Kudos to a Kindergarten Teacher

Parents and all of us that were once school children can recall those teachers, the ones that left a lasting, positive impression. I think of the book that gets to the heart of the matter, "Thank you, Mr. Falker" by renowned children’s author, Patricia Polacco. Check it out: it is an amazing autobiographical account of Polacco, a student who struggled mightily with reading as a child and then went on to become a writer. (I thank my son Thomas’ 2^nd Grade teacher, Mrs. Schmoyer, for sharing that book with Thomas who then shared it with me).

My “thank you” this night goes to Mrs. Decker, my son Luke’s kindergarten teacher and here’s why. Luke loves to dance. Ever since he saw the Nutcracker last December, he regularly twirls and leaps around our living room. When friends and family come to visit, he dances for them. Last week at school, Luke was dancing at recess. But as he told his dad, the girls were making fun of him; they said only girls do ballet.  Of course we told him that’s not true, but we wanted his teacher to be aware of what was happening. We knew that Luke’s classmates didn’t intend harm, but at least the teacher might find moments here and there to encourage him.

I had sent an email at 8:30 in the morning and this led his teacher to not only find an encouraging word, but to do a ballet segment in class…that day! They watched videos of Sleeping Beauty on YouTube, making sure to note the men dancing. They talked about how boys are essential to these ballets. And more, they watched videos of football players taking ballet class as way to improve their skills on the field. I was floored that one email, one sharing of a story, would have such a powerful result in the classroom.

Yes, the girls will usually outnumber the boys in ballet class, especially in rural areas.  But I am thankful for a teacher whose example of encouragement and kindness overcame the stereotypes. Thank you, Mrs. Decker.

Chaotic Peacefulness

 

Just what were we thinking? We were thinking that there is much in the world that needs our prayer, especially the war in Syria. So we planned a brief prayer vigil this evening at our church. We hoped it would be a time for folks to pause and pray for peace in community.

What we weren’t thinking about was the children, namely our own. With Nathan leading the prayers and me being there to help lead some hymns a cappella, our children would need to be there as well. And so as it has been before and will likely be again, our children were the only children present.

We thought an intimate setting would be ideal, so Nathan arranged chairs in a circle in the front of the worship space, between the altar table and pulpit. It’s a lovely space for singing. He put candles on the floor and colorful crosses. The setting was a lovely combination of cathedral and living room.

There were just enough chairs set up for the number of people who came, including two for our two boys (the toddler’s seat was free: my lap). And as you can imagine, without pews to spread out on and being up front near all the cool churchy furniture, the kids went a little nutso. Many moments were frustrated and I had to leave the circle more than once.

Yet as I reflect more on this half hour of chaotic peacefulness (I do think that juxtaposition is possible), I realize just how much these children added, not detracted from my prayer.

Yes, my five year old squirmed and ran off, but he danced. In so many cultures, music and dancing are the same word; they cannot be separated. So when Luke left his chair and started dancing around the altar, I wonder if he gets something the rest of us have forgotten.

Yes, the toddler cried, but she sang.  When I sat her down on the pew and gave her a hymnal, she opened it and sang a song without words for two entire stanzas of FINLANDIA (and bobbed her head in rhythm for emphasis).

Yes, the seven year old was unfocused much of the time, but he prayed. During the Lord’s Prayer, his boy soprano voice could be heard clearly, a needed balance to our adult monotones.

Yes, the seven year old interrupted the pastor (dad) before we sang Psalm 46. But he participated. He just wanted the rest of us to wait until he found his page and took off his coat because he was hot.

Yes, they interrupted peace, but they shared peace. Our shy eldest hardly ever wants to share the peace of Christ in worship by shaking hands. In this small, intimate setting, he freely shared it.

Yes, it is hard taking children to worship. I was reminded of this reading a line from a mentor, Paul Westermeyer, this evening:  ‘The discipline of worship, like training for a marathon, requires stretches of boredom if there are to be moments of insight and the deepest joys and sorrows”  (Rise, O Church: Reflections on the Church,Its Music and Empire, Morningstar Music Publishers, 2008), p. 20.

For parents with children, worship can be more frustration than boredom, but like training for a marathon, we can be worn out. Especially when caregivers of children get the sense that children need to be “seen and not heard” so that the adults, the important ones, can get on with what’s important.

But then there are these moments when we get our second wind, a generous dose of the Holy Spirit.  It’s in such moments that I am reminded of why Jesus welcomed the children. They teach us about how the Spirit speaks/sings to us in distracted moments of chaos as well as in prayers for peace.