Losing My Training Wheels

I apologize for not taking a post to explain myself and my position for the next year.  That will be for a later post.  For now, let's get right to the heart of my experiences.

I was about to start writing this and I had a flash back.  For whatever reason, though still unknown to me, I started thinking about when I first learned to ride a two-wheel bike.  My dad took me over to our churches parking lot to learn how to ride and we would spend what felt like hours, but was probably more like minutes, practicing turning, braking, stopping, starting, and everything in between.  I have a distinct memory of him running along next to me holding on to the back of my seat.  Of course, as all moms and dads eventually do, he let go and I continued to ride beautifully.  That is, I continued to ride until maybe 15 seconds later when I realized he was no longer holding on to me or even next to me.  He was cheering me on from across the parking lot, which, while supportive and all that, was not going to keep me from falling.  So like any good youngster learning to ride a bike, I immediately forgot everything that I had learned, let out a scream of panic, and promptly fell over. 

I have an unfortunate habit of recreating memories so I can’t guarantee that this happened exactly as I have recalled it.  But I think this memory will do for the coming metaphor.

I am now 2 weeks into my work here at First English Lutheran Church, at 1015 E. Main St., Columbus, OH 43205, with worship services at 8:30 and 10:30 and a community dinner on Thursday nights at 6 (alright, shameless plug over). 2 weeks in and I’m realizing that it’s all about learning to ride on my own.  Don’t get me wrong, the people at FELC are wonderful and supportive in a number of different ways and the pastor I’m working with has challenged me to look at this experience with a whole new spin.  But for the past 23 years (if we include a few months pre-birth) I have had a support system guiding my steps and most of my days.  Teachers, professors, parents, youth directors, mentors, whoever.  They have all been running along beside me holding me up as I learn to ride (it’s been a crowded parking lot with all of them).  But 2 weeks ago, they let go.  Last night was the end of my 15 seconds.  I realized I was on my own and promptly forgot everything I had learned and fell on my face.

You see, kids are great.  I love working with Youth and the passion that they have for life.  I want to be clear that I like working with kids.  Last night some kids were in the church when they weren’t supposed to be and I was trying to get them outside.  A lot of things happened but the end result is that none of them were choosing to listen to me.  The pastor came through and they left shortly thereafter.  That’s no big deal.  My panic and my fall came when I realized that I may have alienated 2 kids that I had hoped would be 2 of my strongest allies in this next year.  I know these 2 better than the other kids who were there and they were supposed to be at the church to meet with the pastor.  In the process of trying to get everyone outside I asked these 2 to leave hoping they would be an example to the other kids.  This plan did not work.  Instead the 2 kids thought that I was mad at them when they had not done anything wrong, which instantly put me into the category of every other adult they know…can you say oops?

I was overwhelmed by the entire situation.  9 kids in a echoing stairwell all talking at once is a little overwhelming.  Did I overreact?  It’s possible.  Without anyone else who was there to see what happened it is hard for me to say.  Did I show the grace and forgiveness of God?  Probably not.  This was my first real shot to build a relationship with some of these kids and I fell of the bike.  It is hard for me to find comfort in the thought that there will be many more days where I can ride much more successfully and fall much harder.  I suppose ultimately I need to suck up my own pride, apologize to the 2 kids that I hope will continue to help me, and try to rebuild and get back on my bike.

I guess I should finish my memory from earlier, or at least what I think is my memory.  Before I really knew what had happened and before I had a chance to start crying, which I’m sure happened anyway, my dad was with me.  He stood me up, brushed off my knees and picked up my bike.  Most importantly, he put me right back on my bike and made me try again.

So, I guess today is all about getting back on the bike.  I am reminded how many people are still around me to support me in my experiences, but ultimately I still must begin to learn to ride without my training wheels.

In His Hands,

David