The Includer

I didn’t know him very well, and I didn’t know him for very long. Like so many of the others we have written about here, he welcomed everyone he met, awkward or otherwise, with loving arms.

Right after my freshman year of high school I went to a conference with other students my age. I had siblings who had gone to this conference before and I really wanted to go, even if my youth group wasn’t. My youth pastor arranged for me to go with another group of people that I didn’t know and hadn’t heard of. I showed up, shy and quiet, wondering where my place was in the midst of this small, quirky, intimate group of people.

We met at his house. Along with his wife, he lead this small pack of unwieldy teenagers. He was a big guy, like a football player. He was one of those people who made you feel welcome as soon as he greeted you. He was kind, and he had a cheerful smile. After exchanging hellos and meeting everyone, we all climbed into an old rickety church van and off we were to Chicago.

Throughout the week I got to talk with him here and there. He had a big heart for people, just wanting to make sure everyone felt included and loved. He wanted everyone to know they had a friend in him whom they could go to if they were hurting. And we were all hurting. Some more than others, and some in more serious ways than others. As high schoolers, there was a level of angst and pain we all felt just naturally, but some went deeper than just that.

My moment came toward the end of the week. I was alone at this conference and I didn’t know anyone other than the new friends I made over the week, so I assumed my friends back home would write me— the way I assumed people do when a friend goes to camp or, in my case, to a conference. Near the end of the week, no letters had come, no notes from home, and I felt sad and maybe a little forgotten. The dramatic part of me felt alone in the world.

I checked the mail the last day there — and there was a torn purple sheet of paper that had my name written on it. I opened it up and inside were written really nice words from my new friend. Just as he had made everyone else feel valued and loved, he made me feel valued and loved just in one small act of kindness. Two things that make all the difference in the life of a high school student.

The best part is this: if I had gotten other letters that week, they probably would have just amassed in my little box of old letters without any remarkable difference from one another. This one though, it stands out and I think of it from time to time. I know that even though I haven’t talked with him in ages, I still have this one piece of paper that reminds me of the week I had a big brother who was looking out for me while I was a lonely teenager.