All Things Are Possible

   Tiffany is being forced to transfer to a different school. Why? According to the district, records show "insufficient certification in the field of early childhood," which means she's certified to teach elementary grades, but not kindergarten. Are they providing a teacher to replace her? Nope. Do her kids have anywhere to go? Nope. Are they worried about this? Nope.
    Didn't they tell you? No teacher at all is better than a teacher who is certified in the wrong grade. Duh.
    This means by the end of the week, Tiffany's 23 kids will be split up into the remaining kindergarten classrooms. The district expects our principal to dig around and find someone else. There's just one problem. There are no more kindergarten teachers in our district. Zero. Nada. Zip. They don't exist. The current plan is to stuff each classroom with 30-plus kids until next semester, when a new wave of early graduates will hopefully hit the market. If we're lucky, we might snag a new teacher. If we're lucky.
 
    Months before I decided to join Teach for America, I had a dream that I will never forget. I saw the frozen bodies of children in a darkened school room, and when I reached out my hand to touch them, they came to life. At the time, I was so buried in applications for jobs in journalism that the dream was inconsequential. But it was so vivid and terrifying that I wrote it down in my journal. It stuck. When, through the most unlikely of scenarios, I was accepted into Teach for America, I remembered.
    Does God still speak to us through dreams? I really don't know. But I do know this. I've never been so certain about something before in my life. Many have suggested that I quit. On numerous occasions. I don't have to put myself through this. I can go back home and find a better job where I can get more than 3 minutes a day to scoff down a sandwich and don't feel stretched to the breaking point every single week.
    But I can't. I can't quit. The idea is so utterly foreign to me that it takes effort to even conceive the possibility. God is with me. I know it. I'm being asked to do the impossible, but it doesn't matter. When I try to think of other options, I can't. There's nothing else I can imagine myself doing right now. This is it. This is right. This is my job. It needs to be done. This is my path. I must walk it.
    I used to find those people frustrating. You know... those people who insist, "You just know," as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. How do you choose the right school, the right spouse or career? How do you make the right decision when all decisions seem equal? "You just know." - How do you know? - "You just know that you know."
    Utterly unhelpful. But I find myself in the same place. I just know. I know that I know.
    The thought is at once liberating and terrifying, comforting yet awful. When we walk in the will of God, we know we can accomplish whatever he sets before us. We can do all things through Christ who strengthens us. But it doesn't make it easy. In fact, I'm terrified. If the rest of the year is like this, I truly don't know how I'll survive. I know that I will survive. I just don't know how.

   Lord, silence the voice of fear in my life and fan into flame the gifts that you have given me by the power of your Holy Spirit to accomplish the task that you have set before me. Other teachers are saying it's impossible. So many kids in a single classroom? Impossible to teach. Impossible. And it is. But your grace is sufficient. Your grace is enough. Make your strength perfect in my weakness. Show the world that you and you alone are God.

    "God gave us not a spirit of fear, but of power and love and self-control."

- 2 Timothy 1:7

from October 28th, 2012

 

Back to Square One

    This week it was back to square one. Even Kristopher was acting up, and he never acts up. Michael started throwing fits again. I told him if he didn't shape up I'd send him to Ms. Isaiah's class. The only problem? He threw himself down on the floor and bawled and screamed and hit and kicked and refused to do anything else. I realized I couldn't send him to Ms. Isaiah like that, so I told him he could stay in the classroom if he behaved. My defeat was quite apparent.
    But Michael was just the tip of the ice burg. The whole class was like that. All week. Total warfare with every student. Mariah was as defiant as she'd ever been, Reuben was throwing tantrums, Horton was kicking and shouting "I hate you" and pushing and throwing furniture all over the room. If he could have thrown the half-moon table, I think he would have, but it was too heavy for him, thank the Lord. The class returned to a state of chaos. Kids running and screaming in the hall, climbing the stalls in the bathroom, crying over who knows what. I woke up at 4:00am every morning and worked until 8:00pm every night. I wanted to die.

    Father, I am more desperate for you than I've ever been in my life. Desperate. But the startling reality is that I've been desperate for you all along. I just didn't know it until now. Difficulty has revealed my desperation. While I pray for things to get better, I also fear the answer to such a prayer. My fear is that I will forget my desperation. My fear is that I will forget how much I need you every second of every minute of every day. Shall I pray for things to get better, then forget you the moment they do?
    Lord, I don't ever want to forget how much I need you. Apart from you I can do nothing. Let me never forget this. Let me know this deep down in my soul, whether things are difficult or things are easy. Imprint this onto the very surface of my heart. I want the steps of my feet to be your steps. I want the work of my hands to be your work. I want the words of my mouth to be your words. Apart from you I can do nothing. Let me never forget this.
written September 9th, 2012.