Tuesday, June 10, 2008

Silently

There used to be this little girl in my crazy four year old preschool room. She was the middle child of three children. And with my group of fours there would be days that they would try every ounce of patience I had to my name. There would be days that I would get the crew from the morning teacher and the morning teacher would be beat red with frustration. There’s only so many times one can repeat themselves before the lesson plan becomes impossible and when attempting to get the class under control is the primary focus, the ABC’s get swept under the rug. Would the school split the group up? No and I really don’t know why. But that year all of the “problem” children were placed in one four year old class of terrors. And I must admit, some days I would get frustrated. And some days I would feel like nothing I did could help this bunch of children. No love I showed them could convince them to calm down. They only seemed to respond to punishments and I really didn’t like handing them out.

So each day as the numbers dwindled toward the end of what had been for some of these children a ten hour day, the class became a bit more manageable. I found myself looking forward to those quieter moments of free-play backed by a soft musical tape. The smaller group could handle unstructured play. The smaller group I enjoyed. And it was at the end of the day that sometimes I would find myself a pile of rejected, decaying defeat.

But she would come, sometimes at my beckon, and she would sit in my lap or bear-hug my neck. This appeared to be her favorite time of day too. She would lay her little head on my shoulder, soaking up a love that was considered “babying” at home. And she wanted this love more than she wanted to play. Silently, with little movement she would soak up her love and bring a smile to my face. And through her, the Lord gave me hugs of grace. Hugs of mercy. And as I scratched her back or played with her long blonde hair, a healing from the day would happen. And I would feel like just maybe tomorrow was bearable.

Today I missed her hug.

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