My Envelopment as a Teacher, Part Three: Finding My Excellence

           That same year, as it turned out, I was needed to teach language arts, reading, writing, and spelling part-time in the fifth- and sixth-grade class. Paige and I had spent the summer bulking up the new library, so it was ready to go. I was her co-librarian, as well as—now—a teacher. I felt good actually about sharing that load. I wasn’t sure I could handle a full-time class. My subbing experiences had made me rather gun shy. It was decided that part of my duties would also include a part pull-out, part assist-in-the-classroom gig for fourth grade language arts.

I was somewhat amazed that Mr. Wallace had hired me, but I was grateful and definitely wanted to do my best. I poured myself into the curriculum, devising fun ways to spark the kids’ creativity and reading ahead in their novels (I think I had three different groups) so that I could write good higher-order thinking questions to expand their comprehension. I had the kids decorate soup cans, and once a week we’d do “Soup Can Spelling.” They’d save the words they’d missed in their cans for further review. I’d been given a chance to show my worth, and by golly—I wanted to be the best possible teacher I could be.

In 2006, all those fifth- and sixth-graders had moved on to other schools. There were no real plans in the works at that time for us to add middle school, and they wanted a long-term situation. I was enjoying doing library but a bit sad I wasn’t teaching. Still, I wanted to make a difference at CCS—it felt like the right place for me to be, and I’d certainly prayed for God’s help in all that I’d been involved in there thus far, which included overseeing the Young Authors program. I was happy doing what I was doing though. I knew Mr. Wallace’s confidence in me had grown—and that pleased me greatly. I was going to miss him. It was at the end of the 2005-2006 school year that he had announced to us his intention to administrate for the Christian school he’d worked at before, as their middle school principal.

Without the funds at that time to hire another full-time principal, the school board took charge of hiring and overseeing the teachers. Toward the end of October, the first-grade teacher, Monique, and myself were called into a meeting with the board chairman and another board member. There were to be some significant staffing changes—one of those would be fairly immediate and would necessitate a teacher taking over a second- and third-grade class until Christmas break. But the fourth- and fifth-grade teacher would not be returning after Christmas break. So after Christmas break…Monique was to inherit the second-graders, and I would be needed to teach grades three-through-five! There was palpable shock in the room, and Monique voiced the question that was on both our minds, “Do we have a choice?” What she meant, in short, was—is there another way? But there simply wasn’t. The numbers wouldn’t allow for new hires at the time, so in some ways it was a blessing in disguise—but at the time, it didn’t seem like it.

I had flashbacks of my “failure” with a three-grade class before. How on earth could I do this? But at the very same time I was doubting myself, something rose up in me—and it wasn’t of me. God seemed to be speaking gently to my spirit, My grace is sufficient for you.

That first day, I had a parent volunteer to write one group’s spelling words on the back board. After she’d written several, I realized that I was having her write the wrong words. Things were definitely in disarray because, under the circumstances, I’d not had a chance to preview anything. I experienced a panicky moment, but then I simply took charge and proceeded onward, explaining to the kids that it would take some time for us to settle into a new routine. It was as if God gave me the right words for the moment, as well as giving me peace about this new situation. I had no idea what the next week—or even the next hour—would bring, but I was okay with it. And that was so unlike me. In the natural, I was heap of worrisome energy, but in my spirit…I knew God had the situation under control.

As Christmas break drew to a close, I became anxious. We had lost three of our third-graders and, with the switch, four of our fifth-graders as well. This left me with a class of six fourth-graders, two fifth-graders (one of them being my daughter, Kalina), and only one third-grader. It seemed like a manageable number, but I knew that I’d still have three sets of lesson plans to do for many subjects. I enlisted as much parent volunteer help as I could. But I didn’t have anyone assisting during math time, which proved to be the hardest to orchestrate. I was trying really hard, but I was concerned whether the kids were actually learning.

And aside from learning…this was a class to be reckoned with. Made up of a majority of, shall we say, spirited individuals, it was a challenge to keep them well-focused and well-behaved. Several playground rules were broken by my class that year, and dodgeball was banned because of them. If there was a line, they seemed willing to cross it. They weren’t bad, but they were a determined and push-the-envelope kind of bunch. I had to find ways to connect with them. One of those was music (Toby Mac was becoming popular at the time); another was humor. I was, by nature, a grace-giver, but I had to have clear limits with this group. And Kalina wasn’t altogether thrilled that I called her out when she displayed the wrong kinds of behavior. There was a bit of a head-butting battle that ensued between the two of us. She was a leader in the class, so there was no way I could let it slip by. Still, I didn’t like having to crack down.

By the end of the year, I’d grown to love each one of my students very much. I remember crying as I shared a poem on promotion night. It was a pivotal year. With no middle school in sight, even our fourth-graders wouldn’t be returning. There were awards given to those who’d been with the school the longest, and each student received a brick which read, “You’ll always be a part of our Cornerstone.”

The following year, I was called upon to teach a second-and-third grade class. I looked forward to a full year with the same group of kids, as I’d only ever taught for half a year. This too was a small but challenging group—and I had to push some outside their comfort zones and find alternative outlets for others. I became keenly attuned to individual needs, strengths, and struggles. I wasn’t always sure I was doing the right thing, but one thing I knew God had put on my heart—and that was to love these kids. I was excited when He directed me creatively to choose projects that they liked, such as the “create-a-planet” project.

One of the best things I decided to do was Operation Flat Stanley. Flat Stanley is the main character in a series of books by Jeff Brown. He becomes as flat as an envelope one night when a bulletin board falls on him. He finds that in this state he can fit in places he couldn’t before and even serve as a kite for his brother. And best of all—he can be mailed to visit his friends in other places. Our Flat Stanleys traveled to other countries, as well as different parts of the U.S. We kept a pin board of the world on which we marked with green pins the places he went and with red pins the places from which other Stanleys were sent to us. It was educational and fun.

It was a growing year for me as a teacher, as I had many different levels of students within the two grades I was teaching. And it was a rough year emotionally, because our son, Josiah, was struggling and we didn’t know why. He was only a first-grader, but something was clearly amiss. Once it became clear he could no longer continue at school, I was forced to resign—that was February.

God, in His grace, provided for my absence. Melanie Pfaff, who was our office administrator at the time but had done a lot of teaching in different forums, was able to take over the majority of the class day while Karri Bauldree, our P.E. teacher took on math; it was a strong subject for her. Since the kids already had an established relationship with these two wonderful ladies, the transition wasn’t as drastic as it could have been otherwise. I felt badly though—I had come so close to getting a whole year of teaching under my belt—and I missed my students from the moment I knew I must resign. But my family came first.

Josiah needed me more than ever. We spent the next few months with me trying to home school and trying even harder to understand the strange outbursts I knew weren’t who my boy truly was inside. We had heard of a local center that did testing for neurological issues—after testing, it was clear that there was some dysregulation, probably stemming from some steps that were skipped in his development as an infant. This could be largely corrected. But it was going to be expensive.

I sent out letters explaining the situation, and God provided generous donors to fund the necessary treatment. I knew that if I could just make it through this school year, things would get easier. Josiah began the program in June, which was three hours a day, five days a week. A few weeks into the program, we were noticing marked changes in his behavior and response to parental requests. His brain was literally being remapped. There were never any academic concerns with Josiah—his brain just wasn’t receiving messages correctly in terms of responses to outward influences, which included injury (for things that would make most kids scream in pain, he would barely whimper), changes in routine (we had to learn to alert him with a heads-up for any changes that were coming up), and cause-and-effect situations.

Cornerstone was absorbed by Willamette Christian that year. In August, I began looking for work with WCS. I knew there wasn’t anything available on the Keizer campus, where I’d made a home for myself over the past eight years, so I checked in with the south campus in Turner. In fact, they were in need of a middle school Bible teacher. I interviewed and felt it went well. The position was offered to me. Nervous to accept the job, I talked to a couple friends; they encouraged me to take it.

From the get-go, I could tell that these students had been through too many Bible teachers. They were prepared to test me…and I wasn’t prepared for the test. As a result, I tried to keep them busy and in hindsight, probably asked too much of them academically. But I believed them to be bright and capable. What I found I wasn’t really able to do was bridge the relational gap and gain their trust. This too was some sort of training ground for me, for in the days ahead I would feel just as overwhelmed in a different facet of life.

In September, the center Josiah attended in the afternoons unexpectedly closed. I had to quickly figure out what would happen with him. In meeting with the principal, some numbers were worked out so that he could attend half-days at WCS. And it was a marvelous success.

But in October, things went awry. My mother took a fall, and my dad couldn’t get her up, nor figure out what to do. Finally, a neighbor friend called the ambulance. She had severe edema in both legs and was forced to go into a care center. My dad, who’d been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease in September, obviously needed someone to take charge of his welfare. My mom had been the one to compensate for his decreasing mental abilities and tell him what to do—to keep him safe.

We brought him to our home, but he couldn’t really be left alone all day. Since my job was in the afternoons, I had to drop my dad off in Albany with the part-time caregiver. Then I’d go to work, Josiah would go to school, then we’d go get my dad afterward. This went on for several weeks. Work wasn’t getting any easier, I had a lot to focus on with Josiah (while trying not to neglect my other two kids or husband), and having my dad there was like having another kid to look after. He’d get lost in the house sometimes at night on his way to the bathroom. I had to make sure he took his medication at the right times. There was just a lot to remember that I wasn’t used to having to track.

The end of October, we placed my father in an Alzheimer’s facility in Dallas, one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. But I knew it was important for both my parents to see me regularly. Unfortunately, my mom was still in the facility in Albany. I was doing a lot of extra driving to see both parents and advocate for them. Plus, I was the one who had to take them to appointments and such. And I was working my part-time job (that by now I felt I was failing at) and trying to support/be involved in Josiah’s school experience. There just wasn’t much left of me to go around, and I could tell my family was starting to suffer for it—and I felt that I must be on the verge of some kind of breakdown. But I kept going.

Until one day toward the beginning of November. I stopped at the principal’s office between classes. And I cried. Pastor Jerry Huhn, our administrator, was so sympathetic. I told him all that was going on with my folks and of my classroom struggles—I remember saying, “Something’s got to give—and I think it has to be my job.” Pastor Jerry was nothing but supportive and understanding.

At that point, Tod Scheler, who had previously taught Bible at the school, was in a position where he both wanted and needed to come back—the timing could not have been more perfect for him. And I felt a great sense of relief. Perhaps, I reasoned, I was just warming the seat for a while.

By January, Josiah was able to start attending school full-time. We were so thankful for all the progress he’d made and how God had orchestrated everything. In February, my mom was able to be placed in an excellent care facility in Dallas. I would pick my dad up from his facility, then we’d go and visit Mom together. Things were finally falling into place—but I wondered if I’d ever set foot in a classroom again—except as an occasional sub for WCS.

The following year, I worked as a paid librarian at the Keizer campus. It felt good to be back “home.” The teachers there were my friends and had been a great support system for me through the previous year’s trials. My family had lost both our home and business—as well as a van, but that seemed like a minor thing comparatively. I served in other capacities while I was at the school, on a volunteer basis, including Young Authors. Young Authors is a major undertaking in which all the elementary students write their own books, which are judged for awards. It culminates in a big day of workshops at the end of the year—put on by various authors, drama and music professionals, puppeteers, and the like—it’s a massive immersion in the arts. And it requires a lot of time to put together. I was definitely back in my element.

For the next three years, I had the privilege of teaching language arts pull-outs for the classes with multiple grade levels. My son was able to rejoin his old friends at the Keizer campus during 2009, so I got to be his language teacher for a couple years. I also continued doing library and Young Authors. During that time, our school’s name changed to Crosshill Christian School, and our principal, Pastor Jerry, retired after 35-plus years of service in Christian education. I sensed the Lord speaking to me about change as well.

I knew I was a writer—from the time I was in the third grade. God was telling me that I needed to take the next year off and write. It seemed ridiculous, even foolhardy, in the natural—but I believed with all my heart that it was the right thing for me to do. Teaching language arts and writing had been a dream for me—seeing the kids’ abilities grow and develop was a joy like no other. It would not be easy to give up.

The relationships I’d built with the kids were priceless to me, and I had the honor of knowing that my fellow teachers respected me and saw me as “a real teacher,” even an excellent one. In fact, in 2007 and 2011 I received the “Wings of Excellence” Award for teaching. For so long, I hadn’t even thought of myself as a good teacher—now my peers were saying I had excelled.

I reflected on all that had transpired up to that point, the personal hardships, the horrors of failed lessons and thankless students—which in no way compared to the blessings I’d received along the way. I learned how to improve in my classroom management skills and come up with systems that worked. I was able to take my classes further than I’d envisioned academically—we even produced a school newspaper, The Gliding Gazette. I had gotten to venture “outside the box” in ways that many teachers never get to. I got to show the kids that the English language could truly be fun. And they had shown me how fun—how incredibly rewarding— it could be to teach in the area I felt most passionate about.

My heart is still in the classroom, even though it’s also in the pages of my yet-to-be-published written works. I don’t believe I could have done all that I did with just any classes in just any school; it was a unique opportunity that has given me hope for the future, confidence as an instructor, and gratitude for God’s ability to continue to pull me up and carry me through in the most difficult seasons. Though I developed as a teacher in many ways, it was being enveloped in God’s grace that caused it all to be possible.

I still don’t know when I may walk through my own classroom door again—but I know one thing to be true—I will always be a teacher—it’s part of who I am, how I’m made, and what I love. I pray that if you are a teacher or are considering it, you will allow the Lord to encompass your every move and that you will be open to Him doing the unexpected; that you will embrace the goodness He is sure to bring out of your hardest trials—and look back to see how fully and gently His love enveloped you.