Every weekday morning, I race into the school building, up the stairs, and into my classroom. I am now 57 so racing is not at a breakneck speed like it was when I was 30, but it certainly feels like I have already run a marathon by the time my keys unlatch the lock on my classroom door. Before classes begin, I unload all of my books, computer, and portfolio into my room, stash my keys into my top draw, and grab my burgundy coffee cup. Then I quickly leap down the flight of stairs and hopefully, before the bell rings, slip through closing cafeteria doors for daily morning devotions.
Once inside, I sit among my colleagues spread out at various cafeteria tables as the devotion is presented by the chosen teacher or administrator for the day. Usually these readings are very uplifting, and I am thankful to gather with like-minded educators who are dependent on the Lord for strength, patience, and direction. Sometimes a late teacher straggles in right before the devotion is finished; occasionally, I am that teacher.
Probably the most heart-warming part of this routine is standing and singing a hymn with my fellow teachers, and spotting the wee eyes of many of our younger students watching us — faces pressed against those large-windowed doors of our cafeteria through which I just skimmed moments before. Their wide eyes peer in as they watch and listen to us sing. I love the thought that these momentary slices of our faithfulness is on exhibit for these precious ones to discover and follow in their own lives. It is a window on my witness.
However, it is at that moment that I am very aware of how intentional my example is to them right then. How much more would my witness be throughout the rest of my day, if I pictured my students looking through a tangible window scrutinizing my words, action, and even my thoughts. Ouch! Would it be as pleasing to God if an opening was really there for people to inspect my day, especially those little children? How I wish a window, a material reminder, was present to keep me from laxity, knee-jerk reactions, or thoughtless words. But in a way there is. My students are always watching me, even if the strong physical window is not present; a spiritual one is. Day in and out, I need to remember that they are listening to the words I use– as if I am speaking a hymn. They are inspecting my dance with the mundane being played out before their eyes: how I react to their misbehaving, what I do when the internet is down, or I how I deal with having once again misplaced the latest grammar worksheet. (My mystery desk somehow becomes the Bermuda Triangle for papers that only moments before were organized, paper-clipped, and ready). Or how about when I get asked for the fourth time what page we are on in The Oresteia?
The burdens of being a Christian teacher are great. I pray for my students, sometimes alone, often times with them. I pray for myself. I work hard at preparing lessons that more so teach them how to think and not so much what to think. They tend toward the latter. It is easier for them and me. But we press on together. As a teacher in a classical school, I want to point them to goodness, beauty, and truth which are all contained in Christ. But if my witness is wishy-washy, if I am not willing to live up to the standard I set for them,then my pride and hypocrisy are more toxic that inspirational. I leave footprints that could lead not to God but a circle of confusion, or worse despair.
So on days when the worst things happen, when my students are not at their best, when I am far from where I know I ought to be, I also have a type of window that as a child I too peer through. On the other side of this window is the one witness of who God is and how I can have His strength, ability, direction, patience and love to do what I am called to do for His glory. I see Christ — who in Matthew 11:29 says “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” For when I lean on Christ, especially and intentionally in front of my students, I have left the best footprints of all…what to do when I am at the end of my rope, when I have sinned, and when I am weary.
So at the end of the day when that portfolio and computer bag feels ten pounds heavier than when I first carried it to my room that morning, when the fresh make-up and hairstyle of the day and the crisp clothing from morning have melted into the grime of life; I can look back at that day and smile satisfyingly because I have been a real example of what it means to be a Christian, a teacher, a friend, a child myself. I have in fact been to those kids a real window on my witness, not because I am great, but because He is.
Deserts Like Eden 