On this day in Rey Curré, I awoke with a recognizable
feeling but one which I have yet to acknowledge up until now. I didn't want to go teach at the school. I wanted to be home. I felt homesick. Almost 7 months have passed of not laying
eyes on the cornfields of the Midwest, my family, my friends, a steaming plate
of Skyline chili, the streets of Indy and Cincy, the faces of Greensburg, my
brother's big oak kitchen table, my sister's fluffy green L-shaped couch, my
nephews...I will have to practically introduce myself to them when I arrive
home for Christmas. They grow so much,
so quickly. But, being abroad this long
is like sifting for gold: the things I truly care about remain steadfast even
after everything else has been washed away.
A sifting has been taking place in my heart these first few days after a
long two-week break, and it has left me feeling rich in love but poor in
spirit.
Yesterday, the day began with heart-wrenching news. A mother of two of my favorite students is
suffering from a very severe illness. Her
eyes welled with tears as she confessed her fears. I threw the best arrows I know at the
hopelessness and anxieties that haunt her:
"God is always with you, even in the darkest of times. You have to have hope. Our thoughts are powerful." Needless to say, the day rolled on, and I
spent the morning implementing a teamwork activity with my 5th and 6th graders
that was just what the doctor ordered.
When a teacher assigns groups and everyone repeatedly begins grumbling,
that calls for a little interpersonal workshop.
Later, my eyes dampened again as I watched one of my 2nd
graders finally leave the classroom, his mother dragging him in tow. He had sat static in his chair for almost 45
minutes even after I had dismissed him from his 5 minute punishment for
disobedience. I spent the first few
minutes telling him how special he is.
Then, I waited patiently while he tried to punish me for causing him
embarrassment. Discipline is always
painful at the time, but it's worth the pain because it eventually yields good
things.
After school, I made ice creams with my host niece to help
raise money for some things the school needs.
Her calming and gentle way of being ministered to my weary state. And, a short walk and some laughs with a good
friend further lifted my spirits before I made my way to a weekday church
gathering.
For the first time since arriving, I confidently call myself
a teacher because now I see it as one of the roles out of many that I am living
out here: host daughter, host sister, host aunt, friend, sister in Christ,
volunteer, comforter, counselor, "cook," reporter, writer, dreamer,
singer, servant. Each of them carries a
certain responsibility that I embrace as equally important as all of the
others. It turns out that they overlap
and collide and blend together in harmony like I never knew that they
could. Chatting with my host niece gives
me new ideas for the classroom, communing with the church gives me inspiration
and perseverance as a volunteer...
After giving testimony to such a full life that I have here,
how could I have felt so anxious to return home?
Because everything has its context, including this year. It is a chapter in a book. It is a step of a journey. It is a breath. There were breaths before it, and
God-willing, there will be breaths after it.
It is a harvest. There would be
nothing to bring in if the farmer hadn't planted. Everything that I have done up until this
point in my life has served a purpose in preparing, supporting, and sustaining
me this year.
Each class I
taught, each fact I sought,
each lap I
swam, each mile I ran,
each
vacation spent, each prayer sent,
each book
digested, each dollar invested,
each song I
sung, each Spanish word on my tongue,
each
friendship cultivated, each holiday celebrated.
And, my expectations and dreams for what succeeds this year daily affects my
attitude. When I remember that this year
is finite, I am that much more motivated to serve to my fullest capacity. Not to mention, I'm that much more closer to seeing all of you that I miss dearly! 5 more months to go!
Therefore, I'm
rich in love because I have more than I could want or ask for, but poor in
spirit because I look around me and see so much more need than one person could
possibly fulfill. I am a volunteer, and
I am only one person. I can't change the
world on my own. But, I can't let that
stop me from trying. We can all be world
changers, wherever we are. Sometimes it
costs a lot, but sometimes it only takes a smile. A song that I have recently been listening to
captures this attitude the best. It's
called "Walk on the Water" by Brit Nicole. The chorus goes like this...
"So
what are you waiting for?
What do you
have to lose?
Your
insecurities try to alter you
You know
you're made for more
So don't be
afraid to move
Your faith
is all it takes for you to
Walk on the
water too."
What kind of
faith does it take to walk on water? Or,
maybe it's not the measure of the faith that counts. Better yet, in what or whom is the faith that
conquers such feats?
