The face behind the mask

There he stood in front of us, staff and students alike, and shared his journal from the previous week. It was more than just a glimpse behind the mask; the war mask was gone completely and he stood there as the man God had created him to be, though still a boy growing into the tailor-made clothes and title. His calm, confidence and eloquence of words were nothing new. But the words out of his mouth were drastically different.

A little more than a year ago I heard a strong-willed, intelligent and bitter teen go on and on about why anarchy was the best "form" of government and the non-existence of a god. He bragged about the games he played with previous counselors and his confiscated personal journal was impressive in the amount of anger and bitterness it contained. He was intimidating to a brand new counselor who had been "warned" of his ways.

Yet I did get a glimpse behind his mask during the final weeks of the summer as he faced his emotions and tears found their ways to his eyes. I will never forget that counseling session.

But the seed that was planted by one was watered by another as God made it grow. And grow it did until that week when it broke through the ground and budded. There he stood in front of us and shared of demons and internal dragons, of crying out for help from those who promise it and the rage that grew when it was not delivered, of finding wings to soar and once binding chains now broken from the wall ad used for clearing a path.

"There is only one path before, yet I act as though it forked. One day it will be clear, or so I hope. Many see the spirit within, if only I could too...The day will come when I will awake within myself and be set free. Sooner than later...Insanity is often described as trying the same thing expecting different results. I would have to say it is knowing the right path, but not taking it."

I was one who could see the spirit within. I knew beyond doubt that God would get this kid and use him for great things. I let him know I was praying for him and encouraged honesty when he talked about God with me. I just had no idea when.

Earlier that evening he had told me randomly that I would enjoy what he was sharing later in the service, but he wouldn't tell me what it was as he printed it off. I changed subjects, or so I thought, and asked how his faith was.
"Good," he said plainly.
"Let me rephrase- describe your faith," I tried again.
"It's there," he responded, as simply as the first time; so simple that I knew it was true. But how much faith? And in what exactly?
"What is your faith in?"
He looked at me and smiled a bit: "My Father."

I don't think I really believed him at first. I knew what he meant, but...could it really be?! My disbelief slowly faded and was replaced by excitement I tried to control. He was so calm and matter-of-fact, as if it was normal. But it was a big deal and yet...normal...expected...right.

There he stood in front of us, telling us in his own way that he had given up fighting and hiding and accepted the love of his Father. I sat listening calmly, but filled with the excitement that comes with seeing a great promise fulfilled. The seed that was planted by his family and watered by constant letters from friends from his youth group and staff who were patient with him had slowly been growing by God's power. Now seeing the fruit, there was nothing I wanted to do more than praise my Father for what He had done and allowing me to be there when it happened.

My God is so BIG so strong and so mighty, there's nothing my God cannot do!