My favorite group has come and gone, and I am still mourning their loss.  Though I love my job regardless of what personalities are filling my house, a very special place in my heart is held by a group of girls from Sacred Heart, an all girls private school in New Orleans.  Now, to the ordinary person, the thought of 40 high school girls all under one roof might be a little terrifying.  I, however, am not the normal person.  When their bus pulls up, I come running out of the house to greet them, recounting stories from trips past, retelling jokes that have been dormant for a year, talking about how long/short our hair is now, how tan/skinny someone is, and then just the general gossip that comes along with all high school girls.  Nutella and teddy grahams are pulled out of suitcases, someone starts french braiding my hair, and the inevitable conve lrsation of boys, food, and embarrassing moments begins. For the past three years, I have made it a point to get learn all of these girls' names.  I have made it a point to make memories with each of them.  I have made it a point to make it clear to them how dearly I adore them.   Because of all of this, I have earned the right to make it a point to share the gospel with them.  Note that I say I "earned the right".   I know, I know- as if wearing chacos and carrying around a mountainsmith bag wasn't enough to prove I am a young life lifer, now I have to use the jargon.  However, it is unarguably the truth.  These girls are not from the bible belt- they are from New Orleans, where you emerge from the womb with drink and poboy in hand.   My conversational prayers blow their mind, and the idea of song merely for worship rather than to pass time at mass is a foreign concept.  Knowing this, I asked Rachel, our music intern, to play one song and one song alone for our daily devotional.   It was not a song proclaiming how Great the Lord is, or how wildly we love him; instead, it's anthem rang out simply of the Lord's love for us. And, to my shock, they sang along. I would catch them during the work day, humming the cords, singing the chorus.  Could it be?  My heart leapt with each note.   It was on our last day, however, at the beach, that I was moved to tears. We had mass on the sand, in the light of the setting sun.  Waves crashed violently upon the shore and the wind was whipping up something fierce.  It came time for communion, and I heard a faint voice, joined by another, then another, and another, until the beach was filled with the song.   My girls, my 40 New Orleans girls, who sneered at worship, who keep their eyes open and staring at each other during prayers, MY girls were looking to the sky and the shore, singing,  "He is jealous for me. loves like a hurricane,  I am a tree, bending beneath the wind of His grace and his mercy. When all of the sudden, I am unaware of the afflictions, eclipsed by his Glory, and I realize just how beautiful You are and how great your affections are for me. And oh, how he loves us so, oh how he loves us how he loves us so. we are his portion and he is our prize drawn to redemption by the grace in His eyes if grace is an ocean, we're all sinking. when heaven mets earth like a sloppy wet kiss and my heart beats violently inside of my chest i don't have time to maintain these regrets  when i think about the way he loves us..." All of their voices joined into one, to sing about the fact that the Creator of the universe wants to romance their hearts.  I will replay this moment in my head for quite the time to come.