Normally I would have spent the last few weeks buying school supplies, laminating new posters, choosing a few new outfits, organizing my novels, writing an introduction letter, and planning how I will greet my new class of students. Instead I’ve handed that classroom over to a recent grad, said goodbye to my dog, been prayed off at my church, and continued to raise funds for the upcoming year. Taking care of all the small details needed for leaving the country for the next 11 months has kept me so busy I really haven’t even noticed school is starting on Monday. This Monday the staff of AMS, who have been my colleagues for the past 8 years, begin the year at our annual district meeting. I, however, will be headed to the health department for my last round of vaccines. Wow! When I put this in writing it a wave of emotion rushes over me.
In the last ten years I have poured myself, my money and a lot of my free time into being a middle school teacher. I spend hundreds of dollars at the start of every year buying new novels for my classroom library. I replace all the markers, colored pencils, lead pencils and buy more staples. I write each student’s name on a one subject spiral notebook and handwrite a personal note to them. But I’m not doing any of this! Being a teacher has been my identity for a decade. Wearing that “teacher hat” is something I do all day, every day. Just ask the little boy in Kohl’s who I asked to kindly pull up his pants.
Transitioning from teacher to missionary has not really been something I’ve thought to actually do until this morning. In fact, I intended for this blog to be all about the 7th grader who helped me sell bracelets yesterday. As a gift for her help I bought her a backpack with the necessary school supplies. As I sat organizing it for her, it dawned on me that I won’t be doing this for my kids this year. Notice I call them “my kids.” Spending that much time and pouring a whole lot of energy into a child gives me the license to call them mine. This year I’ll have no children. Sure, I’ll be meeting children all around the world. Caring for them, playing with them, maybe even teaching them; but they won’t be mine. I won’t get to see them grow from Fall to Spring. They won’t get taller, change their style, improve their skills or build a relationship with me while I’m there for such a short time. I know that I will have the chance to plant seeds, but this year will not end with a fully bloomed garden to look back at and admire.
So now that I have put that all in writing and let my heart feel these emotions, I release this to Jesus. I release my books, my classroom, my colleagues, my lesson planning, my books (for good measure). This will not be my lifestyle this year and I’m ok with that.
