Thoughts

Spinning a rather chubby child around in circles for the last 5 minutes had begun to take its toll. Looking down into the child's face as she jabbered endless 2 year old talk, I nodded and smiled patiently--clueless as to what she was trying to tell me, but still attempting to reassure her of my interest. A wail waivered my attention. There was some sort of commotion at the drop off door, and a couple nursery workers were engaged in the painful process of mother/child separation. Finally, the door opened, and a little girl stumbled in, her tiny hands pressed to her face. I caught my breath. The little girl only came ever so often, and each time she did my heart broke. Today she was wearing a thin, worn spring dress--insuffiecient covering for the winter months and the chill of the building. The faded yellow print made her unsmiling face look sallow, and accented the dark circles beneath her eyes. Her thin brown hair was uncombed, and immpossibly matted in the back. She wore mismatched tennis shoes that were each a different size and added at least two inches to the length of her feet. She had no socks, and her underclothes were so big that they bunched up and threatened to fall off completely. I placed the child I had been entertaining back on the floor and walked slowly over to the newcomer. She stood unmoving--tears in eyes that seemed to see nothing. When she did move, it was almost wraithlike. She distanced herself from the other children as if that is what she was accompanied to doing, and did not smile. I made my way slowly toward her. She still seemed to disregard me, dully fingering a toy car across the carpet. Gently, I picked her up. She was unsurprisingly light, but the limpness of her tiny body was alarming. It was as if she couldn't hold herself up. I pulled her into my lap and began to play with her. My only reward was a long, blank stare.
Later, after song time and the lesson, I was back to my usual routine of throwing children into the air, "flying" them, playing a dangerous amount of Ring-around-the-Rosie, and chasing the only two boys in the class of 12--that somehow made up for their small number. At this moment, I was helping them "jump," hurling them up towards the ceiling, catching them, then making loud exclamations to how high they went. I noticed the little girl standing and observing, so I held out my arms and asked her if she wanted a turn. She walked to me and took my hands. After repeating the activity, I saw something new on her face---expression. It wasn't a very readable one, but it was there all the same. I marked this as progress. Meanwhile, one of the other workers had combed her hair, and I brushed it out of her face and into a little ponytail. I was surprised to find that she was actually very pretty, and began to see a little more life in her round grey eyes. Near the end of classtime, she walked over to me and stood, picking at her dress as most 2 year olds do. With a smile I began to talk to her--laughing and teasing until I finally swung her around and held her.
I witnessed a tiny miracle. She didn't laugh or giggle, but lit up with a soundless smile. For a moment, the emptiness of her face was filled, and whatever burden she carried seemed to fall--forgotten. For children that smile all the time, joy does not have an obvious effect. This little girl however, was transformed. The smile of course, only lasted for a couple seconds, but my heart was ready to explode. Before I left I hugged her one last time with all the love I am capable of.
"Goodbye..." I began to whisper, then realized that I didn't know her name. I moved her hair aside and read the sticker nametag on her back.
I sat back and looked at her--speechless at the irony of my next word.

Hope.

Her name was Hope.

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Well--after nursery, I headed over to my 2nd grade sunday school class--which is of another tone entirely! For some reason,they were all extremely hyper, loud, and random (more so than usual anyway!) After a few minutes of discussion about their weekends and the upcoming valentine's day (which started a lot of laughing and finger-pointing and "I know who you like"s and girls in adamant denial) we got to the lesson. Now, I'm not sure what it is about children--but they rarely understand the meaning/point of a given question. They view all questions as an
opportunity to tell a story that lasts ten minutes about their new Star Wars game, or Peyton Manning, or what their siblings did to them sometime last year, or the monumental vacation they took to their great Aunt Mildred's house.
Of course, there is always one child that is capable of answering every question correctly every week, but I try to call on everyone--giving them a chance to participate.
For example: I ask the question, "What are some ways that we can be a good testimony to our friends?" Here is how it went today.
Child #1 (very "high strung," randomly gets up, throws himself on the floor, or runs around the classroom. He has his arm stretched as far as it will go and looks very excited to share his input. I call on him)
"Yes?" (Here the kid jumps out of his seat.)
"Do ya wanna hear a noise?" (Of course, I am thinking at the moment that I would like to hear anything but a noise, but before I can respond, he lets out a very high pictched scream/cough noise that was both alarming and COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT. After exchanging confused glances with my helper, I called on the next kid who imformed me,
"I know how to look like a monkey on the monkeybars!"
(Umm...okay...that's nice....?) HE then proceeded to pull off a very accurate monkey imitation that accomplished Evolution in 10 seconds--
when the entire 2nd grade decided to be monkeys.
I finally got them somewhat back on track and reitterated my question. I got a few good answers, but they soon led back to the normal assortment of random stories that seemed to compete with eachother:
"I talked to my neighbor about coming to church so I could have a good testimony..."
"MY neighbors don't go to church..."
"One time, my neighbor told me.."
"Yeah? well my neighbor HIT me!"
"I don't have a neighbor."
"My neighbors have this dog that..."
"I used to have a dog..."
"When I grow up I want to be a dog trainer!"
"I'm going to be a ballerina!"
"Ewwww....gross!"

And so the discussion usually ends about here, because by this time, I've racked my brain to think of a way to tie in what they're saying with the lesson--and failed.
Near the end of class, the kids were completing their papers when one boy called me over.
"I have a question." He looked very serious and motioned for me to sit next to him before continuing. (I am, of course, expecting a deep question about our lesson discussion, or the Bible verse, or something.)
He went on. "If your husband was a guy in the navy, or the army, or the air force, or (he listed every division/branch of the armed forces he could think of)...and you had a kid, and then one day your kid got a friend...maybe he seemed nice and stuff, but he was really mean and he was always trying to beat up your kid and he didn't know what to do---would you tell your kid to fight or run?"

And that was the question.

I came up with some answer--but am still overwhelmed by the way a 2nd grader's brain works. I never know what to expect and will never look at the world the same way again!
I love my class though--it's one of my favorite things to do...I wish I could spend individual time with all of them and get to know them better!

Wow. This has been a long post. Therefore, I would like to leave you with a valentine that one of my 2nd grade girls gave me to read outloud to all the boys in the class. (Get 'em all at the same time--sounds good to me!)

Dear Boys,

Happy Vallintins Day:

Roses are Red.

Vilets are blue.

Boys are swet,

But girls rool.

X

O

And I mean that with all of my heart.

Goodnight.