“Young Life?” I questioned. “I’ve never heard of that. What is it?”
To be sure, Young Life breeds its own kind of rabid college-football-loving-status type of culture. The people who love it paint their bare chests and scream at the top of their lungs. Everything they own has a YL logo on it. Tshirts, bumper stickers, water bottles. You name it. And the folks who have no idea what YL is or don’t give a rat’s, haven’t a clue what to do with such over-the-top adoration.
As a relative “outsider,” at the beginning of this gig, I had a love/hate relationship with YL for quite a while. It took me a few years and lots of tearful conversations with my husband before I too fell head over heels in love with this ministry. Young Life has been our vocation for the past 21 years — but now we are feeling the winds of change and we are about to embark on a new adventure.
Generally speaking, I’m not a sentimental person. I might tear up during a particularly moving human interest story on America’s Got Talent or at the end of a movie like say The Notebook. (I mean, who doesn’t??) But by and large, I’m a pretty no-nonsense kind of girl. I don’t usually daydream about yesteryear or the glory days. If anything, I’m more apt to look too far into the future than reminisce about the past. So, when I volunteered to host my dad’s retirement party honoring his 45 years of family practice, my mind went blank. I didn’t really know how to make this family potluck more special than any other.
Yes, I’m meant to play my part. The problem comes when I try to play all the parts. Even and especially parts that aren’t mine to play. Lone ranger style. So what’s a well-meaning girl to do? Two-words: Portion Size.