I serve as a teacher to children in our church. Specifically, I am the teacher of the eleven-year-old girls.
This is a great job for me, because I get to be with children (from whom I learn the most), but I don't have to take any of them potty or wipe their noses or convince them to be reverent (which is my day job). So it's a break from the challenges of children and a chance to revel in what makes them so glorious.
For most of the day Sunday, I cried. And cried. And cried.
I couldn't help it.
We were talking about how each of us is a beloved child of God. And every part of me knows that this is TRUTH.
I've understood this since I was a babe. My first memories are of my mom and dad teaching me where I came from and who I am.
But even now, at the end of my thirty-fourth year, it feels so good to know.
I am a child of God.
So are you.
So is everyone.
At that makes it all mean something--mean everything.
You were always a sensitive, tender learner, and seemed to understand something more from another world than what we were trying to teach you-- you already knew. But thanks for the credit!
ReplyDeleteI've had to repeat that song to myself over and over again the past few weeks. And it always feels so good to remember and feel my relationship with God.
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