THE TREASURE OF ALL TREASURES

Describing what a treasure is depicts different images in everyone’s mind. For a child, it may be a ladybug seen on a blade of grass. A young teen may treasure a new pair of shoes, now the fad. An older teen will love the improved cell phone. As a young adult, there is the dream car, waiting many years to save the money to buy one. The older adult will treasure memories of their children, as they go through their growing years. The senior adults treasure the letters and cards sent by the grandchildren, keeping them by their favorite chair.


As I reflect upon my treasures, my loved ones are invaluable to me. My faith and God are priceless as well. Thinking back to my years of teaching, I will never forget the treasured gifts I received. What made them so special was that they were handed to me with such strong emotions.

I never worked at a school located in an upper income class neighborhood. My students came from homes where a chicken is served once a year on Thanksgiving. There were no birthday presents. They had never been to a restaurant, not even to have a popular fast food hamburger or taco diner.

One year, I had a boy, about nine years old, who started to bring me a present a day. I was still in my first years of teaching, taken with his generosity, knowing how his family had little money. Some days, it was a candy bar or a package of sunflower seeds. At times, it was a small paperback book, usually one meant for a teenager. He had proudly signed his name and mine inside the cover of each of them. After this had been going on for a little over two weeks, a couple of his classmates approached me, out of earshot of the bighearted gift giver. Apparently, he was going to the little store down the street from the school, stealing something to give me the next day. I was horrified!

After school that day, I called the manager of the store, describing the child who frequented his store daily. I said he had been stealing something from him daily, over the past few weeks. There was a silence for a moment on his end, coming to life suddenly, announcing to me, “Here he comes, RIGHT NOW!” The phone went dead as he went to pursue the gift-giving robber. My student was back in class the next day, as if nothing ever happened. I am not sure what the manager said to him in the store, but it must have made an impression, as all presents stopped. I dimly remember going over to the store, offering reimbursement for all stolen items. The manager did not charge me, only glad that the stealing had stopped.

Having stolen items on me was not a treasure, but it still spoke to my heart. I treasured the thought that the boy wanted to make me happy. I had made him happy in my classroom; now he wanted to do the same for me.

Another year, I had told students how much I loved the Spider Man comics. This was years before there was a movie on the webbed creature. They loved to hear my excitement, as I would tell Spider Man episodes. It made me become a person, just as they were, not someone who came in from nowhere at the beginning of the day and return to nowhere at the end of it. This is the typical thought of a student, that there is no chance a teacher has any other kind of life.

As Christmas came around that year, a student approached me, having something wrapped for me. It was rolled up tightly, a ribbon circling the gift several times. His eyes were big, standing in front of me, as I unwrapped his gift. Inside the wrappings was his own treasure; a very well worn comic book of Spider Man. I almost started to cry, it meant so much to me. He had so little at his house, yet he wanted me to have his most valuable possession. This meant more to me than the many boxes of chocolates teachers were getting from students living in other neighborhoods. I will never forget the token of love shown. He knew what Christmas was truly about, not the television ads on what would bring meaning and happiness.

I had another highly-prized gift handed to me another year. The mother of a particular student did not like me. She truly despised me. Her mentally challenged son had passed from one year to the next, playing games all day long. Now that I had him, I did not want the games. I wanted him to learn to read, write and do math problems. His mother was furious I was having him work. Sometimes, he would come up to my desk to warn me his mom was coming by after school to yell at me. He would continue to come up numerous times on that particular day, to tell me the time was getting closer for his mom to yell at me.

In time, the mother began to see how much her son had learned. He was asking her to buy the classical music I played in the class as they worked, had outstanding penmanship, could read and was multiplying numbers. She was now showing up after school, coming in with her sponge and bucket of suds, to clean the classroom for me. She would ask me if I remembered how much she used to hate me, as she scrubbed one desk after another. I grinned, assuring her I certainly did recall those times.

At the last week of school, her son proudly handed me a wrapped gift from him and his mother. He said they saw the book on a table outside a store and decided it would be the perfect gift for me. Inside the wrappings was a book. The title was, Love and Desire and Hate by Joan Collins. A little summary inside the used book cover talks about the love, greed and lust action, a definite page turner. It is signed, with pride and with love, by both the mother and son. This became another treasure, though I must admit, I never did read it. The mother came by after school, her eyes twinkling as bright as her son’s, over this gift. I hugged them both, saying how special it was to me. The mother, who worked two or three jobs to put food on the table, said they just had to buy the book for me, as I was now important in their lives.

I would never trade my riches with anyone. If I did, I would lose those treasured memories that came with them. True treasures always come from the beloved heart.

MY CHOICE

On a daily, short, reflection I write on Facebook, “Spirituality From A Wheelchair,” I posted recently about my prayer to God. I asked Him to forgive somebody I know. God immediately responded to my prayer, telling me, “I already have forgiven. Now, it is up to you.” This was a revelation for me. My eyes opened wide, followed by a smile. Of course, He has forgiven, as He does not hold grudges. We are the ones whom are guilty of this.

Granted, it has taken me a long time to learn not hold onto a grudge. I was even holding a recent grudge, as I asked God to forgive another. It is an on-going process to move on, instead of remaining stagnant. I have had to ask God to help me move-on, to give me to the strength to do so.

I can be stuck in a whirlpool, asking repeatedly, “How can I forgive this person who has done harm to another of God’s family? Because of those actions, others will never be the same!” I am not progressing anywhere in my life as I continue to ask this. If I take my faith seriously, then I must leave this vicious cycle behind. It is not going to change what has happened. All it does is let me focus on the perpetrator rather than on the innocent victim. I have let badness take priority over goodness.

It is amazing to me that once I have taken the path of forgiveness, that person’s face and name is no longer taking precedence in my head. The actions of a co-worker, someone close to me, or a person I only heard about in the media, is no longer in my thoughts. It is as if God has this enormous chalkboard eraser, wiping my slate clean, as soon as I say I have forgiven.

I cannot just instantly say, “I forgive,” because if I do, I do not feel the sincerity in my words. However, I do not let it linger, as I used to do. At times, I do ‘pass the buck’ onto God, asking Him to help another understand the difference between right and wrong behaviors. I no longer will carry it on my shoulders.

There is such a relief in my tight muscles as I let it go. I may also pray for the troubled one, but now, it is at a different level. There is no longer a feeling of wrath; rather, there is an emotion of being at peace.

I silently ask others to live in the image of God, not in the image of my ideas. God has made each one of us unique and special, holding gifts, burdens, joys and sorrows. We are the ones who must make the choices with what He has given us. If we recognize the choices of others as being in error, ask God to help them get back on the correct path, during their spiritual journey.

A little first grader told me once how angry she was when she saw someone steal a sweater at the store. She wanted to get very angry with the person, proceeding to ask me why this person would take something he did not pay for. I told her about choices God gives us. Continuing, I asked her to pray to God to help the man understand not to this anymore. I gently told her not to stay angry. She could not change this man, but to pray for him. Let him feel God’s love. When he becomes aware of this love, he will not want to take things not belonging to him.

Challenges are part of our daily lives. As God told me, “Now, it is up to you.” These words will remain in my thoughts. I will take the challenges and be at peace with my decisions, living in the image of God.