Youth Stories - March 20th 2025

There are some things that I wish I could tell my younger self. Don't get me wrong, I don't spend my days drenched in regret and obsessed with missed opportunities, but there are some things that I wish I could have grasped earlier in life. This week, the chief thing that stands out to me is that I wish I could have told my younger self to be kinder. When I was getting my start in youth ministry, I cared way too much about trying to be cool. Maybe it was compensation for the fact that I was never cool in high school, so I saw a chance to be something to younger kids and tried. I think I had this air about me that was edgy for no reason other than that's how I wanted to be perceived. If a student did something to me, I'd have to retaliate tenfold. I was more focused on being an enigma than I was on being a safe person for students to be around.
I didn't get it all wrong. There is something to be said for being the person that people are intrigued by. But boy, did I really care about that nonsense too much. Case in point: I was at a summer camp standing on the sidelines watching some of my students playing field games. There were puddles of muddy water around the field, and the game leader was going around trying to get kids hyped up while they were watching their peers. The game leader ran over to a bunch of students standing by a puddle holding a trash can, which made it look like she was going to slam the trash can into the puddle and splash all of the students with the muddy water. They all screamed and flinched, only for the game leader to smile and keep moving, leaving the students dry. My mom, who was a youth leader at the camp, turned to me and said, "If that was you, you would've splashed them." That hurt, in part, because she may have been right. I cultivated this aura of unpredictability that I thought made me fun, and sometimes, I think it just made me a bully.
I have learned that the best thing that I can possibly provide in ministry is to be kind. Students don't need someone to keep them on edge; what they need to know is that when they're in my sphere, they will be cared for. Things changed for me when I moved to Medford. I've written about how it was a hard place, but it became very apparent that what was needed from me beyond sound teaching was care and investment in the lives of the students. There was a girl there who started coming to youth group and was relentlessly mean to me. My younger self would have responded in kind, even if done out of fun. However, I changed my tactics, and when a biting comment was said, I'd smile and compliment her. After a few months of this, she stood in my office, and I could tell something had shifted. She said to me, "If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell anyone else?" I replied, "Absolutely not. I care about you, but there are a lot of things that you could tell me that I'd have to tell someone else." She hedged for a while, giving me more and more information about what was really the main issue. I told her that I wanted to help, but to be clear, if she shared any more info as a mandatory reporter, I'd have to call the proper authorities. I wanted to be clear about what would happen next and not have her feel as if I'd betrayed her confidence. She finally confided in me she'd been the victim of sexual abuse by a peer in school. I did contact the authorities and her family, and it was a hard road to walk. I doubt this would have been the outcome if I was still 20, thinking that I needed students to see me as a loose cannon.
This gradual change in mindset has stuck with me, and I've noticed its effects here at Seaside. I might tease a student, and I still like to hold my own in an old-fashioned "Yo Mamma" contest, but many of my rough edges have been smoothed. Now, when I'm in front of my kids, I tell them how much I love them and care for them. This isn't a new development; it's always been the case that I love and care for my students, but now I'm not afraid to tell them that. Because I've gotten better at verbalizing this both in word and deed, they now run up to me on youth nights and eagerly share with me random trinkets, photos, and stories from their week. They are quicker to defend me and now assume that I care for them instead of being wary of how I'll respond.
Why did it take me so long to grasp the simple fact that Jesus only ever demonstrated unconditional love for the people around him? He didn't take cheap shots or put down others for the sake of a cheap laugh; he only spoke the truth in love. Sometimes, that truth hurts. If I'd been one of his disciples and he said to me, "Get behind me, Satan!" I'd have to seriously consider my life choices. However, I think the disciple's deep love of their master was cultivated because he unerringly demonstrated his selfless love for them.
This is what it looks like sometimes to be kind, to speak the hard things even when silence is easier. I sat with one of my students who'd had an emotional meltdown due to hardships in the home. He was borderline catatonic on the outside, but I knew he was listening to me. I asked him if his mother had yelled at him again and got barely a head nod. I asked him if he'd smashed things in retaliation and got another feeble nod. I finally told him, "You know that you're going to have to live at home for at least another four years; there's no escaping that. You know that for the next four years, things are not likely to change with respect to your relationship with your mom. I think that Jesus can change people, but they have to be willing to change, and I'm not sure she's willing, which means that for the next four years, it's going to be really hard and sometimes unfair. It means that you can't change anything other than how you respond when things are hard and unfair because that's the only thing you have power over. So, what are you going to do knowing that that's all the power you have?" This time, tears and a shrug. Which is fair; after all, the kid is only 13. It might have seemed harsh to spell out the future like that, but I realized that he already knew this to be the case, and the kindest thing I could do at the moment was to let him know that I understood this as well and was sympathetic to his situation. Being kind is sometimes about soft words, and sometimes it's hard truths.
So to my younger self: Be a kinder person. No one cares that you're funny if you make kids uneasy. No one will fondly remember when you proved that you were stronger and smarter than those in your care. They will, however, remember the late-night conversations held while driving them home from youth group where you laughed with, and not at them. They will remember that you were interested in their hobbies and interests when they sprinted to see you on Sunday. They will remember that you made them feel as if their issues were important and that you spoke to them, not as the children they are now, but as the adults they are fast becoming. They will remember how you smiled when they tried to offend you and how you turned the other cheek when they still had their fists balled up. They will remember that you complimented them when no one else did. They will remember that when you spoke about Jesus, they could trust you meant it because you demonstrated it to them whenever you weren't on the pulpit. They will remember that no matter where they go in life, no matter who they grow up to be, there was a point in time when an adult told them that they were loved. Because they are. So, Kellan, be kinder because callousness never transformed anyone, because being edgy means you cut them, because you had people who were kind to you and those people changed who you are. Be that for someone else because that's who Jesus has been to you.
Thanks me, I'll try.