So I wrote this way back at the beginning of March, decided it wan't finished, and then never found the words that should fit on the end. I found them now, and I hope you all forgive the delay: March has been an interesting month.
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Routine, I’ve
found, is a beautiful, comforting thing. It helps keep me sane. The routine I
keep with God is most certainly the best kind.
I pray with my
children every morning, every break-time and every lunch time. I pray with my
roommates before every meal, before every new endeavour and whenever we venture
into the unknown, frightening or painful. I pray with the other teachers every day
before school, or at least when I manage to get to the morning meeting. I pray
every Monday evening with the director and his family and the rest of the
English teachers, every Tuesday at Bible study and every Sunday in church.
I can honestly
say I’ve never prayed so much in my life.
My kids do two
sets of prayers in the morning: ‘Thank you God for’ and ‘Please God help’. We
write them on the board at the beginning of our first lesson, everyone
volunteering ideas for me to put up. ‘Thank you for milk’ is a common one,
because we have milk every morning too and it’s an easy English word to
remember. But we do get some more interesting ones too. ‘Thank you for all
teachers’ is one of my favourites, right up there with ‘Thank you for rabbits’
and ‘Please help us get yoyos’.
My kids shot up
hands when I ask them who wants to pray. They get upset, seriously throw tantrums and cry upset, if I don’t
choose them. To pray, out loud, in English.
I used to dread
praying out loud. It would have been mortifying if I’d been made to do it in
French.
In 'fun reading' I
generally try to read one Bible story to them before they all go off to read by
themselves. We pick them from this beautiful picture book with easy, rhythmical
and repeating words, and they watch eagerly, not put off in the least when we
the same story over and over, day after day. They interrupt, pointing at
characters in the book and telling me all about them: ‘He is bad!’ ‘She no
listen.’ ‘Look, Miss Emma, six children!’
They never fail
to notice Jesus. Never fail to notice God and his love, even when he’s not
quite physically there: no old man in
white to point at and identify with. Maybe he’s hidden in the folds, nothing
more obvious than a light, a look on a characters face, something a character does.
They’re desperate
to see him, joyous to see him, every
time.