pieces and ponderings

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.

Read Full Post »