What's the Point?

Last week, a friend of mine asked if I was ok. She said that I had seemed a little sad lately. This caught me off guard because I have generally been feeling pretty good. The more I thought about it though, I realized that this friend really only sees me at work, and when we talk, we usually talk about work. So, I got a little concerned. Do the people I work with think I'm miserable?

As I thought about it, I started to realize that I'm not very good at balancing things. I've become quite content--even thankful--for things going on in my personal life, and it's almost like all the discontent I felt about it before has just moved over and camped out in my classroom, a place I used to love but have started to strongly dislike lately. Why can't I be content with my life inside and outside of school? The more I thought, the more bothered I became.

I have one class at school, my last class of the day, that is by far the most difficult. It is made up of what people in the education world like to call "reluctant learners." In normal-person speak, they are the students who simply don't want to do anything, classwork or behavior wise. And I have the tremendous blessing of getting them for their last class of the day, when they've been sitting in desks all day long and really just can't take it anymore. I always start the year excited about these students, hoping that I will be that one teacher that magically gets them all to behave, to learn, to grow. Then, I slowly become disillusioned. And finally, I give up all hope, in my ability as a teacher and in my students.

In just the last week, I have told a friend that I hate them, can't stand them, and that I am going to quit my job so I don't have to see them. I have wished aloud that they would all get sick or hurt and have to miss school. My heart sinks when I see them in the hallways, and I am always in a bad mood at 1:25 because that is when they start making their way into my classroom. I should feel bad for thinking these things, for feeling this way, but I don't really. To sum it up, my last class means a whole bunch of sin. (And yes, I am aware that I now sound like the worst person ever.)

Yesterday at church, my pastor was speaking about Romans 8:28 and how we all go through struggles. Typically, I throw this verse around for truly horrible things, like someone getting really sick or someone dying, but as I sat in church, I realized that it can apply to what I think of as smaller struggles, struggles like my class. The pastor kept talking about how we don't always get to know the why of our suffering, but we have to have faith that it is for the best, that it is God's will for us. I agree. And while we don't always get the concrete why that we're looking for, we do always have at least one. It is God's will for us, which means that it is somehow going to make us more like Jesus.

I decided I needed to look at my last class through this lens. What is it that this class, these students, can teach me? How is putting up with them from 1:25-2:55 every afternoon going to make me more like Christ? The answer I found seems simple but in actuality is really, really hard. Love.

The Gospels are filled with examples of times when Jesus decided to hang out with "undesirables." You know, the down and dirty people. Sinners. Tax collectors. Prostitutes. Growing up in church, I always heard this and took it to mean that I needed to spend time with "those people." But I think we can get a little off track and think that giving those people some time is enough. Surely we don't need to be with them and "love" them every single day! How wrong we are.

The students in my last class can best be described as "those people." In fact, just a few days ago, I described them to a friend as "the kind of kids I couldn't stand being around when I was in middle school." As I thought, I couldn't help but think that Jesus would probably choose to be in my last class because those students are the kind of people he chose to be around.

As a teacher, I want the great students. The ones who behave. The ones who do their work perfectly and on time. The ones who always say the most amazing things during class discussions. The ones who love their teachers. Appreciate their teachers. Want to please their teachers. The ones who, if they had to, could probably learn everything on their own and be just fine.

Mark 2:17 says, "On hearing this, Jesus said to them, 'It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.'"

I want the healthy students. The ones who really don't need a teacher. I don't want the really sick ones, the ones who are so sick they have given up all hope of getting better, but those are the ones I have. Those are the ones I have been given.

Instead of being thankful for that, being thankful that God has given me to students who need my help, who need His love, I have become angry, bitter, and tired. So much so that people I work with think there is something wrong with me. Well, there is something wrong with me, and it is my heart. In this particular area, I am sick and in desparate need of a doctor (although not the actual kind, which I wouldn't mind if he were single, attractive, and around my age).

Instead of being angry and annoyed when I see my students, I should be overwhelmed with Christ's love for them and His love for me. The love that knows how great my need is to learn to love and serve others, the kind of others who might not even want to be served and who are never going to thank me for it. The love that put me in my school, with my students. The love that knows that my students need Jesus. The love that gives me the privilage to show them Jesus. The love that gives me mercy when I take advantage of that opportunity and fail miserably at my given task. The love that gives me grace to keep going, to try again, to look towards 1:25 with hope and anticipation instead of dread. The love that lets me love "those people" because it loved me first.