Most teachers have favorites. It’s inevitable. Unintentional.
Such are the fickle faculties of the human heart.
When I started teaching at Christian Academy of Petit Gôave I
developed favorites, too. Some because they favored me—like little Ruth in the
three year old class who would greet me by falling into me and wrapping her arms
around my neck—some because they performed so well, made teaching such a
pleasure, like Deborah and Gilberto, with his baby teeth smile and her shy way
of hiding her face under my arm.
A good teacher will guard against favoritism, not let any
partiality be expressed, demonstrate equal patience and affection to all
pupils.
A great teacher knows no favoritism.
And that is only a gift from God.
Thanks be to God I am en route to being a great teacher by
my own definition.
This is not meant to boast or applaud myself, but rather
give glory to God who commands we harbor no favoritism (an inevitable,
unavoidable human tendency.)
James 2:1, 9 “My brothers,
show no partiality as you hold the faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of
glory…if you show partiality you are committing sin and are convicted by the
law as transgressors.”
Only with God, only with True Love, can we avoid this
tendency.
The last week of December term we had visitors from Virginia.
They blessed us with a Christmas Vacation Bible School program and brought
Christmas gifts for each student and teacher. They helped us host a baby shower
for Madame Valerie and bedeck students and staff with Christmas sparkle.
Inevitably, they harbored favorites.
Some of the team was chosen by students: a particular
precious babe latched onto them. Other team members just fell for a certain set
of cheeks, eyes, or dimpled smile. Attachments formed.
At church each week I stand among the students. Maneuvering
through the crowd I turn heads, hold shoulders, and brace agitators with a
firm, loving touch.
I rarely brace the same kids. My route alters and my attention shifts. No
matter where I stand there are little hands grasping mine, rubbing my skin,
batting at my hair, twisting my watch, pulling my bracelets, leaning into me.
All of them are desperate for touch.
With only two hand and two arms, only one back and one chest
I reach as many as I can. Not enough. Sometimes I wish I were an octopus.
But even eight limbs couldn’t satisfy the needs of 166
hungry children.
So the rotation continues, and each assembly I make my way
to a different place with different agitators. I spread myself as much as
possible.
When time allows I greet them all in line after morning
assembly.
Just saying their name with a “Good morning,” giving a hug
with “Jesus loves you,” is a gift for both of us.
God has blessed us, the staff at CAP, with remembrance of
each child’s name. (Don’t be impressed with us—praise God who knows each one of
us billions by name and numbers the hairs on our heads.)
Luke 12:6-7 “Are not
five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before
God. Why, even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not; you are of
more value than many sparrows.”
During the average day I spend far more time with the
fourth, third, and second grades and kindergarten teaching English, and try to
catch the three year olds as they invade the office between classes. I hardly see
the four year old or first grade classes, yet every chance we get these kids
and I love on one another.
Over the past two months particularly, as we’ve hosted
visitors, a dentist, brought kids to the doctor, and trekked to student homes, I’ve
noticed that my heart overflows with love for all of these children. For Miken, who I see as a sweet-heart with
puppy eyes and a shy smile rather than the disciplinary issue exiled to his own
bench for fighting. For Sorine, who squeezes psoriasis arms around me at every meeting.
For Rose Olguine whose eyes sparkle with mischief and giggles escape when my
serious voice is on. For Sheinder who hides his face in his arms when called
upon. For Deborah who needs to be picked up and swung although she is rock
solid heavy. For Ludgie who has the softest round cheeks and ADHD that propels
her around the room. For Ismael who would rather draw than listen and rather
dance than repeat. For wee Angeline who still recoils from my touch and refuses
to return my greeting (I’ve not yet won her over.) For Jesse who mimics his
twin brother Jerry, in the school another year and now smiles freely. For
Volmar who has blossomed into speech and smiles. For Dieumaelle who frustrates me
immensely but then cracks me up with her grin and off-the-bench antics. For the
cluster of four-year old girls who repeat like little drones, “Madame Rachelle,
ou bel!” My heart overflows for each naughty tattle-tale, each cooperative
hard-worker, each chatterbox and stoic.
The sight of one, of all, brings a smile and a fresh desire
to seize them in a hug.
Weekends have become a trial for those extra 48 hours away
from the children are 49 hours too much.
Now we are wrapping up Christmas vacation; Beverly and I passed
nearly three weeks in our states of origin.
We know our American families need us, know we need time to
rest, sleep and eat, shop and pamper ourselves just a bit with hot water,
television, and fresh fruits and vegetables. We need to refuel with English
church and visits folks with whom we can speak fast and use big words. These
are nice things. I’m appreciative.
But my heart aches constantly for our babes, as my teeth
ache constantly from this irritated nerve. There isn’t one child I long for
more than another.
Looking through photos from the Birthday Party for Jesus,
the team visits, and simply portraits of the Most Beautiful Kids in the World,
I am homesick. Homesick for my heart is with these children.
Someday God may make me a great teacher in every sense of
the word. In the meantime I rejoice He is working on me as a great teacher who
loves her students equally, without condition and without end. A teacher who
loves with just a shadow of the way God loves me. Loves us.
Here’s to no favorites, and the occasional desire to be an
octo-ped.
