Lines

There are many days that go by that I wish my awkward teenage students would just sit down on the edge of their seats and selfishly drink in the words that I have to say. But not just take the words for what they are, but read in between the lines that will give a glimpse of my story. No, our story.

I wish they would read between the lines of a young 20-something girl who wakes up every day before the sun with a passion that she doesn't quite have figured out and goes to bed every night seemingly a failure, still unsure. But one thing she knows is that she wants to love consistently and be loved just the same, to have a family of 5 or 6, a devoted husband and a warm community to raise her children with, and most of all to understand the love and patience of the Savior.

I wish they'd read in between about the girl who fights their same battles of accepting and loving herself before others, trusting the power of prayer, standing up for what is truth, living out grace, seeking success, and understanding that success doesn't come from being perfect, but from investing into the imperfections.

I wish they could pick up those gaps where lie hidden accents and dynamics in between her lectures and their sports practices. The staccato of love that she so badly wants them to feel and own. Or that quick aging furrow she wears at night in between grading high stacks of assignments and Skype calls with a boy whom she wishes were nearer, and when she prays to be a tool instead of a hindrance. Maybe if they learned properly both Spanish and English they'd understand her strong desire to build relationships and share that love letter for the first time.

If only she could teach them how to read in between the lines.