Last Sunday, I was on the schedule to be a teacher’s aide at my church. What happened instead was the result of a misunderstanding on my end and letting Jesus take the wheel because of it.

That Saturday night, one of my church’s mainstay Sunday teachers, Molly, emailed me the curriculum packet for the week and sent me a text message, inquiring as to what parts of the program I wanted to take on. My typical duties can include making a snack, demonstrating an activity or preparing the necessary materials for a craft; educating is Molly’s forte.

Toward the front of the message, she wrote: “I just sent you the lesson for this week...,” and without reading any further, I got excited and hopped onto my computer, where the curriculum was waiting for me.

Seeing that the lesson was on Acts chapter 2, my excitement doubled, as Acts 2 is one of my favorite subjects. I picked three activities from the curriculum that involved the use of one’s voice.

For context, Acts chapter 2 accounts for the moment the Holy Spirit was given to humans, and thus, the beginning of the Church.

After Jesus departed, 120-plus people of various nationalities gathered during Pentecost, a Jewish holiday, to discuss His life, share their personal experiences, and trade sermon notes.

Right as the hors d’oeuvres came out, an intense wind blew in the shutters, and “flaming tongues as of fire” rested on each of them. Everyone began speaking in such a way that each person present could understand what was being said in their own native tongue.

You had to have been there, it was nuts.

For our lesson, the activities would include the use of ridiculous accents, party blowers with hidden words rolled up inside of them, and charades, because everyone loves charades.

I printed only the pages of the curriculum corresponding to the activities. Remember this detail; it will be relevant later.

The following morning, I had a hearty breakfast of coffee and dust particles and got myself to church. With me, my Acts 2 notes and 30% of a full curriculum packet.

I fellowshipped for a few minutes after the sermon, as one does, and headed down to the basement classroom with my materials. Tiny humans filed in at a steady pace.

Shortly before we were ready to start, Molly said something to me that made my two remaining brain cells shrivel up and die: “Let me know if you need me to jump in at any point.”

Our maintenance guy, Randy, is going to have to fix the crack my jaw left in the floor that day, because she was expecting me to actually teach the lesson.

When she replied: “It’s all you,” I read it as: “You have full control over the games, but I will continue to teach the lesson in keeping with the usual assignment of roles.”

The one time I feel as though I’m prepared for a Sunday with the kiddos, and this happens.

She probably took notice of the smoke billowing out of my ears, because she offered to take the reigns if I didn’t feel up to it.

But a spurt of confidence came over me that was most uncharacteristic. Every cell in my body wanted to step aside and let the professional take over, but when the Holy Spirit puts it on one’s heart to do a job, one does not have a choice in the matter.

There must be a God, because there’s no way I ever could have kept 20-some kids engaged and learning for a full 15 minutes. But I did.

Per the full curriculum (Molly lent me her phone), I began by teaching the children how to say “hello” in a few different languages. This would make sense to them later, but at the time, probably seemed irrelevant.

I went on to cover the beginning of the modern Church, the Holy Spirit being officially given to mankind in Acts 2:4, and the intimate relationship with God that all people can achieve because of that gift; no preist or fancy building required.

I followed the curriculum and injected some of my own ideas, along with two videos, a few memorization activities, and doing sound effects with my mouth.

It was the most exhilarating experience I’ve ever had. Three long years I’d been waiting patiently for a chance to find out if teaching was a legitimate calling or a passing interest, and God was faithful to give me that moment in His perfect timing.

A little late, if you ask me. But then again, I still catch myself writing “2023” on things, and say nothing of my chronic impatience.

The highlight of my week was when a couple of kids (one of which belonging to the pastor) said that I was their favorite teacher, and demanded that I teach again the following Sunday.

It took every ounce of macho I had to keep from crying like a big baby, because I knew that my performance wasn’t even a product of my own ability. It was borrowed from a higher power to be used according to His purpose; not my strength, but His.

“Holy Spirit autopilot,” if you will.

At the time, I wasn’t sure whether they were being truthful, or that I had totally blown it and they were attempting to triage my self esteem.

The kids that go to my church are smarter than I was at twice their age, so would be a crime to put it past them.

Typically, kids have no filter in making criticisms about everything from your haircut to your shoes, so the fact that they actually liked me as a teacher was extremely encouraging.

As far as a career goes, I’m 21, and the time for me to pick one off the rack is running thin. For years, I’ve been holding hands with two things I love, youth ministry and graphic design, and haven’t been able to loosen my grip on either. To say the least, mistakenly devoting the remaining 40 years of my working life to a passing interest would be… not good.

A mentor of mine, a certain Italian man who looks too Greek to be Roman, told me that what usually follows a calling is confirmation – an opportunity to exercise the thing you believe is your calling, and prove whether that thing is your endgame purpose or a fad.

I wouldn’t be in my current state of spiritual wellness without my church family: Molly and Garrett R., Pastor BJ and Tara R., Pastor Aaron and Michalee C., Melissa F., Matt F., Tom F., Brooke T., Lucas R., Anneka R., Hannah R., Brian M., Louis K., Bill Sr. and Karen R., Marc and Jen D., Bill and Carrie F., Johnna F., Nanette and John B., Randy and Cindy R., John and Debbie S., and anyone else I may have missed.

Okay, fine, Joey C. too.

Thank you for breathing wisdom into my life and encouraging me in my pursuits!

Cartoons and graphic design could turn out to be a really long phase, but teaching God’s truth to those that will succeed us certainly won’t.

ACTS 2:1-12

When the day of Pentecost arrived, they were all together in one place.

And suddenly there came from heaven a sound like a mighty rushing wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. And divided tongues as of fire appeared to them and rested on each one of them.

And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit gave them utterance.

Now there were dwelling in Jerusalem Jews, devout men from every nation under heaven.

And at this sound the multitude came together, and they were bewildered, because each one was hearing them speak in his own language.

And they were amazed and astonished, saying, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? and how is it that we hear, each of us in his own native language?

Parthians and Medes and Elamites and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabians—we hear them telling in our own tongues the mighty works of God.”

And all were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?”

JOEY GARCIA is a copy editor and page designer at The Herald. Follow Joey on Instagram: @joeyg_art_cia2.0

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