My daughter doesn’t really nap anymore. We put her and her sister in their own beds from 1-3 p.m., but only one of them sleeps regularly.
Instead, it becomes my 4-year-old’s imagination playground. While I work or read or rest, I hear her singing and running around the little room, jumping off the bed or playing with “her money.” (She has been finding pennies lately and they are her most prized possession.)
But my favorite moments are when her little voice rises and falls with the recitation of Scripture she has learned at preschool. She quotes Ephesians 2:10: “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works.” Or she plays “Easter” with her toys, declaring the tomb empty.
Her Rs are muddled as she says the same blessed words again and again.
I smile because it is the sweetest sound to hear, the fruit of the labor from her incredible teachers. They have taught her alphabet sounds, how to stand in line and wait for each other, and even how to ask politely for a snack and advocate for herself when she needs something.
But I know every day, they clasp their hands and pray, memorize Scripture, and learn about how much God loves them. Along with the normal preschool activities like Play-Doh and Simon Says, they learn about the animals God made and the beautiful days God gives with sunshine or rain. They learn about Zaccheus and Jesus stilling the stormy waves, and sing songs about rejoicing in the Lord always.
I find myself wanting to please my daughters’ teachers. I wish I could show off and prove I am as good of a parent as I want to be. But the truth is, all I can express to them is overflowing gratitude.
They hang out with my kids every day, and I am so grateful for their positive influence. It takes so many of us to come alongside vulnerable kids to meet their needs and help them know how valuable they are. We are all doing our best and working together to raise these kids.
So here’s to the preschool teachers who, day after day, show up for our kids. Teachers who sing with them, dance with them, and let them jump in puddles. Here’s to Miss Tiff and Miss Heather and all the thousands of Kleenex and paper towel messes in the classroom trash this year. It’s a labor of love that does not go unnoticed.
Your love and joy flow from an everlasting fountain, and I see it. It has enveloped my daughter. Her joy is ours to share. Thank you!
by Jaymi Torrez 
by Jill Windham 
