Friday, May 24

A BASKIN ROBBINS SUMMER (continued. Part XV of ? If you are new to this story, you can read from the beginning,

here)

THE RETREAT

Several days after the first worship time I had with the young adults, Tae, my cousin, asked me if I wanted to go on a youth group retreat with him. I must have shown my hesitation, because he quickly added, “Lydia is going, too,” with a smile.

“Well, I guess I might as well. I don’t have anything else to do,” I allowed.

We traveled on a bus to the country, and finally came to a mountainous area. A cute chapel sat on top of a hill. Cicadas chorused all around at an obscene volume level, and the faint smell of cow manure so prevalent in the country hung in the air. My ambivalence was settled with one glance at Lydia. I was in heaven.

The retreat was much more like boot camp than I expected. Tae was gentle, loving, but he was firm. The children were extremely well behaved and responsible. Much more than me. I think I led a kid or two astray as we sometimes chose to ignore certain events and gatherings for stuff much more interesting. I was right in my element with these youth group kids. It was the summer camp that I have read so many books about, but never went on.

During one of the free times, when I was too exhausted to play anymore, I went to rest in the sanctuary. The praise leader, (the same guy who played when the young adults hung out) was reclining, picking and strumming. I sat back and watched him. He had a black guitar of Korean make, decorated with autumn leaves. I knew nothing of guitars then, but my heart was taken with his.

He had a tremulous voice, but plucked and strummed with confidence. What really caught my attention, however, was that I recognized the melodies. He wasn’t singing hymns, but praise songs that I was familiar with, like, In Moments Like These, Create in Me a Clean Heart, Change My Heart Oh God, and I Love You Lord. They were old songs, but songs I knew. Seeing my interest, the praise leader offered me his guitar. I shook my head. “No thanks. I don’t know how to play,” I murmured.

“I’ll teach you,” he said. He found a song that I knew, and taught me my first chords: G, C, D, and Em. After ten minutes, my fingertips were raw, and my hands were cramped from trying to hold uncomfortable positions. But I was able to play Create in Me a Clean Heart, and I was elated. That first moment stirred up a small spark, which would smolder in me until another, brighter spark during freshman year of college, when someone named Parker came into my life, and showed me how playing guitar might change my praise and worship life forever.



yakob at 1:50 AM

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