Ceilings, Floors, and Relay Batons

Great. There goes my blood again: boiling because someone said it. 

That dreaded phrase that ignites a defiant fire in me every time I hear it proclaimed with such annoying gusto...

"Our ceiling is their floor!"

There I sat, part of "The Forgotten 20-Somethings," listening to someone YET AGAIN praising the youth as the generation that's going to change the world, that it'll be OUR backs they stand on to reach the goal. As I crossed my arms and seethed angrily in my seat, I prayed that the retorts racing through my head would stay safely barricaded there and not burst forth in front of the entire congregation;

"...And what am I? Damaged goods? Too old? WHAT IF I DON'T WANT A DANG CEILING?!"

In 2007 when I met the Lord in earnest and immersed myself in supernatural culture, I had just exited the glorified teenage years and found myself as a member of the all-too-often overlooked "young adult" crowd. People always marvel over a kid who is experiencing the supernatural wonders of God, and revere the adults with families and children. But what about us college (or non-school-going) aged people in our 20's, just beginning to enter "the real world" that's a lot less glamorous than a Christian-raised homeschooler giving prophetic words (I'm not in the slightest bit against that, by the way!), or a well-established married couple with two kids and another on the way? I learned pretty quickly that mine was an age demographic usually treated like an afterthought, as if no one really knows what to do with us so we're left to carve a place out for ourselves in the shadow of the children's and youth ministries.

Fast forward a few years, and God was beginning to gingerly lead me away from young adult ministry (which, by the way, was much better than at my previous church), and down my next path. 

...And the irony was that I knew He was setting me up to work with the youth. 

From the very first moment I felt Him nudging me in that direction, the anger began to flare. I couldn't escape that demeaning phrase, imagery that further poked at my raw wounds from previous ministry experiences.

I would listen to different speakers raving about how massively anointed and special the kids in the church were, thinking to myself,

"Why are they seen as more powerful just because they're younger?

Why can't I change the world just as much?

And most importantly, WHY do I have to have a ceiling for them to walk on?!"

I didn't fully make peace with that awful phrase, but God did settle within me that mentoring the next generation didn't require me to somehow trade in living an exciting supernatural life so they could somehow get more than me. And since then, it's been just under 2 years that I've been happily working in youth ministry and loving every second...

However.

Recently, that bitterness and resentment snuck back up on me and pounced when I was most unaware, and that stupid phrase came back to haunt me, because...

DUN DUN DUN......

There's a new wave of teenagers and 20-somethings taking our place and experiencing the Presence of God and all the supernatural fun stuff that entails!

At first, I thought it was really beautiful and I was really excited about it; all of them congregating in mine and my friends' old spot on the left side of the stage like we did for years which caused the pastor to affectionately refer to the far left section of the church as the place where "The Crazies" sat; hungrily occupying the front rows just like we did, eagerly praying for the sick at the end of every service just like we always used to do, having weekly "bible studies" together, which are really just crazy Holy Spirit encounter nights.

But then it hit me: My life doesn't look like that, anymore. 

That initial joy in seeing the next wave of young people step into what I had walked in, began to transform into resentment and disappointment when I took a trip down memory lane and looked back in my journals from 6+ years ago; I read entry after entry chronicling the crazy supernatural adventures my friends and I would take, whether it was going up to strangers in the streets and seeing illnesses healed as we prayed, or finding our hands covered in gold dust during worship, and all manner of other crazy Holy Spirit encounters. Instead of being encouraged, I felt like I shrunk ten sizes...

...What happened to me?

Where was this girl who used to roll around laughing on the floor during worship? 

This girl whose idea of a fun Friday night was going out on a "treasure hunt" with friends to find some people to pray for?

Where in the world did she go?!

Feeling utterly deflated and terribly ordinary, that awful taunting phrase began to ring in my ears with a horrible new meaning attached:

"Our ceiling is their floor!"  

I knew I was bitter. I was well aware. And this time instead of stewing in it, I wanted to rip that sucker out once and for all.

"God, I HATE that phrase!" I complained loudly to Him, while driving one day. 

In His goodness, He replied immediately and I saw a very clear picture and suddenly, I had my answer to silent that phrase that irked me so much:

Christianity is not a multi-level building filled with people

on an infinite number of sealed-off floors...

It is a relay race! 

The thing about relay races is that no member is more vital than the other. It's a team effort and without everyone ready to run when it's their time, the game cannot be won and the entire team loses.

I'm not dumb; I knew it was a lie that somehow the younger generation was more important or more valuable than me, but it was hard to shake that when I'd already been hurt, and now a well-meaning, but poorly-worded mantra says that there's a cap on how high I can go, that eventually I'll hit a "ceiling" that only someone younger than me can surpass.  

When I did a little research on how relay races work, I learned that often the slowest member of the team will go first. Before I was tempted to be offended that perhaps God was eluding to the fact that I was the slowest team member, He reminded me of icebreaker ships: they are massive vessels with steel hulls that cut through thick layers of ocean ice, moving at a slow and steady pace.

...Are they somehow less important because they're slower? NO! If not for the icebreakers moving slowly but with force and clearing away the ice, the smaller ships wouldn't be able to move freely and quickly through the water. They aren't slow because they're weak ships, they're slow because they're big and strong!

And I realized... I was that icebreaker. That place in the left corner of the church where the new wave of young people who are getting blasted with the presence of God congregate, is the same patch of carpet stained with years of my tears and snot from my own encounters with Him. It's the same place I laid on the floor with friends, enraptured in holy laughter that kept us from standing upright. It's the same place I sat with my journal opened as I got download after download of revelation. The same spot my friends and I prayed for people and saw their legs grow, and sickness leave, and metal pins leave their bones. 

They can experience this now at a younger age and with more ease because of the icebreakers who went before them and cleared a way!

Now please, don't hear what I'm NOT saying: I am in NO WAY insinuating it's all because of me, or all because of my particular community of friends, or that these kids didn't have their own struggles to persevere through. I FULLY honor and acknowledge those who went before me, those who pressed in for breakthrough so that I could walk in and experience breakthrough, myself. And I acknowledge that every young person has their own story. But what I am saying is that we are all icebreakers for SOMETHING and SOMEONE. We are ALL in this relay race, and we all have a moment of running with the baton, and a moment of passing it off to the next runner. 

So where does that leave me to answer my earlier question of "Where did that girl go?"

Well, that's simple: I'm resting while someone else runs with the baton. I won't belabor this topic because it's been spoken on so many times and we all understand the reference, but this is about the time God began to remind me about SEASONS:

That girl who loved to dance around in church like a fool didn't leave; she's in a different season. She no longer lives with her parents, where her only responsibility was cleaning her room and paying her phone bill. She no longer has the time to stay up til 4am with friends on weeknights, praying and getting wasted in the Presence of God. She now has a husband and a house, a mortgage to pay and responsibilities to tend to. This is not bad, and it doesn't mean I've "peaked." I haven't hit a ceiling. I've simply stepped into a new place that looks different, but lacks nothing good because with God, it's IMPOSSIBLE to go backwards in His glory!

(( I believe this all ties in with comparison, that nasty thief of joy, but that's a whole other topic for another time --in fact, my good friend Ayse wrote an awesome blog post about it, which you can read right here. It's written for a mother's perspective, but you don't need to be a mom to relate! ))

The best part of this revelation is the fact that as I was realizing this, some of those very youth expressed their enormous honor and gratitude for the road my peers and I walked before them to make their way with God possible. WOW!! Talk about humbling!!

So what, now? What do I do with that silly little phrase? Not going to lie, it still irritates me, but I have a different understanding.

I might not be in a season where everyone can see God making a spectacle of my encounters with Him, but that hardly means I'm no longer moving upward! Right now, I'm grateful to be cheering on the runners as they grip the batons and dash faster than I did during my turn. I can do this gladly with no fear that I'll bump my head on this metaphorical ceiling, because guess what? I've decided that I don't have one. The only person who can put a cap on me is myself, and you couldn't pay me to do it. 


Seasons come and go, but they can only bring you forward, not back. I no longer have to be disappointed when they look different. I no longer have to be resentful or bitter when someone enters into one that I've left. I can embrace the season I'm in without fear of losing a piece of myself, because they build one upon another. Nothing is lost, and nothing is wasted. 

So if you've got that baton, run! If you're passing it off and assuming a different function for the team, embrace it! 

No matter your role, no matter your season, don't forget that it matters and you're vital to a team victory.



Peace out, ceiling!