It was Sunday at last, my one day off.
My sister and brother in law and MY PRECIOUS BABY NIECE (sorry, I can’t help but get excited about that little booger) were coming over after church.
I was going to stay at home all day, and wear comfortable clothes, and eat yummy food, and snuggle the cutest little baby that’s ever existed. I was so excited.
There was just one more thing I had to do.
Teach Sunday School.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my little group of 3-5 year olds. They’re enthusiastic about things like fruit snacks and getting to take their shoes off. They ask the most hilarious questions. Their goodbye hugs are the best.
However, they have attention spans about the size of a goldfish. And their energy levels could probably fuel the Millennium Falcon flying faster than the speed of light.
Last week, I was determined to just get through Sunday School as fast as possible.
See Sunday school the last month or so has followed this routine:
Kids arrive. Everyone plays. Someone most likely gets hurt and cries. We console the crier, then said crier doesn’t want to let go of our hands for the rest of the morning. Once all kids are accounted for, we tell them its time to pick up toys which typically makes someone else cry. We finally get them to finish up for the most part, although fake grapes and macaroni are still sprawled across the ground and we fear for the life of any teacher or parent that may trip across the little toy cars left in the middle of the room. We start singing songs and they usually yell and scream anything but the actual lyrics and jump and dance and do anything but the actual motions, but they’re having fun so its ok. Then the lesson starts and one little boy in particular starts throwing pillows, kicking, yelling and hiding under tables. Other kids start acting up and take all the attention away from the 2 fairly well behaved children who actually just want to hear the lesson. One little boy will tell you he hates you and he just wants his Mom or Dad or Nana. We finish. I wonder if they even learned anything, then its time to wash their hands for snack, pray, eat some gummies, play again, and go home.
Last week I opened the little child proof gate to get into the preschool room expecting that same routine. I was extra tired since it was the beginning of daylight savings time. I think everyone else was too.
I was helping at the first service and we only had 4 little munchkins. One Mom, about 15 minutes late, rushed to the gate apologizing, “I’m so sorry! We completely forgot about the time change!!!” I could tell. Her poor little girl looked like she’d literally been pulled out of bed 5 minutes prior. There was sleep still in her eyes, her hair was matted to one side, and her body was doing that limp thing where it hasn’t woken up enough to move yet.
The kids were excited to play as usual, but the playing involved much less running and screaming. There was a mellow presence in the room.
And boy did I like it.
The lesson that morning was about Esther. I was telling them that Esther was brave, and she was brave because God was with her.
“But where is God?” One of the little girls with a halo of strawberry blonde curls asked. She was pointing to the pictures I was holding up that helped illustrate the story.
“Well you can’t see God in the picture, but he’s still there.”
I continued on with my story and then got to the application.
“So if you’re ever scared like when you’re going to bed in the dark, you can be brave because you know that God is right there with you”
The kids gave me some blank bewildered stares.
I tried to guess if they were confused, or just still tired.
Finally one of the little boys broke the silence.
“But how is God there?”
“Yeah we can’t see him.” Another boy said.
I smiled.
“You don’t have to see him to know he’s there.”
Same blank, bewildered stares.
“Its like this, can you see the wind?” I asked.
“No.” They all answered.
“But do you know its there?”
“Yes.”
“How about your Mommy and Daddy’s love for you? Can you see that?”
“No.”
“But do you know they love you?”
“Yeah.”
I was about to further expound on the truth by telling the kids how you can be certain of Gods existence through his attributes seen in nature, because he gave us the bible, and because Jesus came to Earth, but one of the little boys asked another question first.
“Teacher, does that mean God is with us right now?”
I smiled at the question in his eyes. It reminded me of myself when I’m asking a question that I so desperately want to know the answer to. He wasn’t just asking to hear his own voice, or to get attention. He was asking because he truly wanted to know. And I couldn’t wait to tell him.
“Yes, he’s here right now.”
I wish I could explain to you the beaming smile that came over that little boy and the way he looked at the other kids as if he’d just made a huge scientific discovery. He jumped to his feet, and this time I didn’t tell him to sit down.
“HELLO GOD!” He yelled, and started running.
One of the other little boys joined him and the next thing I knew two little 4 year olds were rushing around the room saying hi to God, and my throat was closing up, and I could feel the presence of my Father grinning in delight. I could hear Jesus’ words,
“Let the little children come to me.”
“HELLO GOD! HELLO GOD!”
I’ll never forget that moment.
As they came back to our little circle, out of breath, with eyes sparkling, one of the little boys sat down, held his knees to his chest and whispered to me, “He’s there. I could feel him.”
The rest of the morning went back to the old routine. They ate their snacks, they said their prayers, they played some more, and they told us goodbye.
I left that room wondering if this is what Aaoron, or any of the great high priests had felt, leaving the Holy of Holies. It was a little hard to walk, and my heart was so full of the presence of God, I thought it was going to burst.
But the most beautiful part to me was that it hadn’t been the Holy of Holies. It hadn’t been a solemn ceremony where only the most qualified and righteous of men were allowed to experience the presence of God.
It hadn’t even been a huge auditorium. It hadn’t involved weeping and repentance and masses coming to the front to receive salvation.
It was just a little Sunday school room. With 4 ordinary little kids. Typical troublemakers with curious minds and big hearts.
They weren’t scared of the presence of God. They didn’t enter into the Holy of Holies with a bell around their ankle. When they became certain of Gods presence, they ran straight toward him.
I had walked into Sunday school that morning, expecting to teach, and yet it was those kids who taught me.
They reminded me that God loves the little children. And he delights in a childlike faith. He doesn’t need us to know everything before we come to him. He doesn’t need us to repent of everything. He doesn’t even expect us to.
He delights in us most, when we throw ourselves into his arms and just trust Him. Trust that he’s there. And he’s safe. And he loves us.
“Let the little children come to me.” Jesus said.
“Don’t hide them from me. They’re not too young.
And don’t hide the lepers. They’re not too sick.
Don’t hide the sinners. They’re not too far gone.”
And you, whoever you are, whichever category you might put yourself into, don’t hide from Him either.
I’ve always said that one of my greatest goals in life is to make God laugh. There’s so much sorrow in the world, so much pain and sin and strife, I imagine God does a lot of weeping.
But last Sunday, when two little boys were running around the room saying hi to their Father, I think I could hear God laughing.
