Never Catching Up

Still Chasing Hope. It started a year ago, and I was HOPING it would lead to a year of writing and dreaming. I dream of writing one day for a living, but I have carried this giant expectation around like a weight this year instead of letting it lift me up like dream clouds should. My real job currently got in the way. Correction. I let it get in the way.

And I suppose fear got in the way of my writing, as well. It's as if starting the writing process is like opening Pandora's Box. I don't know what's inside, but I'm scared of what may come out. What if it isn't good enough? Writing is the career I have replayed over and over again in my head when this first career I've chosen has pulled me into the depths.

I sound dramatic, but I have been an utter mess all year thanks to what I call my "first career." I've been chasing hope for 10 months, and it's exhausting. All year I just kept hoping it would get better. I hoped that they would care. I hoped that they would know, really know, that I want to know them. I hoped that I wouldn't lose my mind. I hoped that I would make it until the end of the year.

HOPE may as well have been a tiny little child, running around, as I chased relentlessly after it...feeling the soft fabric of its shirt once or twice but never truly grasping it.

Until now.

I've almost made it through my third year of teaching, and just writing those words brings tears to my eyes. In January, I didn't think I would get here. Crying alone in an empty classroom when I should've been teaching after the worst class of my life, I knew I couldn't face them again. These kids who hurt so deeply--but take their pain out on me. With words that cut deep. And looks that turned my world around. "I went to college for THIS?" I kept repeating. No one deserved to be treated the way I was treated. Self-pity reared its nasty head, and I wallowed for a while. And then God did this funny thing that He loves to do...He surprised me. Some of the kids who I cared for most but hurt me deeply started responding to me. And I saw that the way they were treating me was only the outcome of how they'd been treated all their life. I, at most, would get 50 minutes of it a day for a year. Some of them had been treated as if they were significant all their lives. And we are a product of our environment, aren't we?

So when Spring came, I mustered up the last bit of hope I could and kept going to school, thinking maybe I would reach them. It sounds trite, but I mean this with everything that I have: God never gave up on me, so why should I give up on them? It wouldn't be right considering God placed me there in their midst, anyway.

One exam review and one exam left with the class that almost did me in, and I can't say there is a perfect, happy ending. But thanks be to God, He never let me give up on them, and I really feel they know it. I've received a lot of advice this year. My skin is working on being "tough," as they say, but as for the advice to harden my heart...it won't happen. With Him living in it, I'll just have to deal with what comes...with a lot of prayer and a little bit of hope.

Running Away

I've been running a lot the past few months. Not the type of running where you strap on the nice pair of Nikes and feel-better-about-yourself-when-you're-dripping-sweat-running. The kind of running that gets you nowhere but keeps you away from everything you don't want to think about. At the rate I've been going, you would have thought I would have reached something by now, but strangely enough, all I reached was the realization that I hate figuratively running as much as I hate literally running. It's exhausting mentally, and it doesn't make me feel better about myself at the end like the "real" thing does.

What I've been running away from is my dream. My dream, simply put, is writing things that matter.

I'm terrified to write for some reason, however, which is why I only have two posts on my blog. My first obstacle happened in late August when my PawPaw died; I knew the minute I started letting the words flow again, I would speak of him. My best friend was now gone. I couldn't come to terms with the fact that I hadn't been successful in making everyone in my life meet this amazing man before he left this earth. I was devastated that everyone I was going to love hereafter was not going to even have the possibility to know him. I couldn't begin to put those words on paper or in cyberspace because I could not even accept them in my heart.

But I have to stop running and stand still for a while. I'm missing so much in my attempt to leave it all behind. And I have great people willing to stand still with me and help me figure it out...so the running shoes are coming off.

Saying Goodbye

Saying goodbye to students at the end of the year is one of the most bittersweet feelings I believe a teacher experiences in his/her career. In one respect, it is one of the best days of the year because summer is staring you in the face. You have lived through the sarcastic "genius" who loves to ask questions and point out every time you make a mistake, you have improved a little bit on your craft, and you've even managed to save a few Expo markers to put back and use for next year! As my students crowd around to sign the scrapbook I have to encourage or harass them to write in, I always feel an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. I can't help but relive the pride I felt when the boy on the front row completed his research paper all by himself; I smile to myself as I think about the young girl who finally decided to trust me after months I spent trying to convince her I was worthy. I thought I couldn't wait until summer to arrive. But now I just need a few more minutes so I don't forget them. Their youthful laughs and silly questions and special faces. But I'll see them next year if I'm lucky. We'll say goodbye for two months and the ones who always surprise me will come back to see me in the fall.

Even though I'm just finishing my second year, I've been forced to accept that sometimes in teaching you are forced to say goodbye to students forever. You lose them. And your heart stops and you feel a sickness deep down in the pit of your gut that you thought was reserved for family. The phrase, "He was my kid" pops in your mind...even as your heart breaks for the parents who you know actually raised him. But you invested something in him for months, and he crept in your heart in a way you didn't realize. And you mourn for this loss because in all the months you dreamt of all he could be, you believed he would eventually get there. Yet it will never be.

As a teacher, I've started the past two Augusts feeling as if the balloon inside me has been deflated. Summer is over and so is my fun. I'm excited with anticipation during workdays, but as soon as the first week begins, nerves and exhaustion take over and they last until practically December, it seems. After December, I finally get to know "my kids" and my balloon starts to inflate again.

With our school trying to bounce back from a broken summer 0f losing two of its own, I feel like I need to make sure my balloon is inflated before school even starts so I can start loving my kids earlier this year. That's why I'm there, after all. And while they're in my classroom, I'll make sure they know how much they're cared for. That way when the goodbyes come, I'll be certain they'll remember it.

Never Say Never

Every time that my mama gives advice I listen, and ever since I was little, she's warned me countless times to, "Never say never." I don't remember when this small nugget of advice first took up residence in my mind, but I do remember the many times I've ignored it and said "the word" out loud, only to begin eating that same word days, weeks, and sometimes even years later. I will never get over him. I will never make it through this semester. I will never survive my first year of teaching. I will never live through a class with "that kid." Don't get me wrong. I'm a woman of my word. What is integrity without following through with everything you say? So I make it a point to try my best to do everything I say I will do. But the word, "never," still slips out sometimes.

This word, "never," packs such a punch that matches my emotions at times that I feel I MUST use it because at those times...it's all there is. It's a rope tightly wound around my heart...you can almost feel the constriction and... it's perfect. And it's also final.

My most recent: I will never blog. I made my very declarative statement back when online journals first began and held tightly to it. I couldn't figure out why others wanted to post their thoughts online for complete strangers to read. How could they bare their souls like that? And then I realized I was a complete hypocrite. I preach to my English students all the time that words are powerful enough to hold their thoughts and that they should never be ashamed to write them down for others to see. If I believe that, then I can write a blog.

And so I'm glad that sometimes I don't always do what I say I will do (or won't do). I won't give up the word "never" entirely, though. There are statements to which I can attach the word "never" and know with all my being that I will never have to take those words back. I will never stop loving. I will never stop dreaming. Jesus will never stop loving me. And I will never stop chasing hope.