. For the short period of time that they were in Hawaii, they both had a big influence on me as my drama coaches and friends. Bethany invited a few of the drama class girls over to her house one evening a week to talk and hang out. I think we may have gone through a book or the Bible together. I don’t remember what we talked about during those times, but I was being sought out intentionally for the first time. I don’t remember Bethany necessary seeking me out individually, but I knew she cared about me in her desire to spend time with us. I ended up writing about her for one of my college essays for Westmont after she had moved back to the mainland.
This was not supposed to be a 1,467-word post. I had started out with the intention of writing about my experience and purpose at La Cumbre Junior High. But I couldn’t start writing about my role there without first reflecting on my own discipleship experience as a youth. I cannot thank God enough for my loving parents, the wonderful friends I have, and my incredible community. It’s interesting though for me to look back and to see the ways Christian youth-equipping programs succeed or fail in building up young disciples. It’s encouraging for me to look back and remember those who really did encourage and empower me as a youth. I realize that it wasn’t through programmatic discipleship that I grew the most in my understanding of and in my relationship with God; rather, it was more often the genuine, caring stranger who made the biggest difference.
In all this, I’m discovering a deeper hope in the incarnate Christ, who revealed to us the loving nature of God and modeled true friendship. I’m praying for me, I’m praying for you, I’m praying for our city and our world – that there will be so much more of Him in our lives. So much to ponder – the past, the present, the future. So much to rejoice over and cry about. My heart thirsts for His understanding.
