After a year, almost to the day, I have reentered the blogosphere with a curious calling on my heart. I don't know what it really means, but I know that I'm supposed to write, to share. I'm sorry for those of you who are faithful readers who have lost interest because of my absence, but I'm back now, with a different outlook on life.
Much has happened in a year. I have survived student teaching and graduated from college. I have learned I am going to be an aunt (literally within the next few days as yesterday baby was due). I have travelled to another country where part of my heart will always reside. I have read many books that have overwhelmed my soul. I have lost cats and gained others. I have been blessed with a part-time job which transitioned into a full-time job. I have students whom I adore and constantly challenge me.
But the biggest challenge and blessing came in this past week. I can't share details, nor do I really want to, but let's just say that I experienced something that will (Lord willing) only happen once in my teaching career. I know that's frustratingly vague, but to protect my students, I'm gonna keep it that way.
Because of this moment, this outpouring of emotion, my eyes have been opened to the pain of some of my students. And my heart aches. Instead of wanting to run away, I feel so much more anchored to the floor of my classroom. I have come home.
Some of you chuckle because I literally did come home. I am working at the school that I graduated from. But this is different. Because of this moment of utter pain and unguarded emotion, I don't think there is anywhere I would rather teach.
Yes, I probably will teach at another school at some point. Most teachers don't stay at the school they begin at. And especially with the Masters I plan on getting, my chances of staying at my school are little to none.
And yet. And yet I am overwhelmed. I feel a certain togetherness in my classroom that can only come from God. Instead of a splintering of souls, I feel like there is a coming together, a support system in a room of four cinder-block walls and posters.
Perhaps a little dumbly, I am going into this next week with high hopes. I know my students will not always be fantastic. I know that I will fail to teach them or be patient with them or plan something for them to learn. I know that the togetherness may not last, and maybe it's just an illusion that my soul wants to cling to, but I want to keep it.
I have hope. "'And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?'"(Esther 4:14).
1 comment:
Don't let the world of worn-out teachers get in the way of your high hopes. Be determined to keep an optimistic and sometimes unrealistic view in a world of tired educators. It's people like you, who shoot high, that will encourage those around you to see the good in the kids that won't turn in a single paper. :) After all, your hope is in a power so much higher than we can comprehend. It's fitting that your dreams for these kids are huge, even when they don't believe in themselves. It's a perfect image of what Christ continually does for us.
Post a Comment