I’ve spent the entirety of my thirties thus far working with teenagers — living with them, rooting for them, fighting both with them and for them, laughing with them, crying for them. Like shepherds with their sheep, Sarah and I not only know each of their names, but we know each of them by their unique personalities, their specific proclivities toward the rockiest paths. We know their likes and dislikes. We often know them better than they understand themselves. They hear our voices and know our nuanced instructions of care and discipline. We provide pasture and safety. We always carry both our rod and staff. (We’ve learned from the best). And through it all, we’ve found the tables are prepared, the cups are running over, and despite the shadowy valleys we often find ourselves walking through, goodness and mercy tend to linger.
It’s a curious thing to try and love with all my heart, with all my soul, and with all my strength because my heart has been broken countless times, my soul weighed down with all sorts of various sorrows, and I’ve found myself strongest when I’m not trying to power through with my own might. Yet, these expectations are imprinted on my heart, and it is my constant drive to be teaching these kids what love looks and feels like. I’m still learning, too, of course. So when they ask “Where is God?” I point them to the burning bushes that surround them. If they are unable to see them, I invite them to at least feel the heat of God upon their faces. I tell them if they listen, and they can learn his name in the crackles of the unconsuming flames.
And when I find out that they sold their birthright for a cup of lentil soup, I try not to be surprised. This seems to be part of the teenage story since the beginning of time. (Teenagers…amirite???) And still yet, to the one who gained a birthright for the simple mess of pottage, I still go through with blessing them. In fact, I make them a meal. Mercy is confounding, especially when deceit is involved. To onlookers it might seem like injustice, but to the one receiving the mercy, and especially to the one offering it, there is realization, a holy understanding, that this is what love is.
Seven years of this work now. Perhaps it’s time for a jubilee year?
I attempt to do this work as an act of worship, a response of grace, and hopefully I do it all from posture of prayer and love. I fall short constantly. I am still no expert. I am blessed, though. Not necessarily in the “hashtag blessed” sort of way, but more in the “I walk with a limp because I wrestled with God and demanded He bless me” sort of way. I’m a ragamuffin who has to constantly remind myself to chill. Those who know me know this intimately. But hopefully they also know my heart, and all of its tiny, shattered pieces. Oh, what a wonderful and challenging thing this life is.
Thirty-seven years of life. Twenty years of a loving partnership with Sarah. Seven years of family-teaching. Nearly eleven years of being a dad. I’ve experienced the deepest of joys and well as seasons of loss and times of deep betrayal. But there is no other place I’d rather be. I say that sincerely. There is no greater privilege than learning what love looks like, what it feels like, and then teaching it — living it out — with others.
P.S. – Make a meal for someone who has offended or betrayed you and I promise you will be blessed. Mercy shown in an undeserved meal is my favorite of all the mercies.
Stepping Back 
Thank you for sharing your heartfelt reflections, and may your continued work with these teenagers bring you and them countless moments of growth, understanding, and love.