Paul and I lived in Gaithersburg, Maryland, a suburb of Washington, D.C., during the first three years of our marriage, and while we lived there, we were members of a Southern Baptist congregation in a neighboring town. This church was significantly smaller than the ones I had been a member but significantly larger than the Methodist country church that my husband grew up in. The woman who directed the church's preschool program was married to the man who was our Sunday School teacher, and when our class had socials, Renee noticed that I spent more time playing with the children of the couples in our class than with the adults.
One day Renee asked Paul and me if we would consider working occasionally in extended session - teaching a group of preschoolers during the worship service. Renee was smart - if she had asked us flat out to teach Sunday School, we would have said no. By asking us to take on a less demanding responsibility, she gave us a chance to get our feet wet, and by the time the fall rolled around, we were ready (and better equipped) to take on the challenge of teaching 4-year-olds in Sunday School.
One of my favorite students that year was Charlie, even though Charlie clearly was not happy about coming to Sunday School. Every week he cried when the moment arrived for his parents to drop him off in our class. After a few Sundays, I learned to crack the door open just wide enough for Charlie's mother to push his small body inside the room, thus giving her an opportunity to escape down the hallway and minimize the drama of the moment of separation. Charlie would then proceed to crawl under a table, where he would stay for 10-15 minutes until he felt comfortable enough to come out and play.
One Sunday our lesson was about "God Made the Animals," so when we gathered the children together in a circle for Bible story time, I asked them to raise their hands if they had a pet at home. Predictably, several children mentioned cats, dogs, birds, and fish, and one child even had a turtle. As the children took turns sharing, I realized with no small amount of amazement that Charlie had tentatively raised his hand. This was highly unusual! Maybe Charlie was finally breaking out of his shell! Excitedly, I asked, "Charlie, do you have a pet?" Eyes brimming with tears, he blurted out, "My family EATS fish!" Poor Charlie.
We had no drama in our Sunday School class today - no teenagers clung to their parents at the door, hid under the table, or burst into tears as we discussed a biblical truth. We talked not about God making the animals but about how God led the Apostle Paul on an indirect path from Jerusalem to Rome, where Paul would have yet another opportunity to proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ. Even though my class of seniors is markedly different from that class of preschoolers that I taught 22 years ago, I realize that I still approach the responsibility of being a Sunday School teacher in much the same way. The lessons I learned that year shaped me as a teacher and helped prepare me to eventually teach in a variety of settings with a range of age groups. I will always be grateful to Renee for recognizing that I had the gift of teaching and for giving me an opportunity to use that gift within the church.
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