The STARS ministry needs summer volunteers again. This announcement took me back to a conversation I had with one of my sons years ago. During a busy season for our family, he asked me why I chose to work in a STARS classroom on Sunday mornings.

He knew I loved to volunteer in most classrooms. He just couldn’t understand why I would add one more activity to my weekends at that time. As a hermit-level introvert in a lively family, our weekly marathon of activities left me practically comatose by Saturday night and ready to knock myself out with a frying pan for some alone time. In the years after having children, I had learned to welcome any solo activity. A trip to the DMV was heavenly with a good book or a daydream. Ditto for any delay in a doctor’s waiting room. And occasional MRIs and root canals have provided some of the best opportunities for napping and thinking in the last two decades.

As a matter of survival during that season, I became adept at the art of saying no: to work advancements, volunteer opportunities and social activities. I even told myself that it made sense to keep saying no to Sunday ministry commitments for a little while longer. But the Holy Spirit kept nudging in that area, so I looked for a manageable yes.

That summer, a call for STARS classroom aides seemed to promise the kind of limited commitment that even I could handle, both in scope and in the skills required. It seemed sufficient to possess a willing heart, a smile, and the ability to hand out snacks and worksheets while other volunteers did the heavy lifting. That was about all I had to offer, so I figured a summer in STARS would be a way to serve without dropping any of the other plates spinning in the air. So I said yes to a tiny commitment.

That first summer passed, and something entirely unexpected happened: I discovered that being in a classroom full of animated STARS was actually energizing rather than draining, a small miracle for the extreme introvert. Before I had time to think it through, I had signed on to serve year round, and—even more surprising—STARS Sundays became a favorite activity on my calendar.

I shouldn’t have been surprised that a grudging little yes would turn into a great blessing and joy. I know that following God’s leading works that way. I had just forgotten to trust what I knew was true.

During those Sundays in STARS, God began reminding me of this and other spiritual truths. “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55:8-9) And “But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise and what is weak in the world to shame the strong.” (1 Corinthians 1:27)

God’s living and active Word seemed to tumble into my mind each week, and the STARS classroom began to feel like a master class on the reliability of God’s Word and the wonder of his ways.

Watching the students patiently listen to each other’s heartaches and concerns reminded me of moments when I talked more than I listened. Hearing them express gratitude for being together each week brought to mind times when I grumbled and complained while ignoring countless blessings. Observing their absolute confidence in prayer revealed to me the solidity of their faith and the flimsiness of mine. Through those deemed weak in this world, God humbled and convicted me over and over again, demonstrating his brand of wisdom and reminding me that his ways are infinitely higher than mine.

God also revealed glimpses of something about how life ought to be—not the struggle and pain of a life with disabilities, of course—but something about God’s values and heart. In a world that prizes accomplishment, abilities, and advancement, the STARS classroom was characterized by simple but transcendent moments: The wonder and awe when a student who hasn’t spoken for months suddenly laughs at a joke or sings an entire verse of Jesus Loves Me. The delight when an ordinarily detached student holds your hand or shares a secret. The unabashed joy and enthusiasm of praising God in song without worrying about pitch or key. I walked out every week with a refreshed view of what is really important.

And then there was the unexpected laughter. It seemed that we were always laughing at something—inside jokes and good natured-teasing, humor skillfully woven into every Bible lesson by wise and funny volunteers, and a stream of unfiltered comments and observations. My favorite came one day when A., who never misses a detail, couldn’t stop looking just above my eyes and finally announced, “You really need to take care of that.” That was my unruly hair, which on that morning could have starred in its own episode of the “Alaskan Bush People.”

This type of candor and a genuine warmth permeated our interactions. We received enthusiastic greetings and hearty hugs just for showing up. Of course, the most exuberant affection was reserved for the veteran teachers and volunteers. The students adore them. They are greeted like rock stars, and it strikes me that this is as it should be. Faithfully serving and loving the STARS for decades warrants rock star status in my mind, and it is wonderful to be in a place that gets it right.

When I cautiously agreed to invest a little time in STARS, God took that miserly investment and began paying generous dividends in regular lessons about his character and ways. Each week with the STARS, someone reminds me again that the wisdom of this world really is foolishness with God; and through the very ordinary tasks of “helping” the disabled, God continually demonstrates his extraordinary ability to reveal something about himself in and through each of us.

Sometimes a parent or ministry coordinator thanks me for serving in STARS, as if I am kind or altruistic to be there. I’m never sure what to say because volunteering in STARS doesn’t feel like service at all. It is neither a sacrifice nor a burden. It is a privilege and a joy to be with the STARS, and I’m grateful that they warmly welcome me, bad hair and all.