When my family began working with a congregation back in 2009, I was in my early thirties—young enough to still believe I was fast, agile, and maybe even a little invincible. Vacation Bible School rolled around that July, and with it came a tradition I dreaded: the annual water balloon battle for the middle school and high school students.
Now, some people love water fights. They find joy in chaos, laughter, and the thrill of being soaked. I am not one of those people. In fact, I am quite the opposite!
The kids, of course, had the collective goal of “Let’s soak the preacher.” And every youth worker joined their cause with misguided zeal. My goal was simple—stay dry.
For five glorious years, I succeeded. I juked, dodged, faked, sprinted, and escaped like a gazelle who had just read The Art of War. They chased me relentlessly, but I stayed one step ahead. I remained dry, victorious, and perhaps a little smug.
But time, as Ecclesiastes reminds us, catches up with us all. “To everything there is a season…” (Ecclesiastes 3:1). My season of speed ended. My wheels got rusty.
And one year, someone finally broke my streak. I hated it. The next year, a couple more got me. I still hated it. Eventually I adapted—waterproof shirt, swimming trunks, and a renewed commitment to evasive maneuvers.
Then came the year.

I was running through the grass, youth group hot on my heels, when a dip in the ground appeared—unannounced, uninvited, and entirely disrespectful. My momentum carried me forward, and BANG! I met a cyclone fence face first. My body folded like a lawn chair. My glasses sat crooked. My head was bleeding. And the youth workers and kids? They peppered my fallen body with water balloons as I lay there in humiliating agony.
But the next year, I adapted again. No more running. No more dodging. I armed myself with my own cache of water balloons—and possibly a water cannon—and ambushed them. Did I get soaked? Absolutely. But so did they. And I loved it.
What did I learn? That sometimes the best way to face what you do not really look forward to is not to run from it, but to engage it with joy. Solomon wrote, “A cheerful heart is good medicine” (Proverbs 17:22). Finding joy in something that you dread gives you a higher perspective on life…and it sure beats winding up like a pretzel against a fence!
I learned that sometimes one must do what they do not enjoy to be able to relate to others – even if that means getting soaked, bruised, and occasionally reacquainted with gravity.