Opening The Door

 

Four months without a blog post? What has my life come to? Mostly, it's come to a lot of the same old stuff including truck deliveries and moving stuff from one spot to another and watching God answer prayer for our Operation Christmas Child team. Moving stuff around gets old and doesn't seem very blog-worthy but watching God answer prayer is something else and I really should write those answers down more often, if only for my own benefit.

But today I want to talk about something else. I want to reminisce about answered prayer from decades ago that spills over into the 'now'. It may not be a coincidence that this morning's sermon talked about discipling the next generation. 

This sermon came just days after a little reunion that took place at a local restaurant on Wednesday night. We were blessed to have dinner with three couples and one spouse in each of those couples was part of the senior high youth group Jim and I 'led' (I use that term loosely here) during the first years of our marriage. 

Let me just say that first year of marriage was one of the hardest, if not THE hardest, years of my life. Married just nine days after my college graduation at age 21, I struggled to get my bearings as a wife. As a couple. And I struggled in my new job as a floor nurse on an orthopedic/neurosurgery floor at a local hospital. I felt ill equipped, constantly failing, and perpetually exhausted.

And into my mess came a gaggle of teenagers. They were only 4-6 years younger than I. I had no wisdom for them. I was spiritually drier than I've ever been for most of that year. But God opened a door. 

Jim and I rented a little home (which, by the way, we still live in 47 years later.) Did I mention it was little? But those kids didn't care. They just wanted a place to get together and enjoy each other's company. Many days or nights there were spontaneous knocks on the door. I didn't have the gift of hospitality and I still don't. But those kids didn't care. They didn't care that all I served them were bags of potato chips and commercially made french onion dip. More often than not that dip got ground into our beautiful '70s orange carpet.

They just kept knocking. 

I was spiritually dry. And empty. And woefully lacking in maturity and wisdom. And as non-Martha-Stewart as the day is long. 

But I kept opening the door. And they kept building community.

Fast forward to this Wednesday night in the restaurant. Those kids are now all retirement age but they shared how much those few short years meant in their lives. Their memories of the retreats we attended together and the pranks they pulled and the joy of community are vivid and remembered with fondness. They talked about churches they attend and ministries they are part of and the lives they've lived in the grace of God. Not perfectly, but still filled with grace. And, really, that's what discipling involves--sharing together in His grace. 

A few decades later I did a stint of thirteen years of teaching Sunday school to middle schoolers. I hope there was some discipling going on there also. And how do you ever really measure the effect of teaching the word of God to kids who are so embroiled in adolescent angst that they can barely even listen? 

You don't. But you just keep showing up and opening the door to God's word. You listen. You pray. And you hope that someday maybe one of those verses you paid them to memorize (yes, I PAID them) will make a difference when they need it. 

One of those former students became a successful youth leader in a large church. And two of them became drag queens. I'm not sure about each of them but God knows. 

And He keeps opening the door.