A Different Life Lesson
Miss, miss, would you stay with us and teach here if you could?
I was puzzled. It was one of my last substitute teaching assignments for the school year. I was looking into the face of a teen that most would expect to be the last to ask that kind of question.
The assignment was in a facility designed to give kids who made unwise choices a second chance at education, freedom, and generally a good life. Most kids didn’t have good families; when family members were needed, if anyone showed up, it was extended family due to single-parent households or the problems associated with urban living and poverty. Most kids were far behind academically in multiple subjects; many had significant learning issues.
The silence was deafening. I couldn’t tell him that I’d already applied for a job in his building, and I couldn’t tell him that I was so new to considering a teaching career that I would probably be the last to be considered. I also couldn’t tell him that financially I really should be taking a job, any job, and making it work.
So, I gave my best politically correct non-answer.
Of course, I would stay to teach if there was an opening.
Yet, that moment sat in my heart for days. When he asked that question, there was a softness to his eyes, a tentativeness to his body language. In the midst of all these tough kids, there was almost an authentic vulnerability in the way he was acting.
So, days later during a different personal crisis, I threw that question up to the Lord during the “business meeting” that He and I have. It’s supposed to be regular. However, sometimes when I’m a little angry, I get a little human, and He gets pushed back on my agenda until too many schedule changes have driven me crazy.
His response was a little disconcerting; He gave me a kaleidoscope of little moments with that student and others. Then He did something, and because He’s God and I’m not, I’m not sure how to explain it.
He might have lifted a veil and opened the students’ hearts to me. Alternatively, He might have provided a sort of subtitling that translated those moments for me.
Each interaction was a kind of masquerade. The underlying issue couldn’t be spoken. Either there were cultural or societal disconnects, or the information or affirmation being sought was somehow taboo to be spoken in that environment.
- I know we’re hard to teach. We don’t understand. Don’t give up on us.
- We need boundaries or we wouldn’t be in this place. Even when we push, stand strong.
- I don’t understand you, and you don’t understand me. Our backgrounds are too different. Can I respect you, and can you teach me even when I disrespect you?
- This is my second chance. It’s so hard. Can I keep this up outside of here? Am I even ready?
- I’m messed up. I don’t want to mess my kids up. Have I learned enough and grown enough?
- Everyone’s rejected us, even our families who are supposed to love us. Will you too reject us? Will you walk away too?
I’m so glad none of these questions the Lord showed me were spoken. I wouldn’t have known how to answer the real questions. On some days, I feel so different that I’m not sure the answers to the asked questions are any good either.
* I won’t quit if you won’t.
* Boundaries are beautiful. Humans need boundaries. I know the ugliness of life without boundaries, so I will teach you boundaries and how to build them and how to honor them. I will be strong when you need it.
* Respect is required. There will be no disrespect. Learning is easier when we honor and support each other.
* As long as you have life and breath, you have a second chance. Second chances are the hallmark of my deity, so I will honor your second chance. Life is hard; second chances are harder. Keep working it. No one is ever ready for all that life brings, but working hard and steady gets you through.
* If you can admit you’re broken and you need help, that’s the first step. The second is to chase that help relentlessly. In these two things you show that you’ve grown and you show you love your kids enough to keep trying.
* We’re human. Human means broken. We all fall and fail. As we fall and fail, we might seem to reject you. The trick with rejection is to not take it into your heart and let it poison you. Instead, see it as a disguised blessing. It might be that the rejection was from a misguided perspective intended to protect you from further harm.
I’m not a real teacher yet. I learn more from the students whose classes I lead as a substitute teacher than I want to admit.
I’m learning to be grateful with what I have. I’m learning that I have had more experience and possessions in life than most, even if it wasn’t quite what I wanted or needed. I’m learning that I have had the right ideas as a parent.
Most of all, I’m learning to be more human.
