After it was over, I saw a parade of people talking with her mother, who had on the biggest smile I'd ever seen on her face - which was redder than I'd ever seen it. There were definitely some mixed emotions there. Children can do that to you, can't they?
This Bible School was held at a church I'd never been to, and I wouldn't have known about it except that during announcements at our church we were told that there would be a program at 7 p.m. at what used to be the First Baptist Church in such-and-such-town, to close out their Bible School, and that children would be singing and reciting verses, etc., and we were all invited.
Well, now, I got temporarily lost on the corner, because I thought that church building was still the First Baptist Church. (Where have I been?) But after we were dismissed, I found out that several of the children from our church had been going to this Bible School, and what denomination was now using that location, and had put on this Bible School.
It struck me later how I never heard anyone call this a Vacation Bible School. Not at our church. Not at the host church. The banner outside the church also just called it a Bible School. And I've been thinking about that. If it's really a Bible School, why use Vacation in the name? But, then, most Vacation Bible Schools (aka VBS programs) aren't really Bible Schools, so why do they call them that?
I wish you could have been there last night. The children were wonderful.
During the solo recitation times, they were allowed to carry notes to consult if they had trouble. It was fun to watch how they each handled that. Some never bothered with notes, even when they struggled. Others openly consulted their notes, or gave up and just read them. One little boy stole my heart by trying very, very hard to not use the notes openly. He kept them down near his pocket, and when he got in trouble, which was often, he'd bend a little sideways, cock his head, and study the note down at his pocket, intently, until he'd memorized another few words, then he'd straighten up, look at us again, and recite what he'd just memorized. Then he'd lean sideways and cock his head and read the note at his pocket again, until he'd memorized another few words. He also kept looking over at his teacher, to see how she thought he was doing, grinning as he did so. I about melted, right where I sat. I also laughed, quietly.
There was another little boy, much younger (too young to be among those who had to recite something solo), who couldn't handle being on stage that long, and was discreetly led offstage to safety by his teacher. I can relate. I have my own stage fright stories to tell. Don't you? And who hasn't had to go to the bathroom at inconvenient times? Raise your hand.
The little boy who crumpled, and the little girl who shouted, both go to the church I've been going to. They're both ranch kids. Not that that matters, but if you're ever inclined to stereotype ranch kids, I assure you they come in all varieties of shy and bold, introverted and gregarious. Just so you know.