Surrounded by the playful shouts of running children, standing in the sunshine on the school playground, I inhaled slowly.
Exhaled.
Willed myself to forget my exhaustion and inner pain, and focus on the idyllic scene all around me.
Pain doesn’t disappear at command, apparently.
But joy can be sought and found, which I have discovered to be an effective method in getting through difficult times.
So once again, I determined to shift the focus from coping with these emotions, to seeking a reason to smile.
(Sometimes, we do have to walk through the messiness in our hearts. But there are times and places, like at school when you’re the teacher, that you need to be able to effectively distract yourself so that you can function well in your role.)
I turned slowly and took in everything… the area filled with running children, the delighted shrieks and giggles coming from the swings, the little boys so intensely committed to their baseball game…
Amid all the action, I noticed a child standing not far behind me.
All by herself, a post of the playground nearly hid her from my sight.
I stepped toward her, and the wispy, blonde ponytailed head peeked out.
Blue eyes held my gaze with a reproachful stare.
“How’s your day in kindergarten been so far?” I began.
“Good!” She replied instantly.
Hmmm. Okay, but she’s not playing with the others and doesn’t look too happy about something… I decided to try another tactic.
“Would you like to play with the others?”
Very sweetly, but with 5 year old confidence, she answered in the negative.
“Are you enjoying your recess, just relaxing here?”
“No.”
O-Kay! This time, her negative answer held an accusing tone.
“I’m sorry to hear that – can you tell me why?”
Again, Miss Tiny’s confident voice sounded accusing. A little arm stretched up and pointed at the swinging rings on the playset as she declared, “I want to go across.”
“I’ve been waiting,” she added. “And no one came to help me.”
I patiently apologized, assured her I would be glad to help, now that I knew she wanted to go across.
In my mind, I thought, “And this is why I’m not a kindergarten teacher. Like – how long would she have waited if I hadn’t seen her there? Here I’m feeling terrible for not noticing sooner, yet she could have told me!”
As she beamed down at me while I guided her from one ring to the next, I was still exasperated and amused inside. May God bless all kindergarten teachers with wisdom to read the minds of their students… and understand without being told when they “want to go across.”
Suddenly, it was like God turned the lights on and revealed the purpose for this little exchange. Just like that, I saw myself.
Timidly standing at the bottom of the steep mountain range, stubbornly refusing to ask anyone for help.
Just waiting.
Wondering where God is, and when He’s going to show up to help me navigate this.
Sure, He knows what I need and can read my thoughts before I tell Him. But even when I can predict what a student needs by the desparate jabbing of their hand in the air, I still appreciate when they use their communication skills to tell me. Does God not desire me to do the same?
His Father-Heart wants connection with me, and that is formed when I speak to Him in prayer.
He desires my expression of trust in coming to Him and saying, “I can’t do this alone… I need Your help.”
He loves when I acknowledge Him for Who He is, and admit that I’m at the end of myself.
I set the little girl safely on the platform after helping her across, and as she runs off to play, I smile at the retreating ponytail that bounces with her steps.
A little child shall lead them…
I returned to the place I stood before, no longer hugging myself so tightly as if trying to hold my fragile heart together.
It’s time to stop staring at the mountain and wondering how to get over it.
I’m done pacing in circles at the foot of it, asking why God hasn’t taken it away.
That simple exchange at recess was designed by a Divine Hand to show me what I need to do…
I stretched out my hands and whispered,
“God, I want to go across.
I’m sorry I didn’t tell You sooner, and that I just kept asking You why You haven’t come to go up the mountain with me. You’ve been here waiting to start the climb, just patiently waiting until I humble myself to acknowledge my need.
So here I am now, God. I know I’m too weak to climb this by myself. Will You help me?
I want to go across.”
Notes from My Heartsong 