A funny thing has happened at kindergarten this year. This
mom has learned one of the Big Lessons of her life. I wasn’t looking forward to
kindergarten again. I secretly felt done with the phonograms and the “100 Days
of School” party, done with meeting throngs of new people, done with that whole
phase of life. We’ve been at our school seven years now, and I’ve settled into
some deep friendships with other moms. My son Braden’s friends are all
first-borns, like him, and their parents are very similar in age to us. We have
multiple sets of brother-sister friends and families who mesh nicely,
comfortably, easily with our own.
Problem is, I wasn’t done. Camryn was ready for
kindergarten.
She was born when I was 36. And a half. That makes me the
grandma of the kindergarten class. As the other moms filed in on orientation
night, some pregnant, some pushing strollers, I decided that since these were
probably not going to be my new best friends in terms of shared live experiences,
I’d ask God what role He wanted me to play with this group of parents.
In years past, when I met the kids and parents in my
children’s classrooms, I instinctively sniffed out those who seemed to have the
most natural friend potential and focused on knowing them. This year I didn’t
go in with that (or any other) agenda. And here’s the big ah-ha moment: When I
stopped jockeying for social position—both my own and my child’s—I was able to
see people in Camryn’s class I never would have noticed otherwise. I spent the
entire Thanksgiving party visiting with a mom from another country. Her
daughter looks like no one else in the class. (A multicultural school we are
not.) Mother and daughter both stayed far outside the circles of cute, social
moms and cute, social kids. I didn’t see another person talk to either of them,
actually. But their story—which includes an arranged marriage and a college
degree earned in an unknown language—is fascinating. And I would have missed it
if I’d been focused on “people who seem like us.”
While setting up a mother-daughter outing with this family,
I received a simple e-mail message written in broken English: “Thank you for
the love.”
It broke me. This is all it takes to show love to someone?
Chatting for an hour over “Pin the Waddle on the Turkey” and getting together
for a quick play date? Could God really use such minuscule, natural things?
Then came a more powerful second revelation: How many other opportunities have
I missed over the years to love the unseen? Because I was so focused on myself?
Oh, God, forgive me! And thank you for using my fourth child,
increased age and maturity, and one more round of kindergarten to open my eyes
to your ways.
