Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Grass Stains

Kaleb rolled over and stared at the sunlight shimmering through the green leaves of the hedge he was sleeping in. What time was it? Traffic rolled by just inches away from him, shaking the leaves around him. He reached up and brushed a leaf out of his shaggy brown hair and began to struggle out from between the tangled twigs, finally emerging into blinding daylight. A passing pedestrian stared at the strange figure in ragged clothes covered in grass stains, but Kaleb paid him no mind. Now, breakfast. Where should he look for it? He felt in his pocket and pulled out all the money he had. Fifty cents. Enough for a Coke or some Ramen noodles not both. He set off walking fast to the nearest store. It was a routine by now, panhandling, stealing, going hungry half the days – and he had just passed his sixteenth birthday.

At the store, a boy in a dirty sweatshirt and ragged jeans was crouched by the door smoking a cigarette. He stood up as Kaleb came near, “Hey.”

Kaleb nodded, “What’s up?”

“Found some newbies down at the park this morning.” He jerked his head in the direction of the city park. “They slept under a picnic table. Two boys, thirteen and eleven years old.”

Kaleb ran a hand over his face wearily, “Alright, give me a moment. I was just about to pick up breakfast.” He went into the store bought the noodles, then stopped at a Macdonalds on the way to the park for a Styrofoam cup of hot water. He sat on a curb in the parking lot to eat the noodles, sharing them with the other boy – it wasn’t even close to enough to fill the aching hole where his stomach should have been.

The park was nothing more than a group of trees with a couple tables set between them. On one of the tables, two boys were hunched sleepily, watching the traffic pass with bleary eyes. An older boy was leaning against the tree, his eyes bloodshot from Marijuana. Kaleb greeted him, “Hey Sam. You got the details?”

Sam straightened, “Yeah, ran away from their home two days ago and hitched a ride here. Their dad is hammering them at night, so they say they ain’t going home. They’ve been reported missing to the police.”

The three older teens held a quiet conference a few yards from the kids, trying to decide what to do. If they helped the boys, they could be turned in for harboring a fugitive? It was a thin line that they walked every day and especially every time another runaway turned up in their turf. Kaleb walked over to the table, “Hey listen up, kiddos. I been on the streets since I was thirteen; it ain’t a picnic. Is there any home at all you can go to? A grandma, aunt, uncle, sister, brother – anything?”

The younger boy remained staring straight ahead without acknowledging Kaleb’s presence, but the older one shook his head no. Kaleb sighed, “Surely you can think of something. Listen, you may think this life is some kind of adventure, but I swear I ain’t here for the fun of it. I wish I had a house to go to, but I don’t. Is there anywhere, ANYwhere you can go?”

Both boys were silent. Kaleb put a foot up on the bench and leaned forward, his elbow resting on his knee. “Look, you hungry?” Both boys nodded. “Then get used to it. You’ll be that way all the time. Look at my shoes, tied together with string. Look at my clothes, ripped and cover with green stains from sleeping in the hedges. Is that how you want to look? Talk to me, what you planning?”

The older brother hesitated and looked at his brother, then answered finally. “My grandmother lives about an hour south of here.”

Kaleb sighed in relief, “You have her number?”

The boy nodded, “But, I never talked to her before. Could you call her?”

Kaleb raised an eyebrow, “Me?”

The older teens behind him snickered. “Come on you scared to talk to the kid’s grandma?” Sam called.

Kaleb scowled, “Alright! I’ll call her. Someone cough the change for the phone.”

A moment later, he was holding a scrap of paper and tramping to a nearby shop that had a pay phone.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

Black to Match

A girl of about eleven sat on her bed late at night in a Seoul orphanage dormitory, brushing her hair. Her back, as always, was to the mirror on the wall— why look at it unless she had to? A low murmur of voices in the hall made her stop brushing and look up, straining to hear what was being said. “They say that her father is coming to get her, imagine that! She’s been raised here since her mother brought her as a two week old baby; she dropped her off and never looked back.” One voice muttered.

“The way the child looks, no wonder! There’s no way that her mother could hide that the father is a black American soldier, not with her frizzy hair.”

The voices moved up the hall and the girl resumed her brushing. She had heard it all before, lived all her life with the stigma of being abandoned by her American father in a monoculture land. She was different from everyone in the world she supposed, dark skinned and curly haired – she’d never seen anyone else with them. She stopped and looked at a wrinkled envelope on the bed in front of her. A large bold hand had scrawled the address across it unevenly – the Korean parts of her address were in horrible handwriting. The letter was opened, but not by her, the orphanage staff had opened it and translated the content into Korean for her before passing it on. It was from her father.

In all her eleven years, she had never gotten a word from either parent. Now, with the letter in front of her she was afraid to open it, what lay inside? What could a father be like? Her hand crept to the envelope and slowly pulled it towards her. If her father cared, why had he left her, and why had he written now after all these years? Slowly, she pulled the letter out and spread it on the blanket.

“Dear Eun Seon,

Can you ever forgive me for leaving you? I’m so sorry. I didn’t know until two years ago that I had a daughter, then it took years of God working on me before I finally realized what I needed to do. I’ve given my heart to Jesus and he has flooded me with love and longing for my little Korean daughter. My wife is excited about bringing you home too, we’ll be coming at the end of the month when the paperwork is in order.

Love, Your Dad, Mike”

The girl stared at the English scrawl and read the neatly typed Korean translation. She was very still for a moment, and then reached for the envelope to put the letter away. As she picked it up, a picture fell out. Her hands shook as she took it and held it to the light. A young black man with a inch of fro smiled back at her. She drew a shaky breath as a tear slipped down her dark cheek. Brushing it away, she turned to the mirror. Placing the picture in the frame of the glass, she looked at her reflection. Tentatively she smiled – a smile that matched her father’s. Then reaching up, she pulled the tight rubber band out of her hair and tossed her head, letting her frizzy curls fly around her face. She reached out a finger and touched the black man’s hair, a giggle escaping into the silence. She matched.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Down for Blue

(This one I wrote last night on the spur of the moment to enter in a contest where the story had to include the word "blue" and be less than 750 words long. Just of interest, I haven't run it by Stephen yet.)

When I asked a pastor visiting from an urban youth ministry to speak to the youth in my country church, he smiled and asked me if he could bring a friend. “Sure!” I answered, “Who are you planning to bring?”

“Oh, one of the kids from my youth group, he’s a new Christian and I want him to give his testimony.” He answered.

“That’d be great!” I said excitedly.

The day came several weeks later, I had told my youth group excitedly all about it, but none of us were quite prepared for what happened. The visiting pastor entered with a tall, thin African-American youth dressed all in blue and black. The kid was nervous, eyeing us all up and down as he sauntered over to his seat with a theatrical limp.

“What is up with him?” One of my students asked. I shrugged.

“Well,” The pastor began as soon as the music was over, “What about if we begin by going around the circle and telling what was the most challenging thing that happened this week.”

As it went around, some students mentioned a fight with a parent, or their boyfriend breaking up with them – one mentioned that he had totaled the family car. About halfway through, it got to our visitor.The pastor turned to the youth by his side, “What about you, DJ?”

“Last Monday,” The boy started huskily. “I was standin’ just inside the doorway of my buildin’, just hangin’ out. It wuz rainin’ real hard outside. I wuz rappin’ –“

“Talking.” The pastor translated.

“—with my best friend, Krazy K. Then he steps outside and start running in the rain to another buildin’ across the way. I suddenly hear shots and go to look out. There be my friend on the ground.” He paused for a moment. “I ran out and threw my coat over him. They was still shootin’ – aimin’ for a group of my homeys behind me. My homey’s shoot back, it was all one big mess.”

When he stopped the Pastor asked, “What happened to Krazy K?”

“The ambulance came and took him, but he wuz DOA.”

“Why did they shoot him?”

“He wuz wearin’ blue, the Crip colors. That’s our gang, the posse we down for. But, I down for Jesus now, when Krazy K died I realized this life is getting’ me nowhere, so I flipped. Tomorrow I gonna tell my gang, you can all be prayin’ they don’t kill me.” The boy smiled slightly and looked around, “That was my hardest day this week.” He looked at the next student. “It’s your turn.”

Sirens

Breee…! The quiet night was suddenly split with police sirens wailing through the darkness, breaking the spell of the moonlight. Broken glass glittered in the flashing lights as the cop cars screeched to a halt next to a towering warehouse. A dark mass struggled in the street, the light flashed on a switchblade, then the mass separated into six boys running in different directions. A few strides and they were gone, melting into the night. Only the glass and a blood stain on the sidewalk were left to show what had transpired.

A boy of seventeen pounded down the alley away from the cop cars, hauling a child after him. “Stop, Jed. The pigs are leaving.” The child’s voice was breathless and pained.

Jed stopped dead in his flight and pressed close against the wall, turning his face to the younger boy. “You all right, Lil’ Man?”

“No.” The child leaned down, pressing his hand against a knife cut on his lower left arm. His voice quavered. “My arm.”

“Let me see.” Jed, with a gentleness so different from the scene they had left, carefully took the child’s arm and looked the wound over. “One of dem cats cut you.” With quick, deft hands he wrapped his handkerchief and a piece of his shirt around it. “There, good as new.”

It wasn’t really true, but the child smiled trustingly up at his brother. “It’ll be ok, Jed?”

“Course it will. Now stick close to me and –“ The youth paused, listening.

From up the alley came the sound of running feet, a whole group coming. And there, voices calling, “Keep sharp! Hunt dem cats out! Burn dem Caesars!”

Jed grabbed his brother in his arms and whispered in his ear. “Change of plans, Lil’ Man. You’re gonna have to hold onto my back and let me dodge and scramble, dig?”

The child nodded seriously and waited while Jed zipped his jacket and pulled his jeans up higher. The feet were coming nearer, echoing up the alley. Jed wrapped his brothers arms and legs securely around him, then took a few steps and jumped, catching hold of the lowest landing of a fire escape. He swung, kicked his feet and got a foothold on it. Silently he rolled onto the landing, then quickly got up and crept higher up the building.

A flicker of movement above him caught his eye and he stopped, watching. There were boys on the roof above him. No escape that way. Jed settled the child’s weight a bit better, then quickly climbed over the railing of the fire escape and onto a narrow ledge. Walking quickly, he worked his way down the alley, until he came to another fire escape. Jed crouched down next to it and looked around. The street below was crowded with Timbers now, what was he to do?

A soft voice whispered in his ear, “We gonna be ok, Jed?”

“We’ll be fine, Lil’ Man.” Jed breathed back.

Clang, clunk, clang. Someone coming down the fire escape. Maybe if he stayed still…

“Hey!” A voice rang out sharply. “You a Caesar, man!”

Jed saw all the faces below turn to stare at him. “Hang on, Lil’ Man.” Jed was up and running back along the ledge to the other fire escape.

Shouts echoed behind him, then bam, bam, bam! Bullets chipped the cement right behind his heels. He reached the railing, jumped it, hit the door, and was inside the apartment building. He paused an instant to lock the door, then raced down the hall, unclipping his gun from his hand-made holster. Down a flight, around the corner, down the hall to a fire escape on the other side of the building. Jed paused a moment on the landing, checking it out. Sweat poured down his face and his breath came short. Running was one thing, but running with an eight-year-old on your back was another.

Jed started down the first flight of stairs. The door slammed behind him and he whirled to face a lanky black boy holding a bat. Jed turned to flee and met the stern eyes of another Timber. “Oh, I’m sorry – chico.” The Timber above him hissed. “Are we in your way?”

“Let me go, I’m warning you.” Jed answered hoarsely.

“Why look at that! Do you always wear your kid brother?” This from the Timber below him, “Suppose you hand him over, then maybe we’ll think about letting you go.”

“You leave mi hermano out of this.” Jed’s eyes were blazing.

“Says who? You ain’t in no place to direct traffic. We’ll take him by force.”

“Don’t look, Lil’ Man.” Jed whispered, pulling his gun out from behind him.

Two rounds and the Timbers were lying on the metal steps. Jed pulled his brother up closer and bounded down the steps. Reaching the bottom landing, he dropped onto the street. At impact the child let go and tumbled off Jed’s back. “My arm, Jed, it hurts to hold on.” The boy whimpered.

“Come on, Lil’ Man.” Jed whispered, picking the boy up, “I’ll carry you in front for a bit. We gotta make tracks before the cats see us.”

“We gonna make it back, Jed?” The child asked, worried.

Jed hugged his brother close and started running again. “Don’t worry, niño, we’ll make it to home turf.”

The child smiled and laid his head down on his brother’s shoulder, tired out from the late hour and the danger. Jed ran on, pausing at street corners to check up and down the street. All seemed strangely deserted, where was everyone? It made Jed’s skin crawl.

He paused at a corner and glanced to the right. There was a cop car sitting there silently, all the lights off, about a block up the street. Suddenly shots rang out from the left, causing the child to wake and jerk up. “What –“ The child cried sleepily.

“Shhh. It’s alright.” Jed whispered quickly.

Breee…! The cop car flashed to life, speeding down the street. Jed drew back into the shadow and watched up the street for a moment. Suddenly a stream of boys spilled out of the dark, rushing towards him. It was a mixture of Timber and Caesar roiling and fighting as they came. So that was where the rumble had gotten to.

Jed crouched in the shadow, clutching the child and watching the rumble pass, willing them not to see him. Then they were gone and the street was quiet again.

“Alright, Lil’ Man, we’re almost there.” Jed murmured into the boy’s hair.

He wearily got to his feet and jogged across the street, up one more block, and turned in at a dark hole of a doorway. Three flights of stairs, and then he was opening his door and laying the boy on the bed. The child was already asleep. How nice to be able to sleep through some of that.

Jed sank into a chair, so tired… so tired. Just wanted to sleep, his arms and shoulders aching from the weight of his brother. “Oi. You aren’t so small anymore, mi hombre pequeño.” Jed said with a wry smile.

Then getting up, he gently shook his brother. “Hey Lil’ Man, wake up. I’m going, but you stay here like I tell you this time, and don’t worry. I’ll be home when you wake up.”

The little brother nodded sleepily and was back asleep in an instant. If only Jed could join him, but no, he had to go back and find the rumble. If he didn’t, the gang would know it, and that would mean anything from teasing to murder depending on the mood. So, he jogged back down to the street. The rumble was louder now, and he followed the sound of it.

Hours dragged by in the wild confusion of a night jitter. Attack , chase, counterattack, run, jump, climb, attack… Hit, slash, kick, run… On and on and on until at last the Timbers broke and ran for the last time. They were scattered this time and it was soon apparent that the Caesars had won – though the field of battle was scattered with the casualties. Time to go home.

Jed dragged himself up the stairs for the last time that night, or well, morning. It was about five AM. Jed limped into the apartment and locked the door. The child had moved position, but was still asleep. Jed looked down at him, longing for the peaceful, unbroken sleep of childhood.

Slowly he turned away and limped to the washbasin. The water went from clear to pink to red as he washed out his wounds and rinsed the dried blood out of his hair. He suddenly became aware that his brother had awakened and was watching him. “You alright, Jed?”

Jed grimaced in pain and answered, “I’ll be alright.”

“You burn ‘em timbers last night?”

“Yeah, we burn ‘em.” The answer was flat.

Where was the joy of victory when you were bleeding and bone tired? When every time you close your eyes, you see blood and injured boys – maybe even dying? He wouldn’t know the numbers until tomorrow at the earliest.

His brother’s voice broke in on his thoughts again. “When I big like you, I gonna rumble like –“

Jed turned suddenly, “Don’t say it, Lil’ Man.”

“But—“

“I ain’t gonna hear it. You join a gang over my dead body.”

The child fell silent, wide eyed. Jed went on, his face livid. “There’s no way out for me, Lil’ Man. But you can stay out and live. You can get a job and be somethin’. You wanna join cause you wanna be like me? Well, why you wanna be like me? I’m nothin’. Nothin’!”

The child ran to his brother and Jed put his arms around him, sobbing. “I love you too much ta let you do that, Lil’ Man.”

The child pulled away at last and went to the one window. Outside, dawn broke and the street came to life. Traffic hummed along like normal. Far away was the wail of a police siren.

Child Care Essay -- June 2009

“Your mom will be here soon, don’t worry.” I tried to make my voice sound reassuring.

The boy stared at me, unconvinced.

“Really. She wouldn’t leave you here. She’d miss you.” I gave the boy a quick hug and nudged him back to the movie room. He sat down on one of the faded couches and went on watching the cartoon play across the screen.

Minutes passed, then half an hour. I walked up the hall, checking doors to be sure they were locked. Suddenly I heard the soft patter of six-year-old feet behind me again. I turned to see two big worried eyes staring at me. “When’s my mom gonna come?” His voice was shaky and his face was pale under his freckles.

“I don’t know. But she’ll be here soon.” I said in a bright tone.

It didn’t work. Tears swam in his big eyes. “All the other kids have been gone a long time, and – and – is she gonna come?” His voice ended in a wail and he started crying in earnest.

I knelt down and put my arms around him. He sniffled and looked at me expectantly. I smiled reassuringly, “Don’t worry. She’ll come sooner or later.”

“Can’t you call her?”

“I tried several times, but her phone was turned off,” I explained. “But she’ll be here.”

He nodded, sniffed, and trotted back to the movie room, running his hand down the blue-painted wall. The sunset streamed through the glass door at the other end of the hall, giving an eerie lighting to the hall – a hall that was usually resounding with the shouts and laughter of all sizes of children. Then, about 4:30 in the afternoon, cars start pulling up and parents come to lay claim to their children. But now, with one lonely child left, the place seemed big and gloomy.

In the gloom of the approaching evening, my thoughts went in a gloomy direction. What if the boy’s mother didn’t come? What then? Should I take the child home? Call the police? Perhaps DHS? I know for a fact that it has happened before – one child left there like the unclaimed luggage on a carousel. How do you explain to a child that his parents forgot about him? How can you come up with reason at all? In this essay, I will attempt to do that.

First, let us look at the sort of families that the children in child-care places come from. The families can be roughly divided into four groups: the single-parent families, the divorced families, the working-parent families, and the busy-mom families.

In the case of single-parent families, the parent is forced to put the child in a childcare place to be watched while he or she is at work, earning the money to provide for the child. This situation is quite legitimate in using childcare.

Divorced families seem to make up the majority of what one sees in such facilities – families where the parents are divorced and have one or both remarried. The child now has extra “parents” and often extra siblings, and he belongs in two homes. I have seen cases where the two homes use the childcare as a pass-off point – one parent will bring the child in the morning and the other will pick them up. As you can imagine, this situation can be quite confusing for a child.

The working family is where the parents are not divorced, but they both work during the day. These children are often the last ones to get picked up.

The busy-mom family is one of the strangest phenomenons that I have seen. It is a family where the mother doesn’t work, per-se, but has “a lot of errands to run” or thinks that her child “needs to socialize”. She drops her child off in the morning at the facility, and then enjoys the morning and/or afternoon child-free.

In a practical sense, there are many reasons for a child to have been forgotten. Perhaps the single mom had to work late and forgot to call. Maybe the divorced couple got mixed up on who was supposed to pick up the child that day. But often (especially in the case of the busy-mom syndrome) I think the reason runs deeper than that.

What is it about being a parent that builds such a bond with the child? Almost anyone will tell you that it is spending time with the child. I have had parents tell me of how they enjoy seeing their child learn things, or think something through for the first time. They enjoy reading books and discussing the pictures with the child – even watching siblings interact with each other. Then I think of what childcare is like. At 7:30 in the morning the child is dropped off and isn’t picked up till 4:30 or 5:00 or even 6:00. All day, the child is learning things and thinking things through, but the parent isn’t there to watch. Who sees the progress? The hired workers – but often there are too many children for them to spend time encouraging the child in the learning process. If siblings are in the same facility they often hardly see each other and never get to build the special bond so special to brothers and sisters. Then, when the parent is off work, he or she comes and picks up the child. Rarely have I heard them ask the child what he learned or what he did. Conversation usually stops at ‘Did you have a good day?’ or the like. The child is, in effect, raised by the childcare facility and not by the parent.

The special bond is never built that causes the parent to always have the child in his or her mind. This is the situation that leads to the child being left by accident – or left because the parent wants to deal with the child as little as possible. And so, the child is forgotten.

Children's Ministry Research Paper

Children’s ministry is a much debated topic in the American church. Should the children’s service and adult’s service be one and the same? Can children understand adult teaching? Maybe we should just put them in a back room with a teacher of their own. Opinions vary from letting the children preach and move in the gifts to keeping them silent and observing. Heart-felt books have been written on both sides of the subject and pastors in some churches feel like they are being backed into a corner on the subject. But then, often, the children are all but forgotten – shoved into a back corner with an untrained teacher and little funding. For research I have looked around on internet debates, surveyed my church and read several books on the subject.

First, we will look at what the Bible says on the subject. Three verses are often quoted by the two camps of opinion. The verse quoted on the “Children should observe in church” side is this : Proverbs 22:6Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” They say that you should train the child to be active later on when he is older. Then used on the other side is: 1 Tim. 4:12 “Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity.” And Psalm 8:2 “From the lips of children and infants you have ordained praise because of your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger.”

On surveying my church I found that 30% had their own children in children’s church, of those all of them had observed a service (one was a Sunday school teacher) and two thirds of them found it mediocre. Of the other group, 85% had never observed the children’s service. Of all of them, 70% wanted the children to feel free to dance and sing during worship. 10% wanted them to sit quietly, 10% wanted them to be in their own service during worship, and 10% didn’t answer the question. 50% said that children should have their own service most or all of the time, 20% said that children should quietly observe in adult service, and 30% said children should be involved in adult service. 80% said that they were open to children ministering in the areas of prayer and music and 20% were unsure. Many commented that children are in church to learn by observing adults, they should be reverent and quiet. One said that children can often minister to adults when God moves on them. All of this illustrates the range of opinions on the subject. It’s rather difficult to draw conclusive results from.

The reasoning on the “quiet kids” side goes along these lines: Children learn in a different way from adults and therefore need a separate service to be taught in a way they understand (sort of a “separate but equal” principle). The Bible calls for services to be orderly and children are generally anything but orderly. Children just seem to enjoy their own service better, why make them sit and listen to a long sermon? Besides, they just haven’t gotten to the point where they really can understand spiritual things. Many pastors add that children have become such a behavior problem that it just isn’t really plausible to have them in the service.

In “Children of Revival” by Pastor Vann Lane of Brownsville Assembly of God, Pastor Lane offers many compelling arguments for the young people of the church. He has observed children ministering to adults in a way that other adults cannot. “Children are like pipes for the Spirit to flow through.” He says, “They are too young to let their pipes get clogged with fear and worry the way adults’ do.” David Walters, Author of “Children Aflame” says “Children have the same Holy Spirit as Adults, not some juvenile version of it.” Meaning that a word from the Lord can be just as easily given to the church through a child as through an adult.

But why don’t the young people of the church move into this role? Gordon Mclean of Chicago Youth for Christ says “Children have an amazing ability to live out what is expected of them by adults.” When adults tell children in words or attitude that they cannot work for God until their older, the children accept it as fact and do not try. Many times even the curriculum for the young people is geared to teach children about God, not really to get them moving out in the Lord themselves. Facilities are often a problem (facilities are generally separate and inherently unequal), in “Children of Revival” Pastor Lane tells of how on first moving to Brownsville church, he was confronted with the problem of a leaky roof in the nursery that left a puddle on the floor. He asked for it to be fixed, but it kept getting put off until overcrowding forced an adult Sunday school class to use the room. Once the adults were using the room, the problem was fixed within days. During my survey, I asked the Pastor what percentage of the budget went to the children’s ministry, the answer: less that 5%. Judging by the size of the church, that is barely enough to buy snack each week!

Sunday school teachers are often frustrated by the apathetic attitudes of the church. Vann Lane complained of the ushers commenting that it was “just babysitting” and “God will only get a hold of them when their teenagers anyway.” But, as Bill Wilson of Metro Ministries commented, “It’s easier to build boys and girls than repair men and women.” Children’s ministry is a vital part of the church and needs to be regarded as such to succeed.

In the survey, both pastors surveyed said that the children were no involved in the adult service and that they would like to see that change, but no plan so far has been made to bridge the gap between the adults and children. One young mother complained that when she decided it was better to keep her son in the service with her, she was pelted with people kindly reminding her that “this church has great nurseries available for the children of that age.” Although, the pastors surveyed said they really didn’t mind parents keeping their children in the service.

Many styles of children’s ministry have been tried in the past and many have been successful, but from my research, desired results are only achieved when the church is united and children are not thought of as a separate church altogether. Such thinking alienates not only the children but the workers in the children’s area. Children need to have adults to mimic to learn what Christianity is about – that is how children learn. Kept to themselves in a separate service, they have no example to follow. But it must also go beyond that to allowing children not only to mimic but to minister as the Holy Spirit leads. Children must be encouraged, accepted, and involved in the all of the church activities.