Parents' Night

We had Parents' Night at youth group this past week.

A bunch of church parents showed up to see what the heck it is that happens on Sunday nights. This meant that the two hours I normally spend suppressing my competitive urge so I can peacefully coexist in group games with sixth graders were twice as awkward as usual.

Not only did I have to keep up my charade of having energy and liking memes to impress the kids, I also had to add layers of wisdom, competency, and responsibility to offer their parents peace of mind. In total, the role of Small Group Leader on Parents' Night required a nuanced, multi-faceted performance that I think would've been better delivered by a more experienced actor. (Joel Stafford comes to mind.)

I did the best I could.

I've got issues.

For real, I have issues. Driving home from Parents' Night, I was reflecting on how badly I want everyone to like me, and also on how it's literally impossible to have everyone like you all of the time. It's a sad fact of existence: Sometimes, especially on the days you get out of bed, the exact thing that will make one person like you will make another person dislike you. Kick a basketball at the gym ceiling with a sixth grader and you're impressive; kick a basketball at the gym ceiling while their parent is watching and you're a hazard to church property.

It's exhausting.

I'm hoping to grow out of this whole thing soon. The good news (or maybe the bad news) is that I know I'm not alone in it. If I've learned two things being a youth group leader, they are 1) that kids are remarkably insecure, and 2) that encouragement is remarkably easy.

To encourage a kid doesn't require any sort of special skill or cleverness. It doesn't require you to be cool, or to like memes, or even to be particularly competent. It just requires that you engage with a thing the kid cares about and point out ways the kid is good.

At our youth group's winter retreat last year, I watched a leader tell an underclassman with direct, cheerful seriousness that they were likable, regardless of what anyone at school said. Six months later, during a small group session, I was taken aback to hear the student echo the conversation: "Sometimes I try really hard to be liked, but I know that I don't need to, because Kyle told me I'm likable." Criticism certainly sticks with us, but so does affirmation, especially from people we trust.

We're all kids at heart. The antidote for our insecurity is love.

This is the great news of the Gospel, of course, and it's the antidote for the whole human condition: that we are loved, and liked, too. In spite of the self-doubt we chew on in our minds, the roles we work so hard to play, and our real and serious shortcomings, we've already made it. God looks at us and sees good.

He likes us.

I know this is probably not a good reason to start dominating sixth graders in dodgeball, but I think it's the perfect reason to stop caring so much about what other people think.

I'm trying. Even on Parents' Night.