You do not skip The Weekend Closing, I keep telling myself, even though it’s late in the afternoon and I am itching to do something else other than sit on my desk and write. But I do not want to skip The Weekend Closing, especially that it has a lot of catching up to do with My Week in Tweets, and it’s September, which means it’s not the time to be lazy. And so, here it is, an attempt to be un-lazy, drafted on a Notepad because my CMS has been lagging on me for reasons I do not know.
I have a few things to celebrate today. One, we started listening to Celeste Clydestale’s A Star is Born, whose script I translated back in 2010 when we needed it for TempleKids’ use. It feels different now; there’s not too much kids, their culture is leaning on the “disinterested” kind, and those who seem to really want it are really noisy, and thus getting on my nerves, and halfway through the listening period, we just got to cut it, have the kids go and let them play in their smartphones.
My train of thought has always been, “This is so different from Atlag UMC kids. So, so different.” It was an inner whine. Frankly, it didn’t help. It just made me feel, I dunno, helpless? And now I realized, when I was in Atlag, kids didn’t have the leisure of holding their very own iPad tablets. The only one who obviously waved it around was Moy, and he was not a kid, and apps were not much of a thing back then as it is now. So, I should conclude, that this generation’s top distractions have caught up with me and my ministry, and just as I have always wanted to advice the elder lays, I HAVE TO adapt.
Adapting, my friend, is not easy.
First of all, I’ve got attitudes. And whenever another attitude is on the rise, my meter immediately senses it and shuts it off. Not a good trait for a teacher, or even a volunteer. It’s something I am trying to curb.
Attitudes are things I couldn’t stand, because, for some reason, I believe kids should be pliable enough to be molded into a more teachable form. I couldn’t bend for them. I have done so much bending before, I’ve been broken. This is not the time to break my back. I’m in that stance to stand in my ground, like a tree, and tell them this is the way to go.
But are they listening? Well, nope. The two dear kids Ashley and Avril would run off and no one can force them to listen to me. Or what I have for them. PJ and Ellord would be, well, either playing or fighting. The rest? They’d be sat down, but they’d be as loud as ducks. Airan and Mahal are tiny troublemakers. And let’s not talk about the boys. Evo was the only one who’d shush them up and listen to me closely. Second, would be the chatty but considerate Iya.
Okay, okay, I’ve used adjectives on kids. Consider this a story. And it’s not a bad kind!
You see, if there’s any tie that binds the kids and me, it’s – I’m proud to say – a small, sparkling kind of love. That’s right. Love. They’re complete headaches, and I would regularly tell them we won’t do this or that since they’re not paying attention. BUT GUESS WHAT? The next Sunday, we’re doing THE thing. And as not to completely invalidate their affection, these kids, despite being noisy, listen. And stay. And sing.
Sometimes, they sing with their whole heart.
So, the ministry is a mess. I’m all alone. The kids are a mess. And they make a lot of them too. But through the thick and thin, the nos and the yeses, we go back to that small, one-fanned office, and belt our lungs out whenever there’s a good song on play. They get the tiny tidbits of the lessons I tried so hard to get to them. I’m not stopping. I’m just not caving in. We’re going to meet there, in our invisible halfways, and make the most out of this season as long as we’re together.
Because together is something we won’t be for long. x