Glorified childcare, teaching the same kids that hear the message every Sunday, and every excuse known to man can be heard for not volunteering-or for saying no-when asked to help during this enormously popular vacation bible school season.
As an obnoxious kid who really only attended for socialization with friends (ok, I really liked the snacks too), I was the one who got called over to sit on the metal folding chair beside the teacher for laughing like I always did at the most inappropriate times. Then I would look at my friends with a very serious face and large, innocent eyes until they would make little snorting sounds. They didn’t need to worry. There weren’t any other empty seats beside me, anyway. Volunteers, I was one of those kids.
Did it make a difference in my life? I didn’t learn a lot of facts about Jesus. I really wasn’t paying attention.
Our little church had been started, not as a church, but a community outreach held as Bible School each summer. It expanded into a little community church that had a sizeable group of kids looking forward to particular songs, Bible stories, crafts and….of course, snacks!
Decades passed, the church grew, and with it came the VBS committee, looking for volunteers. There was childcare, and it was held in the evenings with little grace given for excuses, as every person in that little church was needed to pull together. And they did. It felt good to be asked and needed. When we allllll pull together…how happy we’ll be. We should’ve sung that song corporately before the committee got on the phone.
Everywhere there is a ministry, there is the opportunity for thinking someone else can do it, I already did my share, that’s not my gifting, or (no better) I will do it, doused with a sense of pride!
One year I sacrificed my dream cottage at the beach because the only week it was available was VBS week. My sacrifice was not one of praise but of duty, and I felt like God blessed my reluctant giving more than I deserved with the love the kids in my class poured out on me. They gave to me, and yet I expected our roles to be reversed. Sacrificial giving is worship, and my heart wasn’t in a worshipful mood.
Along came four children of my own, every year excited about the exhausting and crazy week that never ends, and about to give me some of my own humble pie.
The craft stores probably love us all. Think how much money we spend to glitter and paint craft sticks into (sometimes) recognizable Bible shapes.
Years ago, my oldest child came home one evening a totally different person. She’d shed all her shyness that we’d worked with for several years, all in one crazy, high-energy night with a bunch of kids dancing and singing about Jesus’ love. Transformed. She was a totally different kid. Happy, joyful, and excitedly singing the cd sent home with her at the top of her little lungs.
My eleven year old told me that, only second to the family vacation, vbs is his favorite part of summer. Really. You guys rock. This kid is hard to challenge…he’s the one that asks all the hard questions that you shouldn’t think to ask until you’re in your thirties. He figured out making the ‘smores bars cost approximately $100 in Hershey’s chocolate bars, just for the chocolate layer. He was so impressed he even brought a little piece home for me. He’s also the kid that said the only thing he doesn’t like about children’s ministry activities is that he can’t go every night. You guys…your sacrifice is appreciated more than you will ever know. Snack helpers, crafty people, musically talented…you are amazing in my children’s eyes.
The invitation came in the mail. The four-year-old got the “ticket” and has been waiting for weeks for “PBS”. Yeah, the songs are a bit different, kiddo, but highly entertaining all the same. Instead of watching other kids build crafts, you can permanently ruin your own shirt with paint. The message is different too. It’s the best message in the world. There were times my class wouldn’t listen, constantly goofing off and everywhere they weren’t supposed to be (please? please get off the table?) and I felt like I should shout “Hey, Jesus loves you” after them as they walked..or hopped..or skipped out the door, just in case they didn’t hear anything I said.
Was my effort worth it? Is yours? I didn’t listen. I’m not sure if “your kids” do either and that’s okay. It’s not our job to make sure they understand how much God loves them and that they’ve listened. It’s our calling to, in obedience, share the hope of the gospel of Christ.
Seeds were planted in my childish, inattentive heart even though I heard only a few of the words spoken. The seeds grew. If you’re feeling discouraged about children’s ministry, know that you rock the ages. You’re appreciated more than you know. You are making an enormous difference, one little child- sitting on a metal folding chair covered in paint- at a time.