I found myself stunned today, silently pleading that God would give me wisdom I knew I didn't have.
Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird continues to hit the heart of readers some fifty years after its original publication date. The responses from my students in Idaho to the injustices of deep South racism made me fall in love all over again with the book I read as a 16-year-old, but my students in Kansas today made me remember why this book continues to appeal to teenagers: it's relevant.
Charles Lamb once said, "Lawyers, I suppose, were children once."
Quite a packed quote.
If children are viewed as honest, carefree, naive, selfless, and innocent beings, contrast them with the stereotype that tends to be placed on lawyers: lying, uptight, all-business, selfish, greedy, and desensitized beings. Are all lawyers this way? Absolutely not. But the lawyers who fit this list of adjectives, unfortunately, tarnish the names of a profession, not just their own.
One of Lee's most prevalent themes in the novel is the loss of innocence.
Lawyers, too, were once innocent and naive, as children are. But the harsh realities of their profession wore their innocence away. Slowly over time or quickly in one instance makes no difference. Innocence lost cannot be regained.
And so I posed the question: "Can you remember an age or a specific moment where you felt your innocence was lost?"
The first student said, "When my grandpa died. We were really close." He was age 8.
The second student said, "When I got cancer." She was age 4.
The next student said, "When my dad left." He was age 4.
And the next student said, "When I visited my mom in prison. I couldn't hug her when it was time to say goodbye." He was age 7.
The classroom was very quiet, because I didn't call on the next student to share.
I had a hard time recovering, so I just stopped, praying for wisdom.
For many of my students today, their innocence wasn't just worn down over time, it was ripped out of their hands before they even knew what was happening.
Jerry Bridges said, "God never allows pain without a purpose in the lives of His children. He never allows Satan,
nor circumstances, nor any ill-intending person to afflict us unless He
uses that affliction for our good. God never wastes pain. He always causes it to work together for our ultimate good, the good of conforming us more to the likeness of His Son."
Romans 8: 28 and 29 say, "...we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. 29 For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters."
I told my students that they each have a story, and their stories matter. No pain is wasted. I thanked them for sharing their stories with me, and went silent again.
The silence hung for about ten seconds, then the bell rang and the students were dismissed. But I cannot get names off of my heart this evening.
I've carried home the hurts of my students today, but I'm also rejoicing in Hope. Hope endured pain, for us, and I know that we don't hurt alone or unnoticed. And as Josh said after I shared today's events with him, "Pain is pain, and kids are kids," in Idaho, and here in Kansas. And I believe our God can handle our hurts.
Our stories really do matter.
What's yours?
Monday, August 27, 2012
Friday, August 24, 2012
Pity Party: Table for One
A new school year is well underway.
After the transition and 2,000 mile trek back to Kansas this summer, I think I anticipated my students to be different from the faces that stared back at me in Idaho, but I'm realizing they're the same energetic and promising smiles and summer-sunned students. Yes, Kansas has it's differences, but there are also many comparisons to the CV Rams who sunk into my heart as I started a career in teaching.
We are one week down already, which is hard to believe. In terms of first-days, this year's was virtually flawless. I think I stood, mouth agape, at the end of the day thinking, "That could not have gone ANY better."
My students kicked off the school year with research over the Civil Rights Movement as we get ready to move into Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird.
As students presented and shared, it hit me: during an era when people had to fight for basic rights and recognition, they were also fighting for something no one can take away. Worth.
Worth has been something I've been processing all summer, and the reason I've been hesitant to blog.
School ended quite poorly for me in Idaho. I loved my students, and many of my coworkers, but I let my boss push me into a corner the last week of school over a grade issue, and his bully behavior made me feel...cheap. And very weak. And if I'm being totally honest, worthless.
In the midst of an ethical dilemma, I did the wrong thing. I was naive. I was scared to tell my authority no. I was weak.
And I hate that.
And so I not only allowed a wayward leader to bully me, I allowed that broken and misguided leader to determine my worth. Even though he is thousands of miles away, that "worthless" thought has whispered through my head all summer.
The injustice of what happened makes me angry. But I can't do anything- nothing- to change it.
The hurt runs in so many directions, but the widest path of hurt is at myself for knowing the right thing to do and not doing it. I play the what-if game often.
"What if I had stood up for myself?"
"What if I had more experience and had known what to do!"
"What if the union had backed me?"
What if...what if...what if...
I can so easily throw a pity party for myself, but how pointless is that? It doesn't help, it doesn't change anything, and it doesn't glorify God.
I was convicted while listening to my new students present about the fight for civil rights this week.
During an era in which the majority said "you're worthless," a determined group of people said, "no, we're not; we're worth it," and they pressed on. They fought, hard, and they did not let the broken and misguided leaders determine their worth.
This summer I have felt like King David. "Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me?"
But Jesus told his followers to not let their hearts be troubled, not to grow weary.
The pity party is a farce!
The admission ticket to that party is worthlessness, and that ticket is single admittance.
The world may whisper, "You're worthless!" But God whispers, "You're worth it!" And so he sent his son...for us.
For me.
For my own inadequacies and my own failures. For my own sins.
And he gives more grace.
More than I'll ever deserve, and more that I am ever so thankful for.
And I have worth, because I have Him.
And He has you.
Therefore, a table for one won't be big enough, and we don't want to miss the party...
After the transition and 2,000 mile trek back to Kansas this summer, I think I anticipated my students to be different from the faces that stared back at me in Idaho, but I'm realizing they're the same energetic and promising smiles and summer-sunned students. Yes, Kansas has it's differences, but there are also many comparisons to the CV Rams who sunk into my heart as I started a career in teaching.
We are one week down already, which is hard to believe. In terms of first-days, this year's was virtually flawless. I think I stood, mouth agape, at the end of the day thinking, "That could not have gone ANY better."
My students kicked off the school year with research over the Civil Rights Movement as we get ready to move into Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird.
As students presented and shared, it hit me: during an era when people had to fight for basic rights and recognition, they were also fighting for something no one can take away. Worth.
Worth has been something I've been processing all summer, and the reason I've been hesitant to blog.
School ended quite poorly for me in Idaho. I loved my students, and many of my coworkers, but I let my boss push me into a corner the last week of school over a grade issue, and his bully behavior made me feel...cheap. And very weak. And if I'm being totally honest, worthless.
In the midst of an ethical dilemma, I did the wrong thing. I was naive. I was scared to tell my authority no. I was weak.
And I hate that.
And so I not only allowed a wayward leader to bully me, I allowed that broken and misguided leader to determine my worth. Even though he is thousands of miles away, that "worthless" thought has whispered through my head all summer.
The injustice of what happened makes me angry. But I can't do anything- nothing- to change it.
The hurt runs in so many directions, but the widest path of hurt is at myself for knowing the right thing to do and not doing it. I play the what-if game often.
"What if I had stood up for myself?"
"What if I had more experience and had known what to do!"
"What if the union had backed me?"
What if...what if...what if...
I can so easily throw a pity party for myself, but how pointless is that? It doesn't help, it doesn't change anything, and it doesn't glorify God.
I was convicted while listening to my new students present about the fight for civil rights this week.
During an era in which the majority said "you're worthless," a determined group of people said, "no, we're not; we're worth it," and they pressed on. They fought, hard, and they did not let the broken and misguided leaders determine their worth.
This summer I have felt like King David. "Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me?"
But Jesus told his followers to not let their hearts be troubled, not to grow weary.
The pity party is a farce!
The admission ticket to that party is worthlessness, and that ticket is single admittance.
The world may whisper, "You're worthless!" But God whispers, "You're worth it!" And so he sent his son...for us.
For me.
For my own inadequacies and my own failures. For my own sins.
And he gives more grace.
More than I'll ever deserve, and more that I am ever so thankful for.
And I have worth, because I have Him.
And He has you.
Therefore, a table for one won't be big enough, and we don't want to miss the party...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
