Hummingbirds don't know the words

By: John Braun

The sun's warm glow was there before we came. It had entered through the large windows and found a spot to sit with the toys on the floor. It remained to greet me, even though I was a stranger. When I arrived Nate, Melissa, and Carter were already there. They had come for kindergarten. Heidi and Carley entered the room later.

The kids brought library books to Mrs. Dahlberg's desk or put them away on the shelf. I watched as they took care of their morning routines. I was a guest--perhaps their first exposure to an educational phenomenon known as the guest lecturer.

This was to be a day in my education, however, not theirs. I wanted to hear what children say about Thanksgiving. What do children think about blessings . . . and the Gift-giver? I wanted to hear their voices, look into their eyes, and discover their hearts myself.

Their teacher suggested that I sit on a little chair in front of them and talk to them about giving thanks. They were ready--five pair of eyes, regarding me pensively.

I began with a passage from the Psalms: "Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever" (Psalm 107:1). I was surprised that they could recite the entire text in unison. And they knew what it meant. It warmed my heart. Five little lambs knew God's mercy. But this was my reason for thanksgiving. What was theirs?

"Trees."

"Why are you thankful for trees?" I asked.

"Because they give you shade."

"Because they give you apples."

Without waiting for my next question, Nate blurted out, "God."

"Why are you thankful for God?" I pursued.

"He died on the cross to take away our sins."

"He leads the world," piped in Melissa.

Someone else added, "Jesus is strong." The class had started its thanksgiving list.

"A house."

"We should be thankful for our bed." Melissa was just getting started.

I realized these children have the greatest blessing of all.

Nate connected with Melissa's idea. "So we have a place to sleep." The list grew, and the reasons did too.

"A brother--he plays with me a lot."

"My mom--she makes my lunch."

"She gives me clothes."

"She tucks me in bed."

"She made me breakfast this morning (Cheerios)."

"My grandma made dinner," Carter continued. "She made bread and meat and egg salad."

Dads didn't get left out either. "My daddy plays with me. He rides bikes with me."

"On my birthday my dad takes me out. We went to Chuck E Cheese's."

"He drives me to school."

Another countered, "My mom drives me to school."

"Aren't families a great blessing?" I prompted. No one picked up on my lead. Or maybe they did, and I didn't know it.

"I'm thankful my teeth came out."

"Does that mean you don't have enough teeth?" I asked, wondering where this might be headed.

"I still have these two. I can still chew. But this one wiggles."

I remembered putting teeth under my pillow at night. Did they?

"Yeah. I got a dollar."

Then we looked at a picture of Jesus, teaching his disciples. I asked the children if they could see anything in the picture for which they might be thankful. They saw the birds and the flowers. Melissa noticed the hummingbird. I asked if hummingbirds hummed.

"They don't know the words," Carter injected with an impish grin.

Carley was more practical. "Hummingbirds pollinate flowers."

Heidi was thankful for the grass.

"Why?" I asked.

"Otherwise all we'd have is dirt." Who could argue with that?

The sun had started to leave the room. It still had its feet on the floor, but it was leaning out the window. It was time to move on. The children sat in their little chairs, waiting for the next lesson.

As I looked back into the classroom, I was thankful for each of them. They had lifted my spirits and stretched my horizons. I realized they are the new generation and they have the greatest blessing of all: They know Jesus. Thankfully, his love endures forever.

Permission is granted for a single personal copy of an article. Please contact Robert Adrian at (414) 454-2112, or e-mail him at adrianb@nph.wels.net regarding any other use.

1998-11, Category: Holidays