It has been a long, long time since I wrote anything for
this blog. I said at the beginning that
I was not sure what the point of the blog really was, but that it was important
to me; it was a way to work through thoughts and emotions that I was
experiencing. I have always thought best
on paper and right now, I feel like I need to think. A lot.
It may not be the smartest move to write tonight – the night
before I have to get up early and return to work after a long and glorious
Christmas break. It may not be the
smartest move, but I am sure there is a purpose. I am sure there are yet undiscovered nuggets
of wisdom deep in my brain that are crying to get my attention and to get out –
I have discovered quite a bit about myself through my “Ready, Fire, Aim” method
of writing. As I was wasting my precious
final hours of break looking at all the memes on the internet humorously
showing how hesitant teachers are to return to work tomorrow, it hit me: I need
to write.
Do I feel this way because I am pumped and ready to get up,
shed my pajamas-for-two-weeks-uniform, shower before 9 am, apply makeup, make
the drive to school, and listen attentively to whatever Professional
Development is on the agenda for tomorrow?
Nope. Seriously, who wants to
wear real clothes (even if only jeans are required tomorrow) when the recent standard
has been so much cozier and made of soft fleece? Do I
want to give up the freedom to, on a whim, clean out the pantry, repaint it,
and organize it until it is beautiful and efficiently stocked? Do I want to give up the ability to repaint
my youngest son’s room in the most amazing shade of gray? Do I want to donate hours to something other
than cleaning my long-ignored house, or to cooking all of those things that I
never have the energy to cook during the semester, or to heading outside to the
front yard just to be schooled in both basketball and football by some amazing
boys who obviously got their athletic skills from somewhere other than their
mother? Nope.
But, Yes. Yes I want
to return to work tomorrow. I want even
more to return to work on Tuesday because that is the day the students
return. That is the day I get to see the
other 20 kids that I love so much. That
is the day I will be reminded, in the flesh, of the reasons why I am a
teacher. Don’t get me wrong – I will
definitely be asking “Is it Friday yet?” by Wednesday morning, but when that
question comes from my mouth, it will be with new purpose. For me, for this second semester of my
teaching career, it is my goal that I will be asking that question not because I
am wishing away the school week in hopes of a relaxing weekend or because I am
so overwhelmed that I am not sure I can make it another day. No, for me, right now, it is my goal that the
question will come because I will have poured so much love and energy and work
into Tuesday that I will feel as though it should be the weekend. That I gave so much to the hours I have on
campus that it feels like it should be Friday.
That I gave everything I have to my students, my team, my school, and my
family at home. That I will want a
weekend, not for the “break”, but for the necessity of recharging to do it all again;
only better.
The last five months have been the absolute hardest of my
professional life. I knew the first year of teaching would be hard. I have learned that you can know a thing and
really know nothing. Not until you have
lived it. Not until you have been busted
crying on the back porch by your son after an especially difficult day. Not until your dreams have been overtaken by
visions of the faces you see every school day, and even in your dreams you
worry about them. Not until you have
felt what it is to feel like a total failure.
Not until your incessant fears take over that you are not being good enough, not being
effective enough, not being teacher-y enough. Not until you feel in your heart and mind,
and even deep in your soul, that you are failing twenty kids; that you are not
doing what they need, that you are not prepared: That. You. Are. Not.
Enough.
That is when you know the thing you thought you knew. And the knowing is hard. And it hurts.
And it takes your legs right out from under you.
And that is where I found myself: at the end of the first
semester, with my legs taken out, army-crawling across the Last-Week-Before-Break-Finish-Line,
crippled by self-doubt, exhausted and frustrated, walking out the school door, eager for the break
from that which I had once only thought I knew.
And today I find myself here: My legs may have been taken
right out from under me, my feelings of inadequacy may not have subsided, my
worry about being “enough” still with me.
But the thing is this: When you take the legs out from under me, you put
me on my knees, which is right where I needed to be all along. I was so scared, worried, and overwhelmed
that I forgot. I forgot that I am not
alone in this. I am a first year teacher
because He saw to it. Because He took me
down this path because this is what He wanted for me. This is where my gifts can be used. This is where I can be all that I am supposed
to be. This is where I can not only
teach, but learn. This is where I have
been brought – for a reason. Nothing is
wasted.
So on this evening before I return to work after break, I am
reminded that there is more work to be done; that I am not finished with this
school year or with these 20 precious lives; that I am not alone. I am never alone. And the only thing He can’t do is Fail. He is with me, and my students, and my team,
and my school, and my family. At all
times. With Him, I will not fail.
You can know a thing and really know nothing. Or you can just trust that the One who already
knows the things will show you everything you need if only you remember to stop,
ask, and pay attention to what He’s saying.
I’ve had a great Christmas break. I am recharged and ready to go.
And I am still on my knees; right where I am supposed to be.
