Sinners and Ice Cream

I'm sitting in my cubicle at the CEF office, silently willing the clock to move faster. Only a few more hours and I can officially start my weekend. Yesterday morning at 6:15 I was in the local market picking up gallons of ice cream and ice cream cones for this afternoon. It's ice cream day at school and the kids will be wildly excited, especially since they have no idea.

I like to do things like that every once in awhile just see the delighted expressions on their funny little faces. I am becoming more and more convinced that children are sinners. I mean, theologically I knew they were, but now I know experimentally. I keep telling my little charges what bad kids they are. I don't think they quite believe me though, and it seems my pronouncement of their vileness does little to dissuade them from the right belief that I still love them in spite of it. This is probably a good thing.

I wonder what kind of parent I will make? Probably a really poor one. As I experience more of God the Father I can't help but compare my faulty "parenting" style with His perfect one. For one thing, I am not patient, and I find I have to constantly remind myself to temper my discipline with gentleness. We all need a little (or a lot) of mercy sometimes and, what do you know, a gentle answer really does turn away wrath. They are still sinners, and they need Jesus to change their evil little hearts, but my responses are getting better (I hope) and in return, their responses are better. I pray that Jesus saves each one of them, though; behavior modification only works up to a certain point.

Anyway, we need ice cream today, like nobody's business. It's hot as a mug here (what does that expression even mean?) and with only one and a half more days of school left, we need a diversion if we're going to make it to the end. So ice cream, a few dozen hugs, probably some tears and fights and "Miss Jeanne, he took my legos!", and then, goodbyes, and have a nice weekend, and walking out the door, and freedom!

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.