Grace

About a million crazy things happened at work today. I stormed out of a meeting and was then confronted by Joann in front of six other people. I wasn'’t as articulate as I wish I could have been for this showdown. Later, in the cafeteria, in private, Johnny cried. That was unforgettable. It was while he was comforting me and giving me some really valuable advice---the main point being that if I remember why I wanted to teach in the first place and the kind of things that truly motivate me, there'’s no reason to get so upset over these situations. I don't feel like describing the whole entire situation with my boss today. She was her normal cruel tyrant self, and that's not going to change. (For the record---Johnny doesn't agree, at all, with this characterization of the boss.) But, he said, I still make a huge difference within the realms that I am able to influence, a really huge difference in those little lives. Enough of a powerful, good difference, that I need to focus more on that and less on other people's bad choices. To illustrate this get-some-perspective point of Johnny's: Adrian and Ulises, two former students, visited me this week. It was abundantly apparent that they continue to remember, fondly, their time with me, and I know they continue to benefit, academically, from the things I taught them. And then, not long after this motivating, but very emotional conversation with Johnny, three more tiny moments occurred which have led me to a new commitment, which is so deep and feels so right and final and true to my center of spiritual selfness, that I can't help but use corny phrases like I've found my calling.

The first moment: Jessie told me that his mom, finally, after 15 months of living in the Road Home shelter, got her voucher to move her family into public housing. They are looking for a house in West Valley. So Jessie's leaving, probably not by Monday, but likely very soon. Which is wonderful news for him and his family. This news came up as we were processing this whole kid drama situation today. At one point I said something like, "Well, you know what I believe about you." And he mumbles, nodding, "Yeah, about how I'm capable and talented and incredible." Like these are just the facts, like the floor is dirty and it's hard to make good choices, Ms. Simbe believes I'’m capable and talented and incredible. So even though I knew this day was coming (the day, mid-year, when Jessie would leave) and even though I'm very attached to this child, I feel confident that he'll be okay. I've had more than two hundred fifty days with him and even if he doesn't believe those things about himself, he won't soon forget what I believe.

The second moment: The mother of my new student Juan, who just before Winter Break moved into the Road Home, visited the school today. I was only in the room for about fifteen minutes, but heard her describing the Road Home environment, which I knew was horrendous, but to hear it from this loving mother'’s own mouth helped me understand, even more, how much these kids from the Road Home need a safe, loving, structured place to spend eight hours a day. It reaffirmed everything I did, far and beyond the call of duty, on Jessie's behalf. She was also very grateful for the Christmas present I helped Juan make for her. Juan can barely read at a first grade level, so later in the day, I made sure that his special education services will be intense enough to support his needs in reading.

The final moment: Because of the confrontation with Joann and the name calling and tension that'’s not going to go away, I kept telling myself I had to make a choice, to either make real peace with Joann or to firmly commit to transfer at the end of the year. All day, my whole body and self and emotions were like a tempest storm because it seemed like an impossible choice. But what this raging storm and the lightening bolts of the first two moments I just described, finally pushed me to realize, is that I am committed, fiercely, passionately, outrageously, and obsessively committed, to the kids that come to Washington from the Road Home. And this commitment is the undercurrent of my final answer: I'm staying, for the long haul. I know there are students that I would love and be happy with everywhere, but not kids with the unique needs of those that come to us from the Road Home. Not only do I believe those kids need me to stay, the Jessies and Juans and Regans of Washington, but late this afternoon, in the quiet stillness of my classroom, I also realized in a very spiritual (uncomfortably Mormon-ish) way that this is where I'm "supposed" to be. The vast, infinitely loving, but mysteriously personal, spirit of the universe wants my talents and passions and love to continue to be a well from which these particular children are able to draw. Final answer.

As for peace with Joann--I don't know--it doesn't feel urgent or important anymore, not compared with the grace that I continue to feel emanating from the center of the Universe's loving heart.