Garbage Men Who Love Their Job

A passage from Antoine de Saint-Exupery:

"Grown ups like numbers. When you tell them about a new friend, they never ask questions about what really matters. They never ask: 'What does his voice sound like?' 'What games does he like best?' Does he collect butterflies?' They ask: 'How old is he?' 'How many brothers does he have?' 'How much does he weigh?' 'How much does his father make?' Only then do they think they know him."

       I don't want to tell you numbers. I want to tell you who my friends are.

       My friends are kids from all over the world and living in so many different cultures that I don't know how they keep track of who they are or where they are. It's not a bad thing. These same kids are some of the most creative, active, intelligent, well-rounded people I know. Most of them speak more than one language and are able to travel around the world unaccompanied by a grown up. They're social contortionists, changing their mannerism where the need calls and adding new ones as they move through life. That's why I feel so blessed to see who they actually are when they finally feel they can trust me.
       The problem is, you really have to sift through a lot of barriers, walls built up to protect themselves over the years as people have come into their lives and left without a decent farewell. Like all kids, you have to earn their trust. Like all kids, they attempt to surround themselves with familiar faces and friendships that offer a holistic sense of identity, grounding them in a comfortable culture that offers its welcoming, open arms no matter who they are or what they've done. Unlike the general masses of mono-culture kids (not a bad thing to be), they have such a transient life style that it's even more difficult to find that "safe place."
       I was talking with a brother of mine this morning, retelling an encounter I had with some parents. The encounter went along these lines: (the names of the people in this encounter have been changed to protect the identities of the people in this encounter)

Mrs. Barclay: (directed to Mr. Reynolds) "Have you been introduced to Bryce? He works with BlueSky doing youth ministry."
Mr. Reynolds: (said wistfully at first, but then changed to an appreciative, understanding tone) "We have met, once or twice. I wish I had that job. I wish I could hangout with kids all day... Well, no I don't. I really appreciate what your doing; you have a really hard job. But I wouldn't want to do it."
Mrs. Barclay: "Me either. I couldn't do it."
Me: "Thanks?"

*Please understand that the recounting of this encounter is not meant to be a negative reflection on the two parents, but rather a positive reflection on an opposite opinion of youth ministry.

My brother had this to say about that: "Youth ministers are like garbage men who love their jobs. Everyone knows it's a necessity to do the job, but no one wants to do it themselves." Now, understand, the analogy does break down. I'm not calling kids garbage. What I'm saying may best be comprehended through a word picture. (Maybe not, though. I don't always have the same conductor as everyone else's train of thought)
       Imagine if you will, an excited, happy man, zipping up his jump suit, slipping on his gloves, and jumping onto the back of a filthy dump truck. Gripping the handle on the side of the truck, he simultaneously endangers his life with every acceleration and screeching halt of the truck and grants himself speedy access to the garbage that families have built up over the week. He welcomes this juxtaposition of adventurer and janitor with an early morning inhale. The smell isn't pleasant, but his attitude is as he recognizes his lot, and accepts it whole heartedly. For some reason, this man considers his job a treasure when others only see it as a burden that doesn't smell very good.
In truth, at times the smell does get to him. He imagines quitting, getting a better paying, less filthy job, but something about the gathering up of peoples' neglected trash carries for him a poetic attraction. He is a man for whom garbage is both a job and a friend. No one else quite understands and thinks him odd. But everyone thanks him... when they remember, that is.

       I had an opportunity to see through the garbage, into the lives of some of the guys in my small group more recently. It was really a blessing. One of them collects currency from all over the world, notes and bills from here and there. He knows more about the world than I do, and he's in Middle School. The other, is relishing every moment he has here as he anticipates moving back to live with his mother in the states. This is the first place he feels he has made friends. He knows that what he looks forward to in the states is more change. His mom looks for the greener pastures in different states every few years. He won't have solidity. But I get to be here with them. I get to meet with them, and others, every Friday morning before school. I get to speak Jesus into their lives as they get distracted, blatantly ignore me, tell stupid jokes in the middle of a verbal pause I intended to be one full of depth and introspection.
       It stinks sometimes, but I love these kids.

I hope that portrays that I really love my job and that, although there is some crap to get through, I love what's happening here. Thank you, Lord, for setting me apart for this job.