Preschool Blessings

It seems that the end of each September leaves me astounded by the fact that we have already been in school four weeks.  We have been blessed with nine students this year.  And they really are a blessing (see Psalm 127:3-5).  We spent the first week of school getting to know each other.  The second week we learned how to be good friends by learning about our special friend, Jesus.  These past two weeks we have been studying apples with all of our senses.

Somewhere between the end of week three, when I started wondering if the boys and girls in the class were ever going to figure out what preschool was all about, and the beginning of week four, when everything clicked and it was like they had been in school their whole lives, I was reminded again of how blessed I am to have such an amazing job. 

There are only a few professions where you are greeted each morning by a joyful smile and a body rushing towards you for a hug even before skipping off to the toys.  Even the ministries I’ve worked for were not filled with exuberant laughter the way our classroom is—the kind of giggles that make you fall over and roll on the ground.  The compliments come one after the other and circle the table from the color of my nail polish, to my jewelry, my hair (even when I think it’s a bad hair day), to the fact that we’re wearing the same color shirt.  It’s great to work with people who are thankful for almost everything, where “sorrys” come easily and “I love yous” even more so.  Where when people talk behind your back it’s because they are doing “Crisscross Applesauce” while tickling you.  I get to work in a place where they can’t call each other “weenie” because it’s not nice, but they want to make sure they can still say “hotdog” without getting “the look.”

Of course classroom life is not always rosy.  (Remember the end of week three?)  September is also the time where teachers have to let go of the remembrances of the past year’s class and all of their achievements and the big kids they sent on to the next grade.  I could remember the kindergarteners I had sent across the street, but I was getting little ones who had never been in school before.  We had to work (and some days we are still working) on becoming preschoolers and I had to remind myself that preschoolers are my blessings—not kinders.

But even on our toughest days, when tears are more plentiful than giggles, when whiney voices replace our real ones, and when our hands are used instead of our words, there’s no doubt in my mind that this is where I am supposed to be.