The Distillery Church

Little Sam…

I recently read a blog post created by someone who I met at a conference a few weeks ago that sparked my memory about something pretty significant that I may have missed.  You know how when you are close to a situation it is easy to be blind to what is really going on.

My story is about a girl named Samantha* who hung out at my youth group when I was the youth pastor.  As a youth pastor I always tried to prepare a special message each week for the kids in my care.  I preached as if I had a room full of serious minded adults looking for an ounce of truth and compassion.  I preached about things that were important to me.  Ultimately, my goal was to lead some of those kids to a decision for Christ.

Each week I tried to crawl into their minds and truly teach on a subject that might be near and dear to their heart and occasionally I would scratch the surface of emotions and then be there to observe all of the cool stuff that God normally does in those types of situations.

Well, like I said Sam was a regular at Youth Group.  She came almost weekly and would disappear once in awhile for a few weeks only to reappear with a new story about where she had been lately.  Sam was a known heroine user and had led a life of certain instability.  She was this pretty petite girl that could easily be missed if you didn’t know better.

I remember wondering why it was she came to Youth since she was actually 19 years old and a High School graduate.  I many times consulted other adult helpers about Sam to make sure it was a good idea to let her participate with us since she was not a leader, nor did she have any other reason to be there, and sometimes could come off as sort of a bad influence to the middle schoolers and high schoolers in the group.

My training told me to politely ask her to stop coming and to attend the adult services offered by the church, but there was something intriguing about the way Sam listened to my messages.  Not like the kids at all, she would sit and watch and listen truly digesting all that was said.

One night I preached on rejection and told my story of being rejected by a girl I knew as a teen.  I described in detail how it felt to be excluded, unloved and ignored.  Afterwards I asked people to come up for prayer and Sam came up with eyes full of tears.

She spoke of the rejection she had felt by a man in her life and told me that what I said was meaningful to her and that she wanted prayer.  I did what I felt was right.  I prayed for her and tried to console her.  She was really a mess.  There were so many things going on with her I didn’t feel like I could properly devote the kind of attention and time she deserved as a Youth Pastor with responsibilities towards the youth.

A few other times she came up for prayer and she spent some extensive time in counseling with her old youth pastor before I didn’t see her again for months.  Then on a Sunday, I happened to see her at the service.  It was kind of shocking to see her since it had been so long.  She was smaller somehow, thinner.  She got my attention asking how things were going and how I was doing.

We had another conversation where she proceeded to tell me the reason she doesn’t come around anymore is because she is working at a bar and does not get off work until after 4 in the morning.  I wanted to ask her so many questions then like “what kind if bar?”  “Why so late?”  “Are you stripping?”  “Are you still doing drugs?”  But instead I smiled at her and told her to try and make the Sunday service more.  I also invited her to my  home group.

There was a barrier there that I could not cross.  I did not know why at the time.  But, I realized that if I was to ask her those sorts of questions, then I should be ready for the answers.  I could not just walk away then.  I would be bound to the relationship by what I knew.  And for whatever reason I felt that I just could not be bothered with it.  I believed that Sam had other friends to talk to like her old youth pastor.  I believed that someone would be able to help her, but that was not going to be me.  I believed that we had plenty of time to help Sam.

Two weeks later, I heard that Sam tried to take her own life.  She swallowed a bunch of pills and was in the hospital.  I knew then that I needed to get involved.  I knew that she needed help and I felt that God wanted me to stick my neck out for her, like she was my own daughter.

However, because I never dealt with mental hospitals before that point I was unsure of how to go about visiting Sam.  I called a few times for her and she would not accept my phone calls.  I asked about visitation and kept getting put off by the care providers at the mental hospital.

After several calls, I finally got through to the head nurse of the place where Sam was at only to be told that Sam did not want to talk to me or see me or anyone else for that matter.  Then the nurse said that Sam was much better and would be released soon and that I could catch up to her then.

On the evening that Sam was released, she took her own life in her Daddy’s front yard with a shotgun this time.  I never got a chance to talk to her.  I never got a chance to apologize for being so preoccupied with my own life to care about hers.  I never got a chance to tell her I loved her like a daughter and that I could take care of her if she needed that.

I remember going to her funeral, the whole time thinking that she was going to get up and this would all just be a cruel joke.  She looked like she was just sleeping there.  I don’t remember a thing her pastor said about her, but I remember thinking that he didn’t really know her the way I had gotten to just recently.

I remember thinking that all of this is going by way too fast.  She had just died a few days ago and we were already putting her in the ground to be forgotten about.

The last thing I remember saying to her was, “well make sure and go to the Sunday morning services then, I understand having to work.”  I remember being relieved that she was not going to be around the youth much anymore.

When I look back now, I realize that I was more focused on preaching a good sermon with plenty of evangelistic results then I was about this poor girl that came to my sermons hoping to be changed, and not finding what she needed.  Instead she found a guy that was just like all of the other preachers and pastors she had encountered.  A lot of talk, and so little love.

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*  Samantha is not her real name. �