I don’t know what happened last night at Rhylee’s house,
nor does Rhylee know what happened at mine.
My head is full of plans and misfires and adjustments, but
it looks opaque and serene and ineffable to students.
When I get up to speak, I expect the heavens to open
and am instead satiated with glazed eyeballs that aren’t rolling
to communicate with their fellow soldiers in the war against
me.
I ignore the head-bumping in the hallway
and take deep breaths in the lounge
and try to make my copies before the bell.
But God, I want to be better.
Help me smile at Jacklyn when she talked her way through
my class. Fight back my fears of inadequacy.
Give me the courage to walk up to Jamon
and let him know his class comment was really great and
how is your day going?
Let your love shake me so it shakes my kids.
Let my vulnerability and fears be on display
so when I ask students to write their hearts
they will. Let my idealism and pent-up ideas burst forth
to help a kid’s learning, not my delusions of grandeur.
Tell them that I’m trying, that I love them,
that most days I can’t wait until they walk in with
their airpods and their insecurities and
their desperate need to be needed.
Tell them it’s my greatest joy to give them stories,
to push them to express themselves, to hear about their
basketball games and favorite books and tea spilling.
Tell them to believe me when I say, “What should you
be doing?” I’m saying, “Let me help you.”
Make me fill my cup in your still waters,
so I can lead them to the green pastures, the boundary
lines, the ultimate sacrifice(s) of love.
how is your day going?
Let your love shake me so it shakes my kids.
Let my vulnerability and fears be on display
so when I ask students to write their hearts
they will. Let my idealism and pent-up ideas burst forth
to help a kid’s learning, not my delusions of grandeur.
Tell them that I’m trying, that I love them,
that most days I can’t wait until they walk in with
their airpods and their insecurities and
their desperate need to be needed.
Tell them it’s my greatest joy to give them stories,
to push them to express themselves, to hear about their
basketball games and favorite books and tea spilling.
Tell them to believe me when I say, “What should you
be doing?” I’m saying, “Let me help you.”
Make me fill my cup in your still waters,
so I can lead them to the green pastures, the boundary
lines, the ultimate sacrifice(s) of love.
This was mostly brought on by reading the first couple chapters of John Ortberg’s If You Want to Walk on Water, You’ve Got to Get Out of the Boat. I don’t read a lot of explicitly “Christian” novels, but I'm really enjoying this one so far. Obviously, this prayer-poem also about my first few weeks as a teacher, and the names are made up.
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