I’ve been on the road a bit recently, so haven’t been in worship very consistently on Sundays. This past Sunday, I got back to church just a few minutes before the end of the service. As everybody was leaving the sanctuary, I stood in the narthex to greet people in my usual way. As an adult came up to greet me, I noticed a 4-yr. old notice I was there. I haven’t seen this little girl for a few weeks–between my schedule and hers, we’ve been missing each other on Sundays. I turned to talk to the adult as the 4-yr. old wrapped her arms around my legs. I patted her on the back, but gave most of my attention to the adult. As I finished my conversation with the adult, I heard a voice say, “Michelle!” and felt a tug on my pants. I looked down and saw this little girl giving me a look that said, “I’m here…pay attention.” She just said, “hi.” I gave her my full attention, then, and we had a sweet moment of reunion.
Once again, this little girl taught me something really important. Kids want to know you notice them. Not just a distracted pat on the back when they come up to you to give you a hug, but a genuine moment of your attention. They notice when you’re on the road for a few weeks, and they notice when you’re not where you usually are. It’s easy for me to think it’s not a big deal to schedule a substitute to teach Sunday School so I can be part of these other committees and meetings I’ve been part of this fall. But on Sunday I was reminded about the importance of being available and present in the significant ways that matter when building relationships with kids.
I was reminded of this again on Wednesday as I led children’s chapel for the preschool. On Wednesday we were welcoming a new class of 3-yr. olds into the rhythm of chapel, so at the end of chapel I told them that anyone who wanted to tell me something could line up and tell me, and then follow their teachers out of the sanctuary. I started doing this to navigate the tendency to get off track during the story-telling portion of chapel. I was so surprised that almost all of them chose to stay for a few minutes to tell me something. What was more surprising was that the quiet kids–those who I noticed were not the ones raising their hands or answering questions during chapel–lined up for their turn to tell me something.
These moments are some of the richest moments in my week–when I take the time to kneel down and listen to a child tell me about her outfit or about her sparkly shoes, or when I sit on the step at the front of the sanctuary and listen to children tell me that they like dinosaurs, or that their dad is gone and they miss him, or that they know the song “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”. There is richness in these moments…and I would miss them if I was so busy with adults that the kid at my knees got simply a pat on the back.