The Portion of my Inheritance

That year, the teachers that were retiring had to take blocks of time off. It was different from years before and I never really understood why the state made them do it, but they did just the same, it had something to do with the new retirement laws.

 One particular third grade teacher was retiring that same year. She was an amazing teacher and her class was always run in an orderly fashion and the children knew what she expected of them and they were quite agreeable. It made my job as a substitute teacher an easy transition, for both me and the students as I spent an extended time with them throughout that semester.

Yes, the children were wonderful and very precious. There were, however, several “chiefs” in that class. You know, “take charge” kind of personalities. Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing, for she always encouraged her students to take responsibility and each had their own job to do and they loved and thrived at being viewed as trustworthy. But sometimes it would run over into worrying about other students and taking things upon themselves and therein was the problem.

But there, smack dab in the middle of the class was Michael. He had a hard time fitting in with the other children. I imagine it was because he wasn’t always clean, his clothes were consistently wrinkled and dirty and he was much bigger than all the other children. He was never prepared and he didn’t always have the things he needed for class. But maybe mostly because he spent most of the class time in a special class and was not able to do the same work as the other children, thus being labeled and children just seem to know these things.

It was obvious that Michael, although he was probably loved, was not cherished. He was not taken very good care of at home. His appearance told the tale of neglect and he talked of moving from school to school and now, he was living with a house full of cousins.  

With Valentines day fast approaching, and preparations being made to celebrate the beloved day, each child was assigned a project to be done at their own home. They were to make a Valentine box, decorated to reflect the holiday and bring it to school to be used at the Valentine’s party to hold the precious cards from their peers.

All the children had their boxes on display, lined up, side by side on the back counter. The boxes were covered with red and pink hearts, laces doilies, tissue paper and pictures of cherubs and cupids, some more elaborate than others.

All that is . . . except Michael.

On the day before the party and just about mid morning Michael entered the classroom , he had a shoe box tucked under his arm. I was sure the teacher from his special class had provided it for him, for he did not have it with him with he arrived at school that morning.

All the other children were sitting at their desks working quietly. He sat down at his own desk and pulled out a pair of scissors, glue and some pieces of construction paper and any other kinds of paper he could grab hold of. Globs of glue ran down the sides of the box as he began to cut the paper into strips and different shapes and glue them onto his box.

Now, I knew that he was supposed to have worked on his Valentine box at home, but I also knew that there was probably no one at home that would have helped him, so I kept silent, my heart breaking.

 I saw the children looking at him and some watched him intently and one by one they came to me, “Mrs Morris,” they whispered, “Michael was supposed to make his box at home. He is not supposed to be working on it at school!”

And to each one of them I responded with a smile, “Go sit down and finished your work and worry about your own Valentine box.”

Michael worked diligently on his box and when he was finished he proudly put it on the back counter with all the other boxes, then sat back down at his desk, clearly very pleased.

The school day ended, and we all went to our own homes and that was the end of it. . . or was it?

 Several days later, I was driving down a narrow back road to Weatherford, Texas, having what I thought was a pretty good conversation with my Lord. I was explaining to Him about so and so and telling Him about so and so and very honestly, having a very critical spirit. In truth, I was complaining to Him about people. And my very precious Lord very sweetly and very tenderly whispered to my heart, “Peggy, worry about your own Valentine box.”

I knew instantly how I was behaving and I started to laugh out loud.

So often, we are so worried about what other people are doing or what they should be doing that we don’t take a good look at ourselves. Isn’t that what He said, “And why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye, but do not consider the plank in your own eye?” It doesn’t matter if other people are doing what WE feel is right for them. We are to walk in obedience to our Lord and do what He directs us to do. It is not our job to worry about other people and to make sure they are doing what they are supposed to be doing. Our job is to pray, it is God’s job to deal with the problem according to His perfect will.

When we focus on our Lord and follow His direction for our lives then we will be walking in obedience. 

 A smile always forms on my face when I think about that day the Lord spoke my very own words to my heart~Worry about your own Valentine box~ I will never forget it.  

I feel so grateful and blessed that He exposed my heart to me that day. He used a little boy to speak to my heart and reveal a wonderful spiritual truth.

Yes, He does still have to remind me from time to time, but I treasure those gentle reminders.

 “And why do you look at the speck in your brother’s eye, but do not consider the plank in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, “Let me remove the speck from your eye’” and look, a plank is in your own eye? Hypocrite! First remove the plank from your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye.” Matthew 7:3-5