You wish you were a youth intern! Post #1

Well if I'm going to do this whole intern thing this summer you're gonna do it with me!

Today I woke to the sound of my own groaning. Still feeling nauseas from bad McDonalds I'd had two days before, I stumble into the shower and then into my clothes. Cargo shorts, a T-shirt, and sandles. "Maybe I am becoming a youth minister." I thought to myself as I grabbed my keys and headed out the door of someone elses house that I was temporarily calling home. I clocked in as I pulled into the parking lot of the middle school. To help with my nausea I had committed to attending an eight grade Jazz Band concert, and watching my friend Chris blow his horn. What I was unaware of was that the show choir as well as the seventh grade Jazz Band was performing before Chris took the stage.

The show choir entered to the tune of "footloose" while twirling, spinning, and sometimes chasing hula hoops. As this was taking place, a sweet older woman politely informed the audience that they could all get in shape by doing this simple hula hooping workout. Immediately images of the parents and grandparents around me dancing to "footloose" with their color coordinated hula hoops and spandex outfits filled my mind. I put my head down in shame at my laughter. After a pleasent applause was a slow ballad to which the show choir did some sort of choreography that brought flashes of Napoleon Dynamite and "the rose."

After a half hour of Showchoir there was a leisure switch to the seventh grad Jazz band. The room continued to grow hotter. Midway through the concert I found myself sitting in the wrong section as the show choir quietly (well as quiet as junior high kids can be) began filling the empty seats that surrounded me. Behind me, in front of me, and on either side of me sat Junior High girls who didn't even wait to take a breath before they entered into conversation concerning who liked who, and who was hot vs. cute. I was now sweating in the heat, and begging for shots of Maalox. Another half hour of sqeaky saxaphones and flat trumpets came to a close in a round of applause.

Enter the eight grade Jazz band, glowing in their superiority as the oldest and undoubtely most talented band present in the room. They banged out Jazz beat after Jazz beat, and Chris nailed five solo's, one of which was improv. Afterward I went to talk to him, and a huge smile painted his face. "You, my man, are a stud." I said while giving him a fist bang and nodding my head in appreciation. We chatted for a minute about his solo's and the rest of the concert. As I was walking out he shouted, "Brandon thanks for coming, we'll hang out lata!"

I don't know exactly what God wants of me this summer, but you know Chris may not remember a single class I teach this summer, but his smile told me he'll remember me being at his concert. Sometime I forget that I don't share Christ just when I'm preaching or teaching, but sometimes just when I'm present and listening.

Tommorrow I get up at 6:30 and leave for Uplift at Harding with 12 teenagers.