Counseling sessions on snow sleighs

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I was shoveling snow the other day when two young boys walked past me.  The boys were talking to each other, each with a snow sleigh in his hand, walking towards their destination of winter fun and possible concussions.  One of the boys was speaking about his family.  He was talking about his mother, though I could not hear exactly what he was saying.  As they walked closer to the driveway, I could hear the boy say, "My grandmother is teaching my big brother how [to do something, I could not make it out], but she's not teaching me.  And that makes me upset, you know, because I feel like she favors him or something.  I told my mom, but I don't know."  The other boy, who received his master's in counseling from Sandbox University, replied with Rogerian simplicity and professionalism.  "Yeah," he said.  And then they drifted into conversations about transformers and robots, walking down the hill to make the most of their winter weekend.

Immediately, I stopped shoveling and flashed back to my childhood.  I remembered the days of walking around with my childhood best friend, Zack.  He was the emotionally normal one of the two of us, while I was lost in a world of self defeat and discouragement.  Zack earned his master's in counseling from Swingset College and he provided me with hours of counseling without billing my insurance.  Like those two boys, I had very similar conversations growing up, though Zack took a more directive approach and asked questions instead of just saying "yeah."  The serious issues of life, personal worth and value, family relationships, the definition of manhood, and methods to overcome trial were all learned in the course of winter weekends with sleighs in our hands.  Some of the lessons we learned aided us through the rest of childhood and adolescence.  We are both probably still trying to overcome some of the other lessons, realizing that childhood psychoanalysis has flaws of its own.

I remembered those days with fondness and sadness.  Zack did an excellent job listening to me.  Yet like that little boy, I wished that someone had fought for me.  I wished that someone had come to my rescue and said, "Yes, you are worth teaching.  You are worth loving.  You are a good kid and I am so proud of you."  And I wished that someone would back that up with action, not a pity Dunkin Donuts run so we could only criticize my gradual weight gain later.  I wanted to run up to the young boy and say, "I know what that feels like, buddy.  And I want you to know it might cause you some problems later on, but it's going to be okay.  You're a strong young man and you can overcome any obstacle that comes your way because you are enough.  Now tell me your name so I can pray for you."  Looking back, I probably should have done something like that, but fear of possible arrest for scaring the crap out of a little kid stopped me.

In my life, God intervened like I should have done.  He received me with open arms, with no strings attached, and fathered me.  He taught me how to do so many things: how to love, how to give, how to smile, how to have confidence and humility (still struggling there), how to endure through hard times to appreciate the lesson in the end, to find the joke in the pain and to know when to surrender or to keep fighting onward.  There are some lessons He hasn't taught me yet that I venture to learn: how to change the oil in a car, how to do anything to car that is more than putting gas in it, how to go fishing, how to put anything together that doesn't come with an instruction manual, and anything else that is mechanical.  I know that God will teach me such things in time as long as I put effort into learning the skill as well.

I encourage us to intervene in the life of a young person wherever and whenever we can.  So much of children and youth ministry is teaching them the right lessons.  So much of adult ministry is unlearning the lessons of our childhood so we can be fully functioning and emotionally healthy adults.  So we can make adult ministry easier in the future, I hope that we can find the time to intervene in the lives of those around us by teaching truth, justice and self worth to the younger generation.  I encourage us to start in our own homes and families, so we can transform the environment in which we all grow and develop.  My prayer and hope is that we stop underestimating our influence on others and take baby steps forward to impacting others.  Perhaps that means that we might have to spend more time with our own children.  Perhaps that means we need to repair relationships with our siblings or parents.  Perhaps that means that we can volunteer our time to ministries like Urban Impact in Greater Bridgeport, Connecticut or dedicating some time to a church's youth group.  Or perhaps that means we support those who are called to fathering the fatherless full time by babysitting the youth pastor's kids so he can take his wife out to dinner.  The possible "next steps" are only limited by your willingness, or lack there of, to serve.  Whatever we do, do it in the Name of Jesus.

My prayer is that this story somehow touches your heart and the Holy Spirit teaches you a lesson of your own.  Perhaps it will bring back memories that you have long since buried in your closet of pain and childhood suffering.  Maybe it will evoke gratefulness for your own version of Zack.  Perhaps it will spur you to action to better love the children in your life.  I don't know.  All I know is that this true story caused me to stop, reflect and thank God for being the one who fathered me when no one else would.  True story.


I do not usually do this, but I feel the need to give some "shout outs."

• Zack - for being a great childhood best friend.  Zack, I recall our memories together regularly and though we do not speak often, please know that I remember our time together with fondness and thankfulness.
• Mike - Zack's dad, for taking me under his wings and loving me selflessly, for providing me with endless hours of advice and ridiculously corny jokes that I still laugh at here and there.
• Sue - Zack's mom, for always welcoming me in her home and for teaching me that you are supposed to use a knife to put things on your fork, not your finger.
• Lauren - for her driveway, the setting of my story; and for listening to me process and helping me through the intricacies of my past by asking the right questions.
• Mom - for her hard work and labor, for her endless love and compassion, for raising a man who seeks after the heart of God.

I love all of you for your role in my true stories.