Punk it Up

I have a video of a bunch of kids in a circle, dancing around in a teal-walled room to a single guitar. You might not understand them, because they certainly aren’t singing English and I’m assuming you who shall read this are mostly English-speakers, since that’s what this blog is written in and all.

But I digress…

If you looked closely, you’d see a 5 ft 4″ girl in plaid and a ponytail wrestling with a grubby boy in red. They are always 2 seconds behind in the actions and sometimes just make up their own.

That would be me and Punk.

Unfortunately, I have a fear of Youtube and am too cheap too spend money on a blog, so I can’t upload the video. You’ll have to actually use your imagination.

I know, tough life…

However! As you reach for that dust ol’ thing in the back of you brain and try to dust it off and remember how to work this imagination thing, I’ll have mercy and tell you this:

Do not panic. I have pictures.

Yeah. I know. That was a close one.

You might have had to like, only read or something.

And of course, his face is hidden. The punk.

Oh hey! There’s a girl in plaid and a boy in red! Actually, 2 boys in red. The Punk’s the one on the right.

(Showing off his good side again.)

I guess you know his name is not actually punk. You might think I’m doing it to protect his identity and all, after all this is the internet (enter ominous music here) …but no.

I call him Punk because that’s who he is to me. Plus I can’t remember his name and can’t pronounce it if I could.
I know, I’m a horrible person.

Punk is the kid who talks too loud, kicks the girls, and will not – I repeat NOT sit still even during action songs. He has to run across the room to crash into other kids or behind tables or fight to grab a leaders’ hand away from some other basking child.

Hence “Punk.”  Adele said that’s what she called him in her head too, and we didn’t even compare notes.


Anyhow, today is Saturday. Saturdays are spent at the kids club, corralling children and acting as hug dispensers.

Except not this Saturday.

This Saturday and maybe a few more I won’t be holding the Punk in a death grip during song time or scheming with him in What Time is it Mr. Wolf because I’m back at the foster home for a while.

I kind of missed that kid today.

Translation: I totally did.


Sometimes I wonder about this kid.

I wonder how he does in school and if he sits still in school or if he hates it. I wonder if he has parents who love him and how many siblings he has. What he’s going to be when he grows up.

Sometimes I wonder how much the boys actually pay attention and if it’s even worth trying to keep them from kicking each other.

I wonder how many kids they’re taking down with them in their distractive ways during the lesson.

I wonder how often they use the water they have to haul to wash their faces and hands.


But then I remember praying for this club before I even left Canada.
I remember praying that God would send boys to the club, and I look at them and grin and thank God that he did.

I remember praying that God would provide men to be examples in the churches and homes.
I prayed for hope and freedom; for families, but especially the men.

And now when I look at the faces like these, I see more than a grubby lil’ punk.

I see a little boy who will one day be a man. I see a person made in the image of God, who has some pretty great plans for each one of his kids. I’m pretty excited about that.

And I watch him and figure that as long as I’m praying for boys, I don’t mind if God keeps sending them,

even if they are little punks sometimes.

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