And the children did lead us....
If you believe the internet and some evangelical Christians, most of the evils in our a world are a direct result of what they see as the absence of God from public schools. It is true that we don't have compulsory prayer and our character education is not directly taken from Biblical sources, but I've still found these arguments to be amusing (and, frankly, ignorant). I'm no Biblical scholar, but I do know that all of my girls learned as very young children that God is everywhere and can work and in through anyone and any setting regardless of what and who is around them. I also know that faith is best represented in our fruits and not in our ability to recite the Ten Commandments by heart. God is in our schools. If you are a true believer, you know this to be true and you don't even need the proof. For the doubters, however, I have some proof thanks to a few sweet first grade students.
Working in an elementary school during December is sort of like serving as an extra for the movie "Elf" except the script involves math story problems and words per minute screens. The halls are filled with glittery Christmas trees and pictures of elves. Kindergarteners can be found sporting Santa Lucia crowns and decorating paper gingerbread men. Packages of chex mix and miniature candy bars make their way onto desks. The energy buzzes and hums with more and more intensity with each day that bring us closer to winter break.
The holiday season would not be complete without gift giving and most classes do some version of a gift exchange. Most students bring in gifts and, this year, for those were not able, we had a grand selection of back up gift options in my impromptu Holiday Shoppe (thanks to the generosity of my friends). We all get to give and we all get to receive.
This morning, a paraprofessional (a.k.a. super-hero in disguise) brought in a wrapped package and asked me to inspect its contents. A little girl in first grade had eagerly brought this package to her teacher and excitedly shared that she and her mom had carefully selected and prepared the doll that was inside. It was clear from the conversation that this was a doll that had already been played with. The grown ups were concerned that next to all of the brand new gifts under their classroom tree, this gift would not measure up to expectations. Together, we carefully opened the package and found an obviously used but very clean dolly nestled in the wrapping paper with a little bottle tucked into its arm.
We both gazed at this gift in silence that was broken when I wistfully said, "This is so sweet."
"It is," the paraprofessional replied with a sigh.
We fell silent again as we both mulled over the situation. How could we let this little girl give a used gift in a classroom exchange when we knew that everyone else had wrapped up a recently purchased, bright and shiny trinket? But, how could we not let her give this special gift? We settled on a plan that involved me calling the mom and explaining that this was too nice and too special to give as a gift and could I please help this little girl choose something from my stash. We both felt this was the right thing to do, but I didn't feel good about it and I could tell she felt the same way.
I had every intention of making that phone call, but life intervened. Someone became overwhelmed by the holiday hub-bub and needed a break, a class was short two books for its gift exchange, a preschool family needed some last minute help with holiday gifts, and before I knew it, the paraprofessional was back in my room wondering about our gift. With no time to work through the problem with the little girl and her mom, we carefully re-wrapped the dolly and brought it back to the classroom.
The students had already finished their dice game, so we gave the gift to the recipient chosen by chance. She smiled brightly and gave the package a squeeze. "I wonder what it is!" she queried brightly. The little girl who had brought the dolly looked back at her and gave her a big, broad smile filled with pride. The grown ups in the room all looked at each other and wordlessly communicated our fears.
As the students made their way to the large group circle with their wrapped gifts in hand, we briefly consulted. We agreed that of all the possibilities in the classroom, this little recipient was our best bet for a positive outcome. As the teacher reminded students about the importance of using our best manners when receiving gifts, I carefully positioned myself so I could read the little girl's expression as she opened her package.
The teacher counted down from three and we all watched with nervousness as she gently opened her package. She carefully pulled the doll from the crinkled paper and cradled it in her arms. She took the bottle and placed it in the baby's mouth and then looked around as her classmates ooohed and ahhhed over their shiny, bright and obviously new gifts. With a smile spread across her face, she looked happily on at her classmates' treasures and then caught the eye of the little girl who had given her the doll. Her eyes lit up and, with the sweetest sincerity, she said, "Thank you!" The sweet little gift giver smiled the biggest smile I ever did see. I think she grew an inch with all of the pride bursting from her body. Moments later another little girl looked up from her gift and smiled at the dolly. She leaned toward the new doll owner and asked, "Can I have a turn feeding the baby?'
I stood there in a sea of these little joyful bodies and looked at their teacher. There was no room for words in that joyful din, so we communicated our emotion with our eyes. Despite my best efforts to maintain composure, the tears sprang to my eyes and I quietly excused myself so I could just feel all those feels.
Christmas had just happened in that classroom. Real Christmas. The kind of Christmas that involves sacrifice and love and pure goodness. No one said a word about Jesus. No one said a single prayer out loud, but don't you dare tell me God was not present with us this morning.
The thing is... This moment almost didn't happen. With our grown up, cynical, jaded brains, we looked at this as a problem that needed to be fixed. Even though we could see the love that went into that gift, we didn't trust that these children would. Through the materialistic lens we each had developed through our years of living...the lens that says Christmas has to be bright and shiny and new...we were almost certain that this could go very wrong. There was something wrong all right, but it was within us.
I firmly believe that the adults with whom I work have been placed in these kids' lives to teach them lessons. I see it everyday. Amidst the math and reading and social studies, I see grown ups teaching little people how to manage feelings, navigate conflict, and make friends. We do teach them and, I think, teach them well. Today, however, these little girls taught us. Through a living breathing example, we learned that giving and receiving is not really about the "stuff." Not really. At least it shouldn't be about the "stuff." Giving and receiving is about relationship. It's about giving something of yourself to someone else and receiving those same sorts of gifts from others with open and grateful hearts.
Happy Holidays, friends. Look for the light. It's there, I know it is. It just might be hiding in unexpected places...like in a small package containing a gently used doll.
Working in an elementary school during December is sort of like serving as an extra for the movie "Elf" except the script involves math story problems and words per minute screens. The halls are filled with glittery Christmas trees and pictures of elves. Kindergarteners can be found sporting Santa Lucia crowns and decorating paper gingerbread men. Packages of chex mix and miniature candy bars make their way onto desks. The energy buzzes and hums with more and more intensity with each day that bring us closer to winter break.
The holiday season would not be complete without gift giving and most classes do some version of a gift exchange. Most students bring in gifts and, this year, for those were not able, we had a grand selection of back up gift options in my impromptu Holiday Shoppe (thanks to the generosity of my friends). We all get to give and we all get to receive.
This morning, a paraprofessional (a.k.a. super-hero in disguise) brought in a wrapped package and asked me to inspect its contents. A little girl in first grade had eagerly brought this package to her teacher and excitedly shared that she and her mom had carefully selected and prepared the doll that was inside. It was clear from the conversation that this was a doll that had already been played with. The grown ups were concerned that next to all of the brand new gifts under their classroom tree, this gift would not measure up to expectations. Together, we carefully opened the package and found an obviously used but very clean dolly nestled in the wrapping paper with a little bottle tucked into its arm.
We both gazed at this gift in silence that was broken when I wistfully said, "This is so sweet."
"It is," the paraprofessional replied with a sigh.
We fell silent again as we both mulled over the situation. How could we let this little girl give a used gift in a classroom exchange when we knew that everyone else had wrapped up a recently purchased, bright and shiny trinket? But, how could we not let her give this special gift? We settled on a plan that involved me calling the mom and explaining that this was too nice and too special to give as a gift and could I please help this little girl choose something from my stash. We both felt this was the right thing to do, but I didn't feel good about it and I could tell she felt the same way.
I had every intention of making that phone call, but life intervened. Someone became overwhelmed by the holiday hub-bub and needed a break, a class was short two books for its gift exchange, a preschool family needed some last minute help with holiday gifts, and before I knew it, the paraprofessional was back in my room wondering about our gift. With no time to work through the problem with the little girl and her mom, we carefully re-wrapped the dolly and brought it back to the classroom.
The students had already finished their dice game, so we gave the gift to the recipient chosen by chance. She smiled brightly and gave the package a squeeze. "I wonder what it is!" she queried brightly. The little girl who had brought the dolly looked back at her and gave her a big, broad smile filled with pride. The grown ups in the room all looked at each other and wordlessly communicated our fears.
As the students made their way to the large group circle with their wrapped gifts in hand, we briefly consulted. We agreed that of all the possibilities in the classroom, this little recipient was our best bet for a positive outcome. As the teacher reminded students about the importance of using our best manners when receiving gifts, I carefully positioned myself so I could read the little girl's expression as she opened her package.
The teacher counted down from three and we all watched with nervousness as she gently opened her package. She carefully pulled the doll from the crinkled paper and cradled it in her arms. She took the bottle and placed it in the baby's mouth and then looked around as her classmates ooohed and ahhhed over their shiny, bright and obviously new gifts. With a smile spread across her face, she looked happily on at her classmates' treasures and then caught the eye of the little girl who had given her the doll. Her eyes lit up and, with the sweetest sincerity, she said, "Thank you!" The sweet little gift giver smiled the biggest smile I ever did see. I think she grew an inch with all of the pride bursting from her body. Moments later another little girl looked up from her gift and smiled at the dolly. She leaned toward the new doll owner and asked, "Can I have a turn feeding the baby?'
I stood there in a sea of these little joyful bodies and looked at their teacher. There was no room for words in that joyful din, so we communicated our emotion with our eyes. Despite my best efforts to maintain composure, the tears sprang to my eyes and I quietly excused myself so I could just feel all those feels.
Christmas had just happened in that classroom. Real Christmas. The kind of Christmas that involves sacrifice and love and pure goodness. No one said a word about Jesus. No one said a single prayer out loud, but don't you dare tell me God was not present with us this morning.
The thing is... This moment almost didn't happen. With our grown up, cynical, jaded brains, we looked at this as a problem that needed to be fixed. Even though we could see the love that went into that gift, we didn't trust that these children would. Through the materialistic lens we each had developed through our years of living...the lens that says Christmas has to be bright and shiny and new...we were almost certain that this could go very wrong. There was something wrong all right, but it was within us.
I firmly believe that the adults with whom I work have been placed in these kids' lives to teach them lessons. I see it everyday. Amidst the math and reading and social studies, I see grown ups teaching little people how to manage feelings, navigate conflict, and make friends. We do teach them and, I think, teach them well. Today, however, these little girls taught us. Through a living breathing example, we learned that giving and receiving is not really about the "stuff." Not really. At least it shouldn't be about the "stuff." Giving and receiving is about relationship. It's about giving something of yourself to someone else and receiving those same sorts of gifts from others with open and grateful hearts.
Happy Holidays, friends. Look for the light. It's there, I know it is. It just might be hiding in unexpected places...like in a small package containing a gently used doll.
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