This weekend, my church – the one I’ve attended for the better part of 22 years – introduced us to a newly hired youth minister. He spoke to the congregation about his excitement for the kids at our parish, and it was hard not to be enthusiastic with him, especially since I have a middle school aged son.
What? Did I just write that?
While I was sitting in the pew listening to this guy, I was not thinking about my eleven year old. I was 16 years old again, wearing a short jean skirt, old T-shirt and a pair of leather flip flops, and feeling every bit the excitement of finally, FINALLY having a church leader who cared about someone “my age.”
He talked about the life of a teenager being pretty crazy, with all of the school pressures and sports activities and friendship issues being like a fast moving train, and his desire for Church to be a train station where they could come every week for an hour or two of peace.
And then I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I was 38 again, thinking of a song to which me at both ages can relate. Stop This Train by John Mayer.
I wanna go home again sometimes. Not to my big cookie cutter house in the suburbs. Not to my parents’ house that I grew up in. Not back to my childhood room with the pink gingham curtains and the 70s flower power wallpaper, although I’m nostalgic for it. Home is the old back yard. The sandbox. Michael Austin Perry next door wanting to make pirate ships out of egg cartons. Bike rides through the woods to the railroad tracks where there is now a 25 year old subdivision. Cabbage Patch dolls. Writing at my old black desk.
Except that home isn’t any of those things. Not really. 25 years from now home will be a big empty bed typing on an iphone. It will be River City Diner on a Friday Night. It will be kids running from the back yard to the front with Nerf guns through doors they don’t close and a dog who sits in the middle of the floor keeping his eye on everything. It will be the smell of magnolias in June. 25 years from now, I’ll be nostalgic for “Let It Go” and pee-stained toilet seats.
Yeah, I’m scared of getting older. I didn’t think I was all that good at being young, at least not at the time. Looking back, it looks a lot easier in hindsight than it felt at the time.
I wish our new youth minister luck. I hope he can turn our church into that train station. I need it just as much as the kids do.