Kids, Prayer and Revival--Making Room

“Swing Low! Sweet Char-ee-uht!” I was with the kindergarten class, little five-year-old voices singing happily as they swung low, some of them swinging their bodies so low that their voices had this creepy, upside down kind of tone.

I teach music. Each day I cycle through four different age groups, singing, playing penny whistles, discovering music theory. I try to engage each group, making allowances for their ages and individual interests. It's fun for me, no doubt about it. Hopefully it's fun for the students as well.

So this kindergarten class was singing enthusiastically--”I'm sometimes up, sometimes down, but still my soul is heavenly-bound.” That's when I noticed my school principal, armed with a chair. I groaned inwardly as she sat down with a notebook and pen. It was time for observation.

I had known it was coming, but in my random way I'd completely forgotten that she was going to observe this particular class. I was prepared, of course. Standing unprepared in front of a group of five-year-olds—I might as well just jam my hand under a burning log. You just don't. Still, that class was having so much fun. I wasn't prepared for a nervous observation. But, for better or worse, a page in the file was about to be created.

So we sang a few more songs. After the songs we were to play a card game with a deck that has notes and rests instead of numbers, kings and queens. The kids learn the names of notes playing games like this. It's fun and effective.

And yet.......as we sang, I noticed something. I had this one kid who's NEVER blended in. Usually if I asked them to sing out she would yell the words at the top of her lungs. If I asked them to sing quietly she would whisper at the top of her lungs. Sometimes she would sing an octave too high or too low, just for fun. But today—apparently she was having an epiphany. She was not screaming. She was not singing an octave off. She was blending right in.

So with my boss sitting there waiting to hear my lesson plan, I had a choice. This was a breakthrough. I could turn her discoveries into an impromptu lesson on how to blend your voice into a choir, or......we could do the lesson on notes and rests.

So I took a blindfold out of my closet and started a game of “Blind Man's Blend.” One child would turn his back to the group, wearing the blindfold. I started playing a song, and while the music played I quietly chose three students to come up behind the blindfolded kid and sing. Their job was to blend so well that the one with the blindfold couldn't discern their individual voices. After twenty seconds or so he could guess who'd been singing. For every correct guess he'd get a point. Every child who fooled him got a point. Then it would be someone else's turn to guess. The idea, of course, is the better you blend in, the more points you're going to win. We went around until everybody got a chance to guess, and everybody had gotten at least a point or two.

Then we talked about how nice it is to get a solo and sing your very best; but sometimes it's nice to blend in with your friends. It's a good game for teaching blending, and I'm glad I did it that day, because the girl who'd discovered her inner blended voice got some follow-through. She did VERY well at the game that day, got a ton of points, and had fun.

So later the principal commented on the class. I was feeling embarrassed about deviating from the lesson plan, even though I felt it had been a good choice. My boss is a great teacher in her own right, though, and when I explained she totally understood what happened. In fact, later the report came back saying something about flexibility being a strong point.

I don't always get it right. I'm sure sometimes opportunities slip by without my noticing. But I like to pounce on the teachable moments when they come up. It's good to make room for them.

* * *

That was last year. One day a couple of weeks ago I was with a different class—the second and third graders. This group of seven and eight year olds is a great bunch to work with. Those grade levels are almost always the best class for singing. They've developed the skill to sing fairly well, they can usually understand the things I ask them to do, and they aren't self-conscious yet about singing out.

And with this particular class, there's something else, something kind of indefinable. A number of these kids have a working understanding of God's presence. I first noticed it last year when we were singing a worship song and one of the girls said it was like God was hugging her.

So this one day a couple of weeks ago we were singing “You Are My All in All.” Maybe you know the words. “When I fall down you pick me up. When I am dry you fill my cup. You are my all in all.” When we do songs like that I go ahead and worship. It's Christian school, after all. And it kind of makes room for God to be an active part of class. I keep my eye on the kids but keep my attention on God. So this day a couple of weeks ago one of the kids, an eight year old, standing there with arms stretched out, hands up, and eyes closed, looking pretty intense. I thought, she's imitating something he's seen at church. Kids do that sometimes. It was sweet and cute, and I smiled as we kept singing. Then I noticed a few tears.

After the song she raised her hand and told me it was like her feet were on the ground, but God was lifting her up at the same time. I am pretty sure—in fact, I'm almost positive—this one was for real.

* * *

I remember once when I was maybe twelve or so we had this revival at the Christian school I attended. It happened right during choral singing class, which was held in the chapel room. I don't remember anything about how it started—all I remember is that instead of standing around singing, we were kneeling here and there praying and repenting. Kids were in tears. I was all trembly—that's what I used to do instead of crying. We got right with God and got up, all aglow. Then my dad, who was the choral director, told us to go into other classes and get kids and bring them back with us. So Mildred and I went after this kid named Roger.

I don't know how we got in there and got him out without being stopped. Maybe it was the sight of two girls—both glowing, one with tears, the other trembling. Maybe it was the Holy Spirit. Honestly, I'm not sure. But the teacher never questioned us, and neither did Roger. He just took one look at us, sobered right up and let us escort him back to the chapel room.

* * *

It was nice that my dad was willing to make room in our schedule for revival like that. And it was nice the other teachers made room for us to escort their students out without a word. Actually, in retrospect, the oddest part of that whole spontaneous revival day is that the teachers just kind of made room for it.

So all the kids who were repenting and kneeling and sniffling—were their lives all changed? I don't know. I think everyone changed for a while, then most went back to pretty much the way things were. So what was the use of it? Later, after college, I remember something pretty profound I heard a youth leader say. She said you can have an experience with God that's so powerful it knocks you right off your feet. But it'll never do you any good if you don't walk it out. So I guess the value in these revivals is they stop you, turn you around, and give you a good head start. Then it's up to you to keep walking and following God and live out what you got.

So those kids who went through that revival that day. In the big scheme of things, were we better off having gone through it? Well, look at the statistics. Some went on to live for God. They ended up as Christian truckers, restaurant workers, lawyers, regular people. Some even ended up doing full-time Christian work. Then others went on to be non Christian truckers, restaurant workers, lawyers, cops, regular people. Some ended up in crime. A few were killed or died of natural causes. I don't have exact numbers, but I would imagine we average out in a pretty typical way.

So if we came out statistically the same as other schools like ours, then what good did the revival do? We would have been just as well off without that day, right? Well, but then, see, we wouldn't have that powerful memory. We wouldn't remember that God-time.

* * *

For about six months my kids have been praying for Susie. She's a lady in our church who was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. She hit the kids' radar when she turned up at church in a wheelchair. Her hip had given out, eaten by the disease, even before she got it properly diagnosed.

My kids are both pretty good about making room on their prayer lists. Sometimes they even ask: "Is there anybody else sick I can pray for?" Even before Susie's diagnosic, then, they saw the wheelchair and got right on it, praying every night, asking regularly how Susie was doing.

So yesterday she turned up in service wearing a spunky red hat and a big smile. It's been a while since she was here, with the immunity problems and all the sickness going around. So after church I went and said hello, talked a minute, and walked to the back of the sanctuary. I ran into my youngest daughter back there and said, “Susie's here!” “REALLY!?” “Yeah! And the doctors gave her the all-clear. No more cancer!”

She peered into the sanctuary and saw Susie. You should have seen my kid's face. You pray every night for six months, and then the answer to your prayer walks into the building for you to see. She was pretty excited. Then my oldest came along, peered in, said, "Susie!" and went over to say hello. The other one followed, and slowly a small pack of kids trickled over.

I looked on, anxious to make sure they didn't tire her out. Then suddenly I choked up. I realized what I was seeing--the next generation of prayer warriors, happily chatting it up with Susie. She smiled her bright smile and talked with them for a while; happy, I suppose, to find such a fearless little army had been covering her.

Then it was time for Susie to go home and rest. She said her goodbyes, and the next generation of prayer warriors ran off for a quick game of hide and seek.