Chap Clark and the Plankton

Chap Clark was the guest star of my dreams tonight.
A group of us youthworkers were gathered at a workshop/retreat somewhere in the dark folds of my cerebrum. Chap was using some elaborate experience (inverted roller coaster?) to viscerally illustrate some concept about God… typical way-over-the-top stuff that I associate with Youth Specialties types. OK, it was a dream, gimme a break! I forgot most of the cool stuff of the dream, but it brought to mind Chap Clark.
Chap and his wife Dee were celebrities for my generation of youth ministers, and I am some unknown quantity, floating about like so much plankton in a sea of faces.
I remember while going to Denver Seminary, Chap had started a special YL program over in Cherry Creek. That was the era of Ken West and Rich Van Pelt, a time of wonder and great learning. Chap and Dee had so much energy and vision; it’s amazing to reflect on how differently they were gifted and blessed.
Later on I would see Chap at a workshop or Youthworker’s Convention or retreat, always so confident, filled with hilarious stories and inspirational encouragement. Iconic. I would sit in the expanse of YS events and could actually see that I, too, might have something to share with others about youth ministry. Perhaps one day I might be a YS speaker or seminar leader; I loved hosting the local YS Seminars each year, inviting hundreds of youth volunteers to come from across the region for a day of equipping. I experienced a profound sense of “this is what I could do in life… equip others, or at least get them together with someone who can.” To hear crippled prophets like Yaconelli or Manning speak life into darkness?… priceless.
Then came the real-life implosion of Plankton’s youth ministry in Houston. And Chap was there. God sent him into my little shop of horrors in the angelic guise of a YS Seminar speaker. Chap gave voice to my anguish. Maybe I was not crazy; maybe I was just outnumbered. God used Chap that day in a powerful way, throwing a life preserver to Plankton who had forgotten how to swim.
Later I would email him encouragements when he came to mind, and he mailed me a brochure about a youth ministry doctoral program he was starting over on the Left Coast. That was about it; I sensed Dee and Chap were tired of emails from this recovering knave, so I stopped clogging their delete box and entered my world of ministering to God’s coolest people in a high school science classroom.
Gone are the dreams.
Gone are the visions.
Gone are the narcissistic hopes of a fledgling floater to somehow experience the celebrity of the likes of Chap and friends.
Gone are Yaconelli and Ken West, reminders that no man knows the hour.
I don’t even know where Chap Clark is today, but if you ever read this, brother, thanks for visiting my dreams this morning.
Jim Kelley, 2 am, sitting on the guest room floor of Kathy’s Gram’s casa in Florida.