Whatever they thought they’d be doing right now, they’re probably not.
So many plans of our children and youth have been upended by this global pandemic. All of their activities, travels, competitions, and diversions have been interrupted. Normal things like play-dates, parties, dances, and “going out” look different. Their school year ended weirdly last spring, and even though some sports started up again in June, we’ve seen many instances of this team dropping out of the competition because of a member with Coronavirus, or that league suspending its season for the same reason.
I don’t have children in my life right now. Not closely, anyway. My three boys are grown up and I don’t have grandchildren (yet!). For the last nine years I served a church inside a prison where I wasn’t able to know my parishioners’ children, and I have met only a handful of the children in the church I started serving on July 1. There are children in the lives of my extended family members and friends, but few that would know my name.
But I’m worried about them, all the same. I’m concerned for the young folk within my immediate circle of care. And also the ones with whom I have no connection. Because–yikes!–what would it be like to navigate this pandemic at age 14? at age 7?
When I was little I looked forward to the school year. We lived on a farm three miles from town, so I didn’t see my friends much during the summer. School would start with classmates and routines and classes I was good at.
Certain years brought long-anticipated milestones. I could start piano lessons when I started first grade. Fourth-graders could join 4-H. In fifth grade I got to choose a band instrument, and so on, up until high school brought football tourneys, music competitions, recitals and, say, the prom.
Whatever those long-awaited things are for the young people in your life right now, they’re threatened. I’ve seen Valley High School band students practicing for a marching band season that may not fully happen. I heard someone talk today about the show choir season his son may not get to enjoy. “Show choir is his thing!” this dad said. I felt his pain.
Like that teenager, many of us find our thing when we’re young–to our own relief and delight, as well as our family’s. To have all the expectations around that thing thrown into disarray? Especially when chaos has an uncertain and fickle end? It’s hard for me to picture how my 17-year-old self would manage that. Or my junior high self. Seventh grade was my worst year ever, even without a pandemic!
It doesn’t help that it’s not just these young people experiencing all of this disarray. They’re managing this alongside all of us grown-ups. They’re overhearing our whispered–or shouted–anxieties and frustrations about the pandemic as a whole, and about how to manage the real, vexing questions about whether and how our schools will reopen, and how their own families will manage child care and work and energy and money. Some of them must feel like they’re the cause of their parents’ stress.
Our kids who are most tuned into the political news must lament, at some level, their elders’ (i.e., OUR) abject failure to manage this crisis with wisdom and courage.
I’m not saying any of this to add to the burden some of you must be feeling as parents of these young people. I have been watching so many young families carrying the challenges of this time with grace, strength, and creativity. I have heard of fun outings and grandparent-Zoom-dates and a Herculean balancing act that families are managing. I stand in awe of the ways that is happening in so many homes.
So, truly, I’m not talking to you families in this post.
But I am talking to the #FoolishChurch people reading this right now alongside my book. How can we look after our young? What kind of support can we offer? What does it look like to be raw, real, and a little messy in our efforts to be a church that loves our youngest siblings, even when distancing is necessary?
I’m finding it hard enough to be in supportive contact with the grown-ups within my circle of care! I can barely figure out how to connect with the young folks. But I think I’m supposed to try.
Could I reach out to those young people directly (with appropriate boundaries, of course) with a question like, “What are you missing in this season?” and lean into the conversation about their answers?
Could I invite those families to, say, a bonfire where we’d have a conversation about how they’re doing? I’d want to think about how I can let them know I’m a safe person who will listen and care about what they’re feeling.
Is there some support we could offer those families, to lighten the burden that falls to them with child care and working from home? Meals or Zoom conversations or an afternoon of kite-flying, with masks and some distance?
I say all this well aware that I am out of practice talking with young people, and planning how to engage them. I know many of you know better, and know our kids better. I hope you’ll share your thoughts on this subject. How can people in our congregations draw on relationships they’ve already established with these families, to be the extra set of hands that are sorely needed in this time? Or the ear? Or the safe person who can listen, and care?
It’s never been more urgent that we look after our young.
Photos by by Ben Wicks (young kids) and by Gaelle Marcel (older kids on steps) on Unsplash.
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