Last week, I turned thirty-three. Still young enough to not know what I don’t know, I suppose.
Yet, lately, I’m feeling oddly old-ly. (It’s not a word; don’t look it up. It just sounded nice as an adverb.) It’s a time of closing some chapters and opening some new ones. For instance, at The Bridge, the ministry is officially moving beyond us; we suddenly have a younger staff, and it’s put us in a position of mentoring and training. Gulp. Not to mention, we have middle-schoolers. Two of them.
So here we are in this awkward dance of raising up the next generation of leaders.
Have you ever looked around and realized you’re the supposedly the mature one in the group? The result is a bizarre mix of responsibility, humor, and horror.
It’s that point in time when you’d like to join in with the group of young’uns, full of passion and ideas, but that pesky voice of experience keeps mumbling remarks in your head like, “well, that’ll never work,” and “tried that already,” and “seriously, did he just say that?” and “boy, does she have a lot to learn.” You start to quote familiar monologues about making good choices and taking responsibility and walking uphill both ways in the snow carrying books and a lunch pail. These mini-sermons (which can be easily expanded to full-length, depending on how often they are punctured with eye-rolling) used to make you want to slam doors and stump away but suddenly they are your friend, a perfect script for diagnosing all societal ills. [Read more…]