On grace

Gym class was the hardest part of the day. It was at once a cacophony of shrillness and an exhibit of blatant disobedience all in the name of getting the wiggles out.

The three other vacation Bible school teachers and I simultaneously checked our watches, then glanced at each other with a shared look that said: "Just 30 more minutes and the class, the day and the week are done."

We had loved, encouraged, cheered, directed, re-directed and physically shuttled these 65 kindergartners through a week's worth of fun designed to show them God's grace, and today we were set to send them back into the world with their tiny lights aflicker.

But first we had to keep them from maiming each other during gym class.

The teenage helpers tried to coordinate a game of kickball, which failed almost as soon as it started. No one could be heard over the din and no one wanted to take turns. It quickly dissolved into a game of keep-away. A kinder mosh pit formed and began moving after the beach ball in amoebic fashion around the gym.

I stepped back and watched for signs of distress.

The first sign came from a tousle-topped boy with dark eyes. He had wrestled the ball away from the pack and he was not going to let go.

I approached him directly and reminded him that we had just the one ball and lots of children -- he would need to share it.

"But no one shared it with me!" he shot back at me. "Now I have it and they want to take it away and I'm not gonna give it to them!"

He had a point. No one else was sharing. Why should he?

Still, the pack stood waiting and pulsing so I needed to get things moving in another direction. I had the beach ball now and I punched it toward the ceiling. The mob chased after it. Phew.

I looked back at the boy who had formerly controlled the ball, hoping to smooth things over with him. It was too late for consolation.

He stared straight at me with boiling tears pouring from his eyes and spewed: "You hurt my feelings!"

It crushed me. He was right. I had hurt his feelings and I didn't know how to fix it. His anger was justified and solid and he was not going to leave it in the foreseeable future.

I suddenly became acutely aware that my only purpose as a Bible-school teacher was to show God's grace to these children and in particular, to this seething child in front of me.

"I'm so sorry I hurt your feelings," I  shouted over his sobbing and the background screaming. "Sometimes things don't go the way we want them to. Would you like to sit with me for a moment?"

He nodded and I scooped him onto my lap and rubbed circles on his back until he stopped crying. Another teacher offered to take him for a drink of water and he hopped down. That was the last I saw of him for the rest of the day.

In just a few minutes gym class was over and we had all survived. I thought about the little boy I had tried and failed to help. I was sure the fracas hadn't crushed his spirit. I just hoped I hadn't either.