That’s how many I see--
for six years of their lives.
So I've taught 450 students in over twenty years of Christian school, and the question I ask myself is not, “Where has
the time gone? I know that one.
I’ve felt its passing in my bones and seen the
years collapse into piles of crumpled calendar pages... No. The question I ask myself is : Where have they gone? These students of mine: the ones I met as shy, fumbling, excited, energetic, irrepressible seventh-graders; the ones I watched , as year after year they listened, wide-eyed and earnest, while priceless light broke over their faces; the ones whose hands I guided, whose thoughts I helped shape, whose hearts I bombarded with the story of Christ. Over the years I prayed for them, drawing their names out of a box and holding them in my hand like so many fragile pots of pre-fired green ware. For six years they were my children too. Then they threw their graduation caps into the air and danced merrily out of my life, headed for fires or fields as the case may be. Where have they gone? What have they done? Have the hours I spent in their Christian Education mattered at all?
I stand in
the hall at CBA and turn the pages of graduated classes—sometimes I’m smiling;
sometimes I’m suddenly sober. They haven’t all
remembered that above all ambitions on earth is the one great
ambition—glorifying God. Some are
floundering in a darkness of their own seeking and some are frail, but still
searching for strength. They make me catch my breath and say: “Please God, Bring
them Home.”
But there
are others—so many others--who give me great joy.
They are light...in a world grown rapidly darker.
They are salt in a tasteless society.
They
are the “city on a hill” and there is no way to measure what they bring to the Kingdom of God.
I read their
blogs…and see women and men of faith—raising their children to be a generation
of hope.
I listen to
their songs as they create works of praise and sing them.
I see their
pictures and read the scriptures they post on face book. I pray when they send
out a cry for help.
They are
scattered in location but united in purpose:
They honor God. They are: doctors,
soldiers, pharmacists and engineers. Some drive trucks or work on engines while
others splice genes in molecular research.
Some farm and weld; some paint, write books, teach, build houses. That
doesn’t really matter. What matters is that they serve Christ.
In Peru, Swaziland,
and Thailand; in rescue missions, and small town mission churches. On and on, I
see their faces. They are deacons, and pastors, and pastors’ wives, church
planters, Sunday school teachers, and worship leaders. They counsel inner city
derelicts and kids at summer camp. They volunteer for disaster projects, run
Bible schools, write literature.
For a
handful of these…my years would have been worth it…for a multitude? I’m overwhelmed! If I could see them all I’d tell them, just
like the Apostle to his precious Philippians:
You are my joy.
You are my crown. I thank God because of you.
Philippians 4: 1 Therefore, my beloved
and longed-for brethren, my joy and crown, so stand fast in the Lord, beloved.
