After a lovely week at Springdale, I'm now in Watertown, MA chaperoning Sports Weekend. I love the hotel I'm staying at because it provides free wireless internet. God bless the person who invented wireless internet.

I was starting to regret volunteering to chaperone this weekend, but when I got on the bus I got this jolt of energy. I love being there for kids. I love the responsibility of watching and keeping them, of being an example for them and being God's presence in their lives. It energizes me, brings God's voice alive in my heart. But this weekend becomes an emotional roller coaster because there's things like last night, when everybody's gathered in the church for vespers before they go home. And I stand there, as people are filing in, looking up at the altar where five teenage boys are standing, some of questionable character, vested in their shabigs, preparing for the evening service, and then I listen to them chant and hear the strains of performance in their supposedly worshipping voices, and my heart breaks. Literally. I can feel it aching. Aching to serve God in a more profound way than standing in the back of the church telling kids to stop talking. Aching to lead worship. Aching because I know that the only reason I can't is because of my gender. Aching because I see that faith and moral character are not necessary for boys or men who want to serve. Aching because some of those men and boys who are leaders and examples today are not people I would ever admire or follow. Aching to have true role models of faith in my life. Aching to be inspired by faithful leadership. And I hear the echoes in my head of people asking me whether my new job is going to be enough to satisfy me. And I think, in some ways yes, but in other ways no. I will not be totally satisfied doing "consolation prize" work and ignoring the voice of God in my heart. The heartache will not stop until I do.