It's the holiday season...

I’ve been struggling with blogger’s block for the past few weeks. It’s not that I don’t have anything to say. Believe me, there are always plenty of stories to tell and students to quote. The problem is that I have too much to say, and no idea where to even begin.

I knew this would be hard. In fact, I knew it would be the hardest thing that I’ve ever done. Precisely why I preferenced a region close to home, where my family and friends would be easily accessible for support. I prayed, read teaching books, gathered materials, organized my classroom, shelled out money for supplies, created systems, prayed some more, and went in for the kill.

Four months later, it is very clear just how unprepared I was for this job.

When I say unprepared, I’m not referring to my lack of professional training. Of course a degree in education would have benefited me. One thing I never wanted to do when I joined Teach for America was disrespect traditional education programs. I would be lucky to have gone through one of the many great programs that Virginia universities have to offer. However, I would say even an education degree could not have prepared me for some of the situations or students I deal with everyday.

More importantly, nothing can prepare you for the emotional rollercoaster that is teaching. One day, the kids are on point, raising their hands to answer questions, encouraging each other, and leaving the classroom with desks in a row and paper in the trash can. The next day, it looks like a tornado rolled through your room and knocked the sense out of the kids along the way. Kids are shooting paper with rubberbands, talking about each others’ mommas, and talking back like they have no “hometraining” as it’s called here. There is absolutely nothing consistent about these kids, except that they consistently drive me crazy.

Last week was a disaster. I yelled, I whispered, I gave the silent treatment, I sat down, I walked around, I gave out rewards, I gave out book work, I wrote names on the board, I called parents—nothing worked. By Friday, I was ready for a break and took a quick road trip to Richmond to be surrounded by people who were so far removed from my life in Enfield/Ro Rap that I felt something I hadn’t felt in a while: peace.

Saturday, when I returned to my place in North Carolina, I cried like a baby, thinking about how miserable life was going to be these next two weeks as I tried to chug through until Christmas break. And then how miserable life would be after break, when we had 6 months left. I even pulled out the school calendar and started planning weekend trips and sick days in my head. Krista and I hung out with some other corps members that night, and they expressed concern over my management after I told them some stories (and it was much needed, good-natured concern, not controlling or pretentious concern). I went home that night and felt even more hopeless than ever. Clearly I’m an awful teacher, and clearly I have no control over my classroom.

Then, God had mercy on me (as if he doesn’t do that enough). Sunday morning, I got up and went to the early service at church. I love my new church. There is an unmistakable passion in every member I’ve met, young and old. As I sang the lyrics to one of the familiar songs, God totally got a grip on my heart: “I am not forgotten, I am not forgotten, I am not forgotten, God knows my name.” The preacher gave a sermon on the church and its purpose, and he spoke of our power over all the earth because God gave us authority. Through him, we have the power; we can do anything.

At the end of the service, an older woman turned around to greet me. She had seen me before, had spoken to me before, but had forgotten my name. She asked me how my week was, and before I could stop myself, my eyes were welling up with tears, ready to let the build up from the past week flow freely. She and another woman, whom I had met before and is a teacher, took turns praying for me, and I just soaked it up. I needed it. The stress of planning, grading, and teaching has distracted me from the source of all life and energy: God. I hadn’t taken time to bring any of my fears, frustrations, or pain to Him. Instead, I’d been running on empty, sputtering down the road, waiting to burn out any minute.

Then it occurred to me that I was doing this to myself. Well, some of it at least. Clearly I’m not the one shooting paper at myself, or back talking myself, or slapping kids who talk about my momma (although I must say I have wanted to many, many times). The kids do their fair share to break me down. But I know the secret to life, I know the source of light, and I’m the one turning away from it. I have been given authority, and I am a child of the powerful, merciful, loving God, and I have been living like a prisoner. So I had to ask myself:

What are you going to do about it?

Then last night, as I was getting ready for bed, I prayed my heart out. I prayed that God would not only change my heart, but give me the power to make a change in my attitude and my demeanor for TOMORROW. A change of heart doesn’t happen overnight, but Lord knows that I needed some hope for today. So I went to bed smiling as I thought about just how powerful and how good my God is, and how these kids can’t take that away. And I promised myself that the first thing I would say in the morning was, “This day is God’s, and I’m his child—Hallelujah!”

I woke up at 5:20, as usual, and immediately remembered the promise I made myself. I said those words, and got out of bed with a smile on my face and a skip in my step—something I haven’t done since the first week of school. I walked confidently into school, with my head held high and my eyes on the prize. I am a child of God, I told myself, and nothing that happens today can take that away.

I had to repeat that phrase to myself over and over again today, but it was well worth it. The kids were still out of control, they still annoyed me, and I became aware that they are even further behind academically than I thought. But God changed my attitude today, and it changed the way I acted and felt all day. Thank you, and amen.

It may have something to do with the fact that we actually had a semi-normal life last night. At 7:30, we put down the computers and textbooks to make Christmas cookies and watch the Polar Express. Lauren and I built a foam gingerbread house and reveled in the break from work. I felt like a person, not a teacher. Tonight, we drove to Rocky Mount to go shopping and have dinner out—on a Monday! We’re living dangerously, people, and it feels so good.

Now that I’ve carried on for pages…it’s time to get back to work. Lesson planning and eating Christmas cookies…anything is better with Christmas cookies. Thanks for reading.