Youth group met Wednesday night. We'd usually get there early so we could hang out and talk- we always needed more time to hang out and talk. After we'd worshiped and took notes on the youth pastor's lesson, we'd hang out and talk ever more at the church or head over to the Taco Bell down the street.
Friday nights often found us at the Trib. A few of the guys worked at the local office putting together the Sunday paper. Sometimes I'd help out, other times we'd sing along to Tupac and Alanis until their work was through.
Most weekends we'd head to a theater or the basement at someone's house or maybe a coffee shop. A lot of dating went on within our group (myself excluded, at least during high school) but we still spent most of our free time together.
Sundays were for church. First, Sunday School and then the service. Sometimes we'd gather for lunch, especially in the summer. If we went to the evening service, we were sure to pile into a booth at Baker Square afterward for mozzarella sticks and chicken strips.
Those of us who went to the same high school would congregate at the same bench after 7th period until dispersing to activities or home. Becca and I liked to con whomever into giving us a ride home so we could have a reprieve from the bus.
Then there were the winter retreats, outreach events like murder mystery dinners and month-long volleyball tournaments, the DC/LA '97 conference. We wore WWJD bracelets with pride. We gathered in small groups and offered prayer requests and asked for accountability.
At the center of all the talking and the activity was our bond. I'd never had friends like these. I thought our group would be friends forever. We'd defy the odds.
And then senior year happened. A few of the guys started making different choices and a ripple effect began. Our group collectively judged the drinking we heard about or assumed. We thought their new girlfriends were leading them astray. Did we know about shenanigans or did we simply not like the fact that we didn't know who these girls were? We murmured concern and upped our prayers. These were good guys, we knew, and they just needed to turn back to God.
And yet, I wasn't sure they'd turned away from Him. They still came to youth group, still were a part of the ministry team, still hung out with the rest of us. Sure, the nights they weren't with us were worrisome but I no longer remember what was fact and what was rumor.
My on-fire faith wasn't skin deep but it also wasn't prepared for the reality of life. I didn't know how to handle the ups and downs. I still preferred black-and-white answers to mystery and shades of gray. I needed to have the right answers because I hadn't yet learned the beauty of "I don't know." I didn't know an outside the box faith was possible or that it would save my faith in the end.
As these guy friends edged back a bit, I was starting to ask uncomfortable questions. Not out loud, at least not at first. I wanted to know why we had all these rules and what difference God actually made.
I still went to youth group, still participated on the ministry team, still hung out with all of my friends. Most of all, I listened to those guy friends and whatever initial judgment I felt slipped right out the door.
We were figuring it out. We were teenagers wanting the elusive freedom of adulthood. Not even a year later, I stopped going to church and bent some of those "real Christians don't" rules.
That first Thanksgiving break freshman year, our gang reconvened at Brandon's house and it was like we'd never been apart. We fell into our roles. We caught up for hours and the guys played pranks. I cannot confirm or deny any girl-led antics.
I really believed we'd make it past the inevitable drifting everyone said occurred freshman year of college. I kept listening and asking questions and we loved each other through it all. We did make it another year and then I suppose the differences started to matter too much. We weren't in high school anymore and our gang was no longer a group. I blinked and it all changed. Some of us are still close but I feel the ache of what was.
I look at some of my old friends and wonder why I still believe and they don't. Wonder if their faith exists in other terms. They had such potential. We all did.
Linking up with the When We Were On Fire synchroblog celebrating the release of Addie Zierman's phenomenal book. Definitely a favorite read of 2013. You can read my review here.
