The Cup of Water

Last week I started teaching pre-school again after a few years of trying other endeavors. I feel fortunate to have this opportunity. And I might have lots to say eventually, but there is one story from my first day that was particularly noteworthy, I think. When I teach French at the Montessori, I usually have a group time activity—a book, a song, a lesson, sometimes a combination thereof. Then for the rest of the day, I take groups of three or four students at a time to play games—bingo-type, dominoes, matching, slap variation--working on specific vocabulary areas. Of course, there’s also outside time, afternoon snack, and general observing to assure good behavior of the other kids around me.

So, for the first day, with the first group, we played  a couple of bingo-type games, the first three children and I. Then those children went off to find other work, and three more children came. To mix things up, I pulled out a matching game. Well, one of the girls from the first group wanted to play the matching game. But given the number of students in the class, I couldn’t let her join the group this time. Telling her this, though, led to weeping and wailing amidst repeated asking and telling me how much she wanted to play the matching game.

Fortunately, eventually that passed. We moved onto another group and played more bingo, and she moved on to work on other things. 

Nap time came and went, along with outside time, during which time the kids had a snack and a cup of water.  It is important to note that the water was brought in by the children’s parents because of the unknown quality of the faucet water due to the recent flooding.

When they came back inside, we had a much smaller group, but this also meant that I was the only teacher for the 3-5 year-old group, so I wasn’t easily able to ask simple questions. Of course Barb was still there in the toddler room, but I hated to bother her for little things. So when the children were thirsty after their time outdoors, I didn’t know what the rules were about giving them more water from the donations. But it did seem natural to me that they be thirsty after being outside where it was warm. So I filled the pitcher from morning snack time with water and set out some cups, and as individuals asked me, I told them they could get a cup of water and sit down at a clean table away from the toys where the other children were playing and working.

Unfortunately, this method had children overfilling their cups, including the little girl who had wanted so badly to play the matching game that morning. Both she and another girl ended up spilling their cups, so I gave them the sponge and rag so they could clean up their own mess, as is the policy in the school. Well, the other little girl cleaned up her spill without a problem and went on her way, but the girl who’d been crying that morning broke down again into weeping and wailing about how thirsty she was. Based on the experience from the morning with the French game, I naturally didn’t take her too seriously, so I let her just get it out of her system for a while.

It went on for quite a while, though, and Barb came out from the toddler room to see if everything was okay. I explained briefly, and she was satisfied. And eventually, the little girl calmed down, in part because I told her I would let her have another drink if she would calm down. Sometimes I can be firm, but I’m not all together heartless. So, when she calmed down, I let her get another cup, but told her not to fill her cup very full, just a little. She followed my instructions well, only filling the cup half full (or leaving it half empty?). But the next thing I knew, she’d spilled this cup, too, which, of course, brought on another flood of tears. She didn’t say anything this time, though, perhaps just frustrated with the situation and reconciling herself to the fact that today was just a bad day.  

And so now, my heart started really going out to her. I rubbed her back and showed my understanding to her, explaining I knew today was just a bad day. She agreed. Of course, this was in English, since I needed her to understand. When she calmed down, I wanted to give her some more water. But by this point, though, there was only a very little bit of water left in the pitcher. Fortunately no one else was asking, though, so I filled her cup with the last little bit of water, and she did her best to put on a happy face for the rest of the afternoon.

The most curious thing about the day, though, happened later that evening when I was reading the scriptures with my parents. We were in Matthew, and it just so happened that I was the one to read as we reached the end of Chapter 10, where it reads, “And whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water only in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, he shall in no wise lose his reward.”

After the first water spill, particularly given the French game incident earlier that day, I admit I was inclined not to let her have another cup. After the second, I could have easily just said that there wasn’t enough water. There really wasn’t much. But the Lord touched my heart, reminding me that I need to treat these children as a good mother would, as I would treat my nieces and nephews—in short, as Jesus himself would. And though a few drops it was, the Lord helped me make the right decision. For as the scriptures also say, by small and simple things, great things shall come to pass. The little girl will trust me, and I can remember to soften my heart towards the little children.