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Believe it or not, I used to be a Youth Group Coordinator at The First Congregational Church of Coventry, CT. I held the position for ten years. My wife Mary Ellen preceded me in that position, and then continued in it with me until we both got fed up with the church politics and resigned.
As you can imagine, we were not your typical youth group leaders, and, even though the kids loved us and the size of the group grew exponentially under our leadership, the controlling powers in the church were always confronting us and reprimanding us for not following strict church doctrines. We wanted to do
more work among the poor in third world countries, and the church leaders were against it for some reason. (We took the kids on three mission trips to third world countries where we lived among the natives and helped them build schools.)
During that ten-year period, I met and loved a lot of kids. A few hundred, at least. But, out of all those wonderful kids, one stands out head and shoulders above the rest. Her name is Christine.
Christine lives in Florida now, and she is still very much a part of my life. She recently became a mother. She named the little girl Bailey. When Chris was in the youth group, Mary and I had a dog named Bailey. You can imagine the fun I had with that fact when Chris told me her daughter’s name!
Recently, I received an email from Chris telling me that she had written something about her father’s untimely death. (He passed away in 1999.) She asked me if I would read it and comment on it. I told her I would do so as long as she would let me write a blog post about her. She told me that she would be honored.
SSSSSSOOOOOOoooooooOOOOOOOO,
She was just a little thing. Couldn’t have weighed more than one hundred pounds soaking wet with long, brown, straight hair, brown eyes, a turned up little nose, and a huge smile that would split her face in half.
She was quiet and unassuming. And, though she didn’t say much, she was attentive and intelligent, and, like most of the kids in the group, she took my kidding well. The first thing that set her apart from the others was, after a while, she started giving the kidding back to me.
She was fun. She was special. She and I formed a tight bond almost from the very beginning.
In the beginning, I didn’t know that she had a rough home life. I wasn’t aware of that until much later on. Her mother was a sweetheart, but her dad was an alcoholic. He was a very nice, good looking, intelligent guy with a great sense of humor who loved her tremendously, and she loved him back, but he was an alcoholic all the same.
Christine’s parents were divorced, and, even though she hid it under her winning personality and radiant smile, that fact hurt her and saddened her.
When her father moved to Florida, it broke her heart. And she lived for the times when he would come north or she would go south, and they could see each other again for a little while.
I would watch her in the group. She was always reserved and smiling. Always. I remember thinking as I observed her, still waters run deep.
In group discussions, she never said much unless she was forced to with a direct question. But, even though she was so quiet, she was always part of the group, and she always contributed in so many different ways. She was particularly good when working in small groups. In her small group, she would take on a leadership role.
Her topic of discussion more often than not centered around her relationship with her family, and particularly with her dad.
There came a point where she became comfortable with the big group. When that happened, her humor started coming out. She and I would trade good-natured barbs, and it would tickle me right down to my bones. Many times, I’d pretend to be disgusted or angry with her, and I’d give it away by bursting out in laughter. Even though we said some pretty sarcastic things to each other, we both knew that it was all in fun, (even a sign of affection) and, at first, it was the foundation of our special relationship.
She was special.
One evening around the end of December in 1999, Mary Ellen and I were sitting at home. The phone rang. It was Christine’s mother. Christine’s father had just committed suicide in FL. Could they come over?
I remember Christine sitting next to me on our couch. Her mother was sitting in a chair close by. Mary was sitting on Chris’s other side. Chris was sobbing and hanging onto me, and my heart broke for this poor, sweet kid who had just lost her hero, her champion, her father.
I felt awkward. I didn’t know what to do or what to say. I just held her, let her cry, and told her that I loved her. I felt completely useless and totally helpless.
***
Christine eventually went to college in New York. Periodically, I would get an email from her in which she would update her life. She started dating a boy that she really liked. Eventually their relationship got serious, and they became engaged to be married.
I remember writing back to her and telling her how pleased I was that she was so happy!
Around Christmas time that year, I received a package in the mail. The return address told me it was from Chris. When I opened it, I found a framed plaque with a picture of little girl wearing a white dress and a straw hat festooned with flowers. The girl was standing in tall grass by the seaside, looking out over the waters at a crimson sunset. The words under the picture said, "PRIORITIES. A hundred years from now it will not matter what my bank account was, the sort of house I lived in, or the kind of car I drove…but the world may be different because I was important in the life of a child."
***
Then one day, Chris called. She was in town visiting her mother, and she wanted to come over and visit Mary and me.
When she walked into the house, she sat down on the couch. Mary sat next to her. I sat in the chair across the way.
Mary and I could see that Christine had something on her mind. Then, she told us that Michael and she had set the date for their wedding. We were jubliant for her!
In the midst of our celebrating and well-wishing, she stopped us. Her voice became very solemn as she said, "I have something very important to ask you, Jim."
Everything quieted down in the room. She continued with, "I have a favor to ask of you. You can say no if you want to. I’ll understand."
"I won’t say no," I said, not having a clue what was coming next, "What is it?"
She reached over and took my hand. She looked me in the eye and asked, "Would you dance the Father-Daughter dance with me at my wedding?"
I was dumbfounded, and, for one of the few times in my life, I was totally speechless. I had a lump in my throat about the size of Gilbraltar, and I could feel tears welling up on my eyelids. All I could do for a few seconds was just blink. It was like somebody had just smacked me in the head with a two-by-four. I was floored. I couldn’t believe what she had just asked.
"Yes," I replied hoarsely, trying to act non-challant, "I would be honored!" There was a pregnant pause for a moment. Then, she threw her arms around me, Mary came over, and the three of us stood there in the middle of the room, crying and laughing simultaneously.
***
I danced the dance with her. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. She beamed up at me with so much happiness coming out of those sparkling eyes. I was so proud of her!!!! So proud of the wonderful, beautiful woman that this quiet, little girl from the youth group had become!
The moment was magical.
***
I’d like to end this post with a couple of paragraphs from the article that Chris wrote and emailed to me the other day.
I don’t remember meeting Jim for the first time. But I’ll always remember him. Jim was my youth group leader in high school. He wasn’t your typical youth group leader though. I used to tell him that every time he swore, he owed me a Frappachino from Starbucks.
His wife, Mary Ellen, was the youth leader at our church for a long time. Her first husband passed away, and when she met Jim, he seemed to fit right in with the youth.
I don’t remember if our bond was instant, but it was strong. I wanted him to be my dad, or I wanted my dad to be him. When my dad was sober, they reminded me of each other.
Jim made me feel really special and really important. And what I liked most about him was that he was not afraid to tell me that he loved me. He told me all the time…then he’d tell me to "get the hell out of here!"
That was who he was. He was always joking, but he would get serious at all the right times.
I always felt like he liked me best.
He might have thrown a joke at first, but he said yes almost immediately when I asked him to dance the father-daughter dance with me at my wedding. He might have even shed a little tear, but he’d never admit it.
When Jim came through the receiving line at the end of my wedding, he told me that I looked like crap. Then he hugged me. As he hugged me, he whispered in my ear that I looked absolutely stunning.
I’ll always remember his words to me, and I hold them dear to my heart.
Jim and I danced the father-daughter dance to a song called "It's A Great Day To Be Alive." The song was pretty and upbeat. As the song started and we began to dance, my dress swayed side to side, and all eyes were on us. Halfway through, I thought that Jim might break down with something sentimental again, but instead he blurted out, "How long is this damned song?"
I laughed.
He just smiled and winked.
OH JIM! I LOVE YOU!
Amazing, isn’t it? You just never know how you are helping somebody out just by being who you are. She thinks I did so much for her, and she doesn't even realize the world of good that she has done for me!
Christine and I have a very special bond. I love her so much.
You just never know where love is going to grow, do you?
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By the way, when I have more time (yeah, right), I'll go back a read your posts on your spiritual journey.
What a beautiful story of love! 
