To my former youth pastor and the leaders that served with him,

I don't know if you remember me.

I'm the one who didn't talk much. If I did, it was probably awkward or too quiet to make out. I sat alone unless I was summoned by one of my peers with a call of my name or a beckoning finger.

You didn't seem to mind.

I don't mean to say you endorsed or intentionally contributed to my isolation. Maybe you didn't notice, although that seems unlikely in a group the size we had.

But there were times you, knowingly or not, did in fact push me back in the corner of which I was trying to tiptoe out.

Like when you sent me to ride in the car on the way to winter camp when the van got too full. Or when you filled one small group table to maximum capacity with girls, but let me have one all to myself. Every time you showed favoritism to the ones who had no trouble fitting in. Every time I'd make the monumental effort of trying to reach out to you and you passed me off to someone else.

Even now I feel guilty about pointing any fingers at you. I'd much rather blame myself for not being bolder, for not helping myself.

But then I remember, it wasn't my job to help myself.

I was 13. I was beginning to feel the effects of an illness I wouldn't be able to identify as depression for another 5 years. I had lost my closest friends to the tidal wave of families leaving our church after the arrival of a new pastor. I was isolated from my peers by school district boundaries and social anxiety.

I didn't know how to help myself. And even if I had, I didn't have the courage to try. That was your job.

But you didn't do it. Instead, you taught me that certain people took precedence over others. You taught me that I wasn't important, that my presence at youth group was inconsequential. You were indifferent.

You made me wonder if God cared for me as little as you did. When I didn't feel him close to me, I thought it was my fault. I tried to work to win God over the way I never managed to with you. I saw your favorites using spiritual jargon and raising their hands in worship and learned to imitate them, hoping that their closeness with you and maybe even God would rub off on me.

I'm still grappling with the affects of those years I spent with you. It took me years to truly know the God whose love is constant and unconditional and unbiased, a love I never felt from you. I still find it hard to trust spiritual leaders in my life, even the pastor that came after you. It's a daily task to reason with the insecure girl you knew, the one who tries to hide behind a perfectly painted mask, to reassure her that it's safe to be herself, to reach out for help, to admit when she's struggling spiritually. She'll be ok. I know that now. But it's taken me a long time to get here.

So, to other youth pastors, look out for your sheep. They are far more impressionable than you realize. Show them Jesus cares by caring for them yourself. See the ones buried so deep in the corner they fear they might disappear. Help the ones who don't have the courage to ask for it. They may be awkward. Push through it. They may even seem content. Odds are, they're not. These are the ones who need your help the most. Please don't forget about them.

From the one who slipped through the cracks.