Pray for C

Waco ISD 7th grade students are at home tonight feverishly preparing their backpacks and school supplies, laying out their outfits, and finishing their summer novels they have been reading for enjoyment- stoked about the first day of school tomorrow. Ok that may be more than a little optimistic but it's my dream world so I can pretend whatever I want. This time last year, I felt like a cat who just found out it had been forced to join the swim team. One year later, first-day-of-school eve is almost an exciting feeling. I am looking forward to applying everything I learned through trial and error last year. I feel ahead of the game instead of desperately trying to catch up. What a wonderful difference!

All that said, I am still faced with the same nervous jitters my students will probably be feeling the weight of as they primp in front of the mirror tomorrow morning. The unknown is so intimidating. However, sometimes the known can be equally intimidating. We (the teachers) received our class schedules last Thursday and there are already names of students jumping off the page at me because they will be returning to my classroom this year. As can probably be assumed, my repeat offenders on my list were not my kindest, most scholastic students last year. The thought of spending another year with them must be approached as a mere challenge set before me and presented as a goal: I didn't get you the first time around, but I have another chance. One student stands out in particular. (For the sake of confidentiality and professionalism, he will be affectionately referred to as "C".)

C is a hard person to love. He turned 16 last year and he is still in the 7th grade. He was a constant disrespectful distraction in my classroom. He cussed me out more than once, tore up a test and threw it in my face, walked out of class, and displayed a disregard for human kind in general. He is the kind of person you want to write off completely. At times I wanted to throw my hands up in the air and announce that I am finished. "If you don't care, then neither do I."
I have been told that many first year teachers cry often. I don't think I am any tougher than these, but I only cried once last year- thinking about C. I was thinking about how this is his life. This is not his practice round; he really is growing up this way and it is so sad.
After my many encounters with C, I realized that he had taught me more about Jesus than any Sunday school class or Bible study I have ever been a part of. If there was ever a student who needed my help, it's him. I am willing to give it. He has hurt me many times, but I still want to help him- if only he would accept it. My hand is open but his heart is closed. What I have to offer him (education) can make his life better, but he can't see that and he is choosing a more difficult and less fulfilling life without it.

C will be back in my classroom this year. I have high hopes for him backed up by anguished prayers. This 7th grader with a parole officer desperately needs some support. I hope he sees this year that I am not against him, but rather fighting for him. More than that, I hope someday he sees Jesus in how I love him and realizes how small my support and love for him are in comparison to what Jesus has to offer him. Needless to say, please pray for C. Please pray for me.

... and now, on to a new school year.

who are they?

I'm in Norman, Oklahoma at the New Baptist Covenant. While I am still trying to figure out what the New Baptist Covenant really is, I have enjoyed the discussion about race, religion, and the oppressed. Last night we were privileged to hear testimony from two contemporaries: Hanna Massad, a Palestinian Christian who lives in a "prison without bars" - the Gaza Strip, and Wilford Brown, a Tawakoni Native American who experiences the hidden American life. While I listened to these two men speak about life and expereince, I wrote a small poem baised on thier story.

Who are the oppressed?
They are the invisible;
those who hide from view,
those who hide from hearing.
These are the people living among
people who are hurting,
without voice - without advocacy;
people we see but never notice.
The Palestinian people,
who have been displaced by policy.
The American Indian,
whose lot is with endangered nature.
The victims of domestic violence,
whose shame keeps the blinds drawn.
The working poor,
whose labor makes our luxury possible.
"Whatever you did for the least of these
brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me."