Jr. High + Jesus = Love!

I LOVE being a Jr. High leader at church. Love it. I can't get enough of the ridiculous games and competitions, especially when the boys have to cheat in order to win... I love hanging around and catching up with the girls, whether it's about who the next cute boy is in their lives or what silly thing they did to entertain themselves that day... I like that the boys will actually play football with me, even though I'm a girl... it's way too much fun to watch the other leaders crack themselves up... the discussion times with the girls are so much fun when we get to share our lives with one another, have chat time and talk about Jesus... and, every so often, I take a step back and realize what an honor, privilege and a complete joy it is to be a part of these kids' lives. I absolutely love it.

Please Step Back

I'd just like to remind the general public that I am not, in fact, European, and I am okay with that. I appreciate space and cling dearly to my personal bubble in most, if not all, situations. At least in public. Around people I don't know. So, this evening when I was in the check-out line at the grocery store waiting for my turn to pay, I realized why I was beginning to feel uncomfortable: the man behind me was quite literally breathing down my neck. Okay, so whatever. I'll try to deal. But then when you realize that you're both looking at the magazine covers of half-naked women and the "next best way to get him to do what you want," it makes it that much more awkward. Hence, the presumed position: stepping as closely as I could to the lady in front of me, wrapping my arms tightly around my wallet and grasping it as closely to my person as I could, and staring straight forward, hoping that I could psych myself out and pretend there wasn't a man standing so close to me that if I were to turn around my nose would be touching his chest. I think it's okay to want at least a minimum amount of personal space. I'm okay with the fact that I'm not as free and open as the Europeans are, and that I'm not okay with riding buses or subways, clinging desperately to a handrail while I strain my muscles so hard that I probably actually pull one, just to prevent my face from landing straight into the armpit of the semi-questionable, definitely sweaty person next to me. Thank you, America, for creating and celebrating comfort zones. Now, please take a step back.