Dear Mrs. Stewart,

You came to me after school today to talk to me about Wes. You said you walked over to him and asked him some questions about the book he had just read. His response was upset and he began to break his crayon, seeming frustrated.

You did not yell at him.

You did not get angry with him.

You did not sit him in time-out in a corner of the room.

Instead, you talked with him. You asked him why he was feeling frustrated. He responded with various comments.

You responded with, “Do you feel like you have too much on you right now? Maybe you are feeling a little overwhelmed?” He replied, “Yes, just a lot of things.”

Then you stopped. You stopped what you were doing, stopped to listen to a six-year-old’s frustration. You considered his upset worthy of your attention.

By doing this, you gave him tangible empathy. You gave my child your compassion. The rest of the class was working and being a teacher, I know you had other things to do, as teachers pretty much multi-task all day long, but you let all that go so you could sit with my kid and just listen.

That isn’t even the greatest part of this whole ordeal. You didn’t leave him there. Your kindness continued when you said,  “You know what Wes? Let’s not worry about this book right now. Go ahead and put it away. I just want to pray over you.”

And then you prayed.

You prayed over my son.

In class.

At school.

With all your other students in the room.

I love you Mrs. Stewart.

Today my kid wasn’t up to doing his reading or his comprehension questions. You had a moment presented to you in which you could have chosen irritation and impatience, but no, you chose to give my child your personal time and love and then you gave him the love of his Savior.

This special moment has been saved in time as a moment of thoughtfulness and graciousness and while he might forget this moment, I can assure you, I won’t.

You, my friend, are worth far more than rubies or pearls. You are a cherished friend and a cherished teacher. May God make His glorious face shine on you.


Me, as a mom

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