Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Our Greatest Nurturer: Part One

It rained on my first-ever day of school.  The prospect of entering Kindergarten didn’t thrill me.  I wore a bright-yellow rain coat too big for me (falling prey to the back-to-school rush, local stores were sold-out of my size), which “delighted” me even more.

I had always been greatly nurtured by my mother during the preschool years.  The four glorious seasons prior to turning five consisted of the two of us watching cartoons after my older siblings left the house.  Our living room was warm and the atmosphere fragrant with my mother’s cooking of anything I wanted for breakfast.  From soft-scrambled eggs and bacon to quick stuff like ice-cold milk poured over sugary cereal I was treated like a princess, and I loved it.
There was a spot on the seat of our couch back then where the vinyl had worn through and revealed a stubborn spring lying beneath the fabric, and it often poked up into my back.  Though it’s 44 years later, I still remember my mom positioning her hand between my soft little bottom and the imposing piece of metal as I rested my head on her lap so that I could enjoy all the morning cartoons in comfort.  Now that’s a “nurturer”!  :0)
So, on school’s very first day way back then, I wasn’t concerned about God’s plan of new beginnings for my life, and I wasn’t focusing on the doors He’d opened to begin executing the fledgling phase of His Royal blueprint for me.  In truth, at age five, I wasn’t even saved; I only knew I despised the notion of attending school.  I missed my mommy, and I wanted desperately just to go home.

To me, back then, the tiny elementary school I joined was an imposing figure on a hillside, marring the slope of grassy mounds with hosts of hard-edged windows and the greenish glare of fluorescent bulbs.  Inside, everything smelled like glue; strange kids and grinning adults called “teachers” were players in a horror film from which there was no escape.  For me, on the first day of school, fear and disgust made fast friends.  I wasn’t enchanted; I wasn’t excited and glad to break free...  I wanted my mommy.
I was as intelligent as any five-year-old should be learning the concept of having to “go to school now”, but I didn’t like it because – at school - you had to suck it up and be on your own for four hours each day against a world of outsiders.  I also didn’t like it because I’ve never been a “morning person” (I’m still not, primarily), and waking up at 6:30 a.m. to be parted from my warm, soft mommy by 8:00 left me downright disgruntled for many days.  No sir, I didn’t like it.

In the classroom the first few weeks, I’d only sit quietly and watch for my mother’s face in the door window.  When I saw it there (shortly after naptime daily), I knew I was freed yet again and could forget about foreign smiles and awful smells for at least another day.  My loving nurturer had returned, and I was safely content in her arms.
Truly, I had many lessons to learn. . .

Join me tomorrow for Part Two of this post.  God bless you!
"... fervent in spirit, serving the Lord."
(Romans 12:11b)