Yesterday, I sat with a table of girls in the high school commons. These are not the girls that normally come to K-Life. I only knew one.
"Why are you wearing a boot? What happened to your foot?" I asked her. Sometimes it surprises me how much is offered after one question. How strong is our desire to be known, and how eagerly some stories slide out of timid mouths. She told me of a fight, a bang-up between her uncle and some other man, and in the process of getting the little kids out of the way, she got hurt too.
I asked the names of the other girls. Some answered and some didn't. Trust isn't always given at the first inquiry. The f-bomb fell a couple times. Banter back and forth about teachers, classes. An Algebra book shut and pushed aside.
"Y'all should come and eat pancakes if you want," I said as I stood to leave. "They're free, and we're here first Wednesday of every month."
Great. They need the red stain of a Savior's blood, and I offer pancakes.
Where does one begin?
At home, Aaron and I pray.
A verse, one that heralded the beginning of God ministering to man, one that I love so much I pasted it to strips of old wood, one that gives me goosebumps just to imagine, came to mind:
"The people dwelling in darkness
have seen a great light
and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death
on them a light has dawned." (Matthew 4:16)
That light is my hope.
Pray with us, will you? Pray for these in our small town, and those in your small town, your big town. All the ones who have yet to see the light of a God who knows the names of the hidden, the sins of the wicked, the fears of the weak, and yet calls them all,
Aaron has this crazy vision. He wants us and our team to know the names and faces of every single middle and high school student in our town. That's 900 some people. I gape, but his reasoning pierces my heart, "Every kid deserves to hear the Gospel."
Yes. He is right. Every kid deserves to hear that the light has risen upon the graveyard, and it is dark no more.