June 21, 2006 — the weather is getting warmer, the days are getting longer, and the kids at school are even less interested in listening to anything I might have to say. We all still have a lot of work to do, but we seem to be less naturally inclined to do it. This is the time of the year when everyone asks me if I am looking forward to the end of the school year. I pause for a moment and say, "No." As hollow as this can sound on a beautiful June afternoon, it is true.

I never look forward to the end of this opportunity we call school. As April turns to May and May slides into June, I think of all of the things I would like to still accomplish with the stu­dents in my charge. I cringe as I ponder the vast amount of infor­mation they will forget over the summer. While we slowly close in on the last days of school, I begin to think of how these little people, my kids, will no longer sit in their places in my class. They will always be my kids, but they, as a group, will never be my students again. This is the natural progression of things. I always feel a real sense of loss.

Paul, in his first letter to the Corinthians, was speaking directly to the Christians within the communion in Corinth. We also understand that the message was meant for all Christians of all times in all places. I think he must have had teachers in mind when he got to Chapter 13. He writes about speaking and under­standing and knowledge and gifts and abilities and how without love they are useless. Most of this list could be thought of as the normal expectations of a teacher and are usually the attributes we teachers believe we possess. The last ele­ment, that love thing, is a bit tricky, and less natural.

Nevertheless, there it is, and the need for it is true. Sometimes, when I am clanging a bit loudly, I wonder if perhaps Paul was only speaking to me.

With a little help from Paul and several hundred little people, I have learned that teaching is a matter of relationships built on this love. Anyone can provide a child with information to be acquired and badger him until he acquires it. It is only within a rela­tionship that this information can have any meaning. Anyone can outline a concept and drill it into the head of a child. It is only one who sees this child as a covenant child who can fit it into the provi­dential whole. Anyone can identify the educational challenges facing a child. It is the place of one who loves that child to point out for them the joys of persever­ance, the smallest of suc­cesses, the fact that they are of value because they have been declared of value, not by some test, but by God. Real teaching has more to do with love than any spectacular peda­gogical skill I can muster.

Since God has loved them first, I must continu­ally remind myself to love them foremost. I must want the best for them. I must give my best to them. I must be honest and gentle and firm, though I fall short. I must admit that I am, as they are, often imperfect. I regularly fail to live up to the standard, as they do, but we can forgive each other if we have love. I must admit that though I love them, I don't always like what my little darlings do and they don't always like what I do in response. Sometimes lov­ing means doing difficult and seemingly unloving things. Problems cannot be ignored in a relationship. Disobedience, poor stewardship, disrespect, foolishness and a thousand other unpleasantries are bound up in the heart of a child and must be addressed when they break out into the open. It is always easier to avoid confronting a difficult situation than to face it. Avoidance is a natural reaction; it is not love and does not come from a loving heart. Many of the above-mentioned unpleasantries are also fighting for pride of place in my heart making the above-mentioned forgiveness even more necessary.

Every now and then a picture falls from a book, and I remember. I watch a profession of faith, and I recall. I see a new father hold his new baby, and I am reminded, not of books and lessons and home­work left undone, but of the rela­tionships I have had with these young people when they were my kids. I remember the faithfulness of God. At the end of every year, I wonder at how the relationship that makes teaching possible also makes the end of a year a little more difficult. Since the one pre­cipitates the other, I can live with the irony.

I probably need the break as much as anyone, but I hope I never look forward to it. And this is true.