A Hard Day at School

Last Thursday I cried at school. In the prep room, while my students waited patiently for me in the lab next door, I buried my face in my hands, let the sorrow seep into my heart and gave into anger, fear and frustration. Last year, I was a good teacher. Last year, I knew what I was doing because I had written most of the curriculums. Last year, I was able to make copies when I needed, print when I needed, and I could leave the office and walk back to class without getting rained on. I cried out to God in desperation,” Why did you bring me here? I hate Africa! Why couldn’t I have stayed in Columbus where I knew everything and teaching was easy and I was the best teacher that everybody loved? Why am I here? It’s too hard!” I eventually composed myself, and made it back into the classroom, where I set a bunch of stuff on fire. (Nothing like Chemistry demonstrations to relieve frustrations.)

As I was sitting here this clear, Friday night, relaxing and reading, I had my iTunes playing (Snow Patrol to set the mellow, contemplative mood). When my screen saver came on, it displayed the Family pictures from our most recent Myrtle Beach trip. All the typical pictures were there: sun-burned faces pressed together for close-ups, pairs of hands clasped tightly while feet strolled the boardwalk, and the blurred night time shots from the traditional putt-putt adventure. As the pictures passed in a random pattern, I noticed that in all the pictures I had of Matt and Hannah, she is pressed up under his arm. Her small body is tucked neatly into her father’s embrace, protected and encircled. These weren’t special, posed pictures; it’s just how they sit together. She crawls up on the couch and settles next to him, and he instinctively drops his arm behind her back and encloses her in a secure space.

As I watched these pictures pass, God pressed upon my heart his embrace encircling me. He has brought me here, but he has not left me. His arm is still protectively around me, and he has enclosed me in a secure space. He will guard me, protect me and love me. I turned the music off, went upstairs to the roof and stood… beneath the dark sky, filled with distant lights of planets and solar systems that I will never know or see. But God does. He knows them all, and he keeps me close to his heart, encircled and secure.

Now I am crying for a very different reason.