"A.B.!!" screamed Nadine, "You do not!"

"Yeah!" piped in Lewis, "You can't know everything!"

"Well," said one of my volunteers, joining in on the game, "Just ask her a question."

I smiled, shook my head and winked, "I know everything!"

I have a little running joke with the kids I work with in inner city Denver. I tell them I know everything. I'll spit out to them their birth-dates, mom's name and teacher's name while they humor me, staring wide-eyed, all the while knowing that these are just the things their grandma filled in on the permission slip. They love every moment of our game, not believing a word of what I say! In the van on the way home from our drop-in center I was trying particularly hard to convince them of my omniscience while they laughed at me. Doubt abounded.

"I really don't think you know everything!" Rachel screamed from the back of the van on the way home.

"A.B. you are crazy. You're a church lady and you're crazy!" Ray pointed his finger right at me.

Back and forth it went as our old van wove it's way through the skinny streets of our poverty stricken neighborhood. Our laughing and joking almost drowned out the voice of a little five-year-old sitting in the front seat. She reached out her hand and tapped me on the knee. Thinking something was wrong I quickly asked the rest of the kids to listen.

"Ma'am…" she said softly and slowly, "I know you don't know all there is to know…but you do know Jesus."

And then it was silent. Here was the real truth, spoken by five-year old Marie. It was her first time ever at club and for all the chaos and noise that day it's a miracle that she came away with anything, let alone the fact that we can know God. Chaos is never louder than truth.

I certainly don't know everything but I know Jesus. Apparently that's more than enough.

* all names and identifying details have been changed to protect anonymity. © Amy Beth Augustin Barlow 2004