Want to build community? Start laughing.
I try to always be pretty open and honest with our teenagers at Northwest. It gets me in trouble sometimes.
Like the time in 2018 when I decided to tell them my deepest fear: frogs. It was a mistake. You make a lot of those when you’re 24 in your first big job, and that’s especially true when you’re working with teenagers. But, looking back, it should’ve been obvious that you don’t give 8th and 9th graders such lethal information, and especially not at the end of May only 3 weeks before the start of summer camp, which happens to be when I so wisely chose to disclose this fear. It was a mistake.
As I’ve gotten older and as my body begins to slowly deteriorate (dramatic for a 28-year-old, I know), I’ve begun to understand many of the “old” men from my childhood. You know those beloved uncles and random friends of your dad who come over for a backyard barbeque and relive the glory days while standing around the grill? Stories of state championship winning plays on the football field, some achievement from college, or the inevitable regret-filled reflection that usually goes like, “I never should have sold the old ’65 Shelby Cobra. It’d be worth a million these days.”
I used to make fun of those guys. Those stories tended to get a small eye roll from me, even if I did look up to those men. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve at least started to understand where that comes from a bit. I’ve absolutely become the guy that tells old stories about when I was young and in my prime. And one of those “glory day” stories comes from when I was 19 and I outran a top-tier college cross-country runner.
If you know me now, I’m sure you don’t believe me. If you knew me back then, I’m really sure you don’t believe me. But it’s true! On a camping trip with some friends from college, I decided to cook for the group. Unbeknownst to me, my roommate and best friend had just betrayed my trust and told the rest of the group about my greatest fear. Frogs. And, like any group of college freshman, they knew the opportunity for a prank was ripe.
Matt, a good friend, was a cross country runner. He was a state championship contender in his high school days and ran for Harding at the time we were there. He volunteered for the job. Garrett, the aforementioned best friend and betrayer, was a country boy from Texas. So, the stage was set. Garrett went by the creek and found a fat bullfrog and gave it to Matt. Matt came up behind me while I was cooking and attempted to put the frog in the hood of my sweatshirt. Feeling his hand touch me, I did a 180 turn and saw the frog staring deep in my eyes.
I smacked at it and Matt with a hot iron skillet and took off. The only path ahead of me was uphill. I turned back briefly to check my surroundings and Matt was coming down on me like a hammer on a nail. So I hit the afterburners, and we hit that hill doing about 75mph. I know Matt wasn’t holding back because in his effort to catch me, he was straining so hard that he choked the frog to death. Ultimately, I made it to the top of the hill before Matt, took a sharp right turn and hid in a bush, and Matt lost me.
I was so scared of that frog. Seriously, it was remarkable. I had no doubt after that moment that my out of shape blob of a body could have confidently walked on to the University track team and been a star, so long as someone could chase me with a frog at the meets.
So anyways, I hate pranks, and I hate frogs. And now that you know my fear of them is so great that I can accomplish super human feats to avoid them, you must be asking yourself: why on EARTH did you tell the youth group the truth about your fear just a few short weeks before you were locked away with them for 7 days in the land of 1,000 frogs also known as Central Florida Bible Camp? Like I said, I make mistakes.
Camp 2018 came and went and yes, the teens pranked me with frogs. I was prepared for it and I think I handled it well. But I noticed some similarities between when the teens prank me and when my college friends used to prank me, and I’d say the biggest one is how everybody ends up laughing until they can’t breathe. It’s truly funny to see a grown man run from a frog, I get it.
But those laughs don’t just stay laughs. They turn into stories. By college buddies and I don’t remember tons about that camping trip other than some of the sights and a few fun adventures, but all of us remember the frog story, and we can’t help but crack up when we tell it. And the same is true for the teens who went to camp in 2018. A few of them might remember the theme, and most of them probably couldn’t remember more than one lesson or devotional (if that), but the ones who were there when I screamed like a child and cried at a very small frog will never forget the gut-cramping laughter that followed.
They’ll remember other things from that summer too as they get older. They’ll remember lots of things about youth group after they graduate and move on with their lives. But few stories will remain as crystal clear in their minds as the stories of the times they couldn’t help but laugh. They’ll remember the funny camp moments, but also the silly things that happen at the building, or the crazy thing that happened at one Tuesday Night Hangout, or the hilarious joke that had the room cracking up at SonQuest, you name it. And it’s not just because those moments were funny. It’s because a community that laughs together usually stays together. A group of people who choose to experience joy with each other usually like to keep being around each other. Laughter and joy are a pillar of community. They have the power to tear down things that divide us, encourage us to share parts of our lives we don’t always get to share, and help us to be vulnerable around others. When you laugh with someone, you’re far more likely to feel comfortable around them. And when you’re comfortable with another person, you can begin to share your life with them, and that’s where community happens.
So, yes, I try to always be open and real with our teenagers, and it gets me in trouble sometimes. But if it makes them laugh, it’s worth it, because that’s where the good stuff starts.
Casey Stringer
