A View From the Yellow Chair: The Children ARE Leading Us

It’s only been a week, but it felt like a reunion tonight. Nadine was smiling and feeling good, Alice and Lindsay are sporting new hairdo’s, Silvia’s worried about her dad and John’s waiting to see if a procedure will help his back, my Mom’s doing well this week and Dylan’s happy because his pal Gracie is in church.

To a little ribbing, some smiles and thoughtful questions, Rodger and I shared our experiences at the Emergent Convention. For me, our growing friendship with David Robertson from Memorial Drive PC in Houston was the highlight. Meeting 26 Presbyterians who have a hunger for what we share in our beloved basement immediately created a tender response in me.

I arrived to the sound of the band learning the chorus from the Convention that had just been posted on the web that same afternoon at 1:00. We sang, prayed, read a litany, compared an Old with a New Testament reading and reflected on the conference. Judging from the wide eyes on a couple of them, the children and youth were surprised that I had described their leadership in our community to folks at the convention. (See recent blog entries.) Rodger has a good sense for tying things together and gave thanks for our community and our “awful” basement to which we all hooted and disagreed. Usually when we have Communion, we pass the elements around the circle, each one serving the next, even the least ones who get a supportive hand from Mom or Dad under the weighty earthen dishes. This time, though, Rodger called up John (11) and Nicholas (9) to help serve. I was second in line and bent over to pinch my bread from the plate held by shy Nicholas, and before I could say anything to him, I heard, “This is Christ’s body broken for you.” He was whispering as if what he was saying was very important. Absolutely it was. I laid my hand on his shoulder and thanked him. As once again I leaned over to dip the bread, young John’s voice said, “This is Christ’s blood shed for you.” Oh, yes it is, Beloved. They know it and my leathery, crusty road-weary spirit blossomed in response as I thanked John, turned and fell into my yellow chair rejoicing.

Children’s Ministry? You bet. They are ministering to us, and our Village is raising each child whether they are 9, 28, 43 or 52.

Tonight Dylan added miming drumming with sticks to keep the beat, and Gracie’s head swayed back and forth keeping time while the light glinted off the copper locks that covered her face.

It was my turn to blow out candles.