Who's your Daddy?
Who, or what, is your authority? In a month when everyday brings a new struggle with getting Grace to comply with the needs of the household, authority has been on my mind a lot. More on Grace, Natalie, and discipline later. For now, an exploration of authority through the lens of teaching Sunday School.
It was my second time volunteering in this Sunday School classroom. I knew a lot of the kids’ faces but few names. I barely knew the other teacher. But I had seen this particular boy give some trouble to her last time and reminded myself to tread lightly and allow him to control his destiny, which would be to comply with our wishes, on his own terms. I can do this. I can outsmart him. I know he just wants an inch of control and if I recognize that, he will comply. He was refusing to gather around the teacher for the lesson after individual work time.
“Hey, P., do you want to help with the chairs or the mats?” I asked nonchalantly but with constant eye contact. I’m no rookie. Years of middle school teaching, not to mention raising two toddlers, had prepared me for this moment. With this type, the less of a battle, the better. But recognizing my attempt at offering choices for what it really was, he balked and continued coloring. He raised his face enough to smile at me, a handsome, round-faced smile that said, I’m no rookie, either. My mind began to turn. It’s true—he is being rushed and doesn’t like it. He didn’t get to finish his activity and psychologically can’t join a new one until he finishes. Then, Rubbish! We gave them plenty of time and several warnings. He is old enough to prepare for a transition.
“P., it looks like you’re not done, and I bet you want to finish your drawing. Why don’t you leave your stuff out so you can finish after Ms. K does the presentation?” I paused to watch his face. Unreadable. Hmm. I continued, “She is ready to begin and we need you to come over.” I pulled a chair over for him and walked towards him, my body language and tone of voice indicating that he has missed the window of lenience and now I will force the issue. I am, after all, an authority here.
He stood up and walked over to the stack of chairs, refusing my offer and pulling one down for himself. Interesting. He sat with his work on his lap, still drawing. I decided that this was his offer of a compromise. The other kids were all seated and Ms. K was informally talking with them so as not to draw too much attention to P. I was thankful for the low voices that pretended to mask the struggle P. and I were having. Then he scooted his chair back three or four feet, away from the group, and scribbled on the paper. This is ridiculous. This isn’t even about him not being done. This is an ego thing. I imagined sitting next to him and asking him to put the work down. I imagined trying to take the paper away. He was nine years old and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get it from him. I thought about just allowing him to draw back there, and then remembered the rest of the kids, some of whom also had to abandon their work to join the group. They had an ear on Ms. K and an ear on P. and me. What’s the new teacher going to do with P.? I think we all wondered that together.
I got down so that my head was lower than his. I tilted it to the side, my body language almost acknowledging his dominance. “You’re having a hard time letting go of that work.” My voice was soft. He smiled, probably wondering why, if I was letting him off, I was still pursuing it. Then I went in for the kill. “You can put your work down and sit in your chair with the group, or you can sit next to me in the front.” He shook his head and clutched the paper. I immediately realized my error. All was surmountable until I misjudged him for a dominant stubborn type. A dominant child will actually recognize an authority when confronted and often comply when forced. His refusal showed me he was more of a trapped animal, not knowing how to get out, than a savvy competitor, acquiescing for now.
Ms. K stepped in. “P., you need to sit with the other kids. It isn’t fair to them if you draw back there by yourself.” He still refused and she insisted again, kindly. If attention was what he wanted, here it was. He blushed and scooted back to the group. I was shocked he hadn’t milked the attention when he had it. Again, I had misjudged him for somewhat of a showboat. He passed me a glance that seemed triumphant, though. I couldn’t make him comply, but Ms. K could.
That’s when it hit me. I can analyze his defiance all day long. But no psychoanalysis or discipline tricks will work with certain people unless they have a relationship with that authority. It’s the typical mentality of school kids misbehaving with a substitute teacher: “We don’t have to listen to you! You aren't our teacher!”
Then my mind shifted—something about the term “authority” made me think of scripture and God and the way people are supposed to bow under the authority of scripture or something and I almost laughed. We are all like P., frightened but unwilling to submit to God, to trust Him. We are all shaking our heads, clutching our work, inching backwards, wanting what's best for ourselves but afraid to let someone else show us the way. How can humans ever submit to an authority we don’t have a relationship with? If I don’t feel in my gut that God knows me or loves me, I can’t fully submit to Him. All interpretation about whether scripture itself is an authority aside (for now), we are not going to follow any sort of a divine presence if it is foreign to us.
Perhaps this is why Jesus is so successful at bringing people to God. He is God as one of us, a brother, already in a relationship with us because he feels our joy and sorrow. We don’t gaze at him with mistrusting eyes; we can intuit his connection to us. So let our foundational message about God be that He already knows us and loves us. That He is not foreign, but right here with us. Let’s allow people (including our children and ourselves) to spend time building an awareness of that relationship before expecting people to respond with obedience.
It was my second time volunteering in this Sunday School classroom. I knew a lot of the kids’ faces but few names. I barely knew the other teacher. But I had seen this particular boy give some trouble to her last time and reminded myself to tread lightly and allow him to control his destiny, which would be to comply with our wishes, on his own terms. I can do this. I can outsmart him. I know he just wants an inch of control and if I recognize that, he will comply. He was refusing to gather around the teacher for the lesson after individual work time.
“Hey, P., do you want to help with the chairs or the mats?” I asked nonchalantly but with constant eye contact. I’m no rookie. Years of middle school teaching, not to mention raising two toddlers, had prepared me for this moment. With this type, the less of a battle, the better. But recognizing my attempt at offering choices for what it really was, he balked and continued coloring. He raised his face enough to smile at me, a handsome, round-faced smile that said, I’m no rookie, either. My mind began to turn. It’s true—he is being rushed and doesn’t like it. He didn’t get to finish his activity and psychologically can’t join a new one until he finishes. Then, Rubbish! We gave them plenty of time and several warnings. He is old enough to prepare for a transition.
“P., it looks like you’re not done, and I bet you want to finish your drawing. Why don’t you leave your stuff out so you can finish after Ms. K does the presentation?” I paused to watch his face. Unreadable. Hmm. I continued, “She is ready to begin and we need you to come over.” I pulled a chair over for him and walked towards him, my body language and tone of voice indicating that he has missed the window of lenience and now I will force the issue. I am, after all, an authority here.
He stood up and walked over to the stack of chairs, refusing my offer and pulling one down for himself. Interesting. He sat with his work on his lap, still drawing. I decided that this was his offer of a compromise. The other kids were all seated and Ms. K was informally talking with them so as not to draw too much attention to P. I was thankful for the low voices that pretended to mask the struggle P. and I were having. Then he scooted his chair back three or four feet, away from the group, and scribbled on the paper. This is ridiculous. This isn’t even about him not being done. This is an ego thing. I imagined sitting next to him and asking him to put the work down. I imagined trying to take the paper away. He was nine years old and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get it from him. I thought about just allowing him to draw back there, and then remembered the rest of the kids, some of whom also had to abandon their work to join the group. They had an ear on Ms. K and an ear on P. and me. What’s the new teacher going to do with P.? I think we all wondered that together.
I got down so that my head was lower than his. I tilted it to the side, my body language almost acknowledging his dominance. “You’re having a hard time letting go of that work.” My voice was soft. He smiled, probably wondering why, if I was letting him off, I was still pursuing it. Then I went in for the kill. “You can put your work down and sit in your chair with the group, or you can sit next to me in the front.” He shook his head and clutched the paper. I immediately realized my error. All was surmountable until I misjudged him for a dominant stubborn type. A dominant child will actually recognize an authority when confronted and often comply when forced. His refusal showed me he was more of a trapped animal, not knowing how to get out, than a savvy competitor, acquiescing for now.
Ms. K stepped in. “P., you need to sit with the other kids. It isn’t fair to them if you draw back there by yourself.” He still refused and she insisted again, kindly. If attention was what he wanted, here it was. He blushed and scooted back to the group. I was shocked he hadn’t milked the attention when he had it. Again, I had misjudged him for somewhat of a showboat. He passed me a glance that seemed triumphant, though. I couldn’t make him comply, but Ms. K could.
That’s when it hit me. I can analyze his defiance all day long. But no psychoanalysis or discipline tricks will work with certain people unless they have a relationship with that authority. It’s the typical mentality of school kids misbehaving with a substitute teacher: “We don’t have to listen to you! You aren't our teacher!”
Then my mind shifted—something about the term “authority” made me think of scripture and God and the way people are supposed to bow under the authority of scripture or something and I almost laughed. We are all like P., frightened but unwilling to submit to God, to trust Him. We are all shaking our heads, clutching our work, inching backwards, wanting what's best for ourselves but afraid to let someone else show us the way. How can humans ever submit to an authority we don’t have a relationship with? If I don’t feel in my gut that God knows me or loves me, I can’t fully submit to Him. All interpretation about whether scripture itself is an authority aside (for now), we are not going to follow any sort of a divine presence if it is foreign to us.
Perhaps this is why Jesus is so successful at bringing people to God. He is God as one of us, a brother, already in a relationship with us because he feels our joy and sorrow. We don’t gaze at him with mistrusting eyes; we can intuit his connection to us. So let our foundational message about God be that He already knows us and loves us. That He is not foreign, but right here with us. Let’s allow people (including our children and ourselves) to spend time building an awareness of that relationship before expecting people to respond with obedience.
Labels: God
posted by Sarah at 4:28 PM
3 Comments:
Brilliant.
Well said. Very intuitive...sounds like an excellent future sermon topic :)
yay for first post of 2007!
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