Lesson for a teacher

I know what you’re thinking. Another story about school? . . . What can I say? I’ve spent a lot of years in school! This story was written soon after the event actually happened, two years ago today, September 17, 2010. Obviously, this was not the worst heartache I’ve ever felt or ever will feel. But at the time, it seemed significant. So here goes . . .

“We’re basically putting your whole life in storage. Make sure you don’t leave anything vital behind,” urged my friend Nancy. This was her practical version of moral support. She dusted her hands on worn jeans, adjusted a colorful headscarf, and grabbed another box.

On a blue, sunny day in early fall, we were cleaning out the classroom I had practically lived in during my career at a small Christian school in upstate New York. I’d gone out of my way to make this space inviting by crowding my shelves with popular books and magazines, bringing in overstuffed couches (perfect for napping), providing a snack area and coffee makers—all for the benefit of my high school students.

I’d never had children of my own, but God had blessed me through the young people in my classes. What had begun as a temporary (in my mind) position at the school had grown into nearly two decades of teaching—because of the students.

Nineteen years ago, I had moved back to my home state to spend more time with my family. This providential decision allowed me to spend the last year of my dad’s life with him and brought me to the staff of a ministry which was interested in providing low-cost college prep education for local youth. After the grief of losing my father had passed, I poured myself into this ministry.

Soon we were laying the foundation for a high school, and I discovered I loved working with teenagers. I had been their instructor, but they had taught me much. I grew up at this school. Though I received little pay, provided many of my own teaching resources, and worked extra jobs to make ends meet, I treasured every moment!

During that time, the school thrived academically, spiritually, and socially, but struggled financially. When the economy grew treacherous, the financial difficulties became insurmountable. The administration closed the doors on twenty-eight years of educational excellence—four days before school was scheduled to begin.

I cried myself to sleep every night after that decision. I carried a dull ache in my heart as if something precious to me had died. Now instead of preparing for a new school year, I found myself signing up for unemployment, packing away my life, and struggling with my doubts.

Of course, my family and friends tried to encourage me. Even though Nancy was on the tail end of a battle with cancer, here she was helping me.

She was seated, sorting my books and mementos into boxes. “I think we’re almost done. Do you want to start loading stuff into my car?” Nancy’s empty van was parked near an emergency exit I’d propped open, just a few steps from my classroom.

Tears gathered in my eyes. Questions echoed in my mind. Why do I feel so alone? How can anything good come out of this mess? Where are you God? Have you forgotten me?

“I need to see a pastor! I need help right away!”

I raised my head and blinked to clear my vision. A young woman with short hair and dark eyes, in an everyday t-shirt and sweat pants, stood in the doorway, clutching a purse stuffed with papers. She was crying. “Social services sent me here. I just—I need to talk to a pastor right away.”

Nancy and I shared a look that said, We’re in no position to help. Let’s send her away.

I decided to take her to the office. Though the school had closed, the Bible Church still operated from this building.

“Come with me, and we’ll find someone,” I mumbled.

The woman followed obediently, crying all the while.

She cried during the walk to the office and while I tried to find help and while I wrestled with what to do when I couldn’t locate anyone.

As I watched her, I no longer felt like crying myself. I felt numb. I’ll just take her information and send her on her way. I’m certainly not in any position to help her, I reasoned. I have enough heart-ache of my own.

I grabbed paper and pen from a nearby desk, “I’ll have a pastor call you. What’s your name and number?” I asked, avoiding those anguished eyes as I wrote the answers.

A thought occurred to me, “Will you be safe at home?”

“Yes,” she answered. “My husband left me.”

“Oh, um, okay . . . I’ll take you back to the door you came in.” I led her through the familiar hallways to the box-filled room we’d left.

Once there, I realized that my heart would not let me send her away.

“Don’t go yet,” I told her and turned to my friend. “Nancy, do you think we can reach Pastor Bill?” Pastor Bill had spoken often in our school assemblies and was just down the road.

“Of course,” Nancy pulled out her phone and dialed. After a brief conversation, she said, “He’ll be here in five minutes.” While we waited, we introduced ourselves and invited the woman—Stacey—to tell us her story.

“I have two children, a toddler and a four-month old. I haven’t been working because I need surgery. I’m behind two months in the rent, and today I received a three-day eviction notice. I don’t know what I’m going to do.” She choked on fresh tears. “I feel so alone, and I thought God could help.”

Nancy jumped in, “I believe that God can help . . . And we certainly can relate to how you feel. Look at this.” She indicated the pile of boxes with a sweep of her arm and then pointed at me. “She’s worked here for nineteen years. Now the school shut its doors, and this pile of boxes is all she has left.”

I smiled weakly.

Nancy continued, “And I’m not wearing this scarf as a fashion statement. I have cancer. That’s a pretty scary battle.”

I patted my friend’s arm and turned my attention to Stacey. “I’m sure Pastor will be here soon. Will you be able to wait a bit longer? Who’s watching your children right now? Hey—is it a relative who could take you in?”

“My kids are with my neighbor. I moved here to be near my mother, but she won’t have anything to do with us because my children are biracial,” Stacey responded, pain obvious in both her voice and her eyes. Her story was giving me a new perspective on my own self-pity.

Before I could make another suggestion, Pastor Bill arrived. Stacey caught him up on the details we had already heard and then added, “I’m missing something, some way to make it all come out right. I wonder if God’s punishing me. It seems like everyone I counted on has rejected me. And God seems so far away.”

Pastor responded with confidence, “God doesn’t punish us with problems. That’s not how He operates. As a matter of fact, troubles give Him new opportunities to show us His love. But sometimes we find it in unexpected places.” He smiled at me. “Maybe through people we just met.” Pastor went on to question Stacey more specifically about how his church could help her financially.

As they talked, I thought about the many young people who had learned lessons in this classroom. I’d loved them all.

Yet I’d challenged them with difficult material. At times, I had allowed them to struggle alone, until they found their own answers. I had tested them often to be sure those answers were true. But always with the goal of strengthening them. And always motivated by love.

Why would I expect God’s learning process to be any different?

I observed today’s scene with new appreciation. Pastor Bill, with his Bible in his lap, bent his gray head towards Stacey, patiently listening to her. Nancy squeezed the younger woman’s hand, her eyes just as compassionate for this stranger as they were for me. And Stacey asked her hard questions, bolstered by strength from unexpected friends.

How foolish I was to doubt what I could see happening right in front of me: love transforming our difficult situations into something good.

“I have an important piece of advice for you, Stacey,” Pastor said. “Stay in contact with these woman. As we struggle through life, we gain tremendous strength from each other. Friends are one of God’s greatest blessings. Don’t you agree, ladies?”

“Oh, yes,” Nancy and I chorused.

After that, things moved quickly. Pastor left for another appointment but with promises to call Stacey’s landlord and husband. Stacey left, after exchanging phone numbers and hugs and assurances we would all attend an upcoming ladies’ meeting.

Then Nancy and I put my boxes in the van, turned out the lights, and relocked the doors.

God had chosen an unusual method of reminding me that His love is always bigger than any problem. But it had worked!

I smiled over His creativity all the way home.