When Mr. Maloney prays in church it is like a thunderstorm.
The words rumble out of his mouth like huge powerful clouds
Being blown across the sky by a mighty wind.
He says that God is Omnipotent, Wonderful, and Almighty.
I think that God must like to hear powerful words like these.
When the Pastor Dan prays he says wonderful things like
"Blessings on all of His people"
And "Thou art a wonderful God,"
And "Forgive us our trespasses,"
And, "Lord, God, bring peace to all of your lambs."
I know that God is pleased with his prayers.
When Mrs. Edith Delaney prays,
It sounds like the beautiful trills from a little bird
And her words sound like sweet, pure notes of a song,
She always asks God to bless the little children.
She says "Thank You" for sunny, beautiful days.
I think that god must feel peace when he hears her prayers.
When I pray I am not sure if my prayers should be
Powerful, wonderful, or peaceful.
Pastor says that God wants us to enter His kingdom as little children,
So He must like to hear little children's prayers.
If I say "God bless Mommy and Daddy and Papa and
Grandma and my fish,
God will hear me.
If I say "Thank You" for the snow and sun and
He will hear me.
When I say, "Please take care of me when I go to school,
Be with me when the night is dark and still
And every little rustle is like a rumbling drum,
I know God will be there for me,
Because He hears my prayers, too.
Feb. 23, 2000
My very own scissors,
Four pencils with real erasers,
New crayons, clean, and sharp,
All together in their very own box.
A backpack with a smiley bunny,
Everything tucked inside.
I'm ready for school,"
"Wait," Gramma asks,
"Can your hand reach all the way
Over your head and touch your ear?
Do you have a clean tissue?
Did you eat all of your breakfast?
That's when you are ready for school,"
"Do you have your lunch money?
And are your shoes tied?
Is your shirt tucked in?
And where is my hug?"
Now you're ready for school."
"Just remember, don't giggle
And peek into my room,"
Said my big brother.
"Be nice to the other children and
Don't run in the hall.
And you will be ready for school."
Mom said, "Just remember,
Be good, have fun, and I will pick you up later.
Remember your manners; wash your hands,
Cover your mouth when you cough and
Say 'please and thank you.'
Give me a hug and a kiss and
Listen to your teacher.
Now I guess you're ready for school."
Now, at last, I'm READY FOR SCHOOL!
Little rocks, ants, dirt, sand,
And sticky weeds.
Maybe a couple of spiders and bugs.
Birds fly here to eat the seeds on the weeds,
But, I'm here to build a home.
A home for me, for my friends to gather,
To talk, to laugh, and have tea.
A place for my family to circle with love,
A special corner for my Christmas tree.
I'm going to build a house, a home,
A special place for me,
My own bits of rocks,
Sticky weeds, and maybe a few ants,
And I'll throw out seeds for the birds.
My home is a gathering place for family and friends.
I'll welcome them with love.
My Lord, though,
Will always have a special place here.
Because He built the desert, made the ants,
Birds, and bugs,
And sculptured the bits of rock.
He put the roof of sky above and the dirt below
And embraced us all in his love.
By Diana Jenness
March 19, 2000
I left my Mommy one bright day.
My teacher said,
"Come on in-we'll work and play.
You'll love it here, most children do.
I have some special things for you."
We sat at a big table,
The crayons were in a box.
When Julie took the red one out of my hand
I felt the tears spill out of my eyes.
My paper got torn;
The crayon point broke
And I fell out of my chair.
"I want my Mommy.
I don't like it here," I cried.
My teacher picked me up,
Put her arms around mine,
And looked into my eyes.
"I know what you need.
Someone else here is sad too."
She put a sad brown bear in my arms.
I squeezed him tight and he loved me back.
My face began to smile.
I made a red flower and cleaned up the blocks,
And listened to three little songs.
When my Mommy returned, the tears came again.
"I want to stay, Mommy.
Come for me tomorrow.
I think I'm going to like kindergarten."
Baby Eagle in the nest,
Can you fly yet?
Can you soar on the winds above the earth,
Can you feel the sun on your wings?
Will you grow up to be that same mighty bird
I saw at school---
The one who will show us the way
To be strong and proud?
Baby Eagle, I'm just learning to fly too,
Well, sort of-
You see I'm five years old now.
Mama says I'm big enough to go to school.
I need to learn to read and write
And do numbers and
Stuff like that.
Will you come and fly with me?
Will you show me the way
To be strong and proud,
To always do my very best?
Will you be there to show me how to be independent,
To be admired,
To be respected as the Eagles
That stand proudly for our great country,
And for our school?
Can you step off the edge of your nest and
Soar through the sky with me?
I think it would be thrilling and
Scary at the same time.
Just think of the things we can learn!
Baby Eagle, come and fly with me.
They used to say,
"Diana, we think you will be a teacher someday."
After all, your mom's a teacher and your dad,
And Grandpa Wilson and Aunt Liz.
Then there's Aunt Virginia and Uncle Gordon-
And we could find several more cousins that have been teachers.
There have been teachers in the family for many generations!
"Nope," I said, "I think I'll be a doctor
Or a nurse or an architect,
Anthropologist or artist.
Maybe I'll be the President,
A foreign ambassador,
Or a dress designer.
I might even be a missionary to Africa,
Or a mother with ten children,
In a big house in the country!
One fine day, the Good Lord,
In his wonderful way said,
"Diana, I want you to be a teacher."
"But there are so many other things,
And we have had so many teachers in our family.
Couldn't I at least have ten children,
And that big house?"
"Don't worry, I will fulfill your needs-
You will be everything you want to be,"
The Lord is indeed great,
He keeps his word.
I've have been everything I wanted to be.
You see, when I talk to young parents about their family life,
Taking care of their young children, providing the best they can,
I am an anthropologist.
When I teach my little ones the joys of building castles and bridges with blocks,
I am an architect.
When I sift through the crayons, some broken,
Some still sharp, I see the remains of ancient, colorful drawings-some on the wall, some on paper,
I am an archeologist.
When I kiss hurt fingers and sympathize with the pain of a tummy-ache,
I am a nurse and a doctor.
When I teach the children to smear finger-paint in swirls and whorls to create beauty, I am an artist.
When I design costumes for a dress-up center, scarves for a talent show,
or sew clothes for a baby doll, I am a
When I teach my many kaleidoscope of children,
(--and how could I have stopped at just ten?)
Just like God's rainbow over a garden of children-my kindergarten,
I am a missionary doing just what God asked of me.
When I teach my students a the pledge to the flag of our country,
Or the patriotic songs that have inspired generations of soldiers overseas,
I feel as important as any President or Ambassador.
When I look at my children, those expectant, trusting, shining faces look back at me.
I know that God made the right decision when
He told me that
I would be a teacher.
E-mail Diana Jenness