Tag Archives: santa barbara

New Sermon Series: Jacob’s Ladder

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ladder

This Sunday, we begin a new sermon series: Jacob’s Ladder: Surely the LORD was in this place & I did not know it!

We’re going to be spending 5 weeks on the same passage (Genesis 28:10-18), but really focus on verse 16: “Surely the Lord was in this place and I did not know it!” based on Lawrence Kushner’s book, God was in this Place & I, i did not know. 

Quite a few times, people have come up to me after church and say things like, “Boy, God was really here today!” (And I know I’m not the only pastor/church leader that gets that). Those thoughts always gets me thinking… Does that imply that God hasn’t been there the other times?
But those kind of thoughts happen outside of the church, too.

One day, after a long (long) hike, when I got to the top, I saw the beautiful surrounding site and I caught myself saying, “Wow. God’s really here at the top of this mountain!” Which made me pause and ask myself, “Wasn’t God with me on my hike up?”

So, for the next 5 weeks, we’ll be talking about what Jacob might’ve experienced that kept him from realizing God was in this place before he fell asleep and had his dream, and how we, as today’s readers of Jacob’s story, can learn from his experience and story. 

What is it that keeps us from being aware of God’s presence everywhere we go?

If you can’t join us at St. Mark on Sunday mornings in beautiful Santa Barbara, I invite you to come listen to us online on our website!

I’m Not a Boy, Not Yet a Man

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Okay, that was a horrible title for this post.
I thought that song was corny as heck when Britney Spears “sang” “I’m not a girl not yet a woman.” (Yes, that was a snarky commentary on Ms. Spears’ “singing” ability. Oops, I did it again.)

Anyway, we returned safely from a week stay at Hawaii, the first time I’ve been back since we moved out 5 years ago.
A lot has changed.
A lot has remained the same.

Throughout the week, there were many moments that reiterated the fact that time only moves in one direction.
I’m no longer the 16 year old that moved from Santa Barbara to Hawaii. Instead, I am the 32 year old that is visiting Hawaii from Santa Barbara.

Of course, through this decade there have been incidents that made me aware I’m getting older.
Me: It’s like… you know, Chandler Bing.
Youth: … who’s Chandler Bing?
Me:… Friends? The show? You know, Monica, Ross, Joey, Rachel, Phoebe, and Chandler?
Youth: … hmmm… I think my mom used to watch that or something…
Me: … go away.

Or during a hike while we were in Hawaii:
Student: Do you know any students still at your high school?
Me: No. Kid, it’s been 12 years since I graduated high school.
Student: …. wow. That’s… like a whole education cycle!
Me: … Thanks. Go away.

I got to meet up with a lot of my friends from high school. We got together for dinner at someone’s house, like we’ve done many of times before.
Except this time, instead of meeting at someone’s parents’ house. We met at one of my friend’s place.
And, my friends brought their kids.
So there I was, meeting all of my friends’ kids for the first time. Playing with them. Realizing, all the married couples have kids.
It was a surreal moment, considering 10 years ago, this gathering would’ve looked drastically different. My friends have kids! A few of them have more than 1.
But here we were. As grown ups. Talking about grown up things. Far removed from the gossips of high school drama.

On top of that, the purpose of this trip was for my brother’s wedding. I got to witness my brother, who’s 7 years younger, get married. My kid brother getting married… that was surreal, too, as I watched him and his, now, wife exchange their vows.

It was great seeing all my friends and the people who we left behind in Hawaii.
It was great eating all the great food we have missed.
It’s great to call a place like Hawaii my hometown — even though I moved there when I was 16. It’s the friends that I have gained and the people I have met in Hawaii that I can easily call Hawaii “home.”

Someone said that “Growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional.”

But it’s nice to know that I’m doing a little bit of both.

… I think…

Be Patient. God Knows What God’s Doing.

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Santa Barbara, looking east from above Santa B...

Some time in 2012, I knew that my time at my former church was coming to a close. I was sure of it, because my DS (District Superintendent) had told me so. I wasn’t in any trouble (that I know of) but, outside of what she had informed me, I also knew in my heart that a time of transition was coming. To where? I had no idea. The DS told me that she couldn’t say anything but to be in prayer and know that there is a plan.

So, I remained in prayer and tried to form my own plan, naturally.
I had it in me that I wanted to return to the Korean church. I had been (am still) so critical of the Korean church. It was time to shut up and put my money where my mouth is. I couldn’t help but think of the parable of the Prodigal Son, where I was playing the part of the son returning home — the Korean church. But instead of the father running towards with open arms ready to embrace and kiss me, I envisioned running towards, as Jesus put it, weeping and gnashing of teeth. I kid. Well, sort of. And yes, I realize how egotistical it was of me to think that way.

And then — a position at a Korean church opened. I thought that this was more than a coincidence. Intern Dae once asked, “Do you think you could ever go back to a Korean church?” At that time, I answered, “If I ever were to go back to the Korean church, I’d like it to be at [the Korean church mentioned at the beginning of this paragraph]. It’s never going to happen, though. I don’t think that pastor’s leaving any time soon.”

So, I figured this was God’s way of telling me that I may have to, for lack of a better
cliche´, put my money where my mouth is.

So I contacted the pastor. He wanted to meet. I drove out to meet him. We talked. I got excited. He got excited — except that the position I wanted was being filled, but they were looking for a college pastor and would I be interested. I always wanted to try college ministry, so I said yes. Then he told me to come to the church and meet with the SPRC.
So my wife and I drove to the church to see what the church was like. Secretly, I went there ready to say ‘yes.’ I figured, this was what God wanted me to do. All the door seemingly just opened.

Only, after the meeting and the tour of the church, something in my heart nagged at me saying, “What are you doing?”
That inner dialogue was echoed by my wife, “I don’t think this would be a good place for us.”
But something within me really wanted this to happen. I really thought this place would be the next chapter in my life. However, there was enough hesitation and resistance (something I didn’t expect) within me to realize that I needed to figure out what was going on and pray on it.

After much prayer, and many conversations with trusted friends and family, it was what my wife said. She wondered if I was trying to force my way into this church, for whatever reasons because it was me that initiated everything from day 1. I was letting the DS know what was going on, instead of waiting for the Cabinet. And I realized, perhaps, this was a good time to not be so proactive, but a good time to wait. To pray. And to trust.

So, I told the pastor of the Korean church that I couldn’t go.
I told the DS that I would pray for the Cabinet and be patient as I possibly could, sort of apologizing for hijacking the whole process.

After what felt like years, I was told that an introductory meeting was set up for me in Santa Barbara.
My initial reaction?
“Oh. Santa Barbara? Okay… Well. Yea. Thanks.”
I wasn’t too thrilled. I was paying attention to the possible appointments, and I secretly hoped that Santa Barbara wasn’t one of the places. Why? Because we lived there when I was in jr. high to early high school. I just wasn’t excited.
But, I wasn’t going to refuse this introduction meeting.

So my wife and I drove north to Santa Barbara. I was a bit apprehensive and went to the meeting expecting the worst. I just didn’t think I’d be a good fit for the church and for Santa Barbara.

But. As soon as I sat down. There was a strange warming in my heart. I wish I was making that up. I’m not saying that to be a good Methodist. There really was a strange warming within my heart. And everything felt …. right. 

After the meeting, the wife and I drove to State street to have dinner. We talked about the meeting and she asked, “What did you think?”
I told her that I think that this was it.
I also shared with her, had I felt any inkling of what I feel now for the Korean church, I would’ve jumped at the chance. But, I knew that I had dodged a bullet going to that Korean church. I’m not saying that the Korean church was a bad church or whatever. But, I knew that I would’ve made a huge mistake if I had gone to that church. Consider that my Tarsus, if you will.
I honestly think, the outcome would have been that both the church and I go our separate ways, both damaged, hurt and scarred.

Of course, that Korean church brought in great people for their ministry, which I think is a great fit for them.
And God brought me to Santa Barbara.
I am 100% certain of that. And, honestly, I’m glad that I’m 100% certain of that, because it’s that knowledge and faith that will pull me through when we encounter uncertainty in the process of ministry. And, I know that this is a great fit for both church and myself.

I have no idea what God intends to do with me and St. Mark UMC. But, I know that it’s going to be something great and amazing. And, there’s no other option, because God is involved — especially if we continue to have God lead us, instead of us dictating God.

There are so many times in my life where I just want things to happen on my time, in my way. More often than not, I want to say, “God, this is what I’m going to do. Please bless it.” And move on forward.

But I need to continually remind myself that God knows what he’s doing.
And, more importantly, that I’m not God.

While there are times where I need to be active in my faith and not just sit around and wait for things to happen, there are times where I need to be patient, wait, discern and pray that God’s will be mine, not the other way around.

I think it’s more than fair to say, life is a bit more manageable and makes a little bit more sense when we live out God’s will for us.

 

Okay, I Think I’d Draw the Line There

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So, there are lots of dogs and dog owners in Santa Barbara.

And, to be honest, some people take it to a bit of an extreme. For instance, a baby stroller should not be used to carry dogs. That defeats the purpose of taking your dog for a walk.

If you’re allergic to dogs, Santa Barbara might not be the best place for you to live. They are everywhere. They can be brought into some stores. I’m sitting outside Starbucks right now, and there’s a lady doing her thing with her dog next to her. And that dog has been receiving attention from everyone. (Is it necessary to use baby talk with dogs?) But there’s always one dog and dog owner at this Starbucks outside. (Funny note: this lady was working on her laptop. Then the second lady, the one with the dog, came and sat down next to her, on the outside sofa. The dog and the dog owner practically took up the sofa, and the first lady, on the laptop, packed up and left. I thought she was going home or something. The dog and the lady left about 5 minutes ago, and the first lady, laptop lady, just came back and spent a good 2 minutes brushing off dog hair so that she can sit where she sat before being invaded. Okay, maybe that was funny, only to me.)

I’m not a dog person/lover, per se, but I like dogs. I like my parents’ puppy. I like animals. But I don’t like dogs to the extent that some people do here. And, honestly, I think dressing up your dogs in human-esque clothing is weird. And I don’t think the dog really appreciates being dressed up. But what do I know? I’m no dog whisperer.

Anyway, last week, I was having lunch at a restaurant, and we were seated outside.

At the end of the meal, a lady pulls up and parks on the curb right next to us in her Denali. Inside were two beautiful dogs, and I assumed that she was taking them to the vet that was right next to the restaurant.

She kept her windows rolled up, as she exited the car (with her engine running). I figured that she must be getting take out from the restaurant. But, I see her being led by the hostess, and seat her at a table where two other people were waiting for her.

And, this drove me mad.

I can’t tell you why it bothered me so much. But it did.

I mean, I’m not the most green guy. I use a lot more napkins than necessary. I often forget my reusable Starbucks cup. I drive to church (although I intend to start biking real soon).

But, I just felt that this was so wrong. She was going to be there a minimum of 40 minutes, all the while her big Denali’s engine is running to keep her precious dogs cool. It’s Santa Barbara. Roll down your windows. Or leave your dogs at home for a couple of hours. They’ll survive.

It felt so irresponsible and I had such ugly thoughts towards her.

I even had a half a mind to say something to her… but realized that it wouldn’t come out cool and collected, since I was so annoyed. And I didn’t really want to make a scene.

I think I love dogs. But, I don’t know if I can say the same for some of their human counterparts.

If You’re Going to Assume, Just Assume They Don’t Know

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So, Santa Barbara.
It’s a lovely city. Weather is fantastic, so far.
There’s are few things to get used to. The food here is far more expensive than Valencia. There’s just something wrong with paying $10 for some pho. (Google it, if you must).

Secondly, I’ve seen far more spiders in my two weeks here than in my two years in Valencia. I don’t really like that. Spiders are just… wrong, too.

Anyway, my wife was reading one of the local magazines and discovered this place where she could volunteer at.
She called and they wanted her to come in for an initial interview.
She tried to get the directions and the guy on the phone kept assuming we were locals. Or something. Even when she said, “We just moved here” he didn’t really clarify the directions.
He kept calling the street (a three word street) by it’s initials.
“Oh, it’s on ‘ABC’ street.”
Along with phrases like,
“Oh, you can’t miss it. It’s behind such-and-such. It’s a well known area. Everyone knows ABC street.”

Yea, maybe for the locals and the regular visitors.

So on the morning of our appointment, we asked Siri for directions and followed the google maps direction on my iPhone.
Guess what?
We couldn’t find it. Siri, my wife and I did not know the street that everyone knew about.

Now, I’m not the best with directions to begin with. I get lost easily. But even so, the ABC street that he was talking about, there were no street signs for it. It technically wasn’t even a street. It was like a private driveway. We circled around a bit, now running late. We finally called the place and the lady on the phone had to give us turn by turn directions on the phone. Without her help, I don’t think I would’ve ever found it.

The guy who we initially talked to knew the area well, because he lived here. It’s only natural to think that it’s easy for anyone to find, because it’s easy for him to find.

And we think like that in our churches. We’ve been at a church for so-and-so years, so it’s natural for us to think that everything we do is normal.

But, it’s not. Church isn’t really ‘normal’ for those who’ve never really been. And each church has its own quirks and traditions that are unique to their own setting.

A friend told me of a church who, when it came time to do the Lord’s Prayer, would stand up, turn around and recite the Prayer. The new pastor, after a few Sundays, could no longer contain his curiosity and began to ask parishioners why they would stand, turn around and then recite the Lord’s Prayer. After digging, he finally found the answer from one of the older members of the church. Years and years ago, the Lord’s Prayer was on a banner at the back of the church, so to make everyone feel welcome, they would all stand, turn around and read the Lord’s Prayer together, just in case someone didn’t know it. The banner had been long gone, but the tradition remained.

For long time members: normal. For new comers: “What is going on? Why are we standing up? Why are we turning around? What are we reciting?” (That’s the other thing, we assume that everyone knows the Lord’s Prayer… that may not be so true anymore…)

It’s natural for us to assume that people know what we know.
But I think it’s safer to assume that they may not know what we know.

Not everyone may know where the bathroom is located on your campus.
Not everyone may know where the coffee fellowship is (if there is one) and if everything is for free after worship.
Not everyone may know why people are furiously writing their information on pads, and if you’re supposed to do the same.

And they may have been attending your church for years…
For many of us, everything about church life is normal, because we’ve been at a church for a dominant period of our lives. In fact, we can still get the hang of the language and vibe when we switch churches or visit a church on vacations.

But there are many more people these days who haven’t grown up in church and are finding themselves inside a sanctuary for the first or second time in their lives. They probably have no idea of what is going on and their anxiety may be made worse when we assume they should just know everything.

So just be open to the idea that not everyone knows what you know.

Especially when it comes to giving directions…

 

Things I Won’t Miss

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Now, now don’t get the wrong idea. Moving is just as difficult (if not more) for the clergy and clergy’s family than the congregation. I say “if not more” because the congregation only has to say good by to, in our case, just the two of us– my wife and myself. Us, on the other hand, have to say goodbye to the entire church and the community that we lived in for the past 2.5 years. I’m actually going to really miss the Starbucks staff here at Valencia.

So, it’s a given that we’re going to miss people, places and things here in Valencia. But to make the move a bit easier for me, I started making a list of things that I wouldn’t really miss.

For starters, I’m not going to miss the summer weather of 2012 here in Valencia. We had a really warm winter and I know that the summer here is going to be crazy hot. There have been days that seemed to give us a mild preview of what summer will be like. I’m glad that I get to spend the summer in the nice, cool beach weather of Santa Barbara.

The other thing, hands down, I won’t miss is the apartment life. It wasn’t all that bad… but you know, neighbors make or break apartment life. We didn’t have bad neighbors upstairs, but they were really loud. Never intentionally. They had a dog the size of a sedan. And we could hear him running around the apartment. They would vacuum nearly everyday, I assume because of the dog hair, at odd hours of the day. We’d find dog hair all over our patio area and in my wife’s herbs and tomatoes. We won’t have to deal with the neighbor’s TV being on so loud that we couldn’t hear ours. Again, I’m just assuming it was loud because their hearing wasn’t what it used to be, and that they weren’t being jerks.

I won’t miss all the parking that we have to share, especially the humongous pick-up truck that would occasionally park right next to our car making it difficult to get in or out.

That’s pretty much it.

Yesterday was my second to the last Sunday here at the church. It’s getting more and more real that we’re moving.

People have been asking if I’m excited about moving. And yea, we’re both extremely excited. But, it’s a huge bag of mixed emotions. I can’t speak for my wife, but for me, I know I’m really excited. I’m also sad to be leaving this community behind. I’m also very anxious and nervous. Worried, is a given. So, it’s easier to not really think about it, when I don’t have to.

Thankfully, the next few weeks are going to be intense and hectic. I won’t have too much time to be consumed in my thoughts.

My Transition (New Appointment)

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For a little while, I wanted to title all of my blog posts starting with a “My” a la one of my favorite shows, Scrubs. But that’s neither here nor there.

This past Sunday, I announced that I will be serving St. Mark United Methodist Church in Santa Barbara, effective July 1.

It’s truly bittersweet. I have loved being part of Valencia UMC for the past two and a half years. I am really excited for what this church has visioned for the next few years. But, at the same time, I know that it’s time for me to move on.

While I still have a heart and passion for youth and youth ministry, I think I’m at a chapter in my life where I no longer want to be the “youth guy.” There are other aspects of ministry that I want to explore and experience and I think St. Mark is that place where I can further explore my call as a UMC pastor.

As saddened as we are leaving this church family, both my wife and I are 100% certain that this is God’s plan for us. So we are encouraged by our faith and hopeful that God will do great things through us in Santa Barbara.

On top of that, I am already familiar with St. Mark UMC, at least with their campus. 20 years ago, my dad started a Korean church on St. Mark’s campus. So from the age of 11-16, I was part of the youth ministry at St. Mark where this great guy named, Doug was the youth director. It is a sort of homecoming for me.

And, when we lived in Santa Barbara, my grandparents lived near Pomona, and we would frequently make that drive down to see my grandparents. My parents now live near Pomona. And, when we have kids, my kids will make that same drive down to see their grandparents.

I am excited for the move. I think I’ll get a bit more nervous and anxious as the days progress. I have no idea what’s in store for us in Santa Barbara. But I know that God will be with us with every single step that we take.

So, we’ll have to start packing soon. It’s always a weird feeling packing, especially the office. There’s this sense of sadness and a heaviness within the heart mixed with a sense of excitement and nervousness.

It’s been a blessed 2.5 years here at Valencia. And we are grateful for the lessons that we have learned and the friendships we have formed here.

I think it’s safe to say that transition is going to be a theme of many posts this upcoming month.

I’m looking forward to a great and crazy and memorable month of June.

Here we go.

The Dodgeball Incident

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I think it’s safe to say that there’s a story every pastor has that is his/her go to story. If you’re a United Methodist pastor, it’s a story you share at every new appointment… well, today is such a story.
I’ve told this story many of times and will continue to do so in sermons to come illustrating the theme/point of the sermon. You might say, “Wait, if you blog this story, how can you still tell it to people?”
Thanks for asking. First off, the story sounds much better live, with hand motions and facial expressions. Second, and more importantly, no one really reads this blog, so we’re good

I’m sure the story is just as bad as it sounds and as I remember it, but at the same time, my memories are probably a lot worse than it was in reality and actuality (at least, I so desperately hope it is) because memory has a funny way of distorting and exaggerating itself throughout the years of recollection.

Now, this is a story all about how my life got flipped, turned upside down and I’d like to take a minute, just sit right there… okay, I apologize. That wasn’t as funny as I thought it would be.

But do let me take you back to somewhere between ’92 and ’93.
I had just moved to Santa Barbara, CA from Columbia, SC. School had already started, so I was that new kid that got introduced by the teacher by standing up in front of the class. Being the new kid in any context really sucks. It didn’t help that I was from a foreign country: South Carolina.
I remember wondering how long it’ll take for me to meet friends. And who would eat lunch with me, especially since no one was interacting with me, after finding my seat.

That’s when Kenny (for those of you who have heard this story, Kenny is not his real name. I ended up going with Kenny because of South Park and he’s been Kenny ever since) approached me and we started talking about whatever 6th graders talked about back then.

Kenny and I became fast friends. We hung out at lunch and recess. We’d walk home together because his home was the same direction as mine. I was glad to have a friend.

But after the new kid smell and shine had worn off of me, and I started to get to know other kids in my class and grade, I slowly begin to realize that no one else hung out with Kenny. I begin to realize that because my new friends, who played sports with me, started asking, “How come you hang out with that kid, dude? He’s a loser.”

This is where a pastor’s kid should stand up and say, “Whoa, now. Kenny’s a cool guy. He’s my friend.”
If that was the case, there would be a far different (and better) story to tell. Unfortunately, I started listening to my friends.

I slowly distanced myself from Kenny during school. It seemed natural because I liked to play sports during our breaks and Kenny did not.
But after school (when no one was around, of course) Kenny and I would still hang out. We’d still walk home together. Much to his credit, he never called me out on my flakiness and jerkiness. We just continued on like nothing happened in the previous hours of school.

These two separate worlds came crashing together all at once during a PE class.
The teacher decided the day would be spent in a Darwinian activity often referred to as “dodgeball”. He also decided to make me one of the two team captains and gave me first pick.
Kenny was always picked last for everything. But the fact that I got first choice meant that he would probably be picked second to the last, and not last, which, if you’ve experienced this, is a world of difference. You never want to be last pick.
So we started the barbaric and self-esteem killing exercise of picking teams.
I picked most of my “good” athletic friends.
Sure enough at the end, there were two people left: Kenny and, I’m pretty sure the other person was a girl.
I was about to pick Kenny, and I even saw Kenny flinching towards my team’s direction when I heard a whisper from, might as well have been Satan himself (I’m not calling the kid Satan….) “Dude, pick the girl so we can throw the ball at Kenny!”

Without much hesitation, I said, ”Uh… I pick [the girl].”

I saw Kenny’s eyes drop, and I looked away refusing to make eye contact with him like a dog does when it knows it made a mess.

In the heat of battle, with balls flying around everywhere (mind you, these were the hard rubber balls back then) I found myself holding a ball with Kenny still alive on the other team.
From behind, I hear my team rallying a cry together, “KILLLLLLLL KENNNNNYY!!!!! KILLLLLLLL KENNNNNNYYYYYY!”

Kenny and I made eye contact. Time froze for an instant, and his eyes, filled with sadness and betrayal said to me, “Do what you gotta do.”

I shut my eyes, and with all that the strength that I could muster in my 13 year old body, I threw the ball in Kenny’s direction. Every time I retell this story, I can’t help but think, “Why the heck did I have to throw the ball as hard as I could?”

I opened my eyes, and time slowed.
The ball was taking a painful eternity to get to Kenny.
It was then that I realized that the ball I threw with all of my strength was heading straight towards Kenny’s face.

I wanted to yell, “Duck, Kenny! For the love of God, DUCK!”
But I couldn’t muster up anything. Or I didn’t have time. Or… I just couldn’t…
I could’ve sworn during this time, Kenny stopped looking at the ball heading towards his nose, and instead shifted his gaze towards me.
“Is this what it’s come to?” I felt like he was asking me. “Is this what you wanted? You happy now?”
“Kenny. Just duck and it’ll fly over you!” my eyes pleaded.

But no. For some reason that day, even with my eyes closed, my aim was impeccable. The ball thudded, and I mean THUDDED off his nose. His head jerked back and blood splattered everywhere. Okay, the blood didn’t splatter everywhere or anywhere. Kenny fell to his knees and moved his hands away from nose only to see that his nose was, indeed, bleeding.
I stood there, stunned, not knowing what to do next. All of my teammates were shouting with joy, whooping and hollering. They might’ve as well lifted me up on their shoulders and carried me off the basketball court.
Kenny never looked up at me. Instead, he kept his eye fixed on the ground, and followed a teacher who was escorting him to the nurse’s office. And I just stood there watching him walk away, head down and shoulder slumped.

And just like that game continued. But I couldn’t play any longer. I got hit by a ball on purpose and sat out and made some excuse to not play the next rounds. PE classes usually felt like eternity, but that day, it felt like eternity and a half.

Kenny never spoke to me again.
A couple of times, I waited after school for him, at least to apologize, but he was never around. After a few days of waiting, my sixth grade patience had ran out, and I didn’t wait for him no more.

Then I moved to Goleta after 6th grade and went to a different jr. high school than Kenny and all of my other “friends.”

People, including my wife, have asked me, have you reached out to Kenny ever since and apologized?
Sadly, no. I thought once I found him on facebook, until I realized I was searching for a “Kenny” which isn’t his real name. As hard as it may be to believe, I’m no longer sure of his real name. So many times, I’ve referred to him as Kenny… which is embarrassing to admit.

It was a lesson well learned.
I remember feeling this weird feeling for a long time during that school year. It took me a while to name that feeling as “guilt”. But it felt different from all the other guilt I’ve felt up to that point. It was an awful, awful feeling.

Years later, I was playing dodgeball with church kids who were in elementary school for some kind of activity. But with dodgeball friendly balls. I was trying to throw the ball low as to not hit any of them in the face. But it was hard to keep the ball down low, since they were all so short. I threw the ball to try to hit this boy, but I completely missed and the ball swerved to the left and hit a girl. Right in her friggin’ nose. All the youth helpers (who’ve heard the story) started yelling, “PASTOR JOE’S AT IT AGAIN!!!!” “THAT’S NOT KENNY!”

Time did freeze for me, again, as the girl was helped up by other youth helpers. Thankfully, she wasn’t bleeding. Crying, but no blood.
I saw all the kids (both her age and the youth helpers) rally around her to make her feel better and I walked up to her and apologized for hitting her in the face.

As the kids were teasing me about the Kenny story and calling me things like “Pastor Joe, the Killer”, a part of me did wish that I was aware enough back then to go to Kenny and help him up, like my youth kids had just done with that girl.

It was nice to know that those kids I worked with were much nicer and aware than I was when I was their age.

Honestly, even if I were to track down Kenny, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. Maybe Kenny had long forgotten about it. Or maybe not.
I guess, “I’m sorry” would be a good place to begin.

13 year olds are jerks. And I think I was one of the biggest.