My Little Church Family

As I think about "leaving" there are several areas in my life that I am loathed to give up. One of them, surprisingly, is teaching Sunday School class. I teach a group of fifteen kindergartners. At first I was reluctant to take on this additional ministry in my church but now I'm glad I did. The children in my class are an intense bunch. Somehow I ended up with several strong first-born personalities (my mother would say that the phenomenon is sweet retribution for my own childhood) and just a few sweetly demure ones. The group dynamics wear me out and give me great joy in the process.

This week we planted potatoes in celebration of our new church building project (admittedly strange) and I taught an awkward lesson on reaping and sowing. We sang a few dozen rounds of "The Butterfly Song" which I foolishly introduced and now can never stop singing. Halfway through the morning we trouped outside where I gracefully face-planted on the side of a hill as I tried (unsuccessfully) to race a group of boys up to the top. We played hopscotch and colored with sidewalk chalk and played a noisy game of Red Light/Green Light replete with "Miss Jeanne! Kyle is CHEATING!" and "Kyle, I saw you that time! Stop cheating!"

When I was younger I loved to go to Sunday School class. I remember my first grade teacher always let us reenact our Bible lessons. My second grade teacher gave us Bible drills every week (I was extremely competitive with the boys, especially Ty Merrick, my arch-enemy and secret crush), and one beloved teacher took us on nature walks around the church grounds. I hope I'm the kind of teacher whose memory will stick with the kids after they've moved onto first grade (if nothing else my graceful fall this morning probably will). I've decided I will miss my "little" church family when I move to Arkansas.

I'll miss the slightly spastic little girl who, when asked what the dark fuzzy on our Wordless Book caterpillar meant, said "it means you'll go straight to hell!", as she gave a rather graphic accompanying gesture as the other children look on in wide-eyed horror. I will miss the little boy who breaks out in random song in the middle of class and invites everyone to "dance NOW!" as I try to manage the ensuing chaos. I'll miss the little girl who, when asked to name helpers God has placed in their lives, shyly said "Sunday School class teachers" and then looked at me with admiring eyes (which prompted me to start crying). I'll even miss the little girl who threw a fit for ten minutes because I wouldn't give into her demands for pink play-doh (maybe).

I find that I am mentally saying goodbye to people and experiences as I prepare for Little Rock. I think this is a good thing because I'm not taking them for granted; maybe I'll be doing those things there, but I won't be doing them with the same people here. I'm grateful for this time to build into the life of a community that I will soon leave behind. It's a gift, knowing you're going to leave before you do. It's a gift.