Faith on the Floor: What My Students Taught Me About God

Photo by Elimende Inagella on Unsplash

I used to think spiritual growth happened in quiet places, with candles, prayer journals, maybe a soft acoustic playlist in the background.

Then I became a teacher.

Now my sacred space smells like markers, sounds like “Miss, I forgot my shoes again,” and usually involves at least one child crying because someone else touched their banana.

And honestly? I’ve never felt closer to God.

Children, Chaos, and the Gospel According to Snack Time

I’ve taught in classrooms across continents, under every acronym imaginable — IB, PYP, ESL, OMG. But one thing remains constant: children have a spiritual radar adults forgot how to use.

They notice everything. They ask questions you can’t Google. And they somehow manage to teach you lessons while simultaneously smearing yogurt on your shoe.

Once, during a math lesson I thought was going brilliantly (read: no one was upside down or licking anything), a student raised her hand and asked, “Miss, do you think God can do multiplication faster than you? ”I paused. “Probably.”

She nodded, completely satisfied, and went back to counting plastic bears. That was the day I realized I’d been trying too hard to separate the sacred from the silly.

But maybe God’s not threatened by glitter glue. Maybe He invented it.

God Wears Velcro Shoes

I’ve met God in many disguises — but my favorite is when He shows up in the form of a child with untied shoelaces and paint on their nose.

There’s something holy about the way children live with open hands. They don’t hide their feelings. They ask for help. They believe in miracles (and sometimes in unicorns).

One boy once told me, “I think Jesus would be really good at tag. He’s everywhere.”

Theologically… creative. But the point stands.

These are the theologians no one invites to panel discussions, but maybe they should. Because they ask the real questions:

• “Does God eat snacks?”

• “If I say sorry to God in my head, does He answer in emojis?”

• “Can I pray for my turtle even though he’s not baptized?”

  
  

And every time, I realize: I’ve been trying to make God more adult-friendly, when maybe I just need to sit on the floor again.

The Ministry of Mistakes and Sticky Hands

I’ve had days when I felt like a walking Pinterest fail. Lessons flopped. Glue ended up in hair. I questioned whether I was actually doing anything meaningful.

But that’s when God usually nudges me. Sometimes through a child who hands me a crumpled drawing with the words “You’re my heart teacher” spelled phonetically. Sometimes through a kid who whispers, “I prayed for you because you looked sad today.”Other times through a lesson I completely botched, only to have a student say, “That was fun. Can we do it again tomorrow?”

We try to make faith neat. But in my experience, God moves most clearly in the mess. He’s not waiting for us to get it all together — He’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet, handing us the next broken crayon.

Interruptions as Holy Ground

In adult life, interruptions are usually annoyances. But in the classroom, they’re constant. And sometimes, sacred.

The child who suddenly starts crying about a pet fish during silent reading. The kid who shares that his grandma “lives in the sky now” during morning circle. The spontaneous group hug when one student feels brave enough to read aloud.

I used to rush through these moments, anxious to “stay on schedule.” But now I know better.

Sometimes, the real lesson isn’t about time or objectives. It’s about presence. Compassion. Making space for the soul of a child to be heard — even when it means the math sheet stays unfinished.

Turns out, the fruit of the Spirit looks a lot like pausing everything to listen to a six-year-old explain why she thinks heaven might be shaped like a trampoline.

I don’t argue anymore. I just nod.

Faith on the Floor

If you asked me where my theology has grown the most, I wouldn’t point to a seminary or conference.

I’d point to the corner of my classroom where a child once built a ‘prayer cave’ out of pillows.Or to the whiteboard where a student drew God as a smiling sun with spaghetti arms.

Or to the floor where I’ve sat in both exhaustion and awe, surrounded by tiny humans who remind me daily that faith doesn’t need to be polished. It just needs to be real.

So to every teacher, parent, and quietly faithful soul wondering if your ordinary work matters: it does.God is not waiting for perfect silence. He’s already in the noise. In the laughter. In the spilled juice box that becomes a moment of unexpected grace.

You don’t need to leave the classroom — or the chaos — to find Him.

You just have to look down. Because sometimes, the holiest place is right there on the floor.

© The Blooming Educator