Mr. Bossy and the Rainbow Church Rocks

There are two kinds of youth ministers: the organized ones, and the ones who buy hundreds of dollars’ worth of PVC pipe because they suddenly have an idea. I was definitely the second kind.

If a game could be bigger, I wanted it bigger. If a fundraiser could become an experience, I wanted our students to remember it forever. My monthly budget was modest, but my imagination had never heard the word modest.

Thankfully, I had my husband, Tim, to keep one foot planted firmly in reality. Somewhere along the way, our students started calling him “Mr. Bossy.” The funny thing is, no one ever said it with an eye roll. They always said it with a grin.

Tim spent all my youth ministry years serving right beside me, hauling supplies, building games, driving trailers, and somehow making my biggest ideas actually happen. Later, he even earned his commercial driver’s license so he could drive the church bus on our youth trips, sometimes hundreds of miles away. That was usually when the real Mr. Bossy came out, but that is a story for another day.

He was practical. I was forever asking, “Wouldn’t it be fun if…” Tim usually responded with a look that silently calculated how much my latest inspiration was going to cost.

The only problem with my big ideas was that they rarely ended when the event was over. One year it was hundreds of dollars’ worth of PVC pipe for games. Another year it was decorations, props, or some elaborate creation I was absolutely certain we would use again. The students went home, the lights were turned off, and there I stood staring at piles of “treasures” that suddenly needed a permanent home.

Of course, I never could have pulled any of it off alone. That is where God gave me two of the greatest gifts of my ministry.

Jeananne, our Children’s Minister, and Danna, our Wesley Nurse, started out as coworkers, but somewhere between late-night decorating sessions, impossible deadlines, and countless youth events, they became my sisters. To this day, they still are.

I honestly do not remember either of them ever asking, “Pam, what were you thinking?” Instead, they simply showed up. One would grab a ladder while the other untangled extension cords. They carried tables, hung lights, solved problems I had not even realized I had created, and laughed right alongside me when another one of my “simple ideas” became anything but simple.

One summer, our youth group worked incredibly hard to raise enough money for a mission trip. I promised them that if they reached their goal, we would celebrate with the biggest color powder fight our church had ever seen. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable idea at the time.

For about thirty glorious seconds, it was.

Clouds of pink, blue, yellow, and green filled the air while the students laughed until they could barely breathe. Then the Texas wind decided it wanted to participate too. Within minutes, our beautiful white church landscaping looked as though a rainbow had exploded across it.

The fire department across the street generously brought over its giant hoses to spray everyone clean. Unfortunately, colorful powder and water have a way of becoming something much closer to paint.

The students thought it was the greatest day ever. The church rocks looked like modern art for the next several months.

Tim gave me the look.

The pastors...well...let’s just say I became very familiar with explaining my ideas after the fact. Between the ever-growing collection of PVC pipe, props, and decorations that somehow needed permanent homes, let’s just say the pastors became very familiar with my need for another storage closet.

More than once, I became convinced there had to be a verse somewhere that read, “Blessed are the creative...for they shall eventually explain themselves to the pastors.”

I searched.

It was not there...

I even looked for one that said, “It is easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.” That one was missing too.

Apparently, God intended for me to learn both lessons the hard way.

Looking back now, I do not remember how long it took to clean those rocks, and I certainly do not remember how tired we all were. What I remember are the faces: teenagers laughing together, celebrating something they had worked hard to accomplish, and feeling as though church was a place where they belonged.

People often think youth ministry is about teaching teenagers, and of course it is. But it is also about creating a place where they feel safe enough to grow, ask questions, make mistakes, and discover who God created them to be.

The games were never really about the games. The fundraisers were never really about the money. Even the rainbow-colored church rocks were never really about the mess.

They were about belonging.

Years later, I doubt many of those students remember the lesson I taught the week before the powder paint celebration. But I hope they remember how they felt;

loved, welcomed, and safe.

Sometimes, that is the lesson that lasts the longest.

A Note from PJ

After many years in youth ministry, I believe it gave me enough stories to fill a book. There were runaway donkeys, pumpkin patches, Christmas pageants, senior banquets, long bus rides, and plenty more adventures with “Mr. Bossy” that still make me smile.

I have decided to save many of those memories for the seasons they belong in, so don’t be surprised if another one finds its way into your inbox around the holidays. Every story carries a memory, and every memory eventually revealed a lesson I could not always see at the time.

If this story brought back a memory of your own, I would love to hear it in the comments!

And if you would like to explore the deeper reflections behind these stories, I invite you to join me at newsletter.delaythebinge.com. That is where I share my Behind the Mic articles, connecting these memories to the podcast conversations, life lessons, and remarkable people who continue to shape my journey.

Until next time...

— PJ Hamilton