I think I may have made myself misunderstood in my last blog. You see, it was meant to be a depiction of my own weakness in the midst of a world that needed someone strong. It was supposed to be an honest portrayal of one of my weakest moments and a moment when my mother stepped in to remind me of the person I once was, the person she raised me to be.
After talking to an Atlantan co-worker of mine, I re-read a comment from my Teach for America program director in her letter of recommendation that said, “When talking to Jamie, she has nothing but a positive outlook on her situation and why it is exciting.” Nail, right to my heart. I was so challenged by the way that my last blog did not reflect this.
My kids in Atlanta are challenged every day by poverty and a system that often does not fight for them but against them. I wanted every day to be the answer for them, and every day I felt as if I was falling short. My time in Atlanta wasn’t a struggle because there was something wrong with my kids, but because I had to regularly fight to believe in myself. Like I said, I saw myself as a grasshopper among giants.
Giants like Peter McKnight and Alysa Campbell and Asif Lakhani and Morgan Rigney and Chauncei Whitmore. . . I could go on and on and on. Giants like poverty and broken systems and apathy and disbelief.
The point of my last blog was that I’ve spent the last year focusing on all my defeats, and now, I’m finally ready to see my own victories. I had so many students that made me proud on a daily basis, students who are complete gems in our dark world. Students who, though I sometimes was too weak to fight for them, would fight for me any day.
During this conversation with my co-worker, I was reminded of this fact. The thing that made me think of it was the way the boys in Honduras reflect my students in Atlanta. There’s something about the way that teenage boys love, the way that they stand in front of their mothers, their teachers, their friends. At the smallest threat, they would stand between danger and those they love. There’s a purity to their protective nature, an honesty to their still-developing manhood.
The boys living at the ministry in Honduras are former street boys who have made the decision to come live with Tony and turn their lives around. They all come from tough backgrounds, but you would never believe it if you saw them now. So filled with goodness, pursuing God, each of them is an awesome story of redemption. And, you can lie in the grass, gazing at the stars, as each one of them tells you their story. Each of them changed my Race, my heart, my life.
Luis is trying to save Bea from the on-slaught of a Honduras doggie pile!
And, they reminded me of our boys in Atlanta. All it took was one new kid with a snide remark in our classroom to elicit 2 to 3, “What? You’re going to talk to MY teacher like that?!”
They've got so much swag! I miss you all! Especially you, Rigney and Chancellor!!
Here’s to you, boys. You made me the proudest teacher, mother, friend that I’ve ever been before. You have loved me so well. I can only hope that, in return, I have loved even half as well as a teenage boy does.
P.S. Tony Deien is a missionary in Honduras from Salt Lake City! Say what?! He even went to k2!! I had no idea who he was until our first day in Honduras. It makes a little more sense when you realize that our mutual friend is Danny Gutman, the person who first introduced both Tony and myself to The World Race. Tony attended k2 at the same time as me while I was in college, but we never met. He moved his life down to Honduras a little over 5 years ago, and what God has done with it, blew me away!! He and his Honduran wife, Nidia, have now hosted 5 different World Race teams, and stolen every single one of our hearts with their small family of former street kids.
