Sufficient Grace

Most school days remind me of the endurance workouts I used to choose on the StairMaster at the gym, where there's this endless block of flashing dots showing that I'm going to be sweating, dripping, heart pounding for the next thirty minutes with no let-up. Yesterday was the usual endurance workout, but with the Pike's Peak interval training thrown in for good measure.

I'd had a rough week: intense meetings with intense, frustrated colleagues. A meeting with a parent that took so long to get started, that we never got anywhere by the time it ended. Students still bonkers after a week of state testing. Kids asking, "When's my project going to be graded? My parents keep asking!" Stuff going on in the evenings that required yet more brain power and smiles--neither of which I had much of.  And then that cloying exhaustion that I never could kick.

I woke exhausted yesterday, and felt just as groggy post-shower as I did before I climbed in. My thirst for a latte before school was so strong (and, okay, foolish) that I stopped at two different coffee shops before finding a third that was both open and whose line didn't snake all the way out the door.

I got slammed as soon as the kids rolled in: the student of the week was a repeat from this winter, we just all forgot. I tried to cover my tracks by telling Richard that while he may have forgetful teachers, he really should feel honored to be nominated twice. And then the news that made me want to cry right in the middle of the hallway: "Miss Wike, my dad died last night." BAM! My day thrown into a tailspin as I broke the rules and gave the girl a real hug, not just the 'legal' side one.

The day progressed at the same, frenetic pace. And when I finally thought I'd shooed them out at 2:35 for the weekend, I got called in by students to break up a scuffle on the stairs. Followed by a girl with a 'grade emergency' who didn't want to be 'grounded for another weekend' because she hadn't come to me earlier so she could take care of her grades. Followed, finally, by the girl from the morning who had lost her father. She was in tears because a cruel classmate had bullied her about her dad's passing.

When everything was done, referrals written, principals addressed, emails sent, the door finally shut, I sat at my desk and cried.

I was reminded of Paul's wisdom this morning, as I read 2 Corinthians 12:8,9: "Three times I appealed to the Lord about this, that it would leave me, but he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.' So I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me."

If there's any job that will open your eyes to how weak you indeed are, it's teaching 7th grade. It's on weeks like this that all human-bound energy, creativity, wisdom, and endurance is stripped from me. And in that naked state, I can only trust that God is perfecting His power through me.

Spring time ponderings

I went for a quick walk this early evening, a respite between a hectic day at school and a busy planning meeting tonight. It's one of those gorgeous spring Seattle evenings when it really, in fact, could be summer. I'm wearing sandals and rolled up jeans (always a tell-tale sign). Birds sing. The sun shines and the view over Puget Sound is finally clear. It almost smells like summer. Is it really only spring?

But rather than siding with the empirical knowledge that tells me what season it is--trees are still budding, flowers haven't yet completely bloomed, I have to go back to school again tomorrow--I'm going to go with the poetic. Because we haven't yet passed into summer, I'm still filled with the anticipation of it. Dreams yet to be fleshed out loom large in my imagination. What will I see in my travels? Who will I meet? What will I smell? What new foods will I discover? What stories will I carry home with me, that will cling close?