TIMES I KNEW THE LORD WAS WITH ME

A Series of Reflections on Ministry

A few summers ago I was working as a Youth Retreat Director at a beautiful Franciscan Retreat Center north of Toronto. I was asked to organize a summer day camp for a group of 8 kids, ages 7-12. We had about 8 children enrolled, and it was a nice group to work with—despite my first impression.

You see, one of the younger girls (we’ll call her Amy) had a serious case of Attention Deficit Disorder which made it challenging at times because she had a tendency to interrupt discussions, distracting the entire group. This was not a big deal however because most of our activities were sporty or rowdy anyways. But it did become a concern whenever we shifted gears into more contemplative exercises.

I remember one evening we did an overnight camp on the Retreat Centre grounds. We were setting up our campsite when I got an idea. The Retreat Centre had a new Labyrinth which was mowed into its tall grass. A Labyrinth is like a maze, mowed by a riding lawnmower into the tall grass, but without the problem-solving challenge of a maze. The idea is to prayerfully walk through it; its intricate pattern is there to help us to occupy the mind and relax the body, so it’s easier to become aware of the Spirit’s activity within us.

My idea was to take a small group of kids and walk the Labyrinth together. But because this was a contemplative exercise, I felt I had to be careful about who I invited—I could easily see it devolve into a game of tag, with kids shrieking and chasing each other through the intricate twists and turns.

So I discreetly motioned to 4 of the more well behaved kids to join me, hoping we would quietly slip away to the Labyrinth leaving the rowdier kids—especially Amy—behind.

But sure enough, before I had taken 2 steps I heard her voice… “Hey where you guys going? Can I come?” At that point I was on the spot and it was impossible to say no. “Sure Amy,” I said, “You can join us, but it’s important to be very calm with what we are going to do.” She enthusiastically nodded her head in agreement and we all marched towards the Labyrinth.

I have no illusions about working with kids, and I knew that asking for a time of silent reflection would be a lot. So I adjusted the exercise; we were to walk slowly into the Labyrinth, without talking to anybody else. It was a time to be alone with God. But I said, to keep God fresh in our minds, to remember why we are walking, we will stop every few minutes and say a prayer together—the Our Father—out loud.

So in we went. Walking through the intricate pattern mowed into the tall field grass. The pattern circled in on itself, twisting and turning us in all directions, all lines spiraling towards the center. The evening sun was beginning to hang low, casting a gentle golden light over us. A peaceful breeze blew in the stillness, punctuated by our little prayers.

And to my amazement, the kids were right into it. There was not a single giggle or chase or chatter. When we paused for prayer, everyone stopped, bowed their heads respectfully, and prayed aloud. I was delightfully shocked. We kept going, gingerly winding our way towards the centre. As the minutes rolled by, I had completely forgotten about my anxiety over Amy—in fact, where was she anyways?

That’s when I looked up.

There she was. Having made her way to the centre of the Labyrinth, Amy was now on her knees with her head cocked towards the sky. Her arms were outstretched and her hands were in a gesture of praise. She swayed her head left to right with her eyes tightly shut. She was saying ever so softly, “Thank you God, thank you Jesus. Thank you God, Thank you Jesus.”

Was this the same child I was trying to prevent joining us—the one I felt would most likely ruin it for the group? There wasn’t a single child there who wasn’t touched by Amy’s act of praise that day. And in that Labyrinth the Holy Spirit taught me a powerful lesson: never to give up on any of God’s children—especially those who have the greatest of challenges.