Wake Up Call

A couple weeks ago I was feeling sorry for myself. It wasn't that things were bad, I was just busy and frustrated because I was getting ready to preach/teach a bunch and there wasn't much coming together. I hadn't been preparing well, nor did I have much freshness in my faith at the moment from which to tap in to.

I showed up for Wednesday night Bible study prepared to drop some crazy knowledge on 2 Samuel 8. Okay, so the lesson wasn't the best ever but it had some worthwhile stuff. What I walked away with left me humbled.

Our church youth group has a young man who has some mental difficulties. I think the latest PC way to say it is that he's mentally challenged. He's a really sweet kid and usually hilarious to watch because he laughs when he shouldn't and shows this raw passion for God that is at times inspiring and at times disarming.

On this particular night he sat next to me at the back of the room. I admit I was in need of some worship time on my own, looking forward to singing some prayers and reading over my notes so as to teach as well as possible.

But he sat next to me.

It took about 30 seconds into one song and I notice he's making strange motions. Then he looks at me with eyes wide open as if I'm supposed to make a response to this. He gets more and more animated and I start to look around the room to see if people are watching me but realize I'm on my own here.

Finally I figure out what he's doing.He's using sign language. For the next 4 songs he shows me every word he knows from the songs we're singing. I admit I start to get pretty good at guessing the words. I goof up a couple times, once on the word God (oops, I thought it was Lord). He basically yells--no, God!! God!! God!! A couple people turn around but they're used to it. I'm not.

I'm not used to being excited about using my limited vocabulary and speaking to God the only way I can. I'm not used to the joy that comes from hearing a word and knowing how to say it myself--maybe even grasping a small amount of what it means.

Language is power. Without words we struggle to communicate. Without words we can't explain what we're thinking, feeling, seeing. Can you imagine John trying to explain the revelation without words. Can you imagine Isaiah relating his experience with God using only motions. What about Lazarus explaining how he was brought back from the dead without words. What about a sermon without words. What about Moses telling his journey with no words. What about Paul taking a missionary journey and not using words. It's impossible.

And so this young man was excited because he could sing along. Sentences are a chore, him telling you information is a long process for him and difficult for me to understand. And yet when he signed he spoke clearly.

After singing was over we spent some time in prayer for a guy here in the office who's wife just had cancer removed from her lymph nodes in her neck. We were encouraged to get in small groups and pray for the family.

Even after all this I thought that maybe if I closed my eyes and put my head in my hands and prayed he's leave me alone and join another group. A few seconds in I felt a tap on my shoulder.

"I guess its just you and me." he said.

Still not getting it I asked, "Do you want to pray with those kids over there or here with me?"

"Here."

So I began to bow my head when he tapped my shoulder again. "You pray because I can't very well."

And so I worded a prayer for the both of us. And suddenly I was very ashamed of myself. I was ashamed that I'd had a pity party over the words I would be sharing that night and that coming weekend. I began to realize how lucky I was that God chooses to use this foolishness and allow me to in some crazy way, speak for him. And I realized how I'd made it so much about me and so little about him.

Again.