What No One Tells a New Sunday School Teacher

When you were first handed a teacher's manual, did anyone say this to you? "Be careful. While this is the best curriculum we've found, there may be errors in it." 

Choosing a curriculum is important, but an even greater responsibility lies with those of us who use it. We are the ones who will be held accountable for what we teach. A teacher who is willing to study first from the Bible and then look at the teacher's manual will be able to overcome a less-than-perfect curriculum. 

When you use a curriculum or create your own lesson from scratch, these six points will help you teach a lesson that correctly reflects biblical truth.

1. God is the central character of every lesson. We use drama, excitement, and emotion when we tell the story of David and Goliath. That's good. But who comes out looking like the hero? Is it David? Or is it God? David was clear when he charged the giant. "I come in the name of the Lord." We need to ensure that our students understand that it was not David's courage or his abilities that won over the Philistines that day, but God who enabled Him. If we stop to think of how many things could have gone wrong that day, we will have a better understanding of David's confidence in God. We need to paint a picture of God's abilities with such admiration that there is no doubt Who won the victory for the Israelites.   
2. Subpoints should not take center stage. The story of the feeding of the 5,000 is not a lesson about sharing, but a lesson on Jesus' power. It should fill us with amazement and wonder at how great He is. God may choose to use that lesson to encourage a child to share, but our emphasis as teachers needs to be on Jesus, not the boy who doesn't even get mentioned in some of the gospels' narratives of this event. 
   
3. My emphasis needs to be on spiritual change, not good behavior. Many children understand the need for grace when they initially ask God to forgive them of their sins and to include them in His family. Too few realize that they still need grace in order to grow and live the Christian life. Sometimes it's easy for them to believe that they are accepted by God because of their good behavior. If we do not continually encourage a dependence upon God's grace as they grow in their walk with God,  they may come to believe that their own self-discipline and obedience are making them pleasing to God. This can lead to Phariseeism and legalism. 
4. I waste time if my activities do not aid in teaching the central truths of the day. Activities and games are valuable teaching tools, especially for children. We should employ a great variety of teaching methods. But with every activity, we need to ask some simple questions. How will this help the students grow? Will it increase their understanding? Will it help them apply today's main truth? If I include this activity, will they be more or less likely to remember and apply today's truths?  Will they walk away from my class more excited about God or will they only remember the game? We have so little time with our class. Let's not waste one minute of it on activities that do not help to drive home the main point.
5. I need to be thorough in my lesson preparation? Lesson manuals are wonderful aids for teachers, but they do not replace the study of the Word of God. As teachers of the Bible, we start our lesson preparation with our text, the Bible. We do our best to ensure that we understand the lesson thoroughly ourselves before we try to teach it to others. This requires preparation throughout the week. Some truths are hard for us to understand, but rather than ignoring those truths, we need to spend time working to interpret them to our students. Once we feel we know what the Bible is teaching, then we pick up the manual to help us supplement what we've already learned.
6. Prayer is vital to my lesson preparation. Unless God does something in us and through our teaching, all our efforts will be in vain. As we begin to prepare, we ask God to teach us and help us to apply what we learn. We ask God to enable us to teach it in ways that our class will understand. We ask Him for attentive ears and receptive hearts. We ask Him to take His Word and apply it. We pray for the life situations that our students face. We entrust the our teaching time to Him, asking Him to use it to spread His fame in each of our lives.

God has given us a book.  That book is about Him.  We want to provide a solid foundation that will last a lifetime.

Are you one of those who was given a curriculum without any instructions on how to use it? Were you aware when you started teaching that you might find errors in it? Did you? I would love to hear your answers in the comments below.

The Castle of my Heart

The name of the LORD is a strong tower: the righteous runneth into it, and is safe.  Prov. 18:10

As a young girl, my mind always associated castles with princesses, princes, pageantry, and power. Scenes from Cinderella and other fairy tales colored my mental image, making it seem much more beautiful and elegant than my little ordinary life.  I could easily imagine it.  In the huge banquet hall, the tables were set with sparkling dishes, servants bustling in and out of the kitchen, bringing in platters of choice meat, fresh fruit from the orchards and vegetables from the gardens.  Candlelight filled the space with light, and a small orchestra softly played in the background.  Then, the music crescendoed and suddenly stopped, and the guests hushed their speaking.  A herald announced, "Bow before your King and Queen" as the two most powerful people in the kingdom stepped into the room.

It was so easy for me to imagine.

What was not as easy for me to imagine was other days at the castle when a watchman on one of the high towers spotted an enemy and raised the alarm. Soldiers ran to put on their armor and went out to defend the castle against the enemy. Then the sounds of battle filled the air. Children screamed and ran to hide from the noise and smell of blood as men and horses fought to save their castle, and more importantly, their King and Queen.  

Luxembourg is a tiny country filled with castles and ruins of old castles.  We visited the ruins of Esch-Sur-Sure castle and the reconstruction of the Vianden Castle. It was easy to see why these spots were chosen to build a castle. They both sit high on a hill overlooking the valley below. Beyond the castle was a wall that encompassed the town, with defensive towers. Watchers in the towers would be able to see people approaching and know if they were friends or enemies.

A watch tower

Castles are not primarily for pageantry, but for protection.  When the enemy advances, there is protection within the city walls, and additional protection lies within the gates of the castle.  The stone walls stop the arrows and are impervious to incendiary devices.  

So when the enemy of my soul advances and troubles me on every side, I can run to the protection that the Lord has given me - His very own name.  His name represents his character. His name carries weight and power and strikes fear into the heart of his sworn enemy.  

Inside the castle of God's name,

The wall protecting the castle grounds.

• I find mercy because He is merciful and gracious and abounding in mercy.
• I find light in my darkness because God is light and in him is no darkness at all.
• I find joy because He is a god who delights in His people. 
• I find strength in my weakness because He is all-powerful.
• I find hope even when things seem hopeless because He is my hope.
• I find peace because He is the Prince of Peace.
• I find safety because He is my strong tower.

Now when I look at castles, I see strength and protection, and not just pageantry and beauty.

I am glad that God has given us Himself, His name, and His reputation as the perfect castle of protection for our hearts.

A Guatemalan Harvest

I stepped off the plane, glad to be back in Guatemala again.  Ever since I lived there many years ago, Guatemala is a country that is close to my heart.  The people are friendly; the scenery is beautiful; and the weather is like an eternal spring.  Then, two years ago, my heart bonded with several of the people in the church where we worked, and I was looking forward to seeing them again.  Yet this time it was even more special because Charlie was already there, waiting for me.

On the two-hour ride back from the airport to the small town of Cerro Alto, I saw the corn fields, tall, tasseled, and ready for harvest.  We passed a market where the vendors tables were piled high with garden produce.  I looked longingly at all the fresh fruit and looked forward to sinking my teeth into guava, papaya, and lychees.  Flowers, ready for export, grew along the way.  The abundant gardens gave tribute to a mighty God who was providing for the Guatemala people.

Yet along the way, Charlie told me of an even more important harvest that was happening.  The previous Sunday, eight people had come forward to accept Jesus Christ as their personal Savior.  I was impressed. In a church of less than one hundred people, that it a significant number.  I rejoiced at the wonderful work God was doing there and excited at the prospect of meeting these new believers.

I knew, from our previous visit, that newcomers to this church do not always realize that they need to make a decision to follow Christ.  Their religious background has led them to believe that they are fine.  After all, they were baptized when they were young, and they have tried to do right.  Then, after attending for a while and hearing the commands of Christ to repent of their sin and follow Him, they realize that they need more.  They need to surrender in faith and ask Him to save them.  Eight of them had done this on a single Sunday!

If only those eight had accepted Jesus as their Savior, I would have been impressed by the rich and bountiful spiritual harvest, but God was not done.  The following Sunday, the pastor preached a strong sermon about sin and the hold it has on people.  At the end, he asked if anyone there realized they needed Christ's redeeming work to save them from the power of sin.  Six more people walked to the front!  Now the church was really rejoicing together.  Warm hugs and hand shakes reached out to welcome these new believers into the family.

On the third Sunday, Charlie taught Sunday School.  For some reason, the pastor thought he should follow the lesson with an invitation to receive Christ as Savior.  This time a husband and wife walked forward and asked Jesus to save them.

The birthday girl

On our last Friday night, we gathered in the home of one of the members instead of holding the usual Friday evening service at church.  Their daughter was having a birthday, so they invited the whole church for supper.  Once again, the pastor gave an invitation and a ten-year-old girl raised her hand.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a 9-year-old boy had done the same.  He invited them forward.  Then another four children came forward as well.  The pastor spoke with them and they professed their faith in Christ to save them.

The last Sunday afternoon we were there, we traveled to a nearby town where a new church plant has started.  A man arrived late to the service.  Most of the seats in the small auditorium were taken, but there was a row of empty seats in the front row.  Together with his little girls, he made his way up there and listened intently as Pastor preached.  Charlie whispered to me, "He is not yet a believer."  I nodded and began to pray for him.  At the end of the service, Pastor asked, "Is there anyone here who is ready to ask Jesus to be His personal Savior?"  The man stood to his feet.  That night one more man was born into God's family.

It was amazing to watch what God was doing in this corner of Guatemala.  I felt as though I was back in Bible times when it says in Acts 2:47, "And the Lord added to the church daily such as should be saved."  Almost every time the church met, someone else was being saved.

Dangerous Comparisons

Recently, I caught an unexpected glimpse of myself from a side view in a long mirror.  Since it was not the way I usually see myself, I was startled by the imperfect posture and the profile that "only a mother would love."  A beauty I am not, and no amount of beauty products or makeup will make me one.  At times, I even pity my husband who is the one who has to look at me the most. In the midst of my reverie, however, I realized the danger of what I was doing.  I took the world's standard of beauty and elevated it above God's.  Without realizing it, I had just told God that He did not do a very good job when He gave me this face, even though I know well that God does everything correctly and perfectly.

All so different

While sin and death mar God's creation, God never intended that everyone have the same high cheekbones, long neck, perfect features, and hourglass figures.  Just as flowers, with all their varying beauty, give honor to God in their uniqueness, God also wants us to reflect His creative power in the very different ways we were made.

Comparing myself to someone else is dangerous for two reasons.  First, it uses the wrong standard for our inspection.  Just as our standard for physical beauty should be God's Word and not what society tells us, we also tend to use the wrong criteria for how well we have done in our activities.  As a student, I depended more on what my grades said than whether I had worked "heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men."  Secondly, it puts us in danger of two serious character flaws - pride and insecurity.  If we surpass man's approval, we can become proud.  If we do not measure up, we can become insecure.  Whenever these two things exist in our lives, it will point to using the wrong standard in our lives.

Let us look at housekeeping, for example.  Unwittingly, we adopt our standard from the picture perfect homes of magazines.  Sometimes we almost apologize for the fact that people live in our home.  Instead of looking to God and His ideas for how our house should be kept clean, we live in fear that our house does not measure up to other people's neat homes.  It is the Lord who judges His children on how well something is done.  After all, he is the Only one who looks beyond the outside and sees our heart attitudes.  He knows if we have done our best with a humble spirit or if we are out to get praise from people.  What matters in our housekeeping is whether or not we have pleased Him.  If we shut our eyes at the end of a long day, all we need to do is say to the Lord, "I did my best today.  I know I did not get everything done and the house is still not as clean as I want it, but I really did do my best."

Sometimes I hear the wrong standard being used in the way we criticize others.  We might not say it aloud, but our attitude reveals that we have applied our own standard instead of God's to the situation.  We need to remember God's words:  "Who art though that judgest another man's servant? to his own master he standeth or falleth."  (Romans 14:4)  We have no idea of what was going on in that person's life that day.  We do not know what her attitude was.  We do not know if he worked to the best of his ability.  We do not know if she did it as an offering to God instead of getting approval from people.  We just do not know the whole story.

The plague of comparing ourselves to others dominates our culture.  It results in a lack of what we all so desperately need:  joy, peace, patience, and love.  As a Christian woman, I need to be different.  If I find joy in doing my work for the Lord nd in seeking His "Well done!" at the end of the day, I will be more likely to radiate His peace instead of being anxious.  If I do my work to the best of my ability, I will not bear the burden of guilt for laziness or carelessness.  If I leave the final judgement of others' work to the Lord, I will more likely radiate love and patience when I deal with them.

So the next time I find myself being cricitcal of myself or another, I need to ask myself, "Am I using God's standard, society's standard, or my own?"  Then I need to find out what God's standard is and remember that He is the only one who can truly judge correctly.

Too Wise to Be Mistaken and Too Good to Be Unkind

Years ago a dear friend gave me a copy of Gadsby's Hymns.  Since it was #7 in this book, it did not take me long to find this hymn by Samuel Medley.  Medley was led to saving faith in Jesus Christ when his grandfather read him a sermon by Isaac Watts.  After that, his life was radically changed and he became a prolific songwriter, writing over 200 hymns.  Unfortunately, most of them are no longer being sung in our churches even though many contain doctrine we would want to sing.  More modern songs and hymns have replaced them.

Although I do not know the tune it was sung to then, I find myself singing it to "Jesus, the Very Thought of Thee."

    1   God shall alone the refuge be,

            And comfort of my mind;

        Too wise to be mistaken, He,

            Too good to be unkind.

    2    In all his holy, sovereign will,

            He is, I daily find,

        Too wise to be mistaken, still

            Too good to be unkind.

    3    When I the tempter’s rage endure,

            ’Tis God supports my mind;

        Too wise to be mistaken, sure,

            Too good to be unkind.

    4    When sore afflictions on me lie,

            He is (though I am blind)

        Too wise to be mistaken, yea,

            Too good to be unkind.

    5    What though I can’t his goings see,

            Nor all his footsteps find?

        Too wise to be mistaken, He,

            Too good to be unkind.

    6    Hereafter he will make me know,

            And I shall surely find,

        He was too wise to err, and O,

            Too good to be unkind.

When I Grow Up . . . .

 I still remember the childhood dreams, the convoluted streams of desire to be someone important and someone loved.  They usually revolved around people I admired.

“When I grow up, I want to be a nurse like Aunt Pat,” I’d announce with doll in hand, tenderly wrapping a 'broken' leg or applying a bandage.  Aunt Pat was a single woman who lived alone and worked in the highlands of Irian Jaya (now called Papua), the island where I grew up.  I saw her only occasionally, but I was enthralled.  I watched her clean and treat wounds with the caring efficiency of a nurse who loved her patients.  I saw her gather children around her and teach them songs about Jesus.  I’d seen her sit in a circle of native highlanders, talking about the day and eating roasted sweet potatoes.  She let me help her write down weather data, checking the rain gauge and thermometer and carefully recording them in her weather book. Yes, I thought, I want to be a nurse like Aunt Pat and work with people who don’t have doctors and hospitals.

“When I grow up, I want to be a pilot like Miss Greene,” I said later when I saw her touch the Cessna seaplane down on the water and climb from the cockpit onto the floats of the plane and nimbly jump onto the pier.  She was the only woman pilot I had ever seen.  I had heard the stories of her flying planes over the Burmese pass during the war.  I learned much later that she had helped start Missionary Aviation Fellowship, the group that flew all of us missionaries around the country.  Yes, I thought, it would be great to be able to take missionaries from their remote stations to mission conferences, just like Miss Betty Greene.

Most of the time, though, my main thought was, “When I grow up, I want to be just like Mom.”  Missionary, home-school teacher, Bible storyteller extraordinaire, devoted mother to me and my siblings, and loving wife to my dad.  With a song on her lips and tenderness in her touch, she made my ever-changing world a secure place to live.  She had five (and then six) children, so I would have five or six children.^*  She sang while she worked, so I sang while I played.  She worked hard from morning till night, so I learned that adulthood meant hard work. I ‘helped’ make bread, and she gave me permission to try out my own cooking skills by making ‘mixtures’.  (These were usually never baked since they tasted so good as a mixture of ingredients.)  She let my little brothers and I draw chalk roads on the concrete floors as we drove our toy cars from room to room.  She even warned us when floor washing day was coming up so that we knew that all the roads would disappear.  She taught me to set a correct table and how to properly clean the kitchen.  She taught me the basics of running a household – how to cook, bake bread, clean, manage money, and sew, skills I knew I would need to be the very best mother I could be.

I learned much about appreciating beauty from her.  “Come look at the sky!” she called on many evenings when afternoon sun lengthened the shadows and transformed the sky into dazzling colors.  It was as though the earth had draped a bright Mexican blanket around herself before the cool night air whispered through the trees.  Together we’d talk about the varying shades of pink, orange and purple and the amazing God we serve who was not only powerful but who loved beauty.  Or we’d drive down the road and turn the corner and she would exclaim, “Oh, how beautiful!” as we caught a glimpse of the swiftly changing vista before us.
One day while they were on furlough in New York, after years of working in the crowded, grey cement jungles of metro Manila, I found her sitting on the back porch of my uncle’s house. 

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“I’m drinking in the beauty,” she replied as she stared at the expanse of green yard dipping down to the trickling creek.  I sat down beside her and let my eyes relax with the view of bright green fading into the dark green of the trees and listened to the birds calling to each other.  I don’t know how long we sat there, but our spirits were revived by the beauty around us.  “I feel like my soul is starved for beauty,” she told me.  At the time, I didn't understand it, until I too began years of working in a grey cement jungle.

Most importantly, she taught me what it was to follow the Savior.  One morning very early, I was the first to rise, or so I thought.  I found her kneeling at the rattan couch in our little living room.  I walked up next to her and knelt beside her.  She wrapped her arm around me, finished her prayer time and gave me a kiss and a squeeze. “Let’s go get breakfast on the table, shall we?” she said, as we arose together and headed into the kitchen where I set the table while she cooked.

I learned from her that following Jesus was a life of peace and joy.  Even during the hard times, when tears cruised their way down her soft cheeks, the peace was still there.  After the tears were gone, a smile broke forth and once again she started singing songs of praise to the Savior.  When Dad was suddenly taken from us and accused of being a CIA spy and thrown into an Indonesian prison cell, everyone around her remarked on her peacefulness.  I still saw her smile.  I still heard her sing.  I still saw her pray and praise God for His faithfulness.

The years have passed.  Time has a way of compressing the passing years into important memories.  For me, some of the sweetest memories of my life are those of my mom.  She has continued, throughout the years, to be an example to me.  So even though I’m pushing 60 now, I still look at my mother and say, “Mom, when I grow up, I want to be just like you.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
*Child #7 was adopted after I became an adult, so that number did not enter into my childhood dreams.

The Soldier's Half-Marathon

On Saturday morning at 5:00 a.m., the alarm sounded, reminding me why I don’t really like early morning runs.  We got up, ate an apple, yogurt, and cheese, and drank some juice.  My groggy stomach insisted that it was not ready for food at that hour, so I ate only a little.  After breakfast, I settled down with my Bible for a while to read and pray.  Then I dressed in a pair of wind pants and a sleeveless running shirt under a turtleneck.   Just before 6:00, Charlie ducked out of our hotel room to start the car and scrape the ice off the windshield. When I joined him a few minutes later, we headed toward Fort Benning.

At the Infantry Museum, the dark, cloudless sky slowly began brightening, assuring the frozen runners that the sun’s warm rays were just below the horizon.  Under the lights of the street lamps and a full white moon that floated slowly toward earth, couples hugged each other, receiving warmth from one another’s bodies.  People bounced up and down and stretched out eager limbs as they waited for the crowd to gather.  Soldiers in uniform lined the walkway where the race would begin.

Then the wait was over.  The cannon’s burst caught me by surprise, and we were off.  Well, sort of.  The people at the front of the line, elite runners and those qualifying for the Boston Marathon, were off.  The rest of us began shuffling toward the starting line as row upon row of runners cleared the starting line and headed down the street.

At the first hill, I heard them before I saw them.  One drill sergeant shouted words of encouragement from the left sidewalk.  “Good work, ma’am.  Keep going.  You’re going to make it.”  On the other side, another drill sergeant used negative reinforcement.  “Why are you walking up this hill?  This hill is nothing!  You call that a five-hour marathon pace?  At that rate, you won’t make it.  You might as well give up now.”  I smiled, trying to discern which one was motivating me to pick up my pace.  Perhaps it was just the humor of it all.

At every bend in the course, soldiers in uniform stood to keep the runners on the path.  At the top of another hill, they shouted, “It’s all downhill from here.”  Well, it was, for a while. 

Mile after mile crept by.  I noticed a young woman in green.  She passed me.  Then I passed her.  She passed me.  I realized that she would be a good pace keeper for me.  I kept my eye on her, not letting her get too far ahead of me.  Then I noticed a black glove fall from her side.  She didn’t notice.  I stopped to pick it up and ran after her, but her pace was fast enough that I didn’t think I would ever catch her again.  When she slowed to a fast walk, I caught up and handed her the glove.  We exchanged names and found out about each other’s fallen heroes for whom we were running.  Then she was off again, and I was once again following.

At mile 12, two full-marathon runners sped by me, headed for their mile 25.  I wasn’t even to the half-marathon mark, and here they were about to finish their full marathon!

When I finally crossed the line, I melted into Charlie’s arms.  It was so good to be done.  I felt like I had accomplished something, even though I knew it was just a race that won’t matter much one hundred years from now.  So I looked for the woman in green.

“Thank you for being an encouragement to me today,” I said when I found her.  I went on, “Since you were ahead of me most of the way, I was praying for you.  Is there anything special you would like prayer for?”  She mentioned a couple generic things.  We hugged and parted. 

It was a good day.  It taught me things I hope I don’t forget:

• There is joy in the journey.  
• It’s easy to get lost if you don’t follow instructions.  
• I am not a marathon runner.   
• Running is a blessing many people don’t have, so I’m grateful for legs and health and time that has allowed me to do this in this season of my life.  
• Running has benefits, the most important for me is that it bonds me to my running-loving husband. 
• I can bless others with my prayers when I run.  
• But most important of all, God runs with me.  His voice and companionship during a run are the best part of it all.

The Providence of God

Last Sunday night Joan and I went to visit a church we have fellowshipped with for many years, and we went to hear an Evangelist I have known even longer. His topic was The Providence of God. He observed that the word "providence" literally means to foresee, not to supply. I respect the man, but I had to look for myself. In the English and the Latin he was right, but did it fly in Greek or Hebrew?  Was it the root of the concept of "Providence" God is trying to communicate to you and I through the Scripture?

In the Old Testament there are a few words that are translated "providence", but every one has a root meaning of "see". One point for the Evangelist. In the New Testament there are a few words as well, they start with the prefix "pro-", a good start. One follows "pro-" with a word meaning "see", the other follows "pro-" with a word meaning "think" or "know". So, put it all together and the concept flies. The concept of God's Providence is not one of God supplying all my needs, it is God seeing, knowing, my need ahead of time and then preparing a blessing that will meet my need.

Providence is not simply the all-sovereign God selling off a few of His cattle on the thousand hills to meet my urgent financial need. It is the omniscience of God knowing I will have the need and breeding a few head of cattle to be there when the need arises!

The next time you receive a providential answer to a need, prayed for or not, consider when the answer to that need was put in motion. I think you will often find God was preparing an answer to your need before you even knew the need would exist!

I have spent some time reviewing God's answers to our needs as we started our new ministry with IPM, and I have come to the conclusion God has been preparing solutions to needs I never knew would exist! God is still preparing answers to the needs I haven't yet seen.

Philippians 4:19 - "But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus." And He knows that need even before you do! What a great God we serve!