This is not about what the title suggests. This was the tearful presumption of a little boy who really believed that his place of security and comfort had been taken away.
In my preschool class, I was working with several children at a time in what we call the “dramatic play” area. This is where little ones learn to process interactions with each other while engaging in everyday make-believe situations, such as being in the grocery store, working in a bakery, putting together a birthday party, making and selling pizza, etc. Chatter was lively and enthusiastic, and I love listening as they express their imaginations into the scenarios that they think they hear from adults. It’s entertainment for me. After all, calling an area in a preschool a “dramatic play” area is a bit redundant; what four-year-old needs to learn how to be dramatic? Joking aside, they do learn conflict resolution, forethought, organization – all the things that we adults need to return to preschool for and get a crash course.
One particular day, a little girl came over to me from her writing station and proudly presented me with a gift that she had drawn. I made the appropriate fuss over her generosity and amazing skill, gave her a giant hug, and she went back to her writing table to finish her rotation.
As I turned my attention back to the dramatic play, real drama had begun. I noticed one little guy who had been working with me was sitting in the corner, his tiny face to the wall, he was curled up like a beetle, and was crying his eyes out. I ran over to him, afraid that I had messed up and failed to notice an injury. I knelt down next to him and asked if he had gotten hurt. He said no (still digging his face into the corner), so I asked him what was wrong. Without turning to face me, he replied, ”You’re not my friend anymore.” So I said, “Are you mad at me? What did I do to upset you?” His sobbing reply was, “She gave you a picture and you hugged her, and now she’s your friend and not me!”
Now my heart was breaking. This sweet little boy had yet to grasp the concept of unconditional, steadfast love. He still felt he had to earn love and acceptance and had somehow blown it, because someone else obviously beat him to it.
I think we all take our finite and limited perceptions of relationships and turn them into erroneous truths. We base our knowledge and emotions on our presumptions that create hurt feelings and epic grudges.
God never plays favorites. God does not have a favorite child, nor does He base His love on what we bring to Him, how we act, or what boxes we have checked off on the list. The sad little boy in my class was afraid that he had to do something special or find the secret to being accepted and loved. He thought he had lost his place. When I finally was able to assure him that he was still as treasured as before, his behavior and tearful face immediately changed and reflected his new-found security and joy in belonging. Children are sensitive and can have their feelings hurt quickly, but thankfully, they have not yet learned the dubious art of holding a grudge. That is a self-taught skill that we seem to develop as we mature. We cut ourselves off from people because of adult grudges. We lose the secure sense of closeness and belonging because of adult grudges. We even cut ourselves off from God because of adult grudges. There is a reason God says to come to Him as a child.
My little friend is still an emotional, dramatic, mischievous, four-year-old boy. I don’t think he’ll have a major spurt in maturity this school year. He still has so much to learn, even before he reaches five years old. But he did give me a crash course on God’s unconditional, steadfast, secure love, and he doesn’t even know it. I watched his despair when he thought he had been cut off, and I saw his relief, joy, and comfort when he discovered he was still loved and treasured, no matter what. I saw myself in him, and he taught me to see God more clearly.
We need adult preschool.
Dance on.
Grace Notes 