ALONG THE CENTRAL COAST OF CALIFORNIA, one can find a lot of places to pull off the road and hike down to the beach. Unlike the southern part of the state, these beaches are usually not very crowded. And the further north you go, the rockier the shoreline and the colder the water—but it’s beautiful. 

One summer, my family drove two and a half hours north to spend the day playing in the sand, wading in the water, and relaxing away from the busy world back home. There’s just something about sitting on a blanket and sinking your toes into the cool sand while the crashing waves roll in and out that calms the soul. 

Upon arrival, my wife and four kids jumped out of the car, grabbed towels and beach chairs, and hastily headed down the narrow path that meandered through a field of saltwater sand grass and beach bur. My job was to pack the cooler with all of the goodies and drinks and eventually join them. 

However, before I left the parking lot, I noticed someone else who had enjoyed the beach that day. He was securing a surfboard to the top of his SUV just a few spaces from our minivan. I noticed him because he looked familiar. But it would have been an odd coincidence to recognize someone so far from home. Normally, I would simply shrug it off and go on about my business, but when he turned and looked in my direction, he seemed to recognize me too. 

With an awkward smile, I spoke first, “Hey, you look familiar. Do I know you from somewhere?” 

He said, “I don’t think so, but you look familiar to me too.” 

What ensued was a volley of questions back and forth as we tried to solve the mystery. 

“Uh, do you have kids in a wrestling club?” I figured that was a good bet since I coached at a high school back home and attended a lot of club wrestling tournaments in central California, both in the valley and along the coast. 

“Nope, no kids in wrestling.” After a few more guesses, he said, “I teach at Centennial High School in Bakersfield. Where do you work?”  

What? How was that possible? I taught at the very same school.

We both felt a little embarrassed because we looked familiar for a good reason—we were colleagues. Yet, somehow, despite spending our days at the same school, we still didn’t know each other. With the mystery solved, we got back on task. He finished securing his surfboard, and I joined my family at the beach. 

A few months later, on a Friday night, I parked my car in the staff parking lot and headed to the bleachers to watch our beloved Golden Hawks play a preseason football game. As I walked around the cinder track near the end zone, I noticed this same teacher (this time without his surfboard) standing alone. He was leaning on the fence that separated the field from the track. Remembering our encounter at the beach, I decided to pull up next to him and say hello. 

Since the summer, I had only seen him across the library at our staff meetings. This was my first opportunity to have a conversation. We shared some small talk and a chuckle about our chance meeting in the parking lot at the beach. But at some point during the first half of the football game, our conversation went in a very different direction. It’s hard to describe what happened next. Our chat turned into one of those special moments that only God could orchestrate. I soon learned that my colleague was going through a very difficult personal storm—one that had turned his life upside down—and that night, he really needed someone to talk to. As if by divine appointment, I had stood beside him at just the right time. 

I was essentially a complete stranger. But somehow, he felt safe sharing with me the pain and heartache he was going through. I didn’t say much, just asked a few questions, and simply listened. 

As he talked, I thought to myself, Wow! What a journey he’s been on. If that had happened to me, my life would have been rocked. 

Time passed quickly, and then, about three-quarters into the football game, he said something that changed our relationship forever. He said, “The only thing getting me through this storm is leaning hard on the Lord.”  

I thought, This man, who I had been teaching with for several years and barely recognized outside of work, was not just a colleague but also a brother in Christ. Why did it take me so long to discover that he too was a believer?  

We were both Christians, members of the same family—the family of God. And all this time, we could have been sharing needs, challenges, testimonies, and prayer requests. We could have been enjoying fellowship and meaningful conversations just like this one. Instead, we had been living out our faith at work in virtual isolation. 

I don’t remember who won or who we played that night, but I do remember the feeling that something was very wrong with this picture and needed to change. When the game was over, we parted ways, but not before agreeing to make time for more fellowship like this. 

A Denny’s restaurant a few blocks from campus soon became our meeting place… breakfast…6:30 am…twice a month. Before long, others joined us. A colleague in the science department and the assistant baseball coach started showing up. Soon, our assistant principal, the drafting and mechanical drawing teacher, and a long-term sub teaching woodshop jumped in. Some mornings, we had to add chairs to the outside of our booth to make room for everyone.  

Though we all had different roles around the school, we shared a common desire to be used by God in the lives of the children and colleagues around us. And, we all had been feeling alone and ill-equipped.

Over the next few months, the fellowship and encouragement from our little gathering became so meaningful that we began to talk about how we might offer it at a time and place where more people from our school could attend. Mornings were tough for those with kids to get off to school or those who cherished that time to prepare for class.  

Then one day, as though they had been eavesdropping on our conversation, our administrators decided to create a 47-minute common lunch period for our entire school. This was perfect. Soon after, our fellowship moved from breakfast at Denny’s to lunch in my classroom every other Tuesday. As expected, more people were able to attend. But, we knew many other believers at our school still remained in hiding. 

Before we began meeting, we all seemed to embrace the notion that we were supposed to keep our faith to ourselves while at work. The truth was, the enemy of our souls had us right where he wanted us—alone, isolated, and fearful that we would somehow cross a forbidden line and get ourselves in trouble. To avoid any possibility of conflict, we had been leaving Jesus in the parking lot in the morning and picking Him up again after school each day. Our lives had become nicely compartmentalized, openly expressing our faith at home and church, but silent and reserved at school.  

Sadly, this happens in all kinds of workplaces across America. But it’s not what Jesus had in mind when He said, “You are the light of the world” (Matthew 3:14, NIV). Of course, some lines shouldn’t be crossed. But were we doing all that was possible? Were we following Christ into all He was calling us to do? 

Although we didn’t have the answers to all of these questions, one thing was clear: Becoming the ambassadors for Christ we were called to be could not be done in isolation.  

Eventually, our little group settled on a name for our bi-monthly fellowship in my classroom. We called it LIFT…Lasting Impact Fellowship for Teachers and John 15:16 became our theme verse. Jesus said to his disciples, “You did not choose me but I chose you and appointed you so that you might go and bear fruit—fruit that will last.” 

 Over time, our LIFT Group became much more than just a lunch every other Tuesday. It was a place where new friendships were formed and a community of faith and encouragement blossomed. For those who couldn’t make it, we created a closed email group and shared devotionals on Mondays and prayer requests whenever a need arose. 

One of our counselors told me, “Mike, I can’t be at LIFT because I’m with students in my office during that time, but I know who I could call if I ever needed prayer.” 

Finding each other and being a part of a community of believers at work was a huge blessing, but the challenge remained: Who are we missing? Who else at our school was a follower of Christ struggling to live out their faith in isolation? And what about the other 246 schools in our county? Were the believers there in hiding too? 

These questions led to an even bigger one: What if every school in our county had a LIFT Group? 

So, in the fall of 2013, we invited educators from all schools within a 50-mile radius to gather a table of eight colleagues and join us for the first annual Kern County Gathering of Christian Educators.

The response was incredible. On that special night, the program began with 400 people standing together to worship our amazing God. The theme that night was “We Are Not Alone.” And the auditorium full of Christ-following educators was proof that this was true. 

What began as a simple conversation between two colleagues at a football game has grown into a movement involving multiple cities and counties across America. To date, there have been over 120 LIFT Gatherings across 27 states. But the need is still great. Many Christians working with children in our schools remain isolated, alone, and in desperate need of fellowship and community. 

Is it time for something “upLIFTing” in your community? If so, Christian Educators can help.   

Mike Hicks taught high school in California for 24 years. He is now the Director of LIFT, an outreach ministry of Christian Educators that helps organize gatherings of Christian educators in cities across America.

LIFT AMERICA

LIFT (Lasting Impact Fellowship for Teachers) America is an outreach ministry of Christian Educators designed to inspire Christians working in public schools through LIFT Gatherings and LIFT Groups.
LIFT Gatherings are dinner programs that connect Christian educators with other like-minded Christian educators in their area, serving as catalysts for ongoing LIFT Groups in schools that connect educators with the Lord and each other.