"I'm sorry......are you a boy or a girl?"
The strawberry blond 4th grader with a homemade haircut sunk deeper into her chair. The substitute art teacher was asking questions and the 4th grader had raised her hand to answer.
He pointed to her, accepted a response, but then....his question ricocheted back . Of all the kids in the classroom, she was the one that was already an outcast, she was the one with the weird short haircut that she despised, she was the one who was already seeing a psychiatrist, she was the one who had no one to eat lunch with, unless she begged, she, yes, she was a SHE, (for the record). She was me.
The damage was already done as the snickers floated through the air. I tried to take another breath. I was always trying to take deep breaths (my lungs never seemed full). I felt my face get hot and the tears come to the surface. The teacher suddenly realized what he had done, though, it was way too late.
I wish someone would have said, "Hold on, just a minute."
I've found that as pain marbleizes inside our hearts, we often repeat the offenses done to us. I know I have. So, often we need to hear, "hey, just a minute."
One of the biggest anxieties in my life is raising my sons. Truly a daunting task for me. Anyone who has been around me for more than five minutes while I'm caring for my sons, realizes this. I'm overly zealous, not wanting to screw something up. I just realized, ashamedly, that you can't screw up Christ's love, so let discipline be something after that and take "just a minute."
Take just a minute to....
assess the real issue.
listen to even the silly things in the middle of my agenda.
reassure him of my love for him.
look him in the eyes.
show interest in what his world is about.
Just a Minute
The strawberry blond 4th grader with a homemade haircut sunk deeper into her chair. The substitute art teacher was asking questions and the 4th grader had raised her hand to answer.
He pointed to her, accepted a response, but then....his question ricocheted back . Of all the kids in the classroom, she was the one that was already an outcast, she was the one with the weird short haircut that she despised, she was the one who was already seeing a psychiatrist, she was the one who had no one to eat lunch with, unless she begged, she, yes, she was a SHE, (for the record). She was me.
The damage was already done as the snickers floated through the air. I tried to take another breath. I was always trying to take deep breaths (my lungs never seemed full). I felt my face get hot and the tears come to the surface. The teacher suddenly realized what he had done, though, it was way too late.
I wish someone would have said, "Hold on, just a minute."
I've found that as pain marbleizes inside our hearts, we often repeat the offenses done to us. I know I have. So, often we need to hear, "hey, just a minute."
One of the biggest anxieties in my life is raising my sons. Truly a daunting task for me. Anyone who has been around me for more than five minutes while I'm caring for my sons, realizes this. I'm overly zealous, not wanting to screw something up. I just realized, ashamedly, that you can't screw up Christ's love, so let discipline be something after that and take "just a minute."
Take just a minute to....
assess the real issue.
listen to even the silly things in the middle of my agenda.
reassure him of my love for him.
look him in the eyes.
show interest in what his world is about.
Just a Minute
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