Mostly Brave

I like to read On The Road with Steve Hartman. I ran across a story of a woman by the name of Peggy Winckowski who lives in St. Louis, Missouri. Peggy cooks breakfast every Wednesday morning for her grandson Sam and Sam’s friends; she always puts out quite a spread. All of the kids refer to her lovingly, as Grandma Peggy and they named those Wednesday mornings “The Wednesday Breakfast Club.”

Sadly, Peggy lost Sam in a tragic hit-and-run accident but continued opening her home for the kids to return. You see that every kid is greeted by Grandma Peggy and waits for her to give them a great big hug.

My dad died when I was fourteen and I sure could have used a Grandma Peggy in my life.  Someone to feed me a yummy breakfast on a Wednesday morning and greet me by giving me a great big hug.  My mom could have used a Grandma Peggy in her life as well when the pain seemed unbearable.

I knew that when my kids grew older I wanted to do something similar with them and their friends. Bryan and I started a Thursday night youth group.  It wasn’t connected to any church affiliation.  It was just a place where kids could come and feel safe. The group started out small but by the end there were close to twenty regular attendees.

I am pretty sure I have written on this before but the correlation to Peggy Winckowski and Bryan and I are similar in nature. Every Thursday it always looked the same.  We greeted the kids and asked them how school was going or how their favorite sports were going, our worship leader (who was so awesome) would lead the kids in a few worship songs, Bryan would give a small message (nothing too deep), there would be a game played (like mafia or smelling diapers to decide what kind of melted candy bar was in it), and then I would feed them.  We didn’t have a lot of money but I always wanted to give those kids our best.

Sometimes we set out to bless others and in the process we are blessed as well.  We ran that group for six years, with summers off. I always wondered if the kids would return to Mr. and Mrs. B’s house, and every year they would.  I would love each of them to walk through my door just one more time, and one day, I am guessing Grandma Peggy will feel the same.

Man, I miss those kids and even though all of them are well into their thirties now, I wonder if they are happy. I pray with all of my heart that they are. Blessed.