Through my adolescent years, various churches with bus ministries would come by on Saturdays and try to get me to ride. Sometimes my mother would make me try it at least once. Other times she left it up to me to decide. I always decided no.
One particular experience I recall vividly was to a church that had separate classes for their bus riders and the children of the drive in families. At first that may sound discriminatory, but it is actually in the best interest of both groups as I learned first hand.
Somehow, I got shuffled into the wrong line and sent to a class made up entirely of “church kids”. Since class was starting and the class I should have been in was so far away, the teacher welcomed me and told me I could stay with him for the day. We were in a classroom decorated just like a school with a blackboard, globe and individual desks. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was a classroom for use in their Christian day school.
I found myself in a desk square in the middle of all the others. Every boy in the class was wearing dress pants, button down shirt and a tie. Their hair was cut cleanly over the ears and off the collar. When they spoke to the teacher, they used “sir” to end the sentence.
I felt out of place. I was in blue jeans, t shirt and tennis shoes. My hair wasn’t long, but shaggy enough to be different. He asked me a question and instead of “yes, sir”, I let out a “yeah”. He smiled and thanked me for coming to class. I had hoped he enjoyed my being there because it would be the one and only time he would see me.
Any resistance to the people or the programs of the churches trying to include me was brought on solely by my own fears. No one ever made me feel unwanted or unwelcome. Quite the opposite. I was pushing back hard.
But no matter how hard I resisted, God continued to send people my way.
Joel Stiff's Adventure 