Teachers Day

Tuesdays I pray for teachers and those in treatment.

Fitting for today as many children return to school.

I have a deep respect for teachers because as I look back they were my greatest encouragers through my childhood and teen years.

Today though, it is a principal that I remember. I cannot remember his name and I only having fleeting glimpses of what he looked like- chubby cheeks and very tall, but I remember how I felt sitting on his lap.

I was only five; shy and timid. I walked to school excited, yet frightened. When I got to the edge of the playground,it was too quiet. No kids were playing inside the huge chainlink fence. So I ran home. The embarrassment of being late and everyone looking at me was too much to face.

My father was not happy; he worked nights and tried to nap in the mornings, while he watched my brother. After a phone call to the school I was sent back ... to the principal's office. (I'll call him Mr. P.)

Actually, Mr. P was on the playground waiting for me with a smile and gentle, crockerspaniel eyes. My hand in his, we went to his office. I remember his big chair swiveled; his desk was a dark wood and seemed to take up the whole room; and the candy jar was always full.

He sat me on his lap to pick out my favorite piece of candy. I'd unwrap it slowly, plop into my mouth, and savor its sweetness. All the while he was softly talking about my class and the wonderful world of Kindergarten. Then he'd look out of the window and say, "Well, there they are now!" Hand in hand we'd go out for recess. (It never occurred to me that school had just started and recess should have been later in the morning.)

My matronly teacher would take me under wing and the rest of the morning would be fine.

This was repeated for several days until I was comfortable enough to be brave ... and on time.

* * *

Second semester, my brother started kindergarden. One day after school, he ran after a paper blown away by the wind. (One of those mimeographed notes to our parents; I held the same message in my hand.) He was my responsibility, but I couldn't stop him. I turned away as the car struck him.

Mr P, my grown-up friend, was there to comfort me for weeks as Billy laid in the hospital and later at home with broken legs, a broken collarbone, and initially a concussion. Mr P was there when I was taunted with the sing-song chanting of the children because I was chicken and turned away, afraid to watch him get hit. Mr. P even came to our apratment to see Billy, but spent time with me, too.

A lot of trauma for a little girl that was small for her age and very shy. And as you see, I remember a lot of it, quite vividly- including the ambulance ride with Billy in a coma. (It was more nearly 60 years ago.)

When I try to picture my Heavenly Father, it's not my dad, but Mr P I "see". It was his understanding, gentleness, patience, protection, and love for children that I feel as I remember. I cannot see Mr. P in my mind, I feel his presence. The same with my Abba, my Heavenly Daddy- I cannot see Him, but I feel His presence. I feel His hand in mine. I sit in the comfort and protection of His lap as He softly speaks with love, understanding, and gentleness.

Sometimes I still run away when I approach that big fence called life, but He's waiting in love for me to return so we can walk hand and hand once more.

Selah-

Shalom, Connie