I woke up to darkness and Kieran’s cries.
I stumbled out of bed, using the wall to compensate for my missing center of gravity.
And under my breath, I sang, unbidden: “Bi-bi-bi, bi-bi-bi, Big Apple Adventure, where faith and life connect, Jesus directs my future, bi-bi-bi, Big Apple Adventure.”
Those VBS songs, they are ear worms on steroids.
And it’s not over yet. VBS continues at our church for one more day. I am a small group leader this year, the ballast for a ship of nine 4th and 5th grade kids. (Six boys, three girls. Pray for me.)
It’s the first time I’ve done something like this in a while. (Remember the disaster last fall when I tried to lead a small group of girls on Wednesday night? Yeah. That one left a scar.) And while it is wiping me out – it takes a lot of energy to lead a small group every morning and then solo parent my own four kids the rest of the day – I have to say: I’m enjoying it.
It helps that our new church is doing a stellar job with the curriculum. The leadership team is organized, enthusiastic and so passionate about communicating Jesus. The songs are superb – maybe a little too catchy, but hey. I will gladly suffer some ear worms to hear my kids rap John 3:16. (We even have a hip-hop dance routine that goes with it. I’m sure I will be dancing in my sleep by the weekend.)
But mostly, I’m loving the chance to be with young people again – including my Natalie, who is in my group. Youth ministry is in my blood (yesterday, I showed my group how blond hairs and brown hairs will “fight” in a puddle of water), and I’m eager to get back into it, once my family can handle the schedule.
(I’m also relieved my youth ministry skills are applicable in this situation, seeing that they didn’t translate into my year and a half of teaching high school at all. My first day as a teacher -- which came in the middle of a school year more intense than any soap opera – my students asked if they could call me a nickname instead of the formal Mrs. LoveWell. “Sure,” I grinned. “That would be fun.” And with those words, I signed my death sentence.)
One more day, and I go back to being a mom of little ones. One more day, and my corny jokes won’t elicit eye rolls. One more day, and the ear worms will bury deep and give my subconscious a rest.
But tomorrow? I’ll be singing my heart out.