To My Sunday School Kids (part three)

M*ttie: You crack me up, kiddo. You can dissapear from our group for months, and then show back up as if you were there yesterday. Your face lights up when you're with us, though, and I've seen you turn down the "cool group" of all boys so that you can stay in this crazy place where we send you home to your mother with bloodstains on your shirt and grass marks on your socks. You'll sit anywhere but one of our chairs, but, the moment my hands press down on your shoulders, you melt and things come tumbling from your lips that make the other kids sit up and listen. I'll never know what prompted you to transfer yourself to my group, but we're glad you're here!
P*rker: Of all my crazy boys, you're the only one who I've turned around to find laying "dead" in the middle of the hallway, or hopping along behind us, with your knees up to your chest, under your shirt. You and C*nn*r planted yourselves in our group one day and made yourselves at home. I don't know what you saw in us or what you have seen, but I know that those eyes of yours don't miss a moment. You watch to make sure that I see you when you duck to "hide" behind a car, and you watch to make sure that I am paying just as much attention to the other kids as I am to you. I can only pray that, for a few hours at least, what you're seeing is Jesus.

C*nn*r: I'm pretty sure that I would trust you with the lives of the rest of these kids. You watch them like a patient father, laughing and acting like a nut with the rest of them, but always hyper aware of who is where and if they're safe. I got to watch the split second where you decided that I was a safe person for you and P*rker to be around, and, three minutes later, there you were, staring across the circle at me as if you had always been there. Slowly, I've gotten to watch you decide that, maybe, Jesus is a safe person as well, and I love watching you light up when we talk about Him. You're not such a fan of adult men, but Jesus you understand.

K*itlyn: We've missed you since you decided that it was a better fit to join your parents for church rather than come and hang with us, but I'm proud of you for being brave enough to make that decision. It's hard, in fifth grade, to admit that you'd rather sit with grown-ups than other kids, but you knew what you needed, and you acted on that. That takes guts. We miss seeing your laughing face, though, on the other side of a locked classroom door when you beat us back and hearing your dry, sarcastic (but always very, very true) answers to our questions. When God gave out a sense of irony, I think that you got a double helping. :D