I sat in the orientation for my son’s new school last spring and had to giggle.  The school is for all of the fourth and fifth graders in our town, and the principal was telling the parents that the kids are encouraged to start their own clubs.  The clubs must be inclusive – anyone who wants to may join any club – but the clubs are started by students and announced by the founding students every Monday morning at the whole school meeting in the gym.

My son was made for this.  He’s an organizer.  I consider it my job, as his mother, to encourage him to not just organize his friends, but to learn how to simply hang out with them.  So sitting in the orientation, I knew that Cam was going to love the idea of starting a club.  And I knew which club he was going to start.  I could see him standing in front of the entire school and announcing the formation of his model railroading club.  A pit formed in my stomach as I imagined the deafening silence that might greet him and his grand plan.

I decided not to tell him about the clubs.  I figured I’d let him discover that very cool feature about the school himself when he got there.  So I wasn’t surprised when he came bounding off the bus announcing with great excitement, “We get to start our own clubs!  And I know just what club I’m going to start.”

“Drum roll, please…,” I thought, as I waited for the big railroading announcement.  I didn’t expect and wasn’t prepared for what actually came out of his mouth.

“A Bible Study!”

“A what?”

I could lie to you and say that I was thrilled. That wasn’t my first emotion. I was shocked. Stunned. Terrified.

If I thought that his announcing a model railroading club in front of a gym full of 300 fourth and fifth graders was going to be bad, announcing his Bible study club seemed akin to social suicide.

I couldn’t help my first response, but I wasn’t proud of it, either.  I knew immediately that I had some internal grappling of my own to do. When I found a quiet moment to think and pray over my response to something that should have brought me joy, I found God to be ever so gracious.  Here’s what He placed on my heart:

First, I realized that God was letting me know that He had heard my prayers and was graciously answering them.  I had been praying that my children, even at the tender ages of 10 and 8, would start to truly own their faith and that somehow God would show me tangibly, and in a way that was totally separate and apart from me, that this process was beginning.  My son’s decision to start a Bible study club at school was certainly an exclamation point on the end of that one.

Second, I realized that my fear wasn’t so much about whether his actions would make him popular or not, but rather stemmed from his naiveté about how the world works.  He already knew that not everybody shares his faith.  I was quite sure, however, that he didn’t know that the world would at times be outwardly hostile towards his faith.  So I told him.  I sat by his bed one night and told him how proud I was of his desire to share his faith with his friends.  And I told him the kind of response that he could expect from not all, but certainly some, of the kids hearing his announcement in the Monday morning meeting.  Once his expectations were rooted in reality, my heart was free to sing when he boldly proclaimed, “I know what you’re trying to tell me, Mom, and I don’t care.  I’m going to do it anyway.”

Third, I realized that God was placing my son in a new position requiring me to keep him constantly covered in prayer.

And finally, I realized that for parents who have an innate desire to protect their children, there is an uncomfortable connection between Deuteronomy 6:5-9 and Luke 6:22.  If we obey the decree in Deuteronomy, and pass our faith on to our children, we are setting our children on a collision course with the realities that Jesus lays out in Luke 6:22.  We are preparing our children to be hated, insulted, and rejected.  How do you feel about that? I feel a little queasy.

The challenge for me, over the few weeks when Cameron was barreling through the process to start his club, was to grapple with how I felt about that collision.  I wanted to arrive at a place where I would no longer fear those realities, but instead, prayerfully prepare my children to face them, knowing that the promise of blessing also present in Luke 6:22-23 is worth it.

As it turned out, after a few weeks of all this churning, the Bible study never happened after all.  Although Cam was able to find a faculty sponsor, the principal didn’t approve the club.  But through the process, he revealed his plan (and his faith) to his friends and he certainly talked about it all with the principal.  His little light was certainly on display for the faculty and his peers to see.  I’m so proud of him.

Cam did start a club. There was no way that he wasn’t going to start something. So he started a trumpet club.  That club was so successful that he eventually expanded it into a band club.

As for the “never-started-and-already-defunct” Bible study club…I wonder if God used that fourth grade experience to grow me to a point where I can joyfully accept and support whatever path God has planned for my sweet boy to walk, wherever it goes, and with whatever it collides.