Saying Goodbye
Life has been very busy recently, so much so that I haven't had the time to write about it. I finished my practicum (a tremendous thought) and returned to my house and college. I will be honest and say that although practicum was difficult, I grew to love my life as a teacher. I discovered that I can do a lot of things I once thought impossible, such as get up earlier than 7:00 am and actually enjoy the rest of my day. I also realized I have a lot more self control than I used to. That's a gift from God, and I think my kids gave me lots of opportunities to exercise it.
I lost a lot of self-consciousness, and fear of doing things that might make me look silly. Playing with kids really does a lot for that. They don't care how funny you look as long as you are there with them. I played tag, ran obstacle courses, played tug of war, arm wrestled and played chess with my boys at lunch (lost in all cases), wore my pajamas and slippers on Pajama Day and played basketball in them, and played four square. I even crawled through the mini tires on the play fire truck in the playground just because the kids wanted me to try. They taught me to have swing races and sabotaged me by grabbing my swing and making me slow down when I was winning. They learned that I'm very easy to scare and made it a point to hide behind doors and walls any time I left the room or whenever I got to school in the morning, just to make me scream. They loved to play with my long braids, and pull to see how much pain I could take. The boys raced me in math to see if they could work problems faster than I could and still get them right. Near the end of the semester they started getting them right more than I did, sadly. I told them that my math brain shorts out when I'm tired.
My one girl was so intent on making sure that I graduated; she was willing to do anything to help me graduate so I could come back and keep teaching there. The one child I had to discipline the most ended up saying she wanted to be a teacher.
And yet, amidst the joys of playing with the kids, I've seen their sorrows.
I can't even describe the pain I felt when I thought about the tragedies thise kids have faced already. This one's parents have each divorced and remarried two or three times...his mother has been with teenage boyfriends. This one's parents also divorced and his little sister battles serious asthma every day. That one just found out yesterday that his parents are divorcing. I started crying when I heard that. Her mother died when she was seven and her dad has been in and out of jail. Thw girl's grandmother absent raised her. Her best friend died, maybe the only one who actually seemed to love her. This child was the hardest to discipline because she literally had no motivation to change. She was so damaged that she didn't even care what you took away or what consequence you gave her. Thw only way she had found to cope was to lie about nearly everything and just take care of herself through being sneaky. The only way I was able to reach her was through being a friend and showing that I cared about her. (And being consistent about giving consequences for misbehavior). And she loved me. The only student whose parents were still together was sad because his brother was gone. His goal in life was to see his family together. As I drove home from school, pondering the sadness and confusion each of these innocent children was suffering on a daily basis, my heart broke. I don't think I've ever cried so hard as when I asked God, "Why?
"Why do they have to go through this pain? They don't even understand. What can I do to make it better?"
It still hurts to think about it. I never really understood the horror of sin until I saw how it damages the innocent.
I'll never forget the teacher who took me under her wing and made my stay there so much better. The only who became my friend and who cried with me over the kids' situations. She showed me what it is to love with your heart and your mind.
I remember coming home to Joyce and Donna who couldn't understand why I had to cook such exotic food. For them, cornbread, chicken and pie was good enough. They still wanted my recipe for naan bread when I left, though. : ) I got picked on for being too thin, for cooking strange vegan food and for not knowing how to do simple things like read the label on every piece of clothing and follow the washing directions. I was told I didn't know how to cook, how to clean, or do anything other than teach. And they still thought I wasn't working enough; that I should go look for a job. It was difficult coming home to crash from a rough day at school only to be told to get up off the bed, that I couldn't take a nap becaus I wouldn't sleep at night.
But we got through it. They learned to respect my choices and I learned not to take their teasing so seriously. On the morning I left, Joyce said sorrowfully, "Well...it's going to be an empty house." They will miss me; the one who apparently banged pots and pans loudly and yet was able to sneak around the house without making a sound. The one who couldn't stand to watch NCIS because of the violence and blood, and who couldn't refrain from making fun of the soap opera and commercials and other shows. The one who didn't care to spend money on makeup. That girl who was in front of her computer almost 24/7. I think they will miss me. And I miss them too. I'll always be grateful for their willingness to house me.
But the little 1-4 graders are the ones that really got me. Jasmine came and wrapped her arms around my waist one morning. Looking up with sad green eyes, she asked, "Miss Raquel, will you come back?"
I told her I would try to.
Kambree wanted to be in my wedding, should I ever have one. Michael leaned his head against my side and sighed, "Why do you have to leave?"
I couldn't answer him as I hugged him up against me. How can you explain the concept of saying goodbye to a child?
And I remembered suddenly the children in Thailand asking the same question. Moo Koh Pah had squatted down in front of me and looked me directly in the eyes, "Teachah, why you leave?"
I had had to run and lock myself in the bathroom to hide my uncontrollable crying. It's a literal physical pain in the heart. I don't understand either, Moo Koh Paw. I mean, I know why I had to leave, but I don't understand why it has to hurt so much.
My sister just left for Rwanda to do a short-term mission trip. The day she returns to the States, she flies back out to Lebanon for the summer. I won't get to see her until August, and may not even hear from her until then. I cried again, realizing the reality of distance and separation.
I haven't cried so much in a long time as I have this semester, but I guess that means that I have learned to love in a deeper way. Love hurts.
And I can see now that I have a problem with saying goodbye. It hurts so much that I tend to try to skip it. I would rather just disappear than have to face someone I may not see again for a while. I never learned how to say goodbye and process the concept. So I just leaned to avoid it.
And I don't want my kids to do that. As I drove away from my precious fifth and seventh graders, I determined that I will learn to love sooner, to commit fully to the people I am with, and to teach my next kids how to say goodbye with thankfulness and hope. Getting attached is not the problem; leaving is. And I more fully understand now how God must feel about the separation that sin puts between us. If my heart breaks to leave my students who I really only just began to love, I can't imagine how God must feel when He sees one of His children choose to be lost forever.
Talk about pain. And that's why I love being with kids. I want to connect them to Jesus so that they can be with Him forever. That's the only hope we have of being together forever.
No more goodbyes. No more pain, confusion and unanswered questions. No more tears.
Only joy.
I lost a lot of self-consciousness, and fear of doing things that might make me look silly. Playing with kids really does a lot for that. They don't care how funny you look as long as you are there with them. I played tag, ran obstacle courses, played tug of war, arm wrestled and played chess with my boys at lunch (lost in all cases), wore my pajamas and slippers on Pajama Day and played basketball in them, and played four square. I even crawled through the mini tires on the play fire truck in the playground just because the kids wanted me to try. They taught me to have swing races and sabotaged me by grabbing my swing and making me slow down when I was winning. They learned that I'm very easy to scare and made it a point to hide behind doors and walls any time I left the room or whenever I got to school in the morning, just to make me scream. They loved to play with my long braids, and pull to see how much pain I could take. The boys raced me in math to see if they could work problems faster than I could and still get them right. Near the end of the semester they started getting them right more than I did, sadly. I told them that my math brain shorts out when I'm tired.
My one girl was so intent on making sure that I graduated; she was willing to do anything to help me graduate so I could come back and keep teaching there. The one child I had to discipline the most ended up saying she wanted to be a teacher.
And yet, amidst the joys of playing with the kids, I've seen their sorrows.
I can't even describe the pain I felt when I thought about the tragedies thise kids have faced already. This one's parents have each divorced and remarried two or three times...his mother has been with teenage boyfriends. This one's parents also divorced and his little sister battles serious asthma every day. That one just found out yesterday that his parents are divorcing. I started crying when I heard that. Her mother died when she was seven and her dad has been in and out of jail. Thw girl's grandmother absent raised her. Her best friend died, maybe the only one who actually seemed to love her. This child was the hardest to discipline because she literally had no motivation to change. She was so damaged that she didn't even care what you took away or what consequence you gave her. Thw only way she had found to cope was to lie about nearly everything and just take care of herself through being sneaky. The only way I was able to reach her was through being a friend and showing that I cared about her. (And being consistent about giving consequences for misbehavior). And she loved me. The only student whose parents were still together was sad because his brother was gone. His goal in life was to see his family together. As I drove home from school, pondering the sadness and confusion each of these innocent children was suffering on a daily basis, my heart broke. I don't think I've ever cried so hard as when I asked God, "Why?
"Why do they have to go through this pain? They don't even understand. What can I do to make it better?"
It still hurts to think about it. I never really understood the horror of sin until I saw how it damages the innocent.
I'll never forget the teacher who took me under her wing and made my stay there so much better. The only who became my friend and who cried with me over the kids' situations. She showed me what it is to love with your heart and your mind.
I remember coming home to Joyce and Donna who couldn't understand why I had to cook such exotic food. For them, cornbread, chicken and pie was good enough. They still wanted my recipe for naan bread when I left, though. : ) I got picked on for being too thin, for cooking strange vegan food and for not knowing how to do simple things like read the label on every piece of clothing and follow the washing directions. I was told I didn't know how to cook, how to clean, or do anything other than teach. And they still thought I wasn't working enough; that I should go look for a job. It was difficult coming home to crash from a rough day at school only to be told to get up off the bed, that I couldn't take a nap becaus I wouldn't sleep at night.
But we got through it. They learned to respect my choices and I learned not to take their teasing so seriously. On the morning I left, Joyce said sorrowfully, "Well...it's going to be an empty house." They will miss me; the one who apparently banged pots and pans loudly and yet was able to sneak around the house without making a sound. The one who couldn't stand to watch NCIS because of the violence and blood, and who couldn't refrain from making fun of the soap opera and commercials and other shows. The one who didn't care to spend money on makeup. That girl who was in front of her computer almost 24/7. I think they will miss me. And I miss them too. I'll always be grateful for their willingness to house me.
But the little 1-4 graders are the ones that really got me. Jasmine came and wrapped her arms around my waist one morning. Looking up with sad green eyes, she asked, "Miss Raquel, will you come back?"
I told her I would try to.
Kambree wanted to be in my wedding, should I ever have one. Michael leaned his head against my side and sighed, "Why do you have to leave?"
I couldn't answer him as I hugged him up against me. How can you explain the concept of saying goodbye to a child?
And I remembered suddenly the children in Thailand asking the same question. Moo Koh Pah had squatted down in front of me and looked me directly in the eyes, "Teachah, why you leave?"
I had had to run and lock myself in the bathroom to hide my uncontrollable crying. It's a literal physical pain in the heart. I don't understand either, Moo Koh Paw. I mean, I know why I had to leave, but I don't understand why it has to hurt so much.
My sister just left for Rwanda to do a short-term mission trip. The day she returns to the States, she flies back out to Lebanon for the summer. I won't get to see her until August, and may not even hear from her until then. I cried again, realizing the reality of distance and separation.
I haven't cried so much in a long time as I have this semester, but I guess that means that I have learned to love in a deeper way. Love hurts.
And I can see now that I have a problem with saying goodbye. It hurts so much that I tend to try to skip it. I would rather just disappear than have to face someone I may not see again for a while. I never learned how to say goodbye and process the concept. So I just leaned to avoid it.
And I don't want my kids to do that. As I drove away from my precious fifth and seventh graders, I determined that I will learn to love sooner, to commit fully to the people I am with, and to teach my next kids how to say goodbye with thankfulness and hope. Getting attached is not the problem; leaving is. And I more fully understand now how God must feel about the separation that sin puts between us. If my heart breaks to leave my students who I really only just began to love, I can't imagine how God must feel when He sees one of His children choose to be lost forever.
Talk about pain. And that's why I love being with kids. I want to connect them to Jesus so that they can be with Him forever. That's the only hope we have of being together forever.
No more goodbyes. No more pain, confusion and unanswered questions. No more tears.
Only joy.
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