Sunday School AND Children's Class

This just wasn’t my day.

Oh, it started out okay. I woke up on time. I made it to church on time. I was seated well in advance of the first song. But that is where things began to go awry.

Rosita came into the sanctuary and sat next to me. We had been sitting there for a few minutes when the Sunday School Superintendent stepped into the pew behind us and said he needed a favor. Not a good sign. “I need some teachers for the Preschool class. Would you mind?”

My natural reaction was to scan through list of excuses, but none fit the occasion. I eyed Rosita wondering what she would say. Her attitude was the one that I should have been sporting. A nonchalant “Sure” from her sealed the deal. It never even occurred to me to go get the book to see what was in store for us, but she went after the book.

So the time for Sunday School arrived and we made our way to the nook that the Preschool table sits in. We had approximately thirteen students of which only two were girls. So imagine, eleven little boys around one table. As we were trying to make enough room for everyone, one Helpful Little Boy was determined that we should set up another table, but we squeezed and put people on corners and managed to get everyone seated.

I don’t deal with little kids enough that I can ever get used to their unpredictability in a short period of time; therefore, when I am in a teacher situation, I usually avoid asking questions that everyone has an answer to. (I don’t mind it as much if there isn’t another adult around to watch me make a fool out of myself if I don’t quite know how to deal with a child.) But Rosita…she is much better at this kind of thing.

The lesson was on the man at the pool of Bethesda so Rosita asked if any of them had ever been sick. Of course, they all had a story of when they had been sick or even in the hospital. The danger in asking those kinds of questions is that everyone wants to tell their story, and they want to tell it first. So when do you decide it’s time to cut them off? I think it would be a hoot to be able to take the kids and just let them tell stories sometime (see what you could get out of them), but when all of those parents are expecting you to teach their kids something Valuable, you feel kind of pressured to have Sunday School.

Anyway, Rosita asked if they had offering and many of them did, BUT they weren’t used to taking the offering first thing. They always wait until the end. So we got the books passed out, then she started reading the story while I stood on the other side of the table behind a particularly Unruly Boy that couldn’t keep his hands to himself and was sitting next to a Visiting Little Girl that wasn’t aggressive enough to tell him to bug off. There were too many dollar bills being batted around so Rosita just gathered them up, even though we didn’t have a clue where the offering container was. Helpful Little Boy offered to go to the kitchen to help Rosita find where the money container was, but she declined.

Halfway through the story, Helpful Little Boy interrupted her to tell her that his Little Brother and his Cousin were talking. She frowned a little and told the two little boys they need to be quiet and listen. “Oh, it’s okay,” Little Brother said, “We were just talking quiet so we could still hear.” I wanted to crack up! She reiterated the need for silence and went on. See, that’s what I have a hard time handling.

So we finished the lesson, colored, stopped Unruly Little Boy from coloring on Visiting Little Girl’s book, gathered Smarties wrappers from Unruly Little Boy, told them bathroom and drink breaks could wait a few more minutes, distributed verses and stickers, dismissed the children, and cleaned up. We returned to our seats in the sanctuary with me being somewhat dazed at the whole experience.

The sermon started when suddenly the man sitting in front of me reached back with a note. I took it from him and it said, “Will you two have children’s class tonight?”

I wanted to return it with and emphatic “No! I have just been traumatized by the little munchkins!” I showed it to Rosita hoping she would come up with a reason that we, in fact, could not have children’s class. Where is my servant’s attitude when I need it most?? Rosita looked at it, thought a bit, and said, “It shouldn’t be that hard.”

Okay, it’s one thing to handle the unpredictability of children in Sunday School where their parents can’t see how unqualified you are, but in front of the whole church?? I’ve watched grown men (and women, for that matter), who have had children of their own, falter at the response of children in public. And they think that I want to do this?

I sent the note back with a commitment but not before letting him know that I’d just been traumatized. After church, Rosita and I made arrangements for me to stop by her place this afternoon and went on our separate ways to partake of our noontime meals.

I moaned about my dilemma at lunch, and Kris, ever the teacher at heart, deemed it time to use an Arch book. Arch books are Bible stories that are written in poem form. After we got back to our place, Kris sat down and read The Braggy King of Babylon to me. I would have been satisfied with reading the story and being done with it, but NOOOO, that wasn’t good enough for Kris. She thought it needed to be acted out. “Children LOVE stuff like that! They remember those kinds of things.”

I reminded her of our motto of “All for one and one for all” and begged her into helping me. We went to Rosita’s place and gave our pitch. She liked the idea although the idea to get her sisters to help bombed because they were scheduled to sing after Children’s Class. We agreed to meet at the church at 5:30 and raced back home to gather props and coerce more actors.

Our first stop was at Mom’s house to get Jolene. She was in bed and wasn’t too keen on being dragged out of bed to help prepare for Children’s Class. She crawled out of bed issuing threats and making declarations the whole way, but at least she got out of bed. Then on to Martin’s house to find ourselves a King.

We decided to maximize on Mom’s Persuasive Powers and took her with us to recruit Martin. We crossed the road and descended upon his front door, only to find it had rudely been locked by Colton. After gaining an entrance, we pulled out all stops to get Martin on board. He never really agreed to it, but accompanied us to rehearsal, kicking and screaming the whole way. (We love Martin! He makes such a wonderful actor if he just allows himself to let go.)

Rosita had the opening comments and read the verse “Pride goeth before destruction and an haughty spirit before a fall.” She had barely read the verse when Shane piped up and said, “That’s a long verse!” See what I mean about the unpredictability?

Kris read the story. I doubled as a “tall, dark man” and a servant, and Jolene and Rosita were servants as well. Things went pretty well. Martin forgot only two of his four lines, Jolene stood on one end of the tablecloth she was supposed to dramatically snap over top of our banquet (communion) table, and Kris said “he trembled in his head” instead of “he trembled in his bed”, but I doubt that many people noticed anything except that Martin had to fish in his pocket for his lines.

So I shall publicly acknowledge that I am ever so grateful for the help from my siblings. If it hadn’t been for Kris, who knows what Rosita and I would have come up with? If it hadn’t been for Martin, who would have been our king? If it hadn’t been for Jolene, who would have helped Rosita and I gasp at our beastly king, snapped (or not) our tablecloth for us, and given us that general “strength in numbers” comfort? Just imagine how much better things could have been if Sara and Alvin had been here too.

Yes, I love my siblings. Life without them would be dull, lonely, and boring.

Note to self: Do not sit behind the Sunday Evening committee during church