So, for the third year and counting (I assume), my alarm peeled forth in the early morning hours (3:30AM to be exact); dragging me out of my slumber (not necessarily a good slumber, but a slumber nonetheless). Why would one (especially when this "one" is almost 35 years old and certainly no "Spring Chicken" anymore) subject themselves to such torture? Three words. The. Rose. Parade.
Now, I confess myself wholly ignorant when it comes to the whole "parade" thing. I've never been able to understand why some people think that parades are the height of, well, everything. I mean, I can understand the whole "culture" thing and the beauty of it all, but really? Watching floats go by? Once upon a time, I may have thought that the height of parades started and ended in my boyhood home of Dothan, Alabama, where our National Peanut Festival parade took place. I remember fearing the freaking Shriners would run into me every year on those little go-karts they tore around on. That's probably where it started. But then as I got older, I came to realize that people really did like parades and that there were bigger ones out there than the little podunk one I always thought of as a parade. Two of the biggest ones, I've now learned are, of course, the Macy's Day Thanksgiving Parade (New York City) and the Rose Parade (Pasadena, CA.). It's quite possible that one day I will see the Macy's one and have an epiphany that will forever change my view on parades, but I highly doubt it.
Let's be frank here, if there was going to be a parade that would do that, it would the Rose Parade. I'm not a complete goober. The floats are beautiful. They are imaginative (I especially liked the 'Rose Bowl' float yesterday celebrating an Alabama victory over Washington once upon a time, and by God Jackie Chan looked right at me and waved and gave me a thumbs up (it was solely for me, I KNOW IT!)), but I just would never have envisioned myself going at all had something not changed in my life. I certainly would never have been one of those people who begins camping out on the sidewalk at noon on the day before, to sleep on the cold hard ground all night to see the parade. And let's go one better; $53 for a grandstand seat? As if! So what changed?
My relationship with God changed. Do what? How on earth did my relationship with God changing lead me to this place? Two words. The. Teenagers.
A few years ago, around the time I decided to return to school and finish my bachelor's degree and go to seminary, I began to pray about what God would have me do with myself. There really was little doubt in my mind that I would take my degree and be a preacher with it. It really was an act of Him that came next. While out with with friends at dinner one night, I became concerned upon hearing that their son was considering not going to our state's annual youth conference that December. So I said I would go chaperone, because it just seemed a bad idea for kids not to take their opportunities for things like this (knowing how much my own youth conferences meant to me). So I went. Long story short, something seemingly so simple (M asking C to "come hang out with us" as opposed to staying in my room while the youth went out and enjoyed themselves) has become life-changing. It set me on a path that has squarely placed me in my church's youth ministry.
So, why do I do it? Why the torture of both cold morning drives to Pasadena and boring old floats? Four words. I. Love. These. Kids. And that makes it all one of the best experiences of my year, each and every year.
PS. And it really doesn't hurt that they think I'm comedy gold, either.
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