By Jon-Michael Gwinnell, December 2007

No longer the "New Kid," Gwinnell (left) ministers to campers at Echo Ranch Bible Camp in Alaska.

Whenever someone asks me, "Where do you call home?" or "Where did you grow up?" I respond, "Depends on what year it was." I wasn't a military kid or the son of missionaries; we were sojourners looking for the next opportunity.

For a young person, moving can be a very traumatic experience. In a matter of days, your entire world is flipped upside down. Everything that is familiar changes, and perhaps the best example of this is adjusting to a new school.

The moment you walk into the classroom you are labeled the new kid. The label can be either a blessing or a curse that follows a student around for the rest of the year.  In every school there are two kinds of new kids. The first kind of new kid is the one the girls talk about and the guys quickly integrate into their group. The second kind of new kid is only as important as his name being called on the roll sheet. Both are new but only one has been chosen by the collective.

One would hope to be the first kind of new kid, but I was the type of student that remained the new kid until the end of the year. This was because I was from Alaska, had two first names, and was not blessed with stunning good looks. Did I used to live in an igloo? Should they call me Jon or Jon-Michael? And if you're not cute the girls don't pay much attention. Recess and lunchtime were easily the loneliest parts of the day. I would wander the playground aimlessly looking for opportunities to jump into a game. At lunch I would carry my plastic tray to an empty table and quietly enjoy my chocolate milk.

I needed a way to reach out and drop the new kid label. I didn't have a sport I was good at. There wasn't a particular hobby I could share in with others. Then something happened: I began to adapt. I discovered humor and demonstrations of oddity were my ticket to acceptance. I remember eating entire oranges - peel and all - as kids watched in fascination. Every time we moved, I would start over, waiting in the shadows until the moment arrived to share my gift of humor.

I did impressions of people on TV and became proficient in the art of sarcasm. The last new school I moved to was in seventh grade and by eighth grade I had perfected my craft. There was one lunch period I remember making people laugh so hard that milk was coming out of several noses. A choir solo performance of "Rubber Ducky" solidified my social ranking and I was no longer considered the new kid. The years of painful isolation had come to an end.

Young people want to be accepted, they need to know someone cares about them. I know from being the new kid what it's like to not know anyone in a sea of faces. Today I work with youth at Avant Ministries' Echo Ranch Bible Camp in Juneau, Alaska. As I look back, I can see how God allowed me to be the new kid in order to shape me for my ministry. Humor and acts of oddity are what camp is all about!

Typically the kids I connect with are considered outsiders.  Being the new kid gave me the ability to understand campers and meet them where they are. Together, we can laugh because as outsiders we have a common bond. More importantly I can share that my faith in Jesus Christ is what gives me hope. When the world around me falls apart, Christ is my Rock and my Fortress.

The hardest move my family ever made was right between my fifth and sixth grades. We arrived at our new house at the beginning of the summer and there wasn't anyone my age nearby. It wasn't long before depression set in. That was one of the darkest times of my life. Kids in Southeast Alaska and all over America are suffering from depression and loneliness. I know what they are going through and I want to offer them hope in Christ.

Being the new kid has played a major role in who I am and how I interact with people. In my recruitment role with Echo Ranch I have to talk with strangers all the time. When I visit a college I'm the new kid all over again. I don't have a whole year to make connections; I may have just a few hours or days to establish a relationship. God has taken my curse of being a new kid and turned it into a blessing. I am thankful He carried me through the hard times and is using my past to reach future generations for Christ.