I Really Do Care

 Unbeknownst to me at the time,

My principal captured an image of me talking to one of my students last Friday night.

It’s one of my all-time favorite teaching photos.

 

I don’t remember what conversation I was having with the student in the picture.

I probably wouldn’t even remember having a conversation had the picture not been taken.

It was crazy on stage!

Around 100 students were standing there,

Happy, loud, excited, nervous, and everything in between.

They were waving at family members as if they hadn’t just seen them.

They were talking to one another as if they hadn’t seen one another hours before.

They were anxiously awaiting the moment that the program would begin—

The first program in over 2.5 years—

The first program that they will remember—

The program that we’d been working on since Day One—

The program that, hopefully, helped them find their singing voices again.

 

Yet in the midst of the craziness,

I evidently bent down to talk to a student face to face.

I didn’t plan the exchange.

I didn’t think to myself, “This would be a great photo op.”

I simply bent down to the student’s level—

To hear her, and

To see her—

Because she needed to talk to me.

 

Sometimes, I get so focused on controlling the chaos that easily ensues with children that I appear distant and unapproachable. This is odd to me because I know that my heart is about as welcoming and approachable as a heart comes. But someone has to be the maker and enforcer of rules and routines, and, strangely enough, over time, that person has become me. I’m not necessarily the cool teacher. I’m not the one who freely gives hugs or plays games or takes bubbles to car rider duty. Covid did a number on the hugging. I’m terrible at remembering how to play games. Bubbles create disorganization in the car rider line. Yet, I visualize the entire school every Sunday night and imagine Jesus and myself walking through it, dispelling darkness by emitting light, and I spend hours thinking about lessons that are engaging and world-opening for my students.

 

So this picture is so special to me because it captures what sometimes I fear gets lost—my heart.

 

Dear God: Through it all, may my heart be seen. And may my students and colleagues know that I really do hear them, see them, care about them, and love them. So much. Amen.