The closer we get to summer, the louder and more rambunctious we get around here. But, also, in some impossible way, the quieter and closer we get, as well.
5th grade girls jostle for spots on the cushioned pews that have recently shown up in the first of our many spaces, curling up close and playfully refusing to give way when other people try to squeeze their way in. Instead, they compare fidget spinner tricks and run off to grab my bag for an additional spinner and fidget cube, trading them down the line during story, so that, even if our fingers are distracted, our mouths are finally silent. The little one who can't stand to sit still for this long drops her head onto my shoulder, but only asks once to slip out to the bathroom. And, with the transition jitters nipping at our heals, I'll every win that we can get.
It’s been an everyone-talking-at-once sort of a morning, more interested in being heard than in the Snapchat filters that so often distract them or even than in rifling through the bag of lifesavers that we give out as rewards for bringing their Bibles. So, we cram the seventy odd minutes with as many of their favorite traditions as we can possibly fit and pour out grace to cover the wiggles and the swirls of anticipation and anxiety.
One chair added to our row for a late arrival becomes two and three and four, until the row of five has become a line of ten, stretching out across both aisles and butting up against the 3rd and 4th graders space, but they barely blink at the intrusion, and there is Grace in that.
Grace in the number of girls who are here on a holiday weekend, in the careful way that they listen to each other, and in the fine line between encouraging reluctant ones to join in the game and honoring the boundary of a simple "no." Grace for rolling down hills and going over the transition plan for the dozenth time. Grace for taking pictures to remember. For girls who leave early and for the ones who stay late. Grace to take a deep lungful of the chaos and savor it, because we only have two more weeks.
And, because, His Grace always seems to show up when we are at our messiest and most uncertain.
Grace in the number of girls who are here on a holiday weekend, in the careful way that they listen to each other, and in the fine line between encouraging reluctant ones to join in the game and honoring the boundary of a simple "no." Grace for rolling down hills and going over the transition plan for the dozenth time. Grace for taking pictures to remember. For girls who leave early and for the ones who stay late. Grace to take a deep lungful of the chaos and savor it, because we only have two more weeks.
And, because, His Grace always seems to show up when we are at our messiest and most uncertain.
