It’s “a miracle worth attending,” Joyce Rupp writes of daybreak. She has mentored and inspired me for 30 years, and her phrase sets off a long reflection. At first, I think of sunrises over the Pacific Ocean—the pink tint on the sand, the blushed sky, gradually the great orange globe rising, and its glaze illuminating the tip-top of waves as they crest. Exhilarating way to start a day, which will end similarly, with a fiery disc on the horizon and a golden pour of honey-light into the water.
But are we not up-to-our-elbows in unattended miracles between dawn and dusk? Breakfast energizes after low blood sugar; inspiring reading gives anchors for the day. Mobility and health motivate to Zumba class at the gym, where I dance with Asian, African-American, Muslim and Latina women. I’m one of the oldest there, but we all whoop and holler to the jazzy music, forgetting that it’s good for our health because it’s so fun.
Then off to volunteer in first grade, admiring the painstaking process of forming wobbly letters and sounding out words. It’s a place of lopsided haircuts, squirrely spelling, wiggling or missing teeth, unicorn headbands and earmuffs, lots of noise and energy, disheveled pigtails, the occasional meltdown, and more learning than anyone could ever guess. I marvel that my own children mastered reading and writing somewhere along the line, but it all blurs in retrospect. This time I can watch the painfully slow distinctions made between “silent e” and “long e,” the unfathomable lack of logic in English spelling—why shouldn’t it be “moovie”? (Or countless other examples which autocorrect simply won’t tolerate.)
Unguarded faces in all the skin tones of the world shift expression dramatically when I read a story with a twist, or they empathize with a character in trouble. The children themselves, seated on the storytelling carpet, are a library of stories, and in one typical room, they speak five languages at home. When one boy doesn’t respond to a question, others quickly explain, “he speaks Mandarin,” and I’d guess that by June he’ll also be fluent in English. A poster at the entrance to this public school reads, “Diversity is Beautiful.” What a sacred space, honoring difference, despite the concept being out of favor now.
The ultimate canonization should be reserved for the teacher, who rarely raises her voice, and contends with multiple challenges in an ordinary day. Last year, she had three children at a kindergarten level and had to design two curricula; this year she has three on the spectrum who need intensive help. She often has back ache and far too much to do, but comes daily, cheerfully trying again.
It’s a privilege to attend to the daily unfolding, reflect on multiple meanings, unite with the divine in myriad forms. How wondrous that God sustains all life, and invites our participation in it.
Kathy Coffey 