Learning to Care: What the 3-Year-Olds Have Taught Me

You might be surprised to hear that it’s already been over a month since I stepped out of my comfort zone. And guess what? I’m doing something that requires me to interact with a lot of strangers—something that, as a die-hard introvert, feels just as nerve-wracking as bungee-jumping in Bali. But much to my surprise (and my mom’s, of course), I survived. Last week marked my sixth time as a Sunday school teacher at church (only an assistant, but still).

So, I’ve been assigned to help in a class of 3-year-olds for the past month. If I'm not mistaken, there are about ten and twenty-five kids per week. Since they're only three, most of them can't communicate fluently yet—they still need a parent or nanny to accompany them in class. I would say it's one of the biggest challenges. I remember being quite uncertain about how to act when I first started.

What confuses me now is something quite different, however. Now that I’ve started memorizing their names, I've begun to truly care. There's this one mischievous boy who can’t stop running around in class. I once tried to chat with him and asked him to sit next to me on the floor. For a few minutes, he tried to mimic me sitting cross-legged. But then his friend called him, so he jumped up and ran off. What happened next was predictable: for the rest of the class, he wouldn't sit. Something cute happened, though, when his parents came to pick him up—he looked at me and waved his little hand! My heart. As if that weren't enough, there's also this little girl who I suspect is younger than three. Last Sunday, I asked her to sit in the front row instead of the back. She held my hand and wouldn't let go. Where is my heart again?

In a way, these kids have taught me so many new things. Some of them I still can’t connect with, as they keep running around and ignoring me; some are too attached to their guardian that they hide their face when I try to greet them; some tell me what they have for breakfast (most of them have noodles on a Sunday—how relatable). Regardless of their actions, though, I now understand what it feels like to care for people in ways that aren't always obvious. I might not be someone they meet every day or look up to, but I’m grateful to be a small part of their spiritual journey, whatever path God leads them down.

As the class dispersed last Sunday and one of the parents smiled at me and said, “Thank you, Karina”, I realized that while the groundbreaking development might only happen on Sundays, a baby step is still a step taken. I can’t imagine how I'll feel when these kids move up to the next class. Regardless of this bittersweet thought, I hope that I can continue serving God with the most genuine intentions and become someone who contributes to the growth of these children.