Spiritual Life
"Going Home" by Thomas Reppart, Spiritual Life Coordinator
When I worked as a Life Skills Trainer at Epworth Village, Inc., one of the other cottages needed some extra help dealing with a difficult child and I was asked to go there and be of assistance. When I arrived, I was met with a nine-year-old boy kicking and screaming because he was not immediately getting his own way. I was asked to try redirecting his emotions and energy by taking him outside for some kind of exercise. He angrily told me he wanted to skateboard and with a great deal of muttering and a few profane shouts, he got himself helmeted and padded up and out the door we went.
As soon as we got to where he had an expanse of pavement in front of him, he jumped on his board, gave several mighty pumps and sailed off, arms stretched out to the sky. He threw his head back and with the wind drying the streaks of rage, tears turned golden by the setting sun, he gave a mighty shout: “Going Home!”
That’s what Epworth Village, Inc. is all about . . . going home.
As I went to bed that night, I said a prayer for a boy on a skateboard and wondered what kind of home he had come from, what kind of home he had to look forward to and what kind of home we were being for him in the meantime.
Several weeks later, I was again asked to help out in the same cottage and with the same angry, oppositional child. This time he did not re-direct so easily and I found myself wondering if this was really the kind of work I wanted to do for the rest of my life. The two of us had what at best might be called a “rough evening.” When he finally was in bed, I sank into a chair at the table, took off my glasses, rubbed my eyes and held my head in my hands while I took several deep breaths. When I raised my head, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him standing in the middle of the living room. He had not asked permission to come out of his room. I rose out of my seat as if to impel him back into bed by the sheer show of my bigness! Before I could open my mouth and say one of a number of sword-sharp commands that were on the tip of my tongue he quietly said, “Could you pray with me?” He turned and immediately went back into his room.
“Oh yeah,” I though, “this is manipulation of the highest order, negative attention seeking par excellence.” But then I thought, “When a nine year old asks you to pray with him, for whatever reason, you had better do it.” So, with almost as much mental muttering and silent profane shouting as he had helmeted and padded himself up within our fist encounter, I rearranged my feelings and got my body turned around and headed into his room.
He was kneeling by his bedside, his forehead resting on his clasped hands. With some effort, I knelt beside him in silence. He sighed. I sighed. He sighed again. I said, still with a hint of exasperation, “If you want me to pray with you, then you pray first.” This is what he said.
Now I lay me down to sleep;
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
If I should die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.Dear sweet Jesus,
Thank you for this lovely day,
And for the food we eat
And the place we have to sleep.
Please help my momma not to steal no more,
And when she gets out of jail
To want me back home with her,
So we can be happy together forever
In a lovely home.Please Jesus, keep me safe . . .
Keep (staff member) safe in his car on the way home,
And keep (staff member) safe and (staff member) safe
Because, you never know when
Something bad is going to happen
And I don't want nothin' bad
To happen to them
'Cause they take care of us.
Please help me get home.In Jesus’ name, Amen
I echoed the Amen and he climbed into bed. Just as I reached the door, I heard him call my name. I turned and he said, “Will you please tuck me in?”
As I fluffed his pillow and snuggled the covers in around him and laid my hand on his head, I realized I had for the second time been blessed by this angry young boy with a lesson in what Epworth Village, Inc. is all about.
Please pray with me. Please tuck me in. Please help me to get home.
Thomas Reppart was born in 1943 and was raised the oldest of five children on a dairy farm in Ohio. After graduating from high school, he attended Harding University where he achieved a BA in English and Speech in 1965. Reppart earned his MA in Speech Communication and Dramatic Arts in 1966 from Central Michigan University. He has also done some post-graduate work at the University of Missouri, Abilene Christian University and the Harding Graduate School of Bible and Religion.