Let Children Teach

Children sometimes intimidate me.

 

For example, just two weeks after we got married, I began serving as the sunbeam teacher (three- to four-year olds) at church every week. For two hours, these tiny people were my responsibility. Later, I got a co-teacher, and we wrangled these cute, but busy sunbeams on the front row of the junior primary group every week.

 

It stressed me out because I felt that the sunbeams' occasional bad behavior was a reflection on me and showed that I could not handle children, even though my entire childhood I helped newborns up to teens in my own family. I felt like a bad teacher because my sunbeams weren't reverent. I had a lot to do, transitioning these people from the free-for-all snack- and toyland of nursery to sit-and-be-reverent primary, and I was failing. I took it very hard week to week. I stayed at that post for two years, and it never got easier.

 

Looking back, I wish I could have just realized that three- and four-year-olds are not designed to sit still and be reverent. They don't understand politeness or their own bladders very well. They are unable to understand the teacher's hurt feelings when they are being rowdy or the other kids' feeling when they get in a squabble. They love the teacher, but they don't know how to say it. They have short attention spans.

 

The other adults in the room probably weren't judging how well I could handle little people; they were just grateful I was there (and, maybe, that the sunbeams weren't their responsibility).

 

So anyway, I should have chilled out and smiled more. A lot more.

 

 

Today, I got a long-awaited phone call from someone who has been giving me fits about an issue. I almost got nasty over the phone. I was so irritated afterward that I wished I could slam my phone down on the hook (pressing "End" on the smartphone just doesn't have the same satisfaction). With ridiculous policies of this subjective, beaurocratic process racing through my brain, I got up to get my children lunch. I wanted to call my husband and vent (it's an issue we're both invested in), but I got swept away as I spread cream cheese on a bagel, sliced an apple, and shook milk in a chocolate syrup container to get the drippings out. My children were pleased as punch with their favorite things. They jabbered on at me, and I enjoyed it so much. I noticed how cute they were in their matching outfits as we talked about how to be polite and use manners. Then they put on their shoes and headed to a neighbor's house for a playdate. I watched them from the porch and wished I could bottle up the moment—their sweetness, their cute disregard for treading on grass, their matching outfits, their height difference, the way my daughter's ponytail swished side to side, the way my son's new shoes slipped off his heels just a little. I was placid and joyful. Those people are MINE FOREVER!

 

Then it occurred to me.

 

My children had distracted me from my angst and turned the minutes afterwards into the most delightful part of my day.

 

They taught me by example.

 

They have small worries and great joy. They didn't pick up on my issues. They don't know what beaurocracy is. They don't care about the past or the future. They live right now and are glad in the present. They gave me just what I needed—a reminder that the present is just right, that things work out, that we are miraculously provided for, that good surprises are just around the corner. In this moment, without even realizing it, my children taught me to trust God with my issues.

 

No wonder Jesus Christ wants us to be like children. It seems like a pretty sweet, simple way to live.

 

Perhaps I should have listened to those sunbeams better all those years ago—at their wonder and whimsy and joy for life, their trust that they would be taken care of, their delight in small things, their good-natured boasting, their freely-given compliments and little gifts from their hearts like a sticker or half a gum wrapper. Instead, I had been more concerned about how I looked.

 

When did I stop having the wonder I had as a child? When did I stop loving everyone and everything with all I had? When did I start judging? When did I stop trusting I would be taken care of by my loving parents or Heavenly Parents? When did I start thinking it was all up to me?

 

I'm grateful for children and the lessons they teach us when we slow down enough to watch and listen. I'm going to try to believe that everything will work out in this issue we're dealing with. I'm going to be joyful today.