I work with kids. I make no apology for that, or that I work with kids almost exclusively. If I speak at a church, it's to talk about kids. Kids are my life. It's been that way since I was 17, when God gave my "first kid" to me. His name was Johnny. He was a sad, shy kid with long dark hair who never looked at anyone. I first saw him at a youth group held at one of the elders' house. The elder, Dick, was also a Scoutmaster.

The first time I saw Johnny, they were trying to force him to speak in tongues. Whatever came out of his mouth under all that pressure, I don't think it was from God, but it was filled with pain, and hurt, and abuse. I made a decision then and there that I was going to take 13 year old Johnny under my wing and try and be his friend.

Shortly after that, I was kicked out of the church, a move engineered by elder Dick's wife who resented the presence of scruffy kids like me and our desire to wake up the church and do something for Jesus. The pastor had to make a decision between me, or these elders who nearly paid his weekly paycheck, and well, you know who got the ax.

I tried to stay in touch with Johnny. We saw each other a few times. His parents eventually found Jesus, which made things easier. Johnny even got married. But on their honeymoon, they were captured by a motorcycle gang, and Johnny was tied up and forced to watch as they raped his precious wife. He never recovered, really, and the next time I saw him, he had just gotten out of a mental hospital to recover from the horrible trauma. On that visit, he also told me what I would have never suspected - that Elder Dick was the one who introduced him to sex at the tender age of twelve on a Boy Scout outing. I cried when he told me. Johnny had nothing. Yet Elder Dick, who ruined his life, was still a power player in some church somewhere. I could only pray that someone would eventually turn him in, and that Johnny would someday find the love and peace he so desperately longed for.

My commitment to kids means I don't work a nine to five job with them. I spoke to a youth conference in Dallas three years ago. There were a lot of youth pastors there. On the free day, all the kids went to Wet N Wild waterpark, and I couldn't wait to get there, to mingle with them, to get to know them. When I arrived, I found only five or so of the nearly 50 youth pastors who attended the conference. "Where are they?", I asked a youth pastor. "They wanted to get away from the kids", he replied, and I was shocked. Since then, I've learned the fine points of professional youth work, and I've learned that a lot of youth pastors hate what they do, but it's the bottom rung on the ladder to becoming a REAL pastor. How sad. Don't you think the kids know it? Don't you think they can sense they're not quite important enough to warrant very much energy and time?

So in my own failing and human way, I try to give that. I respect kids and I try to listen. To my peril and threat of never being asked back to speak at some churches, I make it a standard rule to put kids first. I learned this the hard way. Sometimes I'd speak at a church and when I was finished, it was always the people who needed to talk the LEAST who got to me first. "You were WONDERFUL! I was SO inspired! Have you read the Hunters' newest book?", etc. etc. Now, while I appreciate the kind words which obviously are spoken because they don't really know what I'm like, I always saw one kid lingering in the back, waiting for the chance to talk. I couldn't get to them, I was too busy finding a way to excuse myself from the person who really didn't need my time at all. And I'd look, and the kid will have disappeared out the back without a word. I could almost hear their thoughts: "What an idiot you are. He'd never have time for you. You're nobody. You're worthless anyway." So I changed things. I cut short the petty conversations with the ones who got to the altar first, put on my radar and prayed for God to help me find the hurting kids.

It's caused some trouble. One time I was speaking on the occult and gangs for a huge Christian school in Northern California. I explained that kids were my priority and asked the adults to be patient after while I talked to kids. Immediately after, a man approached me and told me he had these gang symbols I had to see, and he knew a lot about gangs, and he'd worked with prisons...two kids were about to walk away, and I said, "Wait!", and I told the gentleman, "I need to talk to them first", and he said, "This will only take a few minutes", and I said, "Sir, these kids were here first. I'm sorry.", and he stormed out like a spoiled brat.

Now folks, I know everyone needs love and attention, and a lot of us big people are still kids inside. But there are singles groups and marriage groups and senior citizens groups and therapy groups and Parishioners With Pets groups and frankly, a lot of hurting kids are falling through the cracks, so please don't think me unkind, I just want to get to them before we lose them completely. I may only get one chance, or they will slip out the back and never talk to another Christian again.

Since I've taken this approach, God has let me get to a lot of really hurting kids. Gregg sat on third row with his death metal T-shirts, with a Christian kid with his arm around him to keep him from leaving. I got him and we went to the back and he poured out two hours of sexual and physical abuse at the hands of an adult Satanic group. Cyndi came to the front at a youth retreat, and I got to her first, and she cried for three hours over the sexual abuse she'd suffered at the hands of her own father. I just held her, and let her know how incredibly precious to Jesus she was.

Maybe the one I remember clearest is the young 15 year old boy at a Methodist church in Hondo, Texas. He sat in the last row, his head hung down. My radar went berserk. I HAD to get to him. I prayed with several kids after speaking, then made a beeline for him. We waited until it was just he and I, and then he told me he had tried to kill himself. He felt like trash. He didn't want to live. He felt ugly, and unwanted, and didn't even think he was good enough for Jesus to love. I just kept my arm around him and listened. He began to weep. "I tried hanging myself, and the rope broke", he sobbed. "My parents told me I was so stupid, I couldn't even hang myself right!" He cried for a long time, and I just stayed with him, just being a friend, letting him cry it all out while I just held him. After he was cried out, I just told him what I try and tell every kid I ever meet: "Your life matters. You're special to Jesus. He knows your hurts. He loves you beyond your wildest dreams. Don't give up. I'll never forget you and I'll always remember to pray when I think of you." The boy left with a look of peace on his face, and just a hint of a smile. Maybe that was enough. Maybe that would get him through. It doesn't matter if he remembers me, but maybe he'll remember that Jesus touched him and loved him through some guy he doesn't remember, and maybe he'll grow up to be a healthy, Jesus-loving adult because someone noticed him...took time with him.

In every church there is the Backrow Loner, scared to come forward, scared they don't matter, scared if they leave they will never be able to find hope or tell the horrible secret they may be carrying inside. They are in your church too - if you just take the time to look, to listen, to care.