[Prefer to listen? Scroll down to the bottom of the post for this new feature!]
When I opened the lesson plans for a church school class I had to teach a few weeks ago, my heart paused: I was being asked to guide a handful of seven- and eight-year-olds through a lesson about the end of the world. In forty minutes! As a Sunday school teacher, I am entrusted with some incredibly heavy topics, and having not studied theology, I find myself googling sermons and analyzing rich, symbolic passages in every way possible prior to Sunday mornings, because if there’s one thing that’s true about little kids, it’s that they ask big questions.
“Where is God?” one child asked.
“He’s everywhere.”
“Is he there?” she asked, pointing to a chair beside her.
“Yes.”
“Is he there?” giggled a little boy, pointing to the air above my head.
“Yes.”
“So where is heaven?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is heaven right here?”
“Maybe.”
“Is heaven in the sky?”
“Maybe.”
What resulted from our group discussion about the end of the world was that although it all sounds incredibly scary, we get to choose how we manage through situations that are outside of our control. One little boy talked about waves knocking him over in the ocean. One talked about having a nightmare. One girl talked about having to get shots. Another little girl talked about thunderstorms. It turned out that each and every one of these stories ended with the scary situation ceasing and someone there to comfort them on the other side. But in each of these stories were also lingering feelings of unease, even after their bodies had found peace and calm.
As a disability family that requires social supports reliant on state and federal funding, I find myself immersed in conversations over the real fears about what may come of our public schools and the disabled students who rely on them. I am watching projections develop from notions about how our states will fare if left to their own devices. I find myself worrying about my daughter and her civil rights, not only surrounding reproductive health but how her intellectual disability is viewed by society. I find myself worrying about immense things that are outside of my immediate control.
So I think back to that lesson and the wisdom the students brought to it. Right now, the waves are crashing, but if I can momentarily surrender to the motion, soon I will stand up and walk out of the water. Right now, I am in a nightmare, but when I awaken, I will distinguish fantasy from reality. Right now, I am in the waiting room, remembering back to a similar time when I feared what was to come, wondering if it will feel the same this time around, but soon the waiting will be over, and I will be stronger for seeing this moment through.
Right now, the sky is dark, the clouds are growling, light is flashing without warning. If I find the courage to step outside once the weather clears, I might be rewarded with a rainbow trailing across a healing sky.