Wrecked

She stood four feet from the gym floor. A dark face with twists in her hair. Her smile could melt a cold heart, but her glare was lethal. Another dodge ball found its way past the caution cones of the rock wall area once again and she was determined to retrieve it. As she crossed the boundary, one of her camp leaders reprimanded her.

“Jamaya, what did we say about walking past the cones while we’re belaying people up the rock wall?”

She stopped right on the edge of the black line and stared intently at the red ball. 

“Jamaya, we’ll give you the ball after Alesha gets down. It’s not safe for you to be back here.”

Defiance was all over her face as she stepped across the line.

“No, ma’am!”
“I’m just getting the ball! Dang!”

With frustration in my voice and a pointed finger, I said, “Jamaya, you’re done. Go sit under the window. You know that you’re not supposed to come over here and you keep coming anyway.”

“Y’all are mean,” she said forcefully as she drug her feet across the gym floor.

 She was angry the rest of the day especially as she waited outside of the bathroom door in our cabin claiming she was about to punch the girl who would come out.

“No you won’t,” I assured her.
“She hit me! So I’m ’posed to hit her back!”
“ Go outside and stand on the porch.”
“I’m gonna get her good.”
“Jamaya! Go!”

I was so stirred up I wanted to take her by the shoulders and yell in her face. I turned her in the direction of the door and walked her to the porch. I couldn’t take it anymore. I was so direct with her.

“You need to change. Jesus wants to come in and do powerful things in your heart.”  

I lost the gentleness in my voice and preached hard. She stood there with crossed arms waiting for me to pause so she could bite back.

“I already got Jesus. I got a Bible and a go to church sometimes.”
“That’s not enough. You need to live your life for Him. You’ve got to treat other people with respect. You’ve gotta be like Jesus!”
“Why? You’re not like Him!”

Those words stung. I paused and swallowed.

“I’m trying.” I held back my tears. “We need to leave. We’re gonna be late for chapel.”
She rolled her eyes and made a clicking noise with her tongue to show her annoyance.

The chapel was packed. There were two hundred campers that week. The cool of the night was about to settle, but inside that small sanctuary it was unpleasantly warm and humid.  As the worship band started railing on their instruments, I did not want to sing. I didn't want to clap my hands and do the silly little motions to the songs. My campers didn't even want to stand up. What’s the point? It was already Thursday and I saw no change. I felt like a failure.

I made the decision that I’ve made before in several worship services—to worship God because He’s good and not because of my situation. I raised my hands, closed my eyes, and cried. I was so torn up because these un-churched girls growing up in the inner city neighborhoods of Chicago just didn’t get it.

That same night before the lights went out, I told the story of Joseph as I sat on the sink counter. Ten pairs of eyes stared intently at me.

“Even though Joseph was treated like trash, was he?”
“No!” they all responded.
“No. And neither are you. I’m sure some people in your life haven’t treated you the right way. Maybe you’ve felt completely worthless, but you’re not. Jesus thinks you’re so, so valuable and just like God rescued Joseph from really hard situations, God wants to do the same for you. He has awesome plans for your life.”

My co and I went to different bunk beds and individually prayed with our girls. I came to Jamaya’s bunk. 

“Miss Liz, can we talk?”
“Yes we can.”
“How many minutes?”
It was past bed time. I looked at my watch.
“Three.”
“Four minutes? Please?”
“Ok.”

Just as I suspected, she asked me why we had to do things like rest time and chapel and all of the activities she doesn’t like. I was really hoping that she would tell me that she was interested in a life change or even ask a question about God.

Nope. 

“Alright, Jamaya. I’m gonna pray for you and then we need to go to sleep.”
I prayed. I prayed hard—that her life would be changed and that she would know God’s love and discover His plan for her life and follow Him. 

After the prayer, there was no response. Not even a good night.

I rubbed the back of her hand. “I love you Jamaya.”

Nothing.

I wish that this could be the part of the blog where I explain how on the next day before that precious girl got on the bus back to Chicago that there was a breakthrough, but it’s not. That’s not what happened. She was rude and disrespectful all over again.

“Alright, Jesus. She’s yours. Keep chasing her.”

I decided that Jesus isn’t going to let her go. One of these days, Jamaya is going to remember her week at camp. She’ll decide to stop playing in the world and follow Jesus.

 There are hundreds of kids just like Jamaya--living in the inner city neighborhoods of major cities, un-churched, surrounded by hatred, violence, dysfunction, and poverty. 

I’ve discovered the thing that wrecks me.
I’ve discovered that my greatest failures bring about my greatest encounters with God.
I’ve discovered that Jesus wants to do something about this and I want to help Him.