Remembering Kickball and Picking Teams

Remembering Kickball

I remember kickball from my elementary school days.  The boys from my school would spend the entirety of recess playing kickball.  The best I can recall, home plate was a tree stump, first base was a utility pole, second base was a circle drawn in the dirt, and third base was a fencepost.  We played every day, we argued like elementary-age boys do, and we never got tired of playing.

I also remember the process of picking sides.  Name after name would be called and kids would move toward their respective teams while the pool of players that I was sometimes a part of would dwindle down to just a few.  Even then, everyone eventually was chosen.  And even when I wasn't one of the first kids chosen, I was always eventually chosen. 

I remember that feeling of inclusion after the mounting tension of the team captains choosing their respective teams.  I vividly remember having my name called, whether early or late in the process of picking sides.  It didn't really matter when I was chosen; I was on a team!

"I was never picked."

These were the words of Stephen Ucembe, a pastor from Kenya who shared his tragic story at the Summit 9 orphan care conference in early May.  Pastor Ucembe was orphaned at age five and placed in a state-run orphanage.  The orphans there were not allowed to cry.  They weren't given opportunities to step outside the fenced-in confines of the institution, though sometimes they would climb the fences to get a peek at the world outside:  "Some thought that was the rest of the world."

Pastor Ucembe remembered that visitors from the outside, usually from the United States or Europe, would come to visit his orphanage in Kenya:  "Visitors picked the ones that were cute.  I was never picked."  Cast aside again.

Can you imagine what that felt like?  Perhaps you can.  Perhaps you grew up in a home where you were neglected.  Perhaps you attended school with kids who were so mean to you that you couldn't stand the thought of going back the next day.  Perhaps you can relate. 

I can't.  My last post about Mother's Day (updated earlier this morning) indicates that my childhood was nothing like Pastor Ucembe's.  Oh, I remember the kickball games and sometimes having to wait a looonnng time to hear my name called.  But it was always called.  I can't relate to Pastor Ucembe from my own personal experience.

Chosen

I know that from Psalm 139 that God knows every fiber of my being, that He knew me before I was even conceived.  I know that He knows my name, the number of hairs on my head, my every thought, my joys and my sorrows.  I know that He loves me.  But what does He want me to do with that?  How do I use my relationship with Abba Father ("Papa" / "Daddy") to reach others who may not know Him like that because no one has ever picked them?

Here's one simple way that you may have the opportunity to use:  Notice the children on the edges.  Whether in an orphanage or a classroom or a children's ministry or even within a family, look for the ones that tend to get left out or marginalized.  Maybe they're not as cute as some of the others.  Or as well-dressed or as athletic or as smart or as witty or as outspoken -- the list goes on and on.  Do a craft that makes much of their names (like this one that our team that recently went to Haiti did with the kids there).

You can choose to notice them.  You can make them feel special with high fives and fist bumps and hugs.  And by calling them by name.  Something glows on the inside of neglected children who are lovingly called by name.  In calling their names, you reflect a heavenly Father who values the marginalized children just as much as all the rest . . . and He knows their names.

See what changed Pastor Ucembe's life in Nugget #1 of "5 Nuggets and 5 Questions from Summit 9."

Thanks for reading and for making a difference on behalf of the Father to His children on the edges.

4theVoiceless,
Al