Zach was a handful. Zach was either always being reprimanded by the adults in the room or causing trouble among his peers. I spent five days around Zach, just a few hours each morning…he was a boy in the Vacation Bible School class that I helped teach one summer many years ago.
In the South, VBS is a big deal. Most churches have VBS at some time in the summer, and many children flock to those churches to hear the Bible stories, play the games, make the crafts and eat the snacks.
My impression was that Zach didn’t like coming to VBS, at least not that any of his teachers could tell. I don’t remember any part of the mornings’ activities that Zach particularly enjoyed. And truth was, we adults didn’t really enjoy Zach being there either because there was no peace when Zach was in the room. But, his grandmother brought him faithfully each morning and we would welcome him into the classroom.
Zach stayed with his grandmother most of the time. He was almost as tall as her smaller, slightly bent frame. And you could tell by the weary and tired look in her eyes that Zach was a handful for her as well.
Looking back, I wish I had tried harder to relate to Zach. I wish I had loved him in a way that stuck with him. I wish I had tried to see him as an active nine-year-old boy that needed to know that he was loved instead of regarding him as a disruption and trouble-causer.
At the end of the week, as the kids all exited the classroom and hallways for one final time at noon on Friday, I sighed a heavy sigh of relief and began cleaning up the room. I noticed a nametag on the floor. The kids had all worn nametags throughout the week, nametags on cords hung around their necks. As I read the name on that tag I wasn’t really surprised that it was Zach’s.
I walked across the room to toss the abandoned papers, etc. into the trashcan, along with the nametag. But I couldn’t deposit that nametag into the trash with the rest of the paper. I held on to it. I placed the nametag into my bag and took the nametag home with me.
That afternoon I placed Zach’s nametag in my jewelry box, along with some of my “special” things, my grown-up treasure box. I knew in my heart that to the God whom I had talked about all week to post-third-grade children, Zach wasn’t just a disruption or trouble-causer. Zach was a precious child and creation of His. So, by faith, probably less than a mustard seed of faith, I placed Zach’s nametag in that jewelry box and I prayed for Zach.
Over the years, when I see Zach’s nametag, I still pray for Zach. My family has since moved from the town where I met Zach. I never heard about Zach after that summer. Still I have hung on to Zach’s nametag and I pray for Zach sometimes, who would be an adult in his 20-somethings now.
And I have also learned the meaning of the name “Zachary” since that summer long ago. It means, “God remembers.” I think God remembers Zach, just like God remembers any of us. Isaiah 49:15-16 describes the way God remembers people:
“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has born? Though she may forget, I (God speaking here) will not forget you! See, I (God speaking again) have engraved you on the palms of My hands; your walls are ever before Me.”
I want God to remember and think of me. I want God to remember and think of my husband and our children and the rest of my family and friends and neighbors. And, I want God to remember and think of Zach…and I am confident that He does.
Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category
A boy named Zach
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged boy, children, church, class, God, Isaiah, name tag, remember, South, VBS, Zach on February 27, 2016| 1 Comment »
Caught off guard
Posted in Uncategorized, tagged boy, children, dog, dogs, doorbell, front door, handshake, hug, salesman, school on February 24, 2016| Leave a Comment »
I was talking to my husband on the phone. The doorbell rang. I could hear our two dogs barking. Then I realized that their barking was coming from outside the house, not inside the house, and whoever was standing on our front porch had probably already been accosted by our two friendly, perhaps overly friendly, pets of the canine variety. I was right.
As I looked out the window to see whether it was the UPS delivery person or a local candidate seeking a vote in the upcoming county elections, I was surprised to see that the stranger who had just rang the doorbell was a boy, fully engaged in petting our pups.
I opened the door to see what the visitor wanted. He quickly handed me four plastic cards, spirit cards, we call them around here, which offer discounts at local businesses and raise funds for whatever your good cause may be. He was selling the cards for his school.
I took the cards as he continued to pet and play with our dogs. I didn’t know the boy, but I had flashbacks to my own childhood and going door to door in the small town where my family lived, selling some item to raise money for my elementary school. I looked through the cards and found one that had a few businesses that my family frequents, and told him that I would take that one. I offered the card I had selected back to him while I stepped inside to fetch my $10. He looked at me and said, “No, that’s your card, you keep it.”
So I got a $20 out of my wallet and asked him if he had change. “I will have to check, as he glanced over to the parent waiting in the car in our driveway. I think I do. But would you take a check?”
“No,” I said, “I will not take a check.”
“Ok,” he said as he grinned in my direction, “I’m pretty sure we have change.” He ran back to the waiting car, with my dogs running alongside him.
He returned to me momentarily with the change and gave it to me. Then he held out his right hand and looked me in the eye. I shook his hand. And as we finished shaking hands, he hugged me. I wasn’t expecting the handshake, much less the hug, but both of his gestures warmed my heart and brightened my day…and caught me totally off guard. Sometimes maybe the unexpected is just what we need most.
Uniforms
Posted in Uncategorized on April 27, 2014| Leave a Comment »
I don’t usually wash laundry on Sundays, unless it’s absolutely necessary. But today I’m washing a uniform…my son’s soccer uniform. He wore it in a tough game yesterday. One sniff of that soccer jersey and it’s apparent that washing this uniform is absolutely necessary. The jersey smells of sweat and effort and determination and competition…things my son does well…things my son loves.
Today is the last time I will wash this particular uniform. The playoff game didn’t go our way; our team won’t be moving on to the next round. The soccer season is over for us. My high school senior son has played his last game for the school that he has attended since first grade. I am washing his playing uniform for the last time.
I taught this son several years ago how to wash his practice uniforms. I realized that late afternoons and evenings were busy times at home and I might not always remember that there was a dirty practice uniform laying in the laundry room floor needing attention. So my boy would get his uniform into the washing machine after a practice. We would work in tandem to make sure the uniform got taken out of the washing machine and hung up to dry for use again the next day. But the game day uniforms, I usually washed those. They would need all of the laundry expertise that I could muster.
My kids have attended a school where uniforms are worn every day. I have liked that. School uniforms makes it easy on a mom when there are limited choices as to the day’s attire. And I have washed loads and loads of khaki colored pants and shorts and a variety of colors of polos. Sometimes I have had mounds of uniform clothing to launder but I’ve never really minded.
And then there’s the sports laundry. The stinky laundry. The wondering-how-I’m-going-to-get-that-stain-out kind of laundry. The kind of laundry that has at times made me want to leave my laundry room in surrender. The kind that has sometimes made me think that lighting a match to it might be the only way to get the smell out kind of laundry. Washing that kind of laundry has been part of my contribution in supporting my young athletes.
When I’ve washed that super-stinky sports laundry I’ve thought about the game that my athletes played that got that uniform so smelly. I’ve remembered the good plays and the not-so-good plays. I’ve remembered the thrill of victory or the agony of defeat. The athletic competitions of my kids has been the wide, wide world of sports for me. And I have thoroughly enjoyed it.
My high school senior will soon be switching to another kind of uniform. He will continue to wear a uniform as he goes off to college at the U. S. Air Force Academy. But…I won’t get to launder those uniforms. He will do that on his own. I’m sure that he will do a good job on his laundry. He may make some laundering mistakes, but he will learn. I have full confidence in him as I hand off this job that I have had for the last 18 years of his life. Doing my son’s laundry…it has been a privilege and even a joy.
Swimming in dangerous waters
Posted in Uncategorized on June 14, 2011| Leave a Comment »
I went down to our pool very early this morning. The gray between dark night and bright day surrounded me. It was still and quiet…peaceful. I’m not usually at the pool at five a.m. I don’t swim laps at daybreak. But, this morning when I awoke I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to turn off the water that I had turned on the night before…good feelings never accompany this realization.
I made my way in my pajamas and robe to the outdoor faucet and twisted the knob counter-clockwise until there was no more water pouring into the pool. Then I just stood for a little while, listening to the quiet…quiet is nice. The quiet was interrupted by a “Plop!” sound of something entering the water. I turned and saw a very happy little frog diving down to the depths of our pool. He was doing one of the things that he was made to do. He swam down and then up and down and up. He swam up to the side of the pool and I almost thought he might hop out and wrap a towel around his froggy waist, but he stopped on the side of the pool…he couldn’t get out. So he began swimming again. I think he was enjoying himself.
I watched that frog swimming…it looked very graceful…very natural…and I thought, “You are swimming in some dangerous waters.” Now the water in our pool isn’t dangerous to the people that swim in it in the hot summer sun, but to little amphibians it is deadly after a while. The chlorine in the pool will kill the frogs. They don’t seem to realize that because we find frogs there often…some are rescued…some…well, it’s too late.
The pool looked wonderful to me this morning…and I guess to the frog also. It looked peaceful, serene, refreshing. But for the little frog a danger lurked that he just didn’t know. It was a warning to me…that I need to watch where I go…watch what I do…watch what I see, what I listen to, what I read. What may seem harmless in appearance may carry with it a hidden danger.
pieces and ponderings 