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Monday May 24, 2004 Volume VI Number 21

 don’t circulate in the world of high school much anymore.  It doesn’t seem that long ago that our three lived in that world.  And because they did, so did we.

But now our children have moved on.  We’re not only finished hanging around the high school, but college as well.  We’re not scheduled to make regular appearances on the campus again until the grandchildren hit that stage; come to think of it – that’s a few years away.

This week, I revisited that world.

We have lots of friends whose children are high school age.  And we know quite a number of those kids by name.  But it’s not that often that we see students gathered en masse, exposing us once again, to the culture of high school.  If you are detached from the moving target of high school culture for very long, as I have been now for six or seven years, you still have to adjust.  You don’t want to appear to be shocked, or troubled, or deeply concerned.  It’s just not hip.  Especially at my age.

So you just take it all in.

It’s universally true that high school is a phase where fitting in is primary.  As time passes, styles change.  Musical tastes change.  Language – manner of expression and common phrases and buzzwords – change, too.  But there is in the world of high school an unspoken law of acceptability.  And while few could articulate that law, or admit to conformity, you know it when you see it.  Most everybody complies.

Permissiveness is a common complaint for those who are somehow connected to high school culture.  It always has been (at least as far back as I can remember, and that’s getting to be pretty far) the case.  (“Who’s in charge, here?”  “Why aren’t they doing something?”)  I suppose it’s a complaint because high school students pretty much value independence above all the virtues, and corralling teenagers into someone’s idea of appropriate behavior has always been a challenge, particularly if it comes from anyone more than five or six years removed from high school.

So this week, we attended a concert designed for high school students.

A group of generous people took on the project of rehabilitating a large gathering room beneath the sanctuary of our church.  We’re a relatively new congregation (a little more than five years old) and we purchased a “fixer upper” church facility up on the hill about two years ago.  An army of our people contributed time and money and expertise to restore a facility that at one time attracted large crowds from the valley.

It’s happening again.  The building constructed more than thirty years ago by a determined and dedicated group of believers is making a come-back.  On any given Sunday, a crowd gathers for energetic worship, families unloading mini-vans and SUV’s with their toddlers and teenagers, all there to learn and grow and enjoy the company of like-minded friends in affirming cherished values and lifting up voices in praise of a worthy God.

It certainly would encourage the people who back then sacrificed to purchase the land and build the worship and education center.

For lots of reasons, the place fell into a state of disrepair, limping along with barely enough resource to maintain sixteen thousand square feet of meeting space.

Until our gang came along.

Volunteers have been chipping away at project after project, and the place it looking pretty good (though there’s still plenty to do).

But so far, the master-piece of the restoration to date is what was once called Fellowship Hall.  It’s a three thousand square-foot space some would call a basement.  Our gang came to know it as “The Dungeon.”  For years, it served as a large storage space, a serious collection of stuff.  All manner of stuff.  But someone had a dream.

So the demolition crews moved in, tearing out the old walls and carting off the junk.  The walls were resurfaced.  New flooring, ceiling and lighting installed.  The old stage broken up and a new one built.  The back wall on the stage is finished in a used brick motif, and looks something like a comedy club.  A generous contractor installed a new concrete patio, textured and subtly colored, all make for a charming gathering place.  If you could see the “before” and “after” photos, you’d be amazed.

Now that the room is finished (nearly), events are appearing on the calendar.  Including Friday night’s concert.

There weren’t many of us non-high-schoolers in the crowd.  Our diligent sponsors were there, like usual, tending to details no one else would have covered.  They ran from corner to corner, checking on this and that.  All the while stopping to hug and greet the kids.  The sound check was underway on stage.

The opener was a solo act.  And then the warm-up for the headliner followed with an energetic series of tunes which captured the kid’s attention.  A group called “Trip and Fall.”  The kids in the audience hooted and hollered and clapped, expressing their appreciation and approval.  Carolyn kept looking around for the sound guy, wondering why she was having trouble hearing the lyrics and no one but us seemed to notice.  Must be the sound mix, I said.

Both bands that night were comprised of early twenty-somethings, a little further down life’s road than the high school kids in their audience.  While I didn’t really connect with the music (I suppose if a guy my age did connect, that would be a clear indicator that something is amiss), I saw something that intrigued me.  The guys were passionate.  Focused.  Enthusiastic.  And from the comments they made between songs, they had a message they wanted to communicate.  It’s a message I could well have written myself – but clearly, if I had been the one to deliver it, something fundamental would have been lost in the translation.

Between acts, Charlie took to the microphone.  The kids quieted down.  They were self-patrolled, surprisingly enough.  This was one of their own speaking.  Pay attention, they seemed to say.

* * * * * *

All four college years, Kevin and I had lunch together most every Friday.  Since he graduated one year ago, we let the routine slip away.  I’ve missed it.

Maybe it’s just as well.  Kevin and Sonya are preparing for their wedding day.  No need to compound the complexities by tossing in a dad’s point of view.  Perhaps it’s been best to let them find their way together.

This week, it’s closing in.  The wedding is on Friday.  What a celebration it will be.  But I’m just now coming to terms with the fact that our three children are gone (well, gone from home – not really GONE).  It’s bittersweet, watching them take on the responsibility of adulthood.  Such a sense of pride mixed with such emptiness.

So we got together again, just like old times, over a long breakfast, just us two.  The boy’s become a man.  We talked about most everything.

He and Sonya will set up their first home in Seattle.

It’s a great town.  They will do well.

* * * * * *

Charlie’s tall, lanky, athletic.  When he was in high school, all four years, he was a favorite.  He performed as a swimmer – a team player.  The friendships he cultivated will be for life.  He’s that kind of kid.

Now in college, he’s drawn to ministry.  He cares about people.  He believes that it’s possible to mess up.  He also believes that it’s possible to make a powerfully positive impact on your world.  He wants to help people to pursue the latter and avoid the former.

He took the microphone.  The crowd quieted down, took a break from the high energy music and sat down on the floor.  From the stage that looks like a comedy club, the former Dungeon, Charlie introduced himself.  “Before the next band performs, SOMETHINGLIKESILAS, there are a few things I want to say to you guys,” he began.  “I want to talk to you tonight about choices.”  All of us make choices, he said.  They listened.

Charlie told a true story about a choice to climb a mountain.  It was the demanding, harrowing Half Dome climb from the floor of Yosemite Valley at Happy Isles.  He talked about the decision to go for it, and then the aching muscles, the desire to quit and turn around, the clock ticking as daylight slipped away, the debates on the trail among the group about whether to complete the hike, the temptation to give up on the goal.  He spoke about the terrifying final assault on the granite wall, up the steel cables several hundred yards and the dramatic finish, and the exhilaration of making it to the top and the three hundred sixty degree panorama opening up to them, a serendipity of joy and accomplishment; and then the long, tedious journey home, after dark.

The kids sat listening.  He challenged the kids to choose the journey.  For Charlie, it meant following Christ.  Knowing God.  Understanding your purpose.  Living for something beyond yourself.  He encouraged them to turn away from the temptation to go nowhere, do nothing, and to live only for the moment.  There is so much more out there, he said.  The journey may be demanding - physically, spiritually, intellectually, emotionally.  But wow, the view from the mountain top, Charlie said.  I’ve been there, looking at God’s creation from the top of the world.  Let’s do it together.  He invited them to come along.

You’ve gotta make your choice, he told them.

Charlie had credibility that night.  The message came from his heart.  I sat and watched and listened.

And then afterwards, I grabbed him and gave him a big old bear hug, like guys do, and I said, “You’re takin’ a stand, Charlie.  I’m so darn proud of you.  I love you, buddy.  You’re makin’ a difference.”

Because he is.

* * * * * * *

It’s Monday morning, you are a leader.

On Friday, this week, I’ll be contemplative as I listen to Kevin declare his love and his promise to Sonya.  We will cherish the memories, and embrace their hopes and dreams with them.

You remember your high school days.  And you remember the guy who, like Charlie, challenged you to think beyond the college major and the career waiting for you at the end of the coursework.  You remember the choices you made.  Some of those choices have served you well.  Some, you’d give a whole lot if you could go back and change them.

If you’ve looked west from the top of Half Dome down the valley below, and out toward Glacier Point and El Capitan and Yosemite Falls and the Merced River snaking its way down through the grassy meadows toward the far-away Pacific Ocean, you’ve sensed something of the master design by the Master Designer and felt that same exhilaration that Charlie will never forget.

You know he’s right.  There is something more out there than paychecks and toys.

You may be way past high school. 

But you still have a choice.

Posted in Valley Center, California

© Copyright Kenneth E. Kemp 2004

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