Look up

I’m currently reading a book by Mitch Albom and while reading one of the reference stories, I’m reminded of a personal experience.

I once volunteered to be part of a youth camp as a co-facilitator. Not of the big group but lead one of the small groups. I took care of 5 girls around the age of 9-13, very much in the stage between liking Dora, the Explorer and Highschool Musical – not quite the small kid but not quite the adult either. It was camp so it meant it was packed with a lot of activities from sunrise...to sunset... to midnight – but “till dawn” was out of the question.

On the second day, we had team games so the girls and boys would have fun but also learn teamwork and camaraderie. Each team had to go through a series of tasks and each member had to go through each one of them. If one member was not comfortable, another member steps in to cover. The objective was not to win but for them to experience. One of the tasks was rappelling. I was initially apprehensive at first, being overprotective of my girls but it had to be done. It will allow them to conquer their fears and to experience the exhilaration of surviving a very challenging task.

My girls were all geared up and ready to rappel down the slope. But, on queue, before my girls was a boy. I recognize him from the day before as one of those kids who had spent most of the morning crying looking for his dad – separation anxiety which is quite normal among kids. I took notice that he was also quite a loner – sat alone, laughed alone while he watched the other kids goof around, he was a bit different, special. But there he was, looking scrawny and scared and geared up to rappel. I have to admit that I did not expect this of him.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” was my first question to him. “You can say no if you don’t want to.” He nodded very adamantly, very sure he was going to go through with it. The professional guys gave him instructions, taught him how to hold the rope and slide down.

He took his first step...second...third...fourth...midway then he stops. He froze, just right there. He did not know whether he wanted to go up or continue to go down. I saw the look on his face and he was scared. A whole lot of us were egging him to keep going. But he froze, just right there. It won’t be another 10 minutes till a couple of us just gave up. In my head, I was picturing Tarzan to swing in and pick him up already. But something told me that this kid needed more than encouragement, he needed someone to believe that he could still go through with it.

So just like what the professional guys suggested, I told the boy to look up and to look at me – tilt his face up so his body leans back a bit which would make it easier for him to slide down. He won’t move, won’t even look up. The midday sun was not helping just one bit. He was very close to tears. I was close to tears. But for some reason, it did not even occur to me at that time to ask the professional guys to just rope him in. My mind was close to giving up but the words that kept coming out were still prodding him to look up and look at me.

Then when I was about to really give up... he finally looked up. And when he did...he never let go of my gaze. He followed everything I said and he made it to the bottom.

Hooookay, my girls were up next and I just said, “Please Lord, don’t let me go through that again.” But my girls were good. They were pretty amazing. That experience with that little boy, though, stuck with me. It made me feel good that I was able to help him but more than that I felt God was teaching me something.

That boy reminded me of myself, my stubbornness – not wanting to look up even if I’m scared. I have that certain reliance on myself that I can go through rough times - figuring it out on my own. Some friends have told me that “I think too much on my own,” when sometimes I did not need to. I agree because everytime I fall into that trap of self-containment, I have not allowed room for God to think for me too.

That boy also reminded me that I will always have that choice to look up at my own time and I will always have that privilege of God’s gaze all the time that if I gaze at God long enough... I will surely understand.

Excerpt from Mitch Albom’s “Have a little faith”

From a sermon by the Reb, 1958

A little girl came home from school with a drawing she’d made in class. She danced into the kitchen, where her mother was preparing dinner.

“Mom, guess what?” she squealed, waving the drawing.

Her mother never looked up.

“What?” she said, tending to the pots.

“Guess what?” the child repeated, waving the drawing.

“What?” the mother said, tending to the plates.

“Mom, you’re not listening.”

“Sweetie, yes I am.”

“Mom,” the child said, “you’re not listening with your eyes.”