Not so extreme

What do I think of when I think of Chaos? I think of two-year olds!

I used to work at a daycare in a room of two-year olds. It was a hectic and crazy job but I loved it. The kids were wonderful but if left to their own devices, chaos would break out. I remember one particular day when I was heading to work. I was still in high school at the time so it was late afternoon when I got there. I walked in the door and could hear the roar of crazy little children. I clocked in and started walking to my classroom. As I was passing the other classrooms there was much noise coming from them. As I continued on I realized that most of that uproar was coming from my class room of hyper two-year olds. I wondered what the other teacher could be doing with them to rile them up so much. As I opened the door a couple of them ran up to greet but the rest were making messes, yelling at each other, biting each other and more. Where in the world was the other teacher?

I looked around for the teacher and found her sitting in the corner reading to one of the kids. I could tell she had, had a very long day and had given up at trying to control the wild two-year olds. I immediately got to work. I split up the kids that were attempting to bite one another or just yelling at one another and occupied them with different toys or books. I picked up to soothe those who’s feelings had been hurt and were crying. I started cleaning up as I walked along so the room didn’t feel so cluttered. I sang songs to calm the children down and read a few books to the ones who were feeling tired. After a while the other teacher looked at me and almost with a grasp breathed the words. Thank you.

Toddlers aren't the best at recognizing who is in charge, but in this situation they didn't really need to know. The other teacher who has authority over the class gave up and things broke out into utter chaos but when I got there being another authority figure in this situation was able to distract the kids and entertain them without them even realizing it.

Zap, Crackle, Pop

Suddenly, I collapsed.
My coach, just a few feet away, ran over. Another across the gym rushed to her side. The other ushered the rest of the girls into the locker room. Somebody called the paramedics. They were only two minutes away, but you can't wait two minutes when your student's heart is no longer beating.

The two coaches started CPR; the girls in the locker room started to pray. Two minutes later, the paramedics were there; they stuck the shocky-shocky pads to my chest and let 'em fly.

Zap.

Didn't work. They charged 'em up again.

Zap.

In the meantime, the school office called my mom. In typical junior high administrator fashion, they spoke so calmly over the phone that my mom thought she would arrive to find me propped against the gymnasium wall, smelling salts under my nose.

Things were a little different.

She arrived to see the paramedics wheeling me out on a stretcher. They drove me to a hospital. They helicoptered me to another hospital. My lungs had filled up with fluid from the trauma. They dunked me into a medicated coma. I vibrated on a breathing machine for the next four days, a tube hanging from my greenish, half-open lips. My friends prayed. My family prayed. My ward prayed.



Then, on Friday, I woke up.

With a sigh that echoed like an avalanche through my little social world, the chaos subsided. We were amazed with what we saw when the smoke cleared.

A cloudy February day and a muddy track, which made the students practice inside. Coaches and doctors who had stepped up and acted with haste and precision. Paramedics who had done the wrong thing, which turned out to be the right thing. Love and care from the school administration.

And suddenly, it was very clear that a higher Authority had been above it all.