The Girl Who Needed Me

Jeff and I teach the 3 1/2 - 4 year old Sunday School class once a month. Last night was our turn to teach. It was Father's Day, the weather was beautiful and game four of the NBA finals was on TV so we didn't expect a large class. We ended up with nine kids counting our two daughters.

The ninth child to arrive could be heard before she was seen. She wailed as they walked down the hallway. Her mom looked exhausted and frustrated. As they approached the class I hoped that this very sad child was destined for the 2 1/2 - 3 year old class next door. Our class already held eight children that we have taught before, a wonderful group of little people who would listen to the bible story and play nicely with one another.

The ninth little girl, Holly, was new to our class. She was a petite, pretty child with blond pig tails and penguin earrings in her little ears. From Holly's blue eyes flowed tears that would not stop. Holly was hefted over the baby gate into our classroom. Her mother made no attempts to calm her. She seems eager to escape and have nothing more to do with her daughter. I watched as this mother pushed on Holly's little forehead, a rude gesture that clearly said, "get away from me." And then she turned and walked away.

Holly cried. She didn't turn towards the door and cry for her mommy, begging her to come back. Instead she turned to me and cried with all the sadness of a child who was having a rough day and needed to be reassured. My heart broke. I wrapped my arms around her.

I wish I could say that Holly quickly calmed down and played with the other kids. I held Holly for a long time. After 10 minutes she stopped crying. She rested her head on my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze. I squeezed back. I held her as if she was my own child, her head nestled next to mine, stroking her back. She participated in a game of hide and seek, from the safety of my arms. She giggled. Still I held her.

When it was time for snacks, Holly decided she was ready to be put down. She participated in story time, colored and placed stickers on her worksheet. Towards the end of class I loss track of what she was doing and who she was playing with.

Her mom was the first to arrive. Holly was a completely different girl from when she was dropped off. Her mom was the same. My heart broke again. This time not for the girl, but for the mom with the empty eyes. The adult who had spent and hour in church and returned unchanged. A mom who needed to be loved, talked to, understood. I wish it was as easy to comfort adults as it is to care for children.