Lindsay Writes

This morning, I was sitting with a table of kindergarten, first, and second graders in the Lodge at church, where I serve as a leader.

There are so many things to love about working with 5-8 year olds, but one of my favorite things is their complete candidness. At least when it comes to what they really think.

I have countless stories of the funny, and very real details kids have shared with me about their lives and what they think.

At one point during the lesson being taught from up on stage, I said to the crew at my table, “You guys are doing a great job listening to the lesson. I’m really proud of you.”

Charlie, a kindergartner, who couldn’t look more like an adorable, slightly mussed Cupid if he tried, gave me a dimpled grin and whispered, “I have to tell you, I’m a little bored.”

I laughed and told him that was okay. Because he was hanging in there anyway, and we were almost through with the lesson.

After years of being with this age group of kids every Sunday morning, I know that sometimes they can barely sit in their sits, much less listen. And that at other times, they listen carefully and ask questions with a depth beyond their years. It’s a process of slow growth, that we as leaders try to steep in a loving, positive, and really fun environment.

I’ve been reflecting on that small moment as I sit here in my armchair on a cold winter evening. You see, dark January winters are hard for me. I do a whole host of intentional things each day to combat the reality of the winter blues, which I’ll have to share about in a future post.

But amid all that intentionality is a lingering guilt that I deal with these restless and downcast emotions at all.  

But tonight on an overcast and gloomy January night, I’m picturing my conversation with Charlie today like a conversation I could have with God.

“I have to tell you, I’m a little restless,” I’d confess to Him.

And He may laugh, and grin and say, I’m proud of you for hanging in there anyway. I think we’re almost through the worst of it.   

He knows I’m a slow grower. He knows my tumultous feelings, my downcast slumps, my bursts of energy, and my earnest questions. He knows them all and He just plain loves me.

He loves you, too, by the way.