I’ve volunteered in ministry for nearly half of my life. I started in 1995 and haven’t stopped since. If you’re keeping score, that was 17 years ago. I was thirteen years old. I was just breaking free of my own preteen life and I decided God wanted me to do something to further his amazing kingdom. And so, I volunteered. All these years later, I’m turning thirty years old and realizing I’ve been at this for a very long time. The truth? I wouldn’t trade the last decade and a half for anything else.

In ministry there are things we love about it and that we hate. From red tape to politics to holding of grudges and all that other stuff, there’s plenty wrong to find. When I was younger I’d do that a lot. Pointing out problems, complaining about the things that drove me crazy (or cray-cray as the kids say these days) and just generally being a negative curmudgeon about the whole thing. But it wasn’t anything I could fix. So I resolved to stop hating and appreciate. And no, I won’t put that to a rap song and dance.

So when I say there’s things about preteen ministry that I love and that I hate, it’s the stuff that makes this ministry. Let me explain. Then you can string me up by my toes.

Our students are awesome. I’m not sure how else to say it without drawing an “excessive celebration” flag from the internet thesaurus referees’ but there you have it. They are amazing. In preteen, they’re past being a kid and being treated like one. We have a room with a stage and set for our second grade through fourth grade and it’s called “The Treehouse”. It’s pretty amazing and it caters to the younger ages. However, there’s a point in which the 4th graders are already ready to grow up and be treated like older kids. When they get to us, they’re desperate for grown up stuff.

In preteen we throw out the strict teaching aspect in favor of small groups. A roundtable where they share their thoughts on the large group lesson, answer questions designed to push them beyond the “Jesus, Bible, God” answers and start looking deeper inside their own lives. I’ve said it to them in more than one occasion, “It’s ok to ask questions.” It’s amazing to watch them discover the ability to own their faith for themselves as an individual versus in a group. That step, that transition is one of the many reasons I love volunteering in Preteen ministry.

Another reason is that these kids are not junior high students yet. They haven’t become moody, cranky, judgmental and outright insane. Maybe that’s my hyperbole speaking but I’ve worked in junior high/middle school youth groups and I feel comfortable calling them bonkers. It’s not really a bad thing (well, I think it is but that doesn’t make it gospel) because this is the way it works. They have hormones, feelings, and their minds are a jumble of everything we deal with as adults with half the ability to deal with it. You ever read a teenage girl’s Tumblr? If that doesn’t help you understand the world they’re in, I can’t help you. Preteen kids see that world and for the most part, they stay clear of it. They’re innocent of the subconscious popularity contests, of the crazy created drama and the madness of it all. It’s an age where a kid can still be a kid if they want but can act like a grown up and be treated like one by actual grown ups. It’s a wonderful age to work with because they’re discovering their faith, working through that faith and really want to discover more of that faith and what it means to them and for them.

I love teaching large group lessons to them because they still have that awe of a kid when you read them a lesson with voices and sound effects but they’ve also gained a deeper need to be challenged, called out and pushed beyond the little world they inhabit. You can be serious with them and talk about grown up faith and they’ll actually take that complex thought and internalize it into something that is theirs and God’s.

I also get a kick out of their heart for applying themselves outside of the church. They hunger to apply their faith not just inside the walls of the church but also outside. And at this age, it’s more than just showing up, doing it and going home. It’s important to them and it has great value for them and their lives. They understand the long term implications of faith and application. They can see beyond today and tomorrow. They may not rush to change but they’ll at least consider it and keep listening to understand the how, the why and more.

There’s so much to love about working with preteens. I could probably go on and on into oblivion with all the things I get a kick out of with the kids I volunteer with but I don’t think my prose would maintain the poise it’s held so far. It’d start sound like, “LOL, ROLF, kids are ausome, woot, blarg.”

Which brings me to the part of preteen ministry that I hate.

Leaving.

We get them for two years and by the end of that second year they’ve started to make that awkward and not entirely smooth transition to the world of 7th grade. Girls start acting like mental patients. Boys start spraying themselves down with gallons upon gallons of AXE body spray and actually styling their hair. And suddenly, you’re not cool and they’ve mostly forgotten about you.

I know. It’s a bit selfish. Fine, a lot selfish. The truth is that I miss each of them when they leave us. I miss their hilarious humor, their deep questions that shake even me, and the absolute adoration they give to their Father. Most of all, I miss saying “Good morning!” to them each Sunday or “Hey hey hey!” every Wednesday night. I’ll miss hearing about the teachers’ they hate or the games they’ve won and lost. I’ll miss playing indoor basketball with them or indoor ultimate frisbee.

I’ll miss them. I’ll see them across the hall in junior high and wish I could walk up and say “Good morning!’ without getting a death glare, but I’ll keep my distance and give a slight wave and a smile. I’ll get something resembling that back and that will have to be enough. I’ll accept it and head back into the preteen room where the next group of 4th graders are nervously looking around at the wide open space filled with games, volleyballs, basketballs, frisbees, footballs and all of it for them to enjoy and explore. I’ll find a smile on my face once more and I’ll look at each of them and say, “Good morning!”

And the entire amazing two year experience starts all over again. It’s why I love preteen ministry. And why I hate…no, why I absolutely without question love preteen ministry.

Just kidding.  Maybe.

Growing up is something we’re always doing.  It never stops.  When I make 60 years old, I’m sure I’ll be saying the same thing on whatever blogging platform we’ve invented in the next thirty years.  Truth be told, I’m not that upset about turning the big Three-Oh.  It’s another birthday, another year in passing and another year to try and avoid having people sing “Happy Birthday” to you.

Which I almost got away with it this year.  I told no one at work.  I kept a low profile.  I wandered around the mall before I was going to have a nice little dinner at a nice little place out there and then I was going to go home.  That was going to be my birthday.

Well, blame kismet, God, or Fate but all three of them conspired to send me cartwheeling into two of my oldest and best friends from my high school years.  They were with their two adorable (yes, I said adorable – come try and take my man card from me) children and we spent a bit of time catching up, talking about what it meant to be an adult and all kinds of nostalgic blather that’d made you dizzy.  True story.

They joined me for dinner and I could not have asked for a better birthday present.  We laughed, we caught up and we laughed some more.  Oh and a three foot tall little girl round house kicked a thick water glass and shattered it on impact.  And her ten year old brother told me how he had a girlfriend but wasn’t sure where it was going now.

Yes, it was frenetic.  Yes it wasn’t how I had wanted to spend the evening.  But the truth is that it was exactly how I needed to spend the evening celebrating thirty years of my life with people who had spent more than half of it with me.  I discovered and realized a few things that night.

One is that the friends you want to keep around, the ones you need to keep around are the ones that push, prod, kick, slap and hug you all in the same moment.  The ones that when you see them in a store you realize how much you’ve missed them and a smile lights up your face.

The second is that I’ve got a life to live and a world to explore.  I’ve got ideas how I’m going to live the thirty years of my life having learned so much in the last thirty but that’s going to take more than one under 500 word blog post.  That’ll come later and for the first time in a long time – I’m OK with that.

And so I’m thirty.  And as hard as I fought, as much as I plotted and schemed, they still sung me happy birthday.  It only took two amazing old friends, their adorable offspring and a warm summer night in Colorado – but I had a smile on my face as I walked back to my car.

I think I’ll stop trying to avoid it from now on and embrace it.  And to think it only took thirty years to figure that out.

My film was, “Waking Ned Devine”.  It’s an offbeat movie that takes the sudden death of one of a small hamlet’s citizens and turns it into such a story, such a tale and such an adventure you can’t help but smile and feel the tug of your heart at the requisite moments.  Yes, there are naked old men on motorbikes, and there’s even a witch intent on destroying all the dreams of the townspeople.  On paper it sounds nothing like what it looks.  Maybe because the movie is set in Ireland.  I’m not sure, but I can tell you this – it’s that one movie I reflect back on many times.

It’s a story of loss.  You see, Ned Devine is the winner of the Lottery, only he dies in his chair grasping the winning ticket.  Much shenanigans mixed with a bit of skulduggery with a dash of romantic comedy on the side and you have a wonderful film.  But it’s the loss subtext of the movie that I find myself revisiting a bit more then the rest.  I’ve written here on this backwaters corner of the web twice about losing people close to me.  One was a friend from the Philippines and the other was a fellow stroke survivor.  Both were taken from us too soon and their indelible mark on my life (and countless others) remains.

But what’s got me jiggered this time around is a loss that I know is coming.  It’s a loss that our family has been quietly waiting for quite some time.

I got the texts this week.  Grandpa isn’t doing well.  He’s slowing down.  He’s caught pneumonia.  Among all the myriad more medical updates from my mom was the reality that I’ve come to accept.  I’m going to lose him.  I’m going to lose my last grandparent.  And as much as I want to say I’m prepared for it, I have to admit this now before the lie becomes too much for me to keep perpetuating.

I’m not ready.

I talked on the phone today with my dad and he all but said it.  He’s giving up.  I fell back in my mind to rationalizing it out.  He could surprise us.  He’s beaten things before.  My dad kindly reminded me the man is 98 years old.  He’s lived beyond anything anyone imagined.  In the car on my home from work and feeling the lump in my throat start to grow I knew I was going to have to accept it.

I spent Christmas with him and the parents.  I had a lovely time.  For the first time in a very long time, I drank more coffee than I have in a very long time.  I doused it in creamer and sugar but I drank it because, well – he did!  It was a quiet moment but it was a great moment.  Sharing a dinner table with my grandfather, drinking coffee and saying very little.

Sitting across from someone who survived the loss of his wife and partner ten years prior, who had worked to raise a houseful of kids, who had doted on grandchildren and great grandchildren, had dodged numerous medical maladies and still sat there across from me able to remember the times of old and tell them right back to me…it was a moment I’ll treasure.  I’m glad I had the chance to spend the time with him.

Today I’ve been in an emotional tailspin.  Do I go to see him off not knowing how soon or how long until he takes that final breath?  Or do I take the memories of the last 29 years and treasure them?  It’s a hard thing to do.  Knowing someone’s in their last days makes your heart do spins around your chest sixteen million times the speed of light.  My brother hasn’t seen him recently and is headed up on Wednesday to spend some time with our grandfather.  To say goodbye.  To have one last laugh about politics, the Broncos or the weather.

It these moments where our emotions are the most raw, the most exposed.  It’s a hard thing to sit in the middle of and stew as everything rushes around in your soul.  But that’s the beauty of our humanity.  Nothing is easy, nothing is simple and if you want to be able to stand in the shadow of a man like my grandfather you have to pick yourself up and go with what you have and do the damn best you can.

There are many things I’ve learned from him and eventually I’ll strive to write them all down.  For now I’ll think of him every day, of his last days and of the last 98 years worth of days.  Because he’s a strong, stubborn Norwegian that hasn’t stopped fighting and even against the odds, I’d still bet on him.  Not because I think there’s a medical miracle waiting in the wings or something out of left field like that.  No, it’s easier than that and much simpler.

Because he’s my grandpa.  And I’m not ready.  And I don’t think I will ever be.

Over the weekend I took a retreat with a few close friends and mentors in ministry.  We took some time away from the world in a place that had no cellular phone signals, internet access or much of a way to communicate with the world we’d fled.  There was a singular land line in case of catastrophic failure and in the spirit of our retreat it did not feature an answering machine.

We talked about so many things.  Ideas, plans and more ideas. Much if it stormed around in our brains as we drove down the canyon watching the sun fade into the horizon.  There are significant challenges we’re going to face and considerable faith will have to be had to take this new direction.  It’s a beguiling moment when you come back to reality but you look at that reality so much differently than when you left caterwauling and careening out the door celebration of the end of the week.

God’s funny.  I mean that in the most honest and open way.  He’s funny to me at times.  I spend a good portion of my time laughing at myself and the plans I thought I had figured out or the ideas I had settled on only to have a seven lane highway plop down in the midst of my idyllic meadow.  I figure God probably chuckles, shakes his head and goes back to knocking at that door that I have a habit of ignoring for whatever reason fits at the time.

I had this great idea of a project for this year.  I was going to live dangerously.  Do all kinds of things.  And then Mono hit.  And I had to rethink living dangerously in face of a disease that does it best to keep you on a couch.  And this last weekend I came to understand why that detour flew in from stage right with no warning from the stage manager.   My plans were dreck.  Crap.  Poop.  Whatever adjective you can imagine in place of those three words, that’d be it.

So as I headed home my heart was tired.  I posted as much on my Facebook wall.  There were (and still are) a myriad of other reasons why my heart is tired but the biggest one that brought me to post such a oddly phrased update was that my heart was tired.  It was tired of listening to me tell it what to do and where it was going to go.  It had been on enough rollercoaster rides over the last 29 years to know this wasn’t a good idea.

And right on cue as if it was a Academy Award Winning moment, God stepped in and said, “I second the motion!”  And I was left summarily bushwhacked and yet quietly cognizant that I saw the truth in it.

And so this “Year of Living Dangerously” will continue, but it’s going to look different.  It’s going to sound different.  And it’s going to go differently.  It’s going to go according to God’s plan.

To quote Shakespeare and Star Trek in the same sentence, “Cry ‘Havoc,’ and let slip the dogs of war!”

It’s day one of my Year of Living Dangerously. And I do feel dangerous.

Today I sped five miles over the speed limit while cackling with glee as if I was an evil genius about to take over the world and bomb Saskatchewan off the face of the map. I mean, who’d miss that province anyway? It’s not like Canada is a real country or anything.

Kidding to our Northern neighbors (eh!) aside, I’m fairly confident this is going to be one bonkers year. 2011 was a terrible year for most of us here in the United States. It seems most people are ready to slap 2012 around a little bit to make sure it knows who the boss is.

It’s funny. We look at the past and say things like, “It’s going to be different this year,” or “So glad that awful year is over, I’m going to make this year so much better!” Well Virginia, I hate to burst your sunshine and rainbow littered horizon but it’s not likely to happen. I don’t mean that you’re going to have a worse year than last but I wouldn’t suggest going up against The Big Three. God, Fate and Murphy’s Law.

Humanity has many faults but this arrogance is one of the greater cracks in our armor. I started thinking of how I was going to approach this year a few months after I experienced my first breakup. I was still smarting from it emotionally but knew that I’d have to take the ashes from the ruins and light them up like a Phoenix if I had any chance of moving on. I started thinking about all the things I would never do again, the risks I wouldn’t take or the feelings I refused to experience again. It got me into quite a lather until I stopped foaming at the mouth and realized that life isn’t meant to be lived in a box with walls. It’s meant to be lived with risk and adventure. I’ve had this realization in different ways over the years but as I’m nearing the anniversary of thirty years on this planet, it hit especially close to home.

Captain Kirk - ”They use to say if mankind could fly, he’d have wings — but he did fly. He discovered he had to. Do you wish that the first Apollo mission hadn’t reached the moon, or that we hadn’t gone on to Mars and then to the nearest star? That’s like saying you wish that you still operated with scalpels and sewed your patients up with catgut like your great-great-great-great grandfather used to. I’m in command. I could order this, but I’m not because Doctor McCoy is right in pointing out the enormous danger potential in any contact with life and intelligence as fantastically advanced as this, but I must also point out that the possibilities — the potential for knowledge and advancement is equally great. Risk! Risk is our business. That’s what this starship is all about. That’s why we’re aboard her. You may dissent without any prejudice. Do I hear a negative vote?”

It’s not unusual for things in my life to be related to “Star Trek” in some way and this time around was no exception. There’s a particular moment in Trek that resonated with me as I explored this idea. It happens in “Return to Tomorrow”, a particularly good episode of “Star Trek: The Original Series”. Captain Kirk delivers an impassioned speech about risk.

I’ve imagined myself being on the receiving end of this speech when it comes to deciding to further isolate myself or decide that it’s time make some mistakes. It’s a terrifying concept and I’m fairly certain in a year I will look quite different both on the inside and the outside. I would go so far as to guarantee it.

As it pertains to “regular” updates from me I’m not going to blog every day or video blog every week. I’ll be posting something recounting my week and my dangerous efforts every Friday night. I don’t want to do this alone so I’m going to call you out. Challenge you. Ask you questions. Push you a bit. I’m hopeful that some of my prattling will do someone good and I’ll get some feedback. Even if it is, “You suck and can’t write good or well you doofus.” That will at least tell me something.

What are your goals you ask? Well, aside from everything you’ve just read, there are a few more tangibles. Weight loss. Exercise. Eating Healthy. Podcasting. Creative Writing. All those and a few more to be explained, expounded upon and reborn throughout the next 365 days!

As David Tennent’s Tenth Doctor used to say…Alonsy!

2012 is just hours away.  A new year.  A new chance.

I was thinking about this today and came to the realization that tomorrow doesn’t mean much in the world outside of what we’ve created with calenders, dates, hours and minutes.  The sun will rise and set as it always has for years and years.  The moon will show up and have cycles much like it has before tonight’s bright ball drops in New York.

We’ve made it ‘The New Year”.  There’s nothing really special about tomorrow aside from a artificial date we’ve slapped on a puppy calender.  I’m not suggesting we abandon the modern calender but it serves as a stark reminder that all these resolutions and revelry don’t serve much of a purpose outside of our own selfish needs.

And in honor of those selfish needs, I’m getting ready to live the year dangerously.

I’ve got things to work on on me.  Chief among them is my health and weight.  I’ve also got to start living life as it’s meant to be lived.  Dangerously.  And to that end I’ll be using Facebook for that adventure.  You’ll notice a new sidebar to your right.  Click through to Facebook and like that page so you can join me on my journey through the next 365 days.  Or click this link here.

Now, where did I put that chainsaw?  As Darkwing Duck always said…”Let’s get dangerous!”

It is a humbling thing to look back 70 years ago and imagine the events that changed the United States of America and the World.  I recently watched Ken Burn’s “The War” and “World War II in HD” and found myself questioning my gumption and intestinal fortitude.  If I was to be faced with such challenges, such extraordinary sacrifice, and such terrifying reality would I stand up and ship out?

As I watched the stories of the brave and committed American’s play across the screen I found my throat tighten and my eyes water at the amazing moments of courage.  I realized that we will probably never see another war such as the Great Wars.  I realized one of the reasons is that we’ve seen the horror of not one but two World Wars’ take so many lives from us.

It is a telling moment in both films that the Japanese were unwilling to surrender after two atomic bombs and the threat of a third.  Only after further pounding of Tokyo herself did The Empire blink.  It is fascinating to look back on the history of those wars and the peoples that played parts in each.  It is amazing to see the great evil that stood ready to annihilate everyone that stood in the way.  And it is even more amazing to see that The Greatest Generation refused to yield.  From our friends across the pond and back again they stood against Hitler and his Final Solution.  They pressed on against an Empire bent on domination.

It is a moment of self examination to remember that all gave some and that some gave all.  Our losses were great.  Their sacrifices were more painful that any of us in this modern age can begin to imagine.  And throughout it all, they pressed on.  Women went to work, people saved, rationed, recycled and all the while did everything they could to support their girls and boys out there in the field.

I look at the life we have now in this day and age.  All the wonderful things we’ve invented, created and come to own.  All the life we’ve been given the chance to live because someone somewhere refused to blink and was willing to serve no matter the cost.

When you hear the remaining survivors of World War II, you hear the reality of what they experienced.  You understand that there was no other way and that when the news of The Empire and The Reich’s horrifying true intents came out, there was a true sense that they had fought the war for the right reasons.

As December 7th, 1941 began we did not know what was coming our way.  We did not imagine what the next four years would hold for us as a people, as a nation and as a Allied country.  Even now, as I read through the history and watch it replay on the screen my imagination can only go so far.

Never forget The Greatest Generation.  As we lose more and more each year to age, remember that once they’re gone they will not be here to remind us of those that brought us here to these days here today.  Take a moment each day to remember them, their sacrifice and the stories of their indelible courage in the face an unflinching enemy.

I can remember back to January having all these ideas about what I was going to do, the things I was going to put on a list and start crossing up to mark my amazing progress.  I remember having visions of losing weight, getting healthy, making it to six months in a relationship, getting promoted at work, finding my joy somewhere and at the end of 2011 being able to look back at it well with satisfaction.

That’s the short list of things I thought I would rock out on over the next 12 months.  Well, it’s nearly 365 days later.  Do I even dare revisit the ideals of a 2010 Aaron?  To be honest there’s a part of me that wouldn’t mind ripping apart the last year and opening up some old wounds and recently healed ones.  There’s another part of me that simply doesn’t want to, feel the need to or have any desire to look back at a rather lackluster year.

And that’s the part that’s got me all bothered.  I’m looking at the last year of my life as something you would describe as ‘meh’.  It bothers me that I’d look at those hours and days as something akin to a half cup of water that’s been leaking all over the counter and is spreading to the floor.

I’ve spent the last few months grumbling, grouching and otherwise garroting the last year of my life.  And tonight I sat here in front of my computer wondering why I had fallen so far down the spectrum.  It hit me and I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.

Most of everything in life I view with a smile as best as I can.  I do everything I can to have joy in everything I can.  I fail spectacularly at times but I usually get back at smiling through the madness.  And yet, here’s something I’ve been kicking myself for over and over.  I guess it’s a lesson to remember that life is meant to be lived, loved and laughed.

And so over the next month I’m going to be “Shaking it Up” with different ways of looking at life, love and laughter.  I’ll be mixing in some reflection filled posts but for the most part I’m going to be striving to look forward at the future and what amazing things I can start doing today to change that side of me that sometimes swings towards the negative side of the scale. It’ll be like taking a flying leap to cross check it back to positive. Maybe even an elbow drop.  Or two.

There’s plenty of people on both sides saying it’s stupid or it’s genius but I’m neither.  I’m sitting here in the middle of the road with laptop and headphones pounding away while having a boat load of fun doing it.  This year I’m taking on The Apocalyptic.  The End of The World.  And all that fun stuff.  The title of the story is “Darkness Falling”.  So far I’m up to chapter three and I’m having a blast.  I’m 4,221 words in and have a good solid foundation.

Now I have to get to the meat of the story and move the plot.  Onwards to 50,000!