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Injustice in the classroom

March 17, 2011

At times I am again a seven year old on the playground of life or ten in the classroom of competition on report card day. I am rejected and not as smart and fiercely unsettled by being misjudged or wrongly accused. With little more maturity than that, I have already chosen sides in the children’s classrooms, already decided which ones I don’t like because they are too perfect, too competitive.

My son and daughter come home with their own stories and I rob them for my own. Play out my unresolved feelings of injustice. Last night, the story unfolded over vegetable lasagna on a red tablecloth in the absence of my preparation for Lent. My middle child had been wronged.

Accused of cheating for coincidentally having her word sort cards fall into place. Harped on by a little group of relentless kids bent on making her feel small. Emotionally abused. Punched over and over with no reprieve from her failed explanations and appeal to her honest character.

And here it was. The moment. Injustice.

Receiving what you do not deserve.

And they got it. She had suffered an injustice.

Like Sylvie. The woman in the Congo who we have been thinking about this week. Who labors with her children at a rock quarry for rent and food and school fees. Who will suffer many injustices in a place which lacks a justice system or those who uphold it. The landlord will suddenly and without cause double her rent. The buyer of rocks will capriciously halve his bid.  And the poor will stay poor though they work harder than we will ever work a day in our lives.

Isaiah 61:8 “For I, the Lord, love justice.”

One Comment leave one →
  1. March 19, 2011 4:10 am

    Beth, that was beautifully written. What a gift you are imparting to your children.

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