Large and In Charge

It's not exactly a bustling night, but it's cold out so we've got a pretty good crowd running around the the building. Two volunteers are bringing out ground beef and taco shells, and another is trying to keep the swearing to a minimum (a study in futility, that. we're as guilty as they are.) There are a few expectant glances my direction as the kids shuffle into a line, ready to pray and eat. Glenn - ostensibly, my head of security, motions that it's showtime. I've never really done this before.

"Alright," I shout through my strep throat, jumping onto a chair so that the whole room can see me. "Can I have everyone's attention please?!" The kids all shush each other in unison, except for Andre who screams "bitch!" right as the rest of the talking dies.

"LANGUAGE!" bellows Glenn. There are no words for how big Glenn is. Inevitably, the first time you meet him, you'll be struck dumb by either his massive girth; the second time, you'll realize that he's neck-craning tall too. He's the sort of guy you want for security, so long as you can keep him to task.

"Where's Dave?!" one of the kids calls.

"This will just take a minute!" I crack. "As most of you know, Dave and Amy won't be here anymore, so now I'll be the only one in charge from now on."

"Why did Dave have to leave?!" someone shouts. There are a few murmurs of assent and I know that the answer to that question is complicated.

"It had nothing to do with any of you," I answer, truthfully enough. "Anyway, nothing around here is really going to change. Just remember, I want this place to be safe for everyone who comes in. That means, whatever's happening on the streets - leave it on the streets."

"I miss Dave!"

"If something has to be settled, take it outside the building. There won't be any fighting here."

Glenn mutters to me, trying to remind me to say something - but I'm on a roll and the kids are getting restless. The ground beef is cooling and Laura, the cook - bless her heart - is covering the food anxiously.

"So, tonight we have tacos and rice for you, also soda and coffee. I think we have enough for secoooonds..." I draw that out as I look questioningly at Laura who shrugs her shoulders. "We might have enough for seconds. I'll pray and then we can eat."

There is another chorus of "shhh!"'s as kids slip off caps and clasp hands. It's strange, to see a group of kids so steeped in keeping it real still feeling obligated to give prayer its due. It now, as it has before, leaves me a little unsure of what exactly to pray. How does one pray for this group?

"Father, thank you for bringing us all here and thanks for this food." I sound like a five-year-old at a church potluck, I know, and here's hoping that God can sift through what I say. "Look after our brains, Father - help us to join all our thoughts to you." - a line from a Sufjan song I've always liked - "and keep our bodies and souls safe." There are some mutters and a few giggles, and it's time to wrap this up. "Thanks, God - we love you so much. Amen."

"AMEN!" everyone chimes as the spell breaks and a sort of comfortable chaos settles in. Laura and Alora uncover pots and start dishing out food. Glenn glances over at me, and I almost have to stay on the chair to have a normal conversation with him.

"Pretty good for your first time," he says. I sense this is more a critique than a compliment, but this hide's thickened a bit over the past few months and it doesn't bother me much. "You shouldn't tell them to take it outside the building, though. They'll just fight in the parking lot - you should tell them to take it off church property."

"Thanks," I say. He's right, and sure enough, I'm chasing a scuffling couple off the parking lot and into the street later that night. I watch them fade down the street, winking in and out as their fight carries them from street light to street light. I stand in the cold, watching my breath puff out as Taylor, a spritely volunteer with luminous eyes and bouncing curls runs up behind me. Maja is acting up again, casting spells in the foyer. I walk back into the church and a familiar feeling takes over again, equal parts surrender and relief: A miniature prayer to God that is more felt than spoken, but runs something like, "all of me to help all of them."