A Heart for Little Children

I wasn’t a very good babysitter in high school. I found CandyLand and dolls boring, so I would suggest more interesting activities: multi-story nerf gun wars, wrestling matches on the floor, or jumping off the couch into a pile of blankets and cushions. Most of these games ended either when a child said “our parents would never let us do this!” or when an injury prompted tears. Older kids could be fun, I thought, but anyone younger than seven or so was boring and usually whiny.

When I signed up to help with children’s ministries at church, I requested multiple times to be placed with older kids. But each time I asked, the greatest need was in preschool. The doors God opened for me were with kids between the ages of 2 and 4. So, for the past few years, I’ve been working with what I thought was my least favorite age range. “Why?” I asked God. I quickly started to uncover his answers.

Though I was the teacher, the kids in my classes had much to teach me about the gospel. They demonstrated regularly the sinfulness of humans. Every day, they fought over stickers, markers, dolls, cars, anything—sometimes to the point of tears or physical violence. Once I watched a boy run across the room and shove a girl onto the floor, unprovoked, then scamper away to continue playing while she started crying. Another time, a group of three girls building a castle told a fourth that she couldn’t play with them “because it’s only for friends, and she’s not my friend.” Even the most innocent, adorable child is a sinner in need of God’s grace.

At the same time, spending time with children offered glimpses of gospel love. When a child received a minor injury one week and had to be taken out of the room while she was attended to, another girl who witnessed it stopped playing and looked at the door with concern until we assured her that the child was okay. Once, when a boy who was new to the class came into gym time crying, I encouraged a girl who already knew him to welcome him. This girl almost never participated in the gym games, but at my suggestion, she walked right over to her friend, grabbed his hand, and invited him to play. He stopped crying almost immediately, and she never left his side. It was a beautiful picture of our need for friendship.

Most importantly, teaching the Bible to little children taught me that anyone can understand and respond to the gospel. When you’re in a class of kids who can hardly sit still for ten minutes while you tell the story, it’s hard to imagine they’re even listening—much less understanding. But even a three-year-old can understand and respond to God’s Word. One day, as I was explaining that Jesus saves us from our sins, a girl raised her hand and asked, “How?” I did my best to explain the gospel as simply as possible. Another week, the story was the Ten Commandments. When the teacher got to “Do not steal” and explained that it’s wrong to take something that doesn’t belong to you, a 3-year-old suddenly took off her shoes. I watched in amazement as she dumped out a small fortune of plastic coins she’d stolen from the rice bin during play time that morning. She handed them to me without saying anything. The teaching of God’s Word had convicted her heart, and she had responded with immediate repentance. What a great example of the Christian life!

Working in the same class of children for a whole year gave me the opportunity to watch them grow. For the first couple weeks of every new class, some of the children come in crying. One child in particular cried every week for the first few months, hardly nibbled on her snack, and refused to speak. But by the end of that year,  she walked into the room confidently and cheerfully, asked for seconds of goldfish, and did all the hand motions during song time. Song time changed too—for most of the year, we could get less than half of the kids to participate for a maximum of three songs before we lost their attention. The last week, however, every single child was singing and doing the motions, and they kept making requests, for a total of seven songs. The change was gradual, and some weeks were worse than the one before, but over time the growth was visible and undeniable—the same way the Holy Spirit often works in the lives of believers.

I grew, too. At first, my least favorite part of the class was the empty time at the beginning and end when the kids are free to play. I would always busy myself with checking kids in and out, cleaning up the toys that would be on the floor again in less than two minutes, or preparing the story or craft. If I played with the kids, they had only half of my attention and none of my enthusiasm. But by the end of last year, I couldn’t run the check-in station because I was too busy creating an Arctic world with Play-Doh or running away from kids chasing me with butterflies on sticks. When a three-year-old girl told me about her upcoming birthday party and said, “you can come if you want,” I was shocked by how happy I felt. Regardless of whether I could actually go to a four-year-old’s birthday party, her invitation meant that she considered me her friend. And I was even more amazed to realize that at some point I’d started considering her my friend, too. She wasn’t just a kid in my class, but a person whose company I looked forward to and whose presence I treasured.

I hadn’t wanted to teach little children, and I did not consider myself good with kids. But God invited me to serve him in that way, and I am so thankful that I said yes. I still prefer nerf gun battles to CandyLand, but I’ve come to realize that a three-year-old can be much more funny, fascinating, and loving than I expected. And when I teach the gospel to children and watch as seeds of truth take root in their hearts, I’m seeing the kind of faith that we are all called to have, for as Jesus said, “unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of Heaven.”