By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

I sinned last Sunday.  This, unfortunately, is not really big news.  However, it was the way that my sin was committed that particularly bothers me.  And although I do not normally feel the need to confess everything to my faithful readers (A special ”thanks” to all five of you!), I wanted to tell you about my sin.

It all began as a pretty normal Sunday.   Jeff was in the tech booth so we had to get to church early.  I took my laptop so I could blog while he rehearsed with the Praise Team.  All was normal.  As service time got closer, I took my usual token stab at socializing and I picked up a bulletin.  Everything I did and said was well…normal.

And then I opened the bulletin.  “Children’s Ministry Wants YOU!”, it read.  Given that it is the beginning of the school year and that most churches are volunteer-starved anyway, this may not strike you as anything out of the ordinary either.  And I guess it really wasn’t; but, what was definitely not normal was my reaction.  I felt an immediate conviction from God about using the things He has gifted me with — which I haven’t been doing.  Much.

I did react as I normally do when God wants me to do something I don’t want to do.  “I’ll pray about it,” I thought — quickly filing the entire issue in the, “I don’t want to do this but I’m going to attempt to pacify God by telling Him that I’ll pray about it.  However, I have no intention of following through and actually doing it but I’ll definitely pray about it.” file.

Oddly, God was not pleased.  I know this because He spoke to me.  Now, don’t get all freaked out.  It wasn’t audible.  I am not hearing voices.  Most of the time.  But in this instance, God spoke to me as clearly as if He were sitting across the table having a cup of tea.

“Talk to Amy,” He told me.

Amy is the Children’s Director at our church.  So when asked by God to go talk to Amy, did I immediately say, “Yes, Lord!  Absolutely.  I will obey You immediately after the service!”  Of course I didn’t.  Instead, I sinned.  I did not worship.  I did not learn anything from the sermon.  I spent the ENTIRE service arguing with God about why I could not teach in Children’s Ministry this fall.  Although it’s not written anywhere, “Thou Shalt not argue with God in church!” should have been the 18th or 19th Commandment.

I can’t even remember the numerous, lame excuses I offered up as I argued with God.  What I do remember is His response to every excuse.  “Talk to Amy,” He said.

So I talked to Amy and afterwards, for the first time since moving to Atlanta two years ago, I was really excited about an opportunity to serve God.  I still didn’t want to teach.  For me, teaching little kids about God is an all-consuming passion.  It takes time.  It takes attention.  It takes research and reading and prayer and really listening to God.  It takes stepping out of my comfort zone.  It takes genuine and sometimes painful personal growth.  And above all, it takes great care and compassion and remembering who’s dog is sick, who is struggling with Spelling, and who’s friendships are rocky. 

Teaching takes an awful lot of love and it takes a lot out of me.  Quite honestly, I wasn’t sure my heart was ready to care about a new group of kids.

After talking with Jeff and an awful lot of honest, searching prayer, I agreed to teach 2nd & 3rd graders this fall.  I’m still not sure I’m ready to do this and yet in spite of all my trepidation and my doubts, I have found a deep and incredible joy in following God and being willing to do what He wanted me to do.

And everyone lived happily ever after, right?

Well…yes.  When God is part of the story, they ALWAYS live happily ever after; but, at what I thought was the end of the story, God threw me a little curve-ball.  It is in the form of a possible answer to a long-standing prayer, which may bring about a major life-change for the Rich family.

If you’re thinking that I’m being a little nebulous here, you’re absolutely right.  At this point, nothing is for certain and I am not at liberty to divulge any more information at this time.  However, I can tell you that we are extremely excited and we should have some answers by this time next week.  

Will Kiera teach Sunday school?  Will God throw another curve-ball?  Will Jeff and Kiera’s life indeed change?  Tune in next week to find out!

Hey!  Don’t laugh!  This “cliff-hanger” ploy works for the soap operas.  And maybe, just maybe, this is exactly what I need to boost my blog readership to 6 people!

And I leave you with one last thought… 

Amazing things happen when you join God in what He’s already doing.

By Kiera Rich – krich13@bellsouth.net

I heard something very disturbing and rather disgusting on the news last night.  There are two counties in Georgia who start school TOMORROW!  Although I love the beginning of the school year, school does not start in August.  School officially begins the Tuesday after Labor Day.  Everyone knows that.  Any other date is just wrong and should be corrected immediately.  At least everyone USED to know that…back in the day…when I was in school.

I always get a little wistful about the start of school — when that start occurs at the proper time and not a month early.  The new school year always makes me want to return to those good old days when I stood at the front doors of Ralph Moody Elementary with my new lunchbox in one hand and my new school supplies in the other. 

I was one of those kids who other kids made fun of because I really loved school.  I loved learning.  I loved books.  I loved the smell of crayons, the taste of paste and a young man named Mike, who sat behind me in second grade.  In addition to seeing Mike again after a long summer apart, there was always something special about a new school year.

The new year was a fresh start.  A new beginning.  My new teacher didn’t know that I had missed every word on a spelling pre-test the year before or maybe she did and was just kind enough not to mention it.  By the way, “of” should not be included on any spelling list.  Ever.  How are you supposed to sound that one out?  Here’s a hint.  There is not a ”v” in “of”!

A new beginning with my new teacher was a wonderful thing but a fresh start with my new classmates was even better.  Not all of them knew that I’d thrown up in the hallway in front of the library due to a nasty combination of cafeteria chili and a stomach bug.  The fact that I could pass a football better than any boy was not always common knowledge so I could still be a “secret weapon” for the team captian who was “in the know”.  My classmates also didn’t know or had blissfully forgotten that the annual showing of “Snoopy Come Home” reduced me to a sobbing, quivering pile of wet Kleenex.  By the way, that stupid movie still has the same effect on me and yet I STILL watch it everytime it’s on TV.

From 1st grade through 5th grade, I attended the same elementary school so although I did know a little about my classmates and my teacher, I still got to discover new things about them.   I found out important things like the fact that John, a major bully and tormentor in my life, hated me because I was a better quarterback than he was.  I also learned that one of the Wendys (There were 4 of them in my grade.) was a friend who stuck by me through everything and another Wendy incited me to the absolute verge of attempted murder more than once.

And I learned about my teachers.  I learned that Mrs. Barton, the 5th grade teacher that my older brother hated, would turn out to be one of my favorites because we shared a love of U.S. History and writing.  I learned that Miss Finch, the teacher I was terrified of, would also turn out to be a favorite simply because of the way she loved me.  For more on Miss Finch please visit my post entitled, “The Reluctant Pilgrim”.

School was definitely a very social thing for me but I also loved the academics.  I loved the challenge of learning all the state capitals and the presidents in order.  I loved creative writing and learning to weave together the elements of a story.  I loved vocabulary and the ability it gave me to shock my orthodontist, a man that I saw every six weeks throughout my elementary school career.  Apparently not too many 5th graders came into his office and complained about “ambiguous mandible” pain.

There were parts of school that I hated too.  4th grade was one of those areas.  “How,” you may be asking yourself, “is it possible to hate an entire grade?”  If you had my 4th grade teacher, who shall remain nameless, you would understand.

I was very excited about 4th grade.  After being assigned a different teacher in 3rd grade, I again had Mike (My 2nd grade crush.) in my class.  I also had 3 of the 4 Wendys in my class — including the one who drove me crazy but it was ok because I got the teacher I wanted!  Over the summer, my parents has requested that I be in his class.  He was my first male teacher and I remember thinking that was a very cool thing.  He looked a little like “Mr. Rogers” and yet I honestly cannot remember one thing that I really learned in his class.

I take that back.  I learned a lot so let me re-phrase the above statement…I honestly cannot remember one positive thing I learned in his class.  Some of the things I did learn were not positive.  I learned to hate science and nature because our “science” time every week was just spent looking up word definitions.  So while I added to my vocabulary, every ounce of love and interest that I had for the natural world was bored right out of me.

I learned to hate math because in 4th grade, it became coupled with humiliation.  My teacher regularly called a group of kids to the chalkboard and gave them a long division problem to solve.  Sometimes, I got the problem right.  Often, I didn’t and those times when I missed were excruciating.

We had to stay at the board until we solved the problem correctly.  If it was wrong, we had to do it again — with no help or instruction about what we may have gotten wrong on the previous attempt.  More than once I returned to my seat in tears only to hear the sounds of snickering as one of the Wendys laughed at me.  And did my teacher intervene on my behalf?  Of course not.  He said, ”Maybe if I make you do enough problems on the board, you’ll finally learn how to divide.” 

I knew how to divide just fine.  My problem was performance related, not math related.  I got so nervous standing in front of the class that I simply could not function.  It never occurred to my teacher to wonder why my tests and homework were done well but I had trouble solving a problem on the board.  He simply assumed the problem was academic and attempted to humiliate me into learning.

And I did learn.  I learned to hate both math and science because of a bully of a man who had been teaching for too long. 

This morning I had a conversation with the Children’s Director at our church about teaching Sunday school this fall.  It’s a very exciting time, with new classes starting and kids moving up a grade level.  It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a classroom and had a group of kids to call my own and the thought is very appealing.

However, it’s also extremely frightening because teaching kids is an awesome responsibility.  I don’t want to be the subject of someone’s blog in 20 years about the Sunday school teacher who never really understood.  I don’t want to be the teacher who failed to connect with a kid on their level and thereby killed any flickering interest they may have had in learning about Jesus.  I don’t want to be a bad teacher. 

But it’s not about me.  It’s about some little kids who deserve to learn about and hear God’s Word.  It’s about Jesus who said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them…”  And it’s about God who wants the whole world to know about Him.

For better or worse, teachers impact kids.  So as our nation goes back to school (And Sunday school!)  I ask you to join me in prayer.  Pray for the teachers as they prepare for another year and for the students as they switch gears from the freedom of summer into the grind of earlier bedtimes, homework, and spelling tests. 

Pray for the safety of our schools and churches.  These places should be a safe harbor for kids where they can take rest from the pressures of the outside world.  They should not be places of violence or humiliation.  Ever.  Pray that our teachers become heroes simply for the way that they teach and love on kids and for no other reason.

If you have children, pray specifically for your child’s teacher(s) and encourage your kids to do the same.  

You never know what kind of work God is doing in someone else’s life.   You never know who you are “teaching” by example and by your words and actions.  You never know what your prayers may or may not change.  You never know how this school year may change your child or yourself.  You never know.

But here are 3 things that never change:

1.  New crayons always smell wonderful!

2.  Every child deserves an amazing teacher – who begins teaching on the Tuesday after Labor Day when school “Officially” starts.

3.  Jesus lived and suffered and died to save a world riddled with sin.  Because of His amazing love and sacrifice, we have a brand, new start.  Every day.

Happy First Day of School!

By Kiera Rich – KRich13@bellsouth.net

I didn’t go to church this morning.  Instead, I lounged on the couch chain-sucking cough drops while watching re-re-re-re-re-runs of M*A*S*H.  So Jeff went to church by himself; but, not without instructions!  He had a delivery to make to a very sweet young girl.  This girl is the daughter of some friends of ours and a few months ago, she graced our refrigerator with her beautiful drawing of an orange horse.  As a thank you for the horse, I made a colorful poster with her name on it. 

However, Jeff returned home with the poster.  “They weren’t there,” he said.  “I looked in their usual place and asked around.  Nobody had seen them today.”

His statement struck me in an odd way because of the phrase, “Their usual place.”  As an adult, I’ve been a member of exactly three churches.  In all three of them, I had a usual place — a place where I sat every week without fail.  Interestingly, I always sat by the same people every week because everyone else had a usual place too.

This got me to thinking about having a “usual place” in God’s Kingdom.  I’ve lived in Atlanta now for exactly 524 days.  One would think by now that I would be adjusted to my new surroundings.  I am well adjusted to some degree.  I can now go to the mall by myself without living in mortal fear of never finding my way back home.  I’ve learned that if a driver sticks their hand out the window, they intend to merge even if the space available is only slightly bigger than a Matchbox car.  Lizards crawling out from under the Pepsi machine during my workout no longer faze me and Jeff’s church has finally become “our” church.  But I still struggle. 

My struggle has been in finding what God has for me here.  This is the first time in my Christian life that I’ve ever had to work at it.  In the past, God has made my mission abundantly clear to me.  Has it always been easy?  No.  It has not.  I wish you could hear me laughing here because it has been so NOT easy at times. 

For example, a few years ago, I was absolutely certain that I was supposed to be a small group leader for a bunch of girls who were slightly south of being teenagers.   I didn’t feel like I possessed one skill which qualified me for the position.  Sure, I used to be a pre-teen girl; but, I don’t remember any of it.  That particular phase of my life was just so awkward and entirely too painful to waste space in my long term memory so I blocked it all out.  I think.

I had nothing to offer.  Or so I thought.  But along the way, I discovered I did have was a tender heart, a creative mind and the desire to do what God wanted me to do.  I’m not sure, if you asked those girls now, that they would remember any of our lessons.  I’m not sure if I ever showed them even the slightest glimpse of God.  But I do know that I listened to them and I cared about them and I loved them with all my heart.  And I think sometimes that’s everything a pre-teen girl needs — to be respected and loved and valued, unconditionally, by another person.

But since I’ve moved, God hasn’t been as clear about what He wants from me.  I’ve dabbled a bit in the things I used to do but haven’t really felt “plugged in”.  It wasn’t until today when Jeff was talking about our friends and their usual place in the sanctuary, that I had a bit of an epiphany.

Maybe I’m looking in the wrong places.  Maybe what God has for me here has nothing to do with writing Christian drama or teaching Sunday school or leading a small group of preteen girls or any of the things I’ve done in the past.  Maybe, in my effort to find my niche, I’ve simply been getting in God’s way.  Why this never occurred to me is startling, to say the least.  It’s extremely humbling to say the most.

On his CD “The Way Home” Wayne Watson sings a song called “Growing”.  At one point in the song, the lyrics are “I’m growing.  I don’t like it.  I’m growing and it hurts.” 

Yes, Godly growth hurts.  It hurts a lot but my mind is whirling with the possibilities.  I still don’t know what God has in store for me but finally I’m excited to find out.  Don’t get me wrong, trying new things with ease will never be part of my nature.  It will always be a struggle and I will never like it.  I don’t like to be pushed out of my usual place.  Even by God.  But, I think maybe I’m finally ready.

And maybe the desire and willingness to vacate my usual place is simply what God has wanted from me all along.