Turning Twelve

We only have one story from Jesus' childhood.  On a trip to Jerusalem with His parents, He stayed behind when they headed for home.  You all know the story.  When they returned to look for Him - surely in a panic - they found Him discussing theology with the religious leaders in the Temple.

For Jewish families, twelve is a special age for both boys and girls.  A Bar Mitsvah (or Bat Mitzvah for girls) means son (or daughter) of the commandment.  Up until this time, Jewish children are encouraged to obey the commandments;  however, after this celebration, they are obligated to do so!  To a certain extent, they are considered adults after this celebration.

When we were raising our children, Debbie and I decided that if twelve was a special age for Jesus, then perhaps we should make it a special age for our children, too.

So, when each of our kids turned twelve, I sat down with them and talked about this age.  We talked about Jesus' experience in Jerusalem.  We talked about the fact that they were growing up.  I told them that from this day forward, their Mom and I would be giving them more freedom.  Notice:  not complete freedom, but a growing opportunity to make decisions regarding things that directly impacted them.  If they handled it appropriately, then more freedom would be given.

Travis received this news with GREAT DELIGHT!  He was ready!  I actually had to step in on one issue and limit his freedom.  He was already on a fast-track toward independence!

Troy, on the other hand, did not seem as delighted.  When Debbie or I would pitch something to him for a decision, he often delayed and leaned on us to help him choose.  He eventually grew to appreciate this emerging freedom of choice, but he resisted it more than his siblings.

Like Travis, Tracie saw the power that this announcement offered her - and she took hold of it.  Although I never had to take back any of her freedom, we could see that she liked autonomy and used it wisely.

This practice had not been modeled by our parents;  it was simply a contrivance of our own.

However, I do recall an incident from my twelfth year.  The men of the New Brighton FMC had developed a practice of having prayer around the altar on Saturday morning.  Afterward, some would go for breakfast together, while others returned to their homes.

One Saturday morning, in my twelfth year, my Dad woke me up and encouraged me to go to the prayer meeting with him.  This had never happened before;  actually, I'm not sure that it ever happened afterward either.  My Dad and I didn't do many things together, so I saw this as a great opportunity.

However, it was awkward.  I was the only kid there.  I was in the company of the men of the church - men I deeply respected.  As they gathered, they exchanged greetings and stood around talking until it seemed that everyone had arrived. Then, on someone's signal, they all headed for the altar.  I went too.

After a period of quiet, one of the men began to pray out loud.  The other men verbally agreed with him by using "Amens" or "Praise the Lord's".  There were a few times when it seemed that several men were praying at the same time. This was not new to me - it often happened in our church.  It felt good to be there.  I listened to how the men prayed and what they prayed for.

I was caught up in the moment.  My sense of God's presence was magnified. I felt like I was in a holy presence!  Without even thinking much about it, in a moment of silence, I began to pray.  I remember that the room fell silent, but that didn't bother me because I knew I was talking to God!  I don't remember my prayer.  I can't tell you what I prayed about.  But I can tell you this:  it was the first time in my life that I felt the filling of the Holy Spirit! He was directing my thoughts.  He was listening and responding to my twelve-year-old prayer.  The men with me at the altar were agreeing with me now. My voice rose!  I spoke with authority.  Tears crept down my face as I prayed.  It was a powerful and formative moment.  I've never forgotten it!

My father never said anything to me about my prayer - he was a man of few words, but I did sense that he was proud of me.  When the prayer time ended and we left the altar, almost every man clapped me on the back and gave me an encouragement of some kind.  I felt an acceptance that I'd certainly never felt before!

It was for me a coming of age!