“But I’m Not a Teacher…”

You never know what melodramatic scenarios are being rehearsed in the mind of a five- year-old boy. Some days my son is shooting bad guys with Captain America and smashing enemies with Hulk. Other times he might be jumping through kingdoms with Mario and throwing fireballs at Bowser.

As I drove him to school this morning, he stared out the window, watching the cattle pastures and electrical lines blur past. A frown puckered his lips and pinched his brows.

“What are you thinking about, buddy?”

He sighed deeply. “I want to be teacher someday.”

“That’s a great thing to be! Teachers help so many people.”

Nate glared at me. “You doesn’t understand, Momma. I want to be a teacher now!” He sniffed. “But I’m not. I’m too little.”

“Oh, I see.” I smiled at him through the rearview mirror. “You think you can only be a teacher when you’re a grown up.”

“Yeah, but I’m just a little boy.”

“Want me to tell you a secret?”

His brown eyes rounded. “What?”

“You’re already a teacher right now.”

He blinked. “I am?”

My thumbs rubbed the steering wheel as I formulated what I longed to say. “Buddy, you teach people around you all the time. You just don’t know it. Do you know you’ve taught me so much about God? About how to praise Him during the hard times?”

He sucked in a little breath. “I has?”

“Yep. It doesn’t matter what comes your way, you are always happy. Always joyful. There have been times when I’ve been at rock bottom but you put your arms around me and starting singing praise songs to Jesus. God used you to show me that fear runs away when we praise Him.”

A small smile tugged his mouth. “Wow. That’s cool.”

“And you know the boy in your class who was so mean the first few weeks of school? You’ve been playing with him at recess. You’ve showed him how to be a friend. Now he’s not nearly as cranky, is he?”

Nate shook his dark head. “Nope. Him is really nice now.”

I smiled. “You showed him love, buddy. You taught him how to be kind. All of us are teachers. We either teach people bad things or good things. We either show them love or we hurt them. There are good teachers and bad teachers. And you don’t have to be a grown up to be either one.”

Nate was quiet for a moment as I pulled into his school.

“Hey, Momma?”

“Yes, buddy?”

“I only want to be a good teacher.”

I nodded. “Me too. To be a good teacher, we need to love people like Jesus does. Sound like a plan?”

Nate grinned and unbuckled his seat beat as I parked the car. “Yep. Come on, Momma. I got a class to teach.”