Hey beautiful people,
I have spent a lot of time on pages and in whispers talking about the exercise in beautiful heartbreak that teaching can be. Don’t let the Pinterest boards and Youtube videos fool you–it isn’t always pockets full of posies. Teaching is sometimes funky classrooms, 76 personalized handshakes (DAB!) and fun activities, true…just today, I ran “de-escalation stations” with my sixth graders and it was fun to watch them explore stress relief activities such as making their own bath salts and doing a basic 7 minute yoga routine. Teaching IS this. But teaching (at least for me) is also looming deadlines, absent assistance, frustration and what feels like abundant lack–of resources, of good news, and of progress. Sounds sanctimonious, but I sometimes feel like I am running solo on a treadmill and I cannot catch up to save my life. I look at acquaintances that teach in other districts where the biggest headache is parents lingering in the carpool line, and though I’ve committed (at least this phase of) my life to urban education, I flirt with the idea of a richer district, less jaded kids, etc. Then, I feel like an ogre. Its tight, but it’s truthful.
On days like this, however, I remember something that this woman named Didi said to me yearssss ago. I don’t remember the context, but she said something like “your words are divinely structured to bring peace and joy to people around you.” That’s literally one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me–and it’s also a charge to make sure that what comes out of my mouth builds up and doesn’t tear down. Teaching brings with it some “cuss applicable moments”, as Steve Harvey would say–I’d be lying if I said that every word out of my mouth is “joy to the world”…but as Steve also said “God ain’t done with me yet.”
I don’t always feel planted–like I am divinely structured, firmly rooted in the thing I am supposed to be doing. Earlier this week, I sat in front of my Crew and ground out angry tears because they weren’t meeting expectations–it’s enough to make you question yourself sometimes. But today, I felt planted, twice. And when I feel God move, I have to share.
- A child at work had a medical emergency today, and it left a bunch of children feeling quite rattled and scared. I bent down to talk to a child who was in tears, and I heard another kid above me say “guys can we pray, because I’m worried!” Thus began a round robin of who was actually going to pray, since one kid turned into five…and finally one girl said “Ms. O, you pray, because we don’t know how.” Another said, “yeah, ’cause all I do is say grace!” So the five of us held hands and shoulders and we prayed for the young lady in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. My students know my beliefs, but I am careful not to dwell on them at school, lest I activate the church v state cries, but I’ve had students ask me to pray quietly with them before a test and now this–the fact that they know that they can ask this and I will respond means the world to me. Planted.
- A few teachers were sitting in my homeroom this afternoon, and we were talking-laughing-playing music–kinda lesson planning, etc. A friend FaceTimed me, so I alternated between talking to her, listening to my coworkers, sashaying in my seat to the tune of my music and answering emails. Suddenly, the one across from me said “I love your joy. You are so happy.” (or something like that)… It was so out of the blue and I was so taken by surprise that I pointed at myself and she affirmed that she was speaking to me. The funny thing is, I wasn’t doing anything in particular, but she saw something and called it out of me–it’s been bouncing around my head all evening. I can be joyful FOR others even when I don’t realize that I am. Planted.
The Bible says this about being planted–
Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the wicked, nor stands in the way of sinners, nor sits in the seat of scoffers; but his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night. He is like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither. In all that he does, he prospers. Psalm 1:1-3
I take this to mean that being planted doesn’t always feel great–there is digging and waiting and pruning involved, after all, but when you are planted in the right place and nourished by the right things, you will see rewards when rewards are meant to be seen. If the soil were completely wrong, then nothing would grow. That doesn’t mean that I’m supposed to stay in the same pot forever, but I have to trust that that Living Water hydrates even my dry seasons.
Basically, I bloom different.
Today, be thankful for being planted where you are–in the professions, the friendships, the places where you are. Search for the meaning. And recognize the divine structuring when you see it 🙂