Soul Returns to Preschool: A Children's Book for Adults

Art and Text by Jennifer Elam, Ph.D

A Children’s Book for Adults

Soul Returns to Preschool

Soul Returns to Preschool

We make many decisions every day – consciously or unconsciously –

about ourselves and where we hold ourselves as we work with children.

The words in this book are not the words to say to a child, but to yourself.

They are words that create a tender place to hold in your heart

as you work with the child.

Prelude

A FEW YEARS AGO, on a beautiful Kentucky spring day, I went for a walk with a little girl who was three. Her name was Amy. As we walked through the woods together, she ran up to a wildflower. Showing me small details inside the flower, Amy said, Look, Jenny, look at that! Then she found a rock. Oh, Jenny, look at this! It looked like an ordinary rock to me, but she reveled in its shape and coloring. Then she ran and pointed to a beautifully detailed piece of tree bark. With a tone of hushed awe and wonder, she looked straight into my eyes and whispered, Oh, Jenny!

That walk was one of the greatest gifts anyone has given me. It taught me to stand in awe of Creation. It taught me to let nature provide me with daily sustenance. Because of that walk with a three-year-old girl, my first utterance of the day is now thanks for the trees outside my window and for the birds that awaken me with their singing. And because of that walk with a three-year-old girl, I now often take walks along a nearby creek.

For eight days in a row one fall, I communed with a pair of blue herons. One day, after missing them for a few weeks, I felt drawn to a part of the creek along which I don’t usually walk, and there my heart leapt. Standing stately and still, its gray-blue feathers blending into the trunk of a tree, was one of the herons. I felt blessed to be in the presence of such style and gracefulness.

Sometimes I sit quietly on a rock by the creek. I feel the water rush by. Cares seem to float away as worries find their proper place. My energy rises. Squirrels play and fuss, rustling the leaves. My heart soars. In the water, I see the deep reflection of majestic trees—and realize that Life is all around me. As my own creative spirit begins to flow, I am thankful for Life and Creation.

I thank Amy – and all the other children in my life – for the many lessons they have taught me.

I thank Rich Schiffer, and Helen for all they have taught me about children!

Making Friends – For Eric

At six, you are quicksilver, darting

ahead. But here, having tramped

through our neighbor’s wet pasture

to see his young calves, clumped close

to their mothers, you crouch

and take time making friends.

They are curious, blinking

long lashes and licking their lips.

Their damp noses snuffle for scent.

Their legs trot in closer, then

brains catch up, jerk them back

stiffening, raising their tails.

You hunker down there in the mud

and talk to them softly, admiring

the brown one’s white spots

either side of her throat, asking

if a dark streak down the black

and white’s cheek is a tear.

Was it hours with your daddy

spent fishing that schooled you

to patience like this when you itched

to be at things right off? Or

maybe a gift from your mother,

so early a tamer of gulls?

Or do you just know for yourself

what it means to be scared, to be

eager? To venture, shrink back?

You focus the whole of your longing

on welcome, and wait. Already

so steady, so tenderly wise.

--Helen

First Flight

The child sitting next to me

has such a pretty smile.

Her wandering gaze

settles for a moment

on