Lessons From His Lap | Previous Challenge Entry

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TITLE: Lessons From His Lap | Previous Challenge Entry
By Margaret Gass
03/19/09
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I am a teacher. I always have been. As a third grader, I was pulled from reading class to work with struggling first graders. As a sixth grader, I completed all my language arts coursework on my own, working at my own pace at home so that I could spend an hour each school day as the personal tutor for a third grader with disabilities. That same year, at home, I began tutoring my upstairs neighbor, a ninth grader, in math. Robbie and his mom “paid” for the tutoring by “babysitting” my sister and me for free. That was really just a cover--we didn’t want a babysitter any more than Robbie wanted his friends to know that I was his tutor. He sweetened the deal with chocolate and let us stay up past our bed times. He also passed math.

I got that feeling that every teacher gets when a student “gets it.” Nothing thrills me more, and I know that I am not alone…none of the teachers I know teach for the paycheck. We teach for those moments. We teach because the lines between student and teacher are often blurry…we learn from our students as often as they learn from us.

That was never more true then when I became a parent. Every day with my child was filled with lessons. From the beginning, I wanted to make sure that He was our teacher. I did not grow up in a Christ-centered home, and I wanted to make sure that my son would know of Jesus and His love for him from day one. But this was foreign territory to me…I hadn’t known myself what that looked like. We learned together. I prayed. We prayed. I prayed some more.

I gave up teaching and became a stay-at-home mom, only to discover that I was still a teacher! I taught in Sunday school, junior church, Awana, and at home, as I home schooled my son. I was still tutoring, and I was teaching classes for other home schooled students. My son and I were immersed in the things of God, and I trusted that I had done my part to “train up a child.” My son had a tender heart. He cheerfully gave of his time and treasures to others, and continually brought friends who needed love home with him. He knew his lessons and the answers…but did he “get it”? Did he understand what was really important?

Yes. At eight years old, he taught me a lesson I shall never forget. We came home from church to an empty house. My husband, who had been off his meds for nearly two years, was gone. My son found the note, cryptic as it was, and I did my best to explain what I did not understand…that Daddy was ill, and we had to trust God. I was numb as I moved through the next few hours. After tucking my son into bed, I went to my room. I didn’t make it to the bed, but collapsed on the floor in tears.

The door to my room slowly opened. My son looked at me, then walked over and turned out the light. He took my hand, and simply said, “We need to pray.”

He did, and out of his child’s mouth came the sure, strong voice of my Lord. My little child led me straight to the Father’s lap, exactly where I needed to be. It is where I want to remain, full of childlike faith and hope…ready for my next lesson.

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