Two very recent events are on my mind this morning.

The first, a twelve hour marathon session of Parent/Teacher Conferences where I talked to 20 parents. (Had few who didn’t make it.) We looked at “data” also known as test scores. We looked at grades and reviewed goals we had set in October. Parents asked questions and I tried to answer them honestly. A few children were embarrassed as I talked about their chatty ways and I broke a few hearts as I gave parents the lists of missing assignments from their cherubs. And unintentionally, I overwhelmed a parent or two as I suggested some activities that they could engage in at home to help their child. You see, I understand that some single parents schedules are so tight that an extra ten minutes carved out of three jobs, three kids, and managing a household seems impossible to find. And then I listened.

As always, my favorite part of each conference is something that I’ve practiced for the past 17 years as a teacher. It’s the last three minutes when I take time to list the positive qualities of their child. I’ll be honest and tell you that if I’d had a rough week with a student I have to TRY to come up with the good stuff, but usually, I look at the little one’s eyes and all of those great things fill my mind. Things like kindness, caring, finding humor, commitment to hard work, learning how to self-advocate and ask questions, improved manners, and acting respectfully. In my mind, these are the things that matter. Yes, they need to be able to read and write, to add, subtract, multiply, and divide. But seriously, the person inside is the one I love to watch develop.

The second thing that has added to my thought process today was standing at the kitchen window watching snow flakes fall from the sky while smelling the stew in the crock pot. For the most part, today’s snow flakes are small, close together, and falling swiftly to the ground in an organized pattern. As I watched though, I noticed one gigantic snowflake — larger than a quarter, floating to the ground — not falling. In fact, it was dancing in the breeze. As I watched, it moved to the left and then angled to the right. The breeze caught it and pushed it upward about three feet where it began to float back to the ground once again. At one point two breezes must have collided because the snow flake began twirling as it was floating downward. Every time that flake neared the ground, it was pushed upward again to continue its dance. I’m sure it will make it to the ground. It’s course and it’s timing cannot be predicted because of the winds around it.

People — children included — are a lot like that snowflake. Moving at their own pace to become who they are intended to be.

And that’s okay.

I’ve watched as the world increased its speed. We’ve moved from family nights to children moving from activity to activity and falling into bed exhausted. One girl I taught a year or so ago left school and went to gymnastics for two hours. From the gym she traveled to another gym, doing homework and eating in the car as Mom took her to basketball practice. She finished her homework in the car on the way home. When they got home, she would shower, play 20 minutes of video games and then go to bed. The next day was a repeat. Weekends were spent in tournaments for one sport or other — hers or her brothers. When was she a child?

Instead of families eating together, single parents (and other parents, too) move from job to job while a babysitter feeds their kids and sometimes send them off to bed. While vacations are still enjoyed, they are often weekends here or there, rather than a week of a time together, resting, playing, and making memories.

Some of these changes are by choice; some are necessities.

All of these life choices are valid — but all of them have a price that must be paid.

I’ve also watched as we’ve set timelines and timetables for growing up, maturing, acting “like a fourth grader,” becoming an adult, being responsible, and in general, being successful.

Why?

Well, if we listen to the “experts” we will discover that it is through the use of a matrix that we will be able to measure and define growth, performance, maturity, development, or success. In some ways, I agree with this. But in others, I disagree.

I know and understand that there have to be measures, standards, baselines, and expectations. But somewhere in the midst of all of these things, there needs to be room for the snowflake that dances at its own pace as it falls from the sky to the ground. There needs to be room for the young adult who needs a little bit of help — and we need to stop whining about them needing it. (After all, we adults are responsible for creating the mess that they are trying to navigate.) We need to welcome the child who moves at their own pace instead of speeding through life, missing the dancing snowflakes.

As a high school student, I was often told that I marched to the beat of my own drummer. I was relatively confident and self-assured and I didn’t have any problem marching to that different beat. Unfortunately, there are children and adults all around who would like to march to the beat of their drummer, but they are ridiculed and belittled because they don’t fit the matrix. Perhaps they grow differently than we expected them to. Or maybe, they’d rather dance in the breeze than fall in line with the rest of the snowflakes.

Somewhere in our orderly world of expectation, we need to make room for the dreamers, the dancers, and the divas. We need to let their world slow down so that they can grow and go at their own pace — whether they are children or adults.

The Bible says that we should, “Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old, he will not depart from it.” (Proverbs 22:6, KJV) While the obvious meaning is spiritual, there is more to it than that. We need to train a child to find value in small things, in time spent together, in learning opportunities, in dancing in the rain, and moving at their own pace — so that they can go their own way.

As the verse says, “…in the way HE should go…” (It didn’t say, “…in the way WE should go…”)

Let’s find a way to combine expectation with freedom so that children — and adults — feel welcome and accepted no matter where they are on the matrix.

Let’s find a way to offer grace so that we can listen to their drum beat instead of trying to make them play ours.

I haven’t written a blog in a couple of months. I’ve wanted to… but for some reason, I’ve been somewhat “wordless.”

It’s not for want of ideas. I’ve had several, some of them were good ones, too.

I’ve considered writing about friendships, Valentines, laughter, politics (don’t worry — sanity soon returned), creativity, options, and a few other things… but every time I started to write, I found myself with a topic, but for some  reason, I was strangely wordless.

Then, I seemed to be surrounded by grieving people.

A young boy lost his father to a tragic illness. A 10 year old girl who lost her mom some time ago welcomed me into her world of pets and interestingly enough, classic rock and opera. Friends have lost loved ones.

Recently, a boy whose mother died a few years ago became upset after missing part of a recess due to a poor decision on his part. I watched as his silent anger became evident in a stiff stance and tension in his arms and neck, in silent tears that poured down his cheeks. I asked God to give me words — and suddenly I knew that He was telling me to choose silence.

So I did.

I turned to my classroom sink, washed my lunch dish, rinsed my coffee cup, and got myself a drink of water, looked back to the small angry boy to see that the tension was starting to leave, but still his silent tears flowed.

And I listened.

I listened to those tears. I heard emotions in the rigidity of his limbs. The things I heard were things that we might expect — thoughts about his life being unfair. Hard questions like, “Why my mom?” I sensed that he needed a hug — from a mom. I also felt disappointment at the fact that he won’t walk into the kitchen to find his mom pulling freshly baked cookies from the oven and pouring a glass of milk — just for him. I hurt with him — and I heard his silence, his pain, and his grief.

I heard him.

It seems to me that there are times when we may be so busy planning our answer, analyzing what we’ve heard, or anticipating how we will try to help someone that we fail to hear the cry of their heart. When words fail us we are finally able to hear — to listen.

One small blonde fifth grader seems to take it as personal challenge to assure that silence is NEVER heard in my classroom. I finally turned to him one day and said, “Don’t feel compelled to fill every silence with noise or movement.”

That night in my devotions, I heard my words echo in my heart — but they were from my Father in Heaven, “Marylouise, don’t feel compelled to fill every silent moment with noise or movement. Sometimes, I am calling you to be wordless so that you can truly listen.”

Even though it isn’t easy for us, there are times when all of us should choose to be wordless — no matter how strange it feels.

In our silence I wonder, what will we hear?