clay in the potter's hands

His footsteps lightly step into my room, a soft pattering as to keep me from hearing. I hear anyway. I look up to see him peeking behind the door, hiding with a big grin that can barley hold back his laughter. Who's there? I pretend not to see him. He smiles bigger. I can't help but light up inside.

The joys of children make you smile from the inside until you can't contain it any longer.

Working with children, I am continually being shaped and molded as a person. They require consistency. They require fairness. They require discipline. They require you to be selfless. They challenge your motives. They challenge your patience. They need your love. They need boundaries. They take your energy.

And yet, they give you laughter. They give you that hug you needed. They forgive quickly. They are resilient. They teach you about the ways of justice while having an uncanny grace about them.

I might be teaching my children, but they are teaching me so much in return.

My heart smiles as I think of their faces, their laughter, their jokes, their concern for me, their demanding nature, their youth and childlike perspective on life.

On the days that they stretch me, I remember that I am being molded. I am clay in the potter's hands. My children are just doing their job. They're testing me and shaping me. They are grace-growers in my life. They are teaching me so much about my Lord and his love.

Am I doing my job? Am I loving them? When I have struggled, the Lord has asked me, "What have you done for my __(name)__?" Humbled, I remember that I have been given the responsibility to shepherd these little ones and to look after them-- to care for them and love them with His love. They have been entrusted to me for a time. Am I doing my part? With this, I am humbled and know that only in Him can I do anything. Only in Him can I love these little ones and care for them and teach them.

His grace and love are sufficient. Every day is a day of grace. Grace to enjoy the day and grace to endure a day, depending.

Their little eyes look at me, waiting to be dismissed for the day. With every bit of self-control they have at this age, they stand still and squirm on occasion. High fives for some, while others hit my hand with their heads, and others hit my hand so hard it turns red. Either way, they all smile and laugh as they go. Then the littlest one comes back just for one last look in the classroom and chuckles. With that, I know in my heart, I love these kids.