Drive

Rarely do I ponder how little my friends and family know me since I have begun teaching in this Northwestern rain forest. But today as I drove myself home after school I reflected on my poor blogging tendencies and I wondered if anyone misses the going-ons from this side. I can say that many days seem very similar.  And I wouldn't be the least bit offended if nobody took an interest. Class, lunch, class, gym, dinner, grade, bed. The scenes are in slow motion and repeat, yet somehow 5 months have been thrown into my lap.

I'm learning so much. How grateful I am. Really. It's always fun to learn. The more I learn the more I can teach. And believe me I love having things to teach. You can never have enough.

I'm learning a lot about teaching. Freshmen love stories, especially when they're personalized. But they must pretend it's a waste of their time so they can be swaggy. (But not secretly gay). Freshmen and Seniors (and faculty) all want the same thing. They want to know that you care and why you care. They just express themselves differently. They want to hear stories of people they admire discovering themselves, overcoming hardships, falling in love. Stories told with honesty, in the raw, no fluff. They ask the daring questions like, Why me? Why God? What if? I have learned they want approval. They want to laugh through the scowling. They want to please. They want to make me laugh too. They step up. They believe when I try and they try when I believe.

As I was driving and thinking about others' thoughts about my thoughts I quickly became distracted with the houses decorated in lights, both inside and outside each house. The glitter of trees peaking through windows are my favorite. There's something about having a decorated tree in a corner of the house. It shouts to have children and cats playing in its branches that are splattered with homemade ornaments from proud school kids. I want a tree with lights, ornaments, and homemade garland, but it just doesn't seem to fit in this kid-less, cat-less, quiet little house. Someday. Just not this time.

With those thoughts escaping I've taken a turn past the houses and on to my own street where I ponder again. Not about the trees, or cats but the person with the dreams. My dreams are crowded and hyperactive. Somedays I appreciate my rambunctious and spontaneous dreaming, while other days I sulk in my own confusion and instability. Secretly, I dream of moving back to India. I dream of being a highly influential role model for girls. I dream of raising my family in Argentina for sometime. I dream of teaching my students how to find God's voice. I dream of publishing a book on creative lesson planning. I dream of forgiving. I dream of hearing that I am enough. I dream of adventuring new mountains and more foreign countries. I dream of waking up every morning next to another daring dreamer. I dream of learning another language. And finally I dream about the day when everything I've ever dreamt is irrelevant and all I desire is to sit at my Savior's feet experiencing a perfect love.

Oh, the days when solitude can pick apart a woman's heart and keep it locked up without a pry. And oh, the lessons it serves. I pray it all will serve when the brokenness needs repairing. When the hurt is too deep. Or when the only peace is the beating of a heart.