Discovering Bookends: Why Rehearsing the Past can Bolster Hope for the Future

A sleepless night. Above the darkness the ceiling stares back at me coldly, offers no counsel or consolation. Mamma had asked me, So Daughter, do you have any fears? Yes, Yes I do. I number them. I am afraid of confinement. I am afraid of not getting [any or enough] exercise. I am afraid of the Loneliness. I am afraid of potential relationship tensions with roommates and co-teachers and students and administrators. I am afraid of shaming my hosts or dishonoring Jesus through my own cultural ignorance… But these are not the fears that surround me tonight.

What steals sleep away is the fear of my own inaptitude. Perhaps failure awaits me in a foreign land. What if I totally bomb it? What if these students are way beyond my ability to teach? What if I get in the classroom and have nothing to say? What if I can’t plan lessons and grade papers and have no clear vision of where I’m taking these students?

And on and on the fears march, encircle, and besiege me. I am prisoner of war to these fears.

Then, like a mediator, the power of memory intervenes. Cease fire.

I think about California, a pleasant memory. I recall my experiences there- very strategic ones God had prepared for me. Each one a rock to plant my feet on. I replant my feet on each one, retracing the steps, remembering…

Tutoring at the Arab American Learning Center (who knew that Sacramento had such a huge Iraqi refugee population? that my church volunteered with the school aged kids there? that my presence would be welcomed?). For once each week I get to be the minority, a foreign tongue invades my hearing, and Middle Eastern children teach me who they are and what they value…

Global Pipeline, a ‘worker’ internship through a local church that envelopes me into a rich community of like-minded friends. We learn Jesus stories from the Gospels. We read and discuss the Qu ‘ran, visit a mosque, and make friends amongst our Muslim neighbors. This community graphs me into their family through laughter, prayer, and quality time…

Teaching Sunday school, way out in the country, I get face time with young people in a small setting. My tiny flock challenges me with their purposeful theological inquiries. I co-labor with God the Holy Spirit to teach us from John’s book…

Substitute teaching, my first real experience in the classroom with authority. How God had prospered that chapter! He gave me favor with students, administrators, and fellow teachers.

I muse on subbing, an Adventure!

I taught in the ‘burbs. I taught in the city: in elite Sacramento communities, and in shady ones. I taught at a charter school, at fundamental schools, at mediocre schools, at handicapped and emotionally disturbed schools, at alternative schools, and at blue-ribbon schools.

I taught Kindergarten (oh, terror! and, oh! Miracle! and, oh, experiment proving the grace of God!), I taught seniors, and I taught everything in-between.

I read stories, ran laps, pedaled bribing candies and awarded with fruit bars. I danced. I played board games and DVDs, walked with and heard troubled teens. I glared, laughed, threatened, disciplined, and learned why some people drink after work. I made a list of “Why Jesus is Better than Substitute Teachers.”

I earned a nickname (Mis sMackdown), earned praise, and felt the sting of failure. I was assaulted with criticism, with hugs, and with students’ encouraging hand-drawn papers. I sent students outside, dismissed them to the principal’s office, left good reports, and left my jacket.

I often made a single outfit last for a week (because each day I frequented a new school).

I taught P.E. and French, Algebra, English, History, and Art. I taught Spanish, study hall, and science. I taught Government, Econ, Music, and Music…

M-U-S-I-C! My thoughts slow, and on my bed a flood of knowing suddenly sweeps over my body. It’s an assaulting physical sensation of astonishment and peace, giddiness and calm: I am remembering that my substitute teaching career literally began and ended. With Music.

Tenth and Eleventh grade Music, Western Sierra Collegiate Academy. At Trader Joe’s the night before I’m rehearsing with my coworkers what to say to these students. They don’t need to know that I’m green, that I’m terrified, that I literally have no idea what I’m doing. Let them think I’m a professional substitute. But I will be straight up with them about one thing: I know nothing about Music. I’ll tell them that today, they are the Teacher and I am the Pupil; they will school me in Music. Kids like that- people like that- when you’re transparent about your limitations. And they like being asked for help. And so I am, and they do. And they sing me through a fabulous first day of school. A strong and satisfying start to my substitute career.

Months later, last week of school, at Cottage Elementary I am filling in for the long-term sub who had been covering for music teacher. Kindergarteners clap, stomp, and chirp their way through class (yes, with hand motions!). Third and fifth graders proudly bellow songs for Years’ End celebration. First and second graders faithfully warble their repertoire. With their songs my career ends, music reverberating from classroom to car, cheering me onto my next adventure…

From under my silent ceiling I consider this, the musical bookends of my subbing career: God saying, Daughter, I began and ended your teacher training with a song. Same as I was in those details, I am in the ones before you. Take confidence, take heart. I like singing and this Song I have for you is a good one. Fast turn on the light and study this from Zephaniah’s book:

On that day they will say to Jerusalem, “Do not fear, O Zion; do not let your hands hang limp. The Lord your God is with you, He is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing” (3:16-17).

God in the details, God bookending that significant Chapter with verses and song. I relax. This same God, singing over me then, sings over me now. He will sing over me in Kurdistan the same. Because He’s that kind of God, taking delight. A gasp and a whisper, Thank You, Jesus, and fears retreat as sleep invites.