I am an empty vessel today. I am worn out and worn down. I think I overdosed on children. Preschoolers. They look so sweet but taken in large does, they can drain you of every last bit of energy and patience you can muster. I have enjoyed Bible school this week but it has kicked my butt and tossed me out of the ring. I really do love the kids, but Lord, I need a long nap and an hour of absolute silence. A piece of chocolate cake wouldn’t hurt, either. I have mediated arguments over hats, washed sticky hands, cleaned up after a milk fight and glued enough rainbows to cover Mount Rushmore. I have also laughed…a lot. I’ve helped with Bible school for several years now, and I’ve noticed that every year we can count on the following folks to show up:
Nora the Ignorer….She’s the little girl that has the face of an angel and the ears of Helen Keller. She smiles sweetly at you when you give her instructions then turns a deaf ear to you and proceeds to do exactly what she wants instead of what she’s supposed to do …over and over again. She ignores you when you tell her not to pour punch on her neighbor at the snack table and acts like she can’t hear you when you tell her to quit pinching her sister. It’s a good thing she’s so stinkin’ cute, so I can resist the urge to swat her hind end.
Peter Puller….This little boy holds his genitalia constantly, leading us to ask him every five minutes if he has to go to the bathroom. Sadly, he doesn’t have to go. He’s just a man in training, afraid that if he lets go of his wee wee it will disappear. I noticed last night he alternated hands while doing the craft. Yes sir, we got us an ambidextrous one this year. He probably wonders why I’m always asking him to wash his hands.
Great Snot….There is always one child with a runny nose, even in the summer. God bless him. He can’t help it, but he spreads more germs than the Asian flu. This child is also the one who wants to give you lots of hugs and hold hands with you as you change activities. I just hug back and say a little prayer that my vitamin C is working overtime.
Wounded Wendy…..Somebody has to get hurt, and she’s always the one. Before the week is out, she’ll have a busted lip, a scraped up knee and some kind of head wound from running headlong into a coat rack. The tears usually erupt about an hour into the evening, and no matter how far away you are, you know it’s her because…well, because it always is.
There are others, and I could go on and on, but these are my favorites. At times this week, I’ve wanted to pull my hair out when the Nora’s and Wendy’s have been in fine form. But right before I reach up to yank out a few graying strands, someone under the age of five does something really warm and wonderful….like give me a hug…or tell a silly joke….or tell me how nice I smell. As we were singing at the end of last night’s program, a little autistic girl ran up on stage just to give our youth director a big hug and to tell him how much fun she was having. That, my friends, is why I will drag my weary butt to the church tonight for one last night of this madness. I could use a hug, and I just might get one.
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