Safyre: A precious jewel for Christmas

Christmas...the most exasperatingly magical time of the year. Our school's holiday shop is up and running and, with fists full of dollars, students race down to buy presents for...themselves?!? Most often, the parental instruction is to purchase gifts for family members and then, if (IF) there is any money left over...to then get yourself a little something/something. Unfortunately, the laws governing proportionality are slightly askew in the 4th grade. "Let's see...$0.25 for Dad which leaves...hmmm....$3.75 for me!" That kid will eventually gain employment determining the budget for the federal government.

I admit it occasionally gets a little discouraging. I've almost adopted Lucy's perspective:  "Face it. We all know that Christmas is a big commercial racket. It's run by a big eastern syndicate, you know." But yesterday, Room 24 was able, for a moment, to stop focusing on ourselves to instead focus on a little girl who didn't want a three-foot-tall Elsa castle or the latest and greatest P2P-4000. All she wanted was Christmas cards. Safyre Terry has experienced more devastating emotional and physical pain in her 8 years than most people will ever know in a lifetime. My students stared at Safyre's image displayed on the Smartboard, speechless as they began processing what this little girl has had to endure and the difficult road that is still in front of her. And all she wants are cards. Well...we could certainly do that!

Our first obstacle was her name. I phonetically tried "Sa-fear-ee" for awhile until my little Andrew suddenly piped up, the light-bulb over his head clearly visible to the entire class. "Sapphire!" he exclaimed and the room erupted, immediately recognizing that he was correct. "That's perfect," one of my girls said, clapping her hands, "because she's as precious as a jewel." We donned coats and trounced outside to take pictures so that they could be added to the decoration of the cards. "We want it to look like we're holding hands with Linus," I said, wrestling my somewhat reluctant boys into place for their pose.

Writing the messages INSIDE the card was a lesson in sensitivity as we discussed that, in this case, what we leave OUT is almost as important as what we include. "Why?" I asked. "Because she doesn't need to be reminded of her pain," Vanessa explained. We brainstormed some and then got to work. Their cards made me want to cry.  There was no out-of-balance proportionality going on here. Only 100% love and sincerity. With her simple wish for Christmas cards, Safyre had given Room 24 a valuable gift. For one incredible moment, we had stopped focusing on what WE wanted and instead, turned our attention to the needs of someone else. And in the process, realized how incredibly blessed we are. And that's what Christmas is all about! God bless you, Safyre...and thanks.