It’s an old idea, but it’s a good one: some of the best lessons adults learn come from an elementary classroom.
For example:
Tying shoes is hard. Untangling knots is harder.
Everything is better with recess. And colour.
It’s okay to hug someone. Especially if they’re unhappy.
Success is better measured by clipped corners and smiley face stickers.
But despite the fact that so many of these little “lessons” are so simple and straightforward, I continue to be reminded that it often takes us “grown-ups” longer than we think to truly grasp the depths of our understanding. In other words, those romanticized “lightbulb moments” of every teacher’s dream class aren’t just about frustrated ten-year olds with furrowed brows and word problems… so when did we stop expecting them to “turn on” in our own lives?
Everyday, I’m becoming more and more amazed at how God has brought my husband and I to this specific place in our journey. There have been some difficult decisions and sacrifices up to this point, yet we recognize the He has the whole thing planned and everything is working out just fine.
But I’d be lying if I said that I always felt “just fine.”
Honestly, there are days when I still find myself glancing to the right and the left, peering into other people’s homes and facebook pages, wondering why we can’t have that dream job, that new house, that growing family, etc… etc… that so many of my peers seem to be rolling through these days. Jealousy is the green goblin that I’ve been wrestling with for years, and I constantly find myself muttering to Abba, “Do you see this, God? How come they get it all? They’re not dealing with everything we are! Why don’t they have to do it like us? Do you SEE this..?”
I knew it wasn’t right to think that way, to nurse those feelings. But because I didn’t know what else to do, I sighed a little prayer under my breath, and once again, covered the envy with a hot coffee and a busy job.
So it’s another day at work in the school.
The lesson instructions had been clearly provided and repeated, as is always the case. Brittany*, with a narrow glance at her neighbour, stood up and marched over to her teacher’s desk. “Mrs. Norrison,” she began, “Davy is NOT doing the work right. You said we had to colour the picture first THEN cut it out, but he is cutting his out right now and isn’t colouring at all…”
I couldn’t help but overhear. And what happened next, was pure learning.
Mrs. Norrison leaned towards Brittany, and carefully took her hands. “Brittany, whose learning are you responsible for?”
A pause. Responsible is a pretty big word for a third grader.
Slowly, a deep breath and a final raising of the head. “Mine,” Brittany quietly replied.
“Are you in charge of Davy’s learning?”
“No.”
“Well then,” Mrs. Norrison smiled with a flourishing finale. “You’ve got nothing to worry about. Why don’t you just concern yourself with your own learning, and you let me deal with Davy’s?”
Thunder. Lightening. Lightbulb moment.
Whose learning are you responsible fore?
A pause. Responsible is a pretty big word for an adult.
Slowly, a deep breath and finally, the reply: Not your best friend’s. Not your sister’s. Not your parents’. Not your neighbour’s. Not even that random you stalk on facebook.
