I had spent the greater part of ten
minutes trying to convince my three year old G-boy that he had to
stay on the Quilt of Safety. That the minute he stepped off the
quilt, he was in danger of being bit by the alligators.
“But, I don't see any alligators,
MiMi...”
“I know! They are sneaky green
alligators who know how to hide in the grass.”
I knew any attempts to keep this tiny
tornado in check would be short-lived. We had only been at the
Citychurch Jesus Loves You Celebration less than 30 minutes and
I was already exhausted by trying to keep from losing this whirling
dervish in a sea of strangers.
Not everybody in the crowd was a
stranger. I knew the church staff, recognized most of the red-shirted volunteers
and had even slept with the drummer of the band. The band was the main reason
I had come... to hear my husband, son and nephew play their hearts
out for a wonderful cause.
The cause being Acceptance. Love. Salvation.
Every summer, Citychurch ropes off a
couple of blocks downtown to provide a night of food, music, devotion
and prayer to the families of the inner-city children they have served throughout the year. The reality of this benevolent
night of outreach is manifested in throngs of disenfranchised
families interspersed with a large number of homeless men and women. All
of them showing up to enjoy a free meal, then hanging around for the
music and devotionals in hopes of winning one of the door prizes
given away at the end of the evening.
Youth groups from various states schedule
their summer mission trip to Amarillo to experience the challenges
and rewards of an inner city ministry, culminating in the Jesus Loves
You Celebration. (Actually, the entire name is: God Hasn't Forgotten You, Jesus Loves
You Celebration.)
I would love to tell of all the
wonderful ways I am involved in this worthy church and her ministry
to the inner city youth of Amarillo, but in truth, there isn't much
to tell. I have helped peripherally upon occasion and am always
happy to donate to the cause. But mostly...? I show up on Sunday
morning to cuddle with my G-babes and enjoy my husband and son in the
worship band.
It's not that I don't get my worship
on. Because I do. And I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jesus
is a big fan of Citychurch, too. But in all honesty, I can worship
anywhere. In fact, I usually do my best worshiping outside of a
church building. And as much as I respect the time, love and effort
that is expended in buildings of worship... sometimes all that stuff
just gets in my way.
Which brings me back to the magic Quilt
of Safety.
It didn't take my G-boy long to figure
out that absolutely no alligators were hidden in the sparse Texas
grass. Even less time to ascertain that he would not be engulfed in
flames if he ventured even farther onto the sidewalk.
So I pulled him aside and said, “Hey,
dude. You can't be running off everywhere. Some of these people are
strangers.”
“Who are the strangers, MiMi?”
“Well, the people we don't know are
strangers. And if we don't know them, we can't go anywhere with
them. We have to stay here on this quilt, with each other.”
“Why? Will the strangers hurt me?” He asked, with eyes growing round.
Crap. I quickly searched my brain for
the right words to give this beautiful innocent boy. Words that would
instill caution without creating fear.
“No. Nobody here wants to hurt you –
we wouldn't let anybody hurt you. But you have to stay close to
me. Because... because, uh... you are Spiderman. Right?"
“NO!" He screwed up his face and
stuck his nose into mine. “I am NOT Spiderman. I am Luke the
Skywalker.”
Just then, four young girls with
backpacks plopped down alongside our Quilt of Safety. They
introduced themselves to me, I told them my name and introduced them
to Luke the Skywalker.
“Are you from here?” They asked.
“Yes.” I answered.
“Do you have a church home?” They
asked.
“We go to Citychurch.” I pointed
to the stage. “My husband is the gray-haired drummer and my son is
the handsome guy in the black shirt.”
“Oh...” they breathed with a sigh of relief.
And then I understood. They were
obviously members of one of the youth groups who had come to help
with the event. And tonight, they had come to 'witness' to me.
Out of a widely diverse and
multi-colored crowd of not-so-well dressed people they had chosen
me... a somewhat well-dressed, middle-aged white woman, sitting with an
adorable little blond haired boy on the Quilt of Safety.
I didn't judge them. I had been on a
few neighborhood outreaches in my not-so-cynical, idealistic youth. I
hadn't liked the 'witnessing' part, either. I always felt I should
just be able to hand over the brightly wrapped Christmas presents or
sacks of groceries to the appreciative hands without
any awkward religious strings attached. I hated the part where I
had to sing three verses of some lame hymn and was always apologetic
in handing over the mind-numbing devotional tracts from our church.
I never mastered the art of proselytizing to perfect strangers.
Strangers who might very well have a greater spiritual depth than
myself.
I always wondered why just being there
wasn't enough.
Because sometimes it is, you know.
I wanted these young missionaries who
had taken a week out of their summer to serve the people of our city
to know how much I appreciated their hearts and their efforts.
I asked if they would like to join us
on the Quilt of Safety.
They gratefully climbed aboard.
For the next few hours we sang, laughed
and listened to the devotionals... bonded by our efforts to contain
Luke the Skywalker on a 6 x 6 quilt.
And as I smiled into the moonlit faces
of the strangers around us, I knew it was enough. Sharing the same
stars underneath the beautiful Texas sky, voices blending in songs of
praise to Jesus, for me and my little group of awkward
missionaries...
Just being there was enough.
