Thursday, 16 August 2012

Little children ~ hope

I thank God for my job.

And thanks... Rachel... for recommending me to teach at Faith.

I like my job not because I am great at it ~ because I am really not that great. There isn't a day when I teach music and don't feel like I could have done better.

I like my job not because it affords me a lucrative financial income ~ because it does not. God's provision, no doubt - but it gets spent as soon as I receive it and we still don't have any savings at the end of the month - especially in these few months while we settle into our new place (lots of new things to buy). But I ain't complaining, because we might have been worse off without this gracious provision. I might have been worse off without this provision. 

Nevertheless, I really like my job. It helps me to see children through the eyes of God.

Psalm 8:2 (NASB) ~ 
"From the mouth of infants and nursing babes You have established strength
Because of Your adversaries,
To make the enemy and the revengeful cease."

I remember Dr. S asking us to reflect on this verse some time ago. 

What is it about the mouths of infants and nursing babies that God is able to establish strength (or in more literal translations of the original Hebrew text: a bulwark) against His adversaries? In the NIV translation, "...From the lips of children and infants You have ordained praise because of Your enemies, to silence the foe and the avenger..."

Far from praising God the way we, adults do... infants just cry. They may babble when they are a little older - and children may learn to express worship for God. But really... what was your first reaction to the great, big world outside the snuggly confines of your mother's womb? You cried. I cried. We cried. 

I am pretty sure that I roared.

But think about it ~ that's what living infants do. 
Does a stillborn baby cry? It would be rather frightening if he/she did.

An infant's cry is a sure sign of life
Coming from the medical field, I am aware of the many possible complications any pregnancy could face. In the worst cases, such complications lead to either miscarriages or stillbirths (to say nothing of threatening the mother's life). Therefore, an infant's first cry is precious and to be celebrated. In a complicated labor, emergency births or in cases of fetal distress, the infant's cry, even the faintest one, gives hope - that something can be yet done to increase the chances of him/her thriving. 

God is sovereign. An infant thrives because it is God's purpose for him/her to live on. And so, a thriving infant testifies of God's sovereignty. Furthermore, a thriving infant is a testimony against the Enemy... of the unthwartable purpose of God to bring yet another human-being made in His image into the world where He will rule and reign. Where His Kingdom will know no end.

Indeed, a human being made in God's image is a threat to Satan. What's more one who is alive and kicking... and crying. 

Back to my job...

When I gaze into the eyes of the children I teach, I see great potential. I feel a great sense of hope. Perhaps, not all will eventually become Beethovens, Bachs, Chopins or Rachmaninoffs (I am not one myself)... but each and everyone of them was born for important purposes only known to the sovereign God. (You too ~ my dear reader ~ exist for an important purpose.)

I hope to be faithful to nurture whatever I am able to nurture in these children. If it is not musical gifts, then at least I hope to help them to dream of becoming what they are capable of becoming. I hope to accompany them on their individual journeys to bring their gifts to the world - even if it's for a short stretch. I hope to be the kind of teacher Mitch Albom mentioned in his book, "Tuesdays with Morrie":

"Have you ever really had a teacher? One who saw you as a raw but precious thing, a jewel that, with wisdom could be polished to a proud shine? If you are lucky enough to find your way to such teachers, you will always find your way back. Sometimes it is only in your head. Sometimes it right alongside their beds. The last class of my old professor's life took place once a week, in his home, by a window in his study where he could watch a small hibiscus plant shed its pink flowers. The class met on Tuesdays. No books were required. The subject was the meaning of life. It was taught from experience. The teaching goes on..."
May I cherish my time with each student, love them and make valuable memories with them. May I ultimately be an ambassador of Christ to them. This is my prayer.

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