(Again, I apologize for this being a dated post, but I haven’t had time to publish it until now!)
(June 12, 2010) Yesterday my teacher friends gave me a book called, “How Full is Your Bucket?” The book tells the story of a boy who learns from his grandfather that everyone has a bucket that can be filled with drops by kind words and deeds given or received, or emptied by thoughtlessness. Then they gave me a bucket filled with notes shaped like droplets (“Water drops, not teardrops!”) containing kind words and well wishes. I could’ve filled that same bucket with all the tears I cried that day.
My kids were incredibly sweet. It’s typical that kids are nostalgic and extra loving on the last day of school, but this day was different. Long before I ever became I real teacher, but really wanted to be one, this was one of my favorite paintings of all time:
Well, with the chaos of giving the kids their toys back from the “End of Days Box” (the graveyard for all the confiscated items throughout the year), signing yearbooks, talking to parents, and cleaning up, I didn’t notice what they had decided to do. When I had half a second to look up and around my classroom to see what else needed to be done, I saw this:
When they had all gone and I had the very quiet, very, very empty classroom to myself, I sat down and read their notes, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard a noise……………….drip……..…drip…..drip….drip…and although I was crying, it wasn’t the sound of my tears.
All my love to this precious class of kids that God entrusted to me for a short time.