1


August


The First Day of School


It was the first day of school, the first hour to be exact, and I sat at my desk in the front of the room surveying the class before me. The motley crew of five-year-olds scattered in front of me comprised this year's kindergarten class. The names and faces change from year to year. They are boys and girls, tall and short, plump and thin. They are blonde and brunette and one is always a redhead. Their hair is short and long. Their uniforms are neatly pressed and wrinkled. They come bearing everything but the kitchen sink and they come empty handed. They are always very different from, yet very similar to, last year's class. They are also very different from, yet very similar to, one another. However, although each comes in a unique outer wrapping, inside they are all five-year-olds. And I have always found five-year-olds to be a very good thing.

They sat before me, each coloring a paper caterpillar with their name printed on it. This was one of my favorite "getting to know you" activities. I have found through the years that there is nothing children enjoy more than seeing their name anywhere and everywhere. Printed big, bright, and bold. They enjoy it; they become flattered and proud. "If my name is here, I must belong," their eyes seem to say.

I studied them with interest, noting how uniquely they approached the task assigned to them. Some sat straight and tall, coloring perfectly and confidently inside the lines as if they were modeling for a Norman Rockwell painting, while others looked more like Spanky and the gang from The Little Rascals, disheveled, slouching, and wielding each crayon wildly like a sword.

I rose from my desk and walked around the room offering encouragement with positive words and gentle touches on the shoulder. "These are simply the most beautiful caterpillars I have ever seen," I gushed.

As I continued to weave in and out of the desks, a clamor from the hallway drew my attention. Another class was passing by my doorway on their way to the gym. I did a double take as I realized it was not just any class, but my kindergarten class from last year--this year's first graders. I paused and watched as they scampered by, some of them waving. They had outgrown me. My heart melted and a lump formed in my throat as I watched them. A flood of memories washed over me. How they had grown! They had stumbled in last year so young, so insecure, with wide eyes and cowering shoulders. Throughout the year they had grown and by June their eyes had become sure and their shoulders straight. As the line of children dwindled, the flood of memories dried, leaving just a drop in the corner of my eye. I sighed and wiped the tear away with a quick hand.

"Teacher?" My thoughts were interrupted. Last year disappeared.

"Teacher?" persisted a voice from a straight and tall inside-of-the-lines colorer in the front row. "If we are caterpillars now," she asked, with her blonde ponytail bobbing, "will we be butterflies when kindergarten is over?"

I smiled at her as she tilted her head to admire her perfectly crayoned caterpillar. "Yes, Julie," I said, reading her name off the page. Her eyes darted to mine at the sound of her name. She smiled and blushed, surprised that I knew it.

"Yes," I said again, smiling to myself and enjoying the thought. I savored the image in my head for a moment longer; then, as the last first grader danced by my door, I said, "Yes, I believe you will be."

And with that, I somehow had a new understanding of the work set before me for the next ten months, the work that God had sent me to do.

Nurturing wiggling little caterpillars into beautiful baby butterflies.


2


September


An Apple for the Teacher


"It's for you,&