Tag: Teaching

Bittersweet Endings

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I sit at my desk, attempting to grade language tests, and my mind keeps wandering.

The meeting with the staff and school board starts in 10 minutes… but this is my last board meeting.

These language tests are the second last ones I need to grade.

The little chalkboard hanging beside my calendar states the truth that’s starting to sink in: 19 more days of school.

19 more days of responding to the name “Miss Wideman,” and after the last day, I won’t be called that anymore.

It’s been almost 6 years since my very scared younger self toured this school as a potential teacher.

Now, these walls feel like home. My things are scattered in various cabinets and shelves.

Memories are everywhere, made with students, and with co teachers. Under the stage. In the basement. The large roots of the maple tree by the little diamond. The staff room and worn out couch. And of course, my classroom.

This classroom where I sat in my office chair a few Augusts ago… rolled to the middle of the empty room, and slowly spun a full circle, looking at the space that I was supposed to organize.

Here I am, a few weeks close to packing up all my things, removing every personal item from the desk, and walking out the door.

I confess, I don’t know how I’m going to do it.

Yet, even with all the nostalgia that makes my heart ache to stay, I’m confident this is the right thing to do. There’s an open door God is calling me to walk through, and I’m truly excited about the VS term I’ve committed to.

But if it brings a few tears to my eyes when I close the door and leave behind my teacher identity… I’m ok with that.

It just means I’ve been part of something very precious for the past few years. I know that I have.

My heart will need to adjust to the vacancy that will be left by the absence of everyone that’s been part of my teaching world – students, parents, co teachers.

When I look at all the lasts that are beginning, I honestly don’t know how I’m going to do it…

And I’m glad.

I’m glad that I’m not just waiting to leave, because that means I have something to live for today.

I’m not in the next season yet, so right here is where I’m called to thrive, for 19 more school days with my students.

I get to enjoy the amusing lunch conversations, the deep questions of young minds, and be surrounded by the energy of 23 preteens for another while.

And if life can be this beautiful right here, where I am called to serve today, I am confident that the next season will be just as full of purpose.

God will fill my heart and hands with the new things that are hidden in the next season… when I get there.

So as I feel every emotion that’s stirred in this season of bittersweet endings, I trust God to lead me into the unknowns of the next chapter.

And instead of clinging too tightly to yesterday, or looking ahead to tomorrow, I can inhale and exhale.

The gift of today.

His grace in all things.

God, faithful in every change.

We All Have Our Moments

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I had a few today.

Moments, that is.

The kind where you really want to just pause and exhale – but there’s not actually time.

This need to maintain full speed functionality was caused by a combination of paint, art projects at various stages, and twenty-four students, one of whom had joined our class for the first time.

Art class.

It always looks innocent on my planner, it stays organized as the supplies are gathered and neatly placed on my back counter – but soon after that, any semblance of order fades.

My carefully planned strategy is replaced by one that is summed up in three words: Get. It. Done.

Okay, not quite that bad. I do have a strategy, but it tends to create a bustling vibe, because it involves delegation – and therefore multiple things are happening simultaneously.

Student volunteers move desks, pass out brushes, pour paint into palettes, and fill cups with water.

At the end of art class, they collect brushes and palettes, clean the aforementioned items, wash and replace the desks, and return all art supplies to the supply room.

It’s streamlined. It’s efficient. It’s beautiful.

And it’s somehow, always, crazy.

There’s no avoiding that feeling when you have a large group in a small space multi-tasking together.

I find it works best when I don’t attempt to do anything, but simply walk through the room, giving instructions, and delegating tasks as rapidly as the hands go up.

Why can’t I accomplish anything at the same time as my helpful students?

Because I am already well-occupied trying to keep my mouth caught up with my ears.

Yes, that’s right.

The Lord blessed me with two ears, but only one larynx, and I am therefore physically capable of hearing my name from multiple students at once, but only responding to them individually.

Today, I looked at the three who had each approached me from opposite directions and voiced my name at about the same time. And the two who instantly said it again because I had continued my mid-sentence instructions to the first.

And I shared with them this fascinating bit of news, that I’m physically incapable of answering them all simultaneously. They were highly amused, had fun pretending to be duly amazed, and probably thought I’m going crazy.

I wonder the same thing, sometimes.

I mispronounced the new student’s name after having specifically told my class before her arrival which pronunciation she prefers.

I apologized to her; she was not bothered, just noted that I had it correct originally and got it wrong in the middle of art class.

From across the room a student soothingly said, with a teasing twinkle in his eye, “It’s ok, we all have our moments.”

After we had finished laughing, I said, “Well, I think my brain has a few more moments when it’s trying to juggle a lot at once.”

Another student said, “We hear your name a lot in an art class. Do you ever think of that?”

(In 6 years of teaching? Believe it or not, yes, I’ve noticed. At times, I’ve imagined what it would be like to get a legal name change so I could hear something else. Or better yet, a name jar to draw from so I have constant variety. “For today’s art class, my name will be…” The students could even take turns pulling the name each week. Children love that sort of thing. Hey, they could just make up the – never mind. Scary thought. Imagination, we are stopping right there.)

I didn’t say all that. Instead I replied like a nice, calm teacher, that yes, I have noticed. It’s okay though, I enjoy art with all of you. I hope someday you each have the opportunity to paint with 24 students.

I should have known that technical 6th graders would have an immediate giggling response. “We are painting with 24 students, though, and my brain is managing fine!”

They know they can tease me and that I can return it. (I’m thankful for relationships with students that have healthy respect alongside good, friendly banter in a school day!)

To this I answered, “That is true! I have an idea. How about every time someone needs help or has a question, I would still answer them but they’d say your name instead of mine?”

My teasing 6th grader was speechless as he envisioned that scenario.

Suddenly, he burst out in horror, “I couldn’t handle that! If that happened, I would LEAVE!”

Well.

Maybe I’m doing okay after all.

I might not always feel perfectly calm in the hustle and bustle, but I can say that I have never decided to just LEAVE an art class.

I have made tea and clutched my mug as though it is the last link to my sanity as I walk from desk to desk. I have mentally envisioned myself juggling and tried to lean into the rhythm of it. Often I hum slow, gentle choral music to contrast the fast pace of the students I am existing among.

But I have never, ever, simply walked out the door and left the premises.

Not even when they apparently had named the paint palette Sam, and stood mournfully around the bucket where Sam was to be washed with12 other unnamed palettes.

A general wailing was heard from the back of the room as the student in charge washed Sam’s colours from him. “Goodbye, Sam, good byyyyyyyye!”

Don’t ask why.

They’re in 6th grade, I know.

But we ALL have our moments.

Christ – My Center in the Chaos

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It’s Monday morning, grey and foggy, the air is damp and mild, and everything is a tad squishy.

But the trees are coated in beautiful white, a mysterious beauty encrusting their stark bareness against the grey sky.

And here in my classroom, all 23 of my people are working with me in our humming routine.

My coffee is steaming in one of my three favourite “at-school” mugs.

And it’s been a wonderful morning.

I arrived at school feeling sleepy after staying too late last night… set down my things on my desk, glanced at the daily plan, and saw the little sign beside my planbook. “But First, Pray,” it says.

I bought it at Hobby Lobby as a reminder to keep me praying for my students. It would be wonderful if teachers in Christian schools were something of the supernatural – some people think we are, it’s not true – and always managed to pray as much as we should for our students.

It would be great if I wouldn’t be prone to allowing my workload to cloud my vision and demanding priority, but I’m not supernatural. I’m fully human, and with a large class, I’ve struggled more than ever to keep up with everything I want to give my students this year.

But the letter board in my bedroom reminds me every morning when I rise, “yet not i, but through Christ in me.”

And the little sign I placed on my desk a few months ago calls me to prayer again when I arrive at school.

It might not always be long, but breathing a prayer for my students before they arrive, asking for an infilling of Spirit wisdom to teach not only their minds but their hearts, and eyes to see them the way their Creator does – eyes of unconditional love – it makes classroom life so much better.

There are often too many pieces to fit into a day, but when I invite Jesus into my schedule, He becomes the calm Center in my chaos and He always makes a way.

He’s there with me as I greet my students and ask about their weekends.

When class starts, I take prayer requests and am blessed to have so many students willing to pray for the needs of others in our global community of humanity. Hearing the prayers of their young hearts inspires me to keep tending their growth and never give up on them, no matter what may happen later in the day.

Christ is my calm as I walk them through the complexities of math class and answer an abundance of questions.

His Spirit provides answers in the moment-by-moment snap decisions that I need to make.

And somehow, at the end of every whirl of a day, the pile of books on my desk has diminished.

The lessons get taught, the work gets marked, and good conversations happen in the gaps.

I like my little sign that reminds me to pray.

Because the Lord knows I’m human, and humans forget, but it’s because of my humanity that it’s imperative that I remember.

No matter what I’m doing, I need to be stopped in my energetic tracks and let Him remind my soul,

“But first, Pray.”

Efficient, Effective Report Card Preparation – by a Teacher Unqualified to Speak on the Subject

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*the purpose of this post is simply to relieve the author’s stress during a hectic week. If you are looking for inspiration or insightful teacher advice, I apologize, this post is written by a brain with little wisdom left to offer. 😋

To successfully teach through the week leading up to the report card deadline, there are several important things to remember.

Before I get into those, let me define what I mean by teaching the week “successfully.”

It means having worked ahead all trimester on oral reading, music, and art grades, so all you have to grade are any tests or quizzes you assign that week.

It means breathing calmly, wearing a patient smile, and working productively through organized priority lists every afternoon.

Success means you reach the end of the week with satisfaction after completing another set of report cards with a few hours to spare, and you survived just fine.

This is my fourteenth time doing report cards.

Personally, there are only a few rules to follow to make the process quite manageable.

Work ahead. Do not procrastinate. Definitely don’t get busy planning the Easter program and practicing to direct the mass choir, when you should be taking grades for report cards.

Don’t attempt any extras.

For example, plan a simple art lesson that doesn’t require you to go shopping for supplies. Don’t have a complex poetry assignment to organize with your seventh grade writing class. Don’t ask your co-teachers for a second mass choir practice.

And finally, you must not be sick during report cards week. It does not work.

As you’ve probably guessed by now, I didn’t work ahead.

I did allow myself to be caught up in the Easter program preparations, and suddenly, the report card deadline was looming.

Yes, it was me you saw walking frantically down the store aisle, buying aerosol hairspray for an art project. At a late evening hour on Monday night.

Were those poems I was marking? Yes! But such beautiful, eloquent poetry they wrote… It simply must be made into posters for the Easter season!

And sometimes, extras are unavoidable, like when a student comes inside with a wet dress. There could have been better days, but really, report cards week or not, it’s never a good day to fall in a puddle.

Thankfully, there’s a hair dryer in my car. Oh yes, I need to do my hair before church so I brought my things along – why the hair dryer, I’m not sure, obviously I just grabbed all the hair stuff I could see in my sleepy state this morning.

Spelling papers were passed out. Confused faces. Hands are raised. Many, many hands. Cold, wet, child shivered. Grammar tests called longingly from my desk…

I motion. Hands go down. They wait while I explain. I assign study partners for good measure. Confusion turns to delight – we haven’t done this very often! They’re a bit young, possibly, but thanks to a teacher inspiration day I attended recently, I decide to give it a try.

(It’s also an act of desperation to keep those hands down, as I need to start blow drying that child. Now.)

I race through the cold wind to my car. I didn’t take time to put a coat on. Soon, I’m running/shivering/leaping over puddles as I run back across the parking lot, valiantly bearing a hair dryer.

I crouch. Hair dryer blows. Tension leaves child’s face as she sees that this crazy idea is working.

I explain the hair dryer settings and leave her in charge of that operation. The rest of the morning passes by in a somewhat less harried fashion.

The student who will be traveling completed their assignments. I do an oral reading assessment as well as a spelling test while hoping the rest of the class won’t need too much help with their reading lesson. I need those grades before this student leaves on vacation…

With some juggling and feeling suspiciously stretched, we arrive at lunch. Hot lunch, served by several moms, puts us all in a good mood. No one took fourths of jello or thirds of dessert today. They all returned their utensils without being reminded. They said “thank you” to the cooks.

Story time, cursive writing, corrections, and suddenly, last recess. I decided to skip history because I have a headache. Oral checking and corrections were a good use of our time.

Then we had library time, and art. The art lesson that required me explaining every step of the project, and answering countless questions, and hearing my name until I’m ready to change it to something else, just to hear a different sound, and definitely never going near my chair.

Finally, I found myself spraying hairspray onto all their papers to seal the drawing chalk. It was very cold outside. I vaguely thought of it that I shouldn’t be outside, feeling the way I was…

Finally, my sweet bunch of noisy chaos bounces out the door.

The productive after school routine that is required for effective report card preparation should not revolve around tea. It should not require advil.

You should not look blearily at the calendar and desperately count the days until this craziness is complete.

You should not pray for a snow day.

You should not be listening to the incredibly long list of directions on your doctor’s answering service, when you have work to do.

Because you should never be sick the week of report cards.

Please, believe me – it does not work.

A Day in the Life…

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Have I mentioned lately that I love teaching?

Sometimes I forget that I do.

It’s easy to get into the routine, get used to the chaos, and start to take the familiarity of school life for granted.

But once in awhile, I remember to sit back and look at my day as though I’m a new teacher again, and I’m amazed at all the things that happen in a day.

When they hired me nearly five years to be a teacher, I naively expected I would study academic matters and find avenues to pass on that knowledge to children. Which I do, every day.

But this is Wednesday morning, and much has already happened beyond academics.

Before the 9:00 bell rang, the peace at my desk was disturbed by the sound of running feet past my door. Several pairs of running feet. I hoped none of my students would do that…? Maybe someone was visiting school with little children?

A moment later, the sound started back my direction. And unfortunately, when I looked toward the door, three very familiar looking coats ran by. I knew those coats… because I spend recess with those coats every day. The wearers of those coats were running, and the wearers of those coats happen to be… my students.

And just like last week on hot lunch day, I thought of my favourite quote for moments like these:

“As soon as you say “My child would never!” Here they come nevering like they never nevered before.”

(Last week there was jello served for hot lunch, which is always a favourite. Some children really like jello, that’s all. And I felt a little more Mom than Teacher as I gave a short spiel about respect, and self-control, and common sense, all in regards to the regulating of jello consumption.)

Thankfully the running incident was corrected with little drama – they’re a respectful, sweet bunch of children. It just so happened that they were playing tag and the game accidently moved into the building. They seemed to think it made perfect sense. And I remember in awe – children think differently.

Teachers correct, encourage, guide, and apparently, give neck massages during recess to the little girl who says she can’t turn her head. You never know what you’ll hear when you answer a raised hand in class, and I’m used to the random moments. However, it’s not every day I hear, “Could you please give me a shoulder massage? It hurts.”

That’s not the most astounding thing I heard this week.

Yesterday, they were discussing CPR at lunch. (Seeing that in type makes me realize – that’s not a typical meal conversation. Unless you’re nine, apparently.)

Through the conversation, a few comments stood out to me:

“Wait, you can die and come back to life? Like, you’d actually see Jesus and heaven but still come back?”

“Oh yeah, that happens to some people.”

“Well, they just are unconcious. Like, they almost die.”

“Wow! I didn’t know that can happen!”

At this point, from his reclined position, around a mouthful of cheetos, a student inserts “I saw Jesus once.”

Instant silence. Most of the students look shocked.

But the girl next to Mr. Cheetos calmly replies, “Really? That’s cool. Did you die once or what?”

Everyone starts panicking that their classmate might’ve had a near death experience that they never heard about.

Miss Calm reminds them that it doesn’t matter, he’s alive and well now. (and casually munching his lunch while everyone else freaks out.)

Apparently he decided there had been enough chaos and paused to say, “Like, it wasn’t the real Jesus that I saw. I saw a picture of Him. It might not even be how He looks, I don’t know. But – I kinda saw Him.”

Once again, I internally shake my head and wonder how kids minds function so differently than adults. It’s something I find fascinating every day; I feel so blessed to have such a front seat view of the antics of God’s small people.

I totally know why Jesus told His followers to become as little children.

When you look past the mischief, the random questions, the seeming lack of common sense – you realize they’re beautifully inquisitive.

They want to learn everything about their world.

They aren’t bound by the restrictions of peer pressure and maintaining an image.

They’re honest. (This is not always entirely a good thing, however they are without question, honest.)

They’re willing to explore, investigate, and learn.

They take risks.

They’re quite fearless, which may or may not cause my blood pressure to spike depending what they attempt. (Class, I do not want to try explaining this to your parents if someone gets hurt while you attempt this…)

But with all these traits, they are fluid, moldable, teachable.

Which is exactly what we need to be for God to work His purposes through us.

Humble enough to be willing to learn so that He can mold us into servants, equipped to serve in His kingdom.

Snowflakes and Joy

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Warmth floods my heart tonight in spite of the cold outside…

At the end of a day filled with so many beautiful little things, who couldn’t help but smile?

I had promised my Littles an extra skating slot because they had three quizzes yesterday and a test today, poor dears. They deserved a reward for all their hard work! So this morning, we were on the ice before ever going into the classroom.

Snowflakes floated down all around me, settling gently on my hair, dusting everything I could see like a scene from a Christmas card. So peaceful.

We played several rounds of Centerline on the glassy smooth ice that’s only experienced in the first slot of the day.

The other teacher and I were the last two people free, and my students giggled in delight when we had to go “it” for the next round.

Don’t ever think that being the teacher makes games easier with young children! It’s much more exhausting to play games as a teacher than a student.

When you’re the teacher, they ALL chase you… and I don’t mind at all. I laugh as the whole mob flocks after me, then I allow them to overtake me after giving them a good challenge first.

Soon they started to practice all their “cool” hockey moves, testing their nine year old coordination to its limits.

Next, they graduated to imitating Mr. Popper’s penguins in their approach to the end zone, laughing as they zoomed toward the boards headfirst on their stomachs. (Thankfully my penguins can turn, roll, and sit up as needed to prevent this form of amusement from becoming catastrophic!)

A song floated through my mind as I paused at one side to simply observe the game and soak in the beauty of pure childish enthusiasm. “I still have joy, I still have joy, after all the things we’ve been through… I still have joy!”

So many parts of teaching aren’t idyllic like this scene. But in moments like this, I know with confidence that it’s all worth it.

Yes, there are little problems that you face daily, threatening to wear through your patience. That’s only to be expected when you are working with a roomful of immature people who all have an Adamic nature – and you’re one of them.

There are relationships to continually monitor and mend.

There are always those who struggle in one area or another, and sometimes the solutions seem illusive though we try so hard to help.

Every day, a group of children enters my classroom. They need to be taught, guided, corrected, nurtured, encouraged, and loved.

Some days, the responsibility feels a little heavy.

But looking back, I’ve seen change over the years. I’ve watched these children grow.

The tenth grader who looks me in the eye and smiles when we pass in the hall…

The wee girl who used to be afraid to come to school, now bouncing confidently through the door with a lively sparkle in her eyes every day…

The boy who returned the question when I asked him how his day was going… I wonder if he could hear the heartfelt meaning when I simply replied, “it’s going very well, thank you!”

My shiny eyes after he passed were from recalling the many times he had rebuffed attempts at conversation in the past…

These students that fight through insecurity, that hesitantly start to believe what we tell them, that they are loved and precious in God’s sight… they are why I teach.

I’m seeing these students learning to reach outside of their walls, to not only let others in but to reach out and touch others hearts, and it’s beautiful.

These moments, these enormously important so-called “little things” are why I teach.

No, it hasn’t all been an easy journey, but I keep on because I love it.

Because so many little moments sprinkled into every day make the journey beautiful.

And “after all the things we’ve been through, I still have joy!”

The Deeper, Hidden Meaning of Sufganiyot

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First of all, a disclaimer: This post holds a high potential to make my writing instructor cringe.

It will not be edited, as the hour is late – more on the reason for that later – and I am currently halfway through a 4 day teachers’ conference.

(Think overload in all categories – socially, spiritually, intellectually, emotionally… even physically, if you drag yourself away from those wonderfully conversational strangers to engage in a few games of volleyball. Enough said.)

This exhausted human, now home in solitude, is apparently unable to break away from the endless flow of words I’ve been alternately drowning and delighting in.

Instead of listening to a talented speaker who has prepared an organized topic, I’m now the one needing to release words. Random words. 1:00 am words. Words that capture the essence of various, disconnected aspects of teachers’ week. And you, brave soul who has made it this far, are the recipient of it all.

So, here goes… I warned you!

Breakfast with strangers is a pleasantly awkward way to begin an event. Today (the second day) was slightly noisier than yesterday, however I am still grateful that no crunchy foods are on the breakfast menu. Yogourt and fresh berries are as silent as the people waking up at my table.

Singing from my heart with an auditorium full of humans who have now had their morning coffee is definitely awesome. I love looking across the group and seeing the beautiful diversity in God’s family… how we all share a common passion for Christian education, yet so many different walks of life are represented. It’s like a glimpse of the Bride of Christ to me – His kingdom is not limited to one people group or way of living out the Bible!

By mid-morning, my arm is tired from writing. Possibly I overdo note-taking… but when you place a pen in a teacher’s hand… especially if it has nice ink, well – it’s inevitable. The pages will be filled.

Lunch arrives. We’re all abuzz about our personality types, and specifically how to deal with personality clashes with students. How much do we unconciously frustrate our students, simply by being us? How can we as educators intentionally embrace the unique characteristics of each God-designed child in our class? Eventually, our plates are empty, and it’s time for some volleyball.

You can’t solve every school problem during teacher’s week, so when ideas have been sufficiently shared… postpone the issue. It won’t take care of itself; it will remain for further discussion… but those courts look inviting and the game is happening now.

After an afternoon of more instruction on teaching, my mind is wearily whirling. I should feel brilliantly equipped and inspired to teach – but I really feel like I just need my bed.

So I joined another conversation. Stayed there for a lengthy time, transitioned to someone’s backyard to continue socializing around a campfire…

Someone asked what our goals are for the coming year, since we’re receiving this training. My response? “I had specific goals, before this. Now they’re crushed under the weight of awareness that I have so much to improve in!” (I know myself, though. Those goals will revive with more passion than ever after this week.)

After many more random topics had been covered, and my mind journeyed in several more abstract directions, my car and I journeyed home. To solitude, quietness, and bed.

Instead of feeling sleepy though, my brain started regurgitating every piece of information that’s been thrown at me. Not in a cohesive manner, mind you.

And this is where this post’s title finally enters the picture. (I apologize. It’s terrible to delay this long. Possibly it’s only sheer curiosity that has kept you until now… and if you’re skimming, I understand.)

So I got home, with all these thoughts spinning, and as I’m wondering how I will ever retain all of this, I heard one thing replaying distinctly. The speaker’s voice rang confidently in my memory, I could see the earnestness on his face as he declared, “Sufganiyot.”

Then the crowd’s tentative response, according to the direction given in how to pronounce the word. “Sufganiyot.”

And my very overwhelmed mind, replaying this moment, could not remember the meaning of the word!!! This Hebrew word, taught by a couple who spent several years living in Jewish culture, must have some deep spiritual meaning attached to it that I must not forget!

I was desparate. My binder is at school, so I can’t access my notes until tomorrow. Would google really embody all that the word meant to me? I couldn’t even remember in what way it resonated in my heart, but it must have if my mind was so clearly recalling it?!

But then, suddenly, it came to me. The speaker saying, “Sufganiyout is the Hebrew word for donut.“

Yes. That’s correct. It means donut. And I had it in the same category as words like shalom or gelassenheit…

Sometimes things aren’t as deep as we make them.

But for me, personally, the deeper and hidden meaning of sufganiyot will always be this week. These moments.

And sure, a donut.

No Mistakes

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When someone asks me, “What’s your occupation?” I reply, “I’m a grade four teacher.”

I don’t say, “Ringleader of the circus in Grade 4A.”

“Zookeeper.”

“Part time mom of 15 nine year olds.”

“Babysitter, mentor, nurse, peacemaker, and in general, chaos coordinator.”

People don’t expect to hear those things… so I describe my role as “teacher.” Because teacher is a commonly used word to describe the tallest person in any given elementary classroom.

(It’s also a lovely, professional-sounding term for the job – a job which is really more like an unpredictable adventure you get to embark on every day. 😉)

Heads nod. “Ohhh, you teach school. Nice.”

So yes. I teach.

I prep oodles of lessons, explain concepts, guide discussions, correct mistakes.

But I’m really just the student with the largest desk.

Teaching means passing knowledge on to others. Sharing truths. And sometimes, they teach me.

They spout comments that are packed with wisdom. They ask questions that challenge me to examine what I believe, and why. I never know when I answer a raised hand just what I’ll hear…

Recently I was attempting to teach a science lesson on the human ear. Amid an extreme case of giggles affecting the class (apparently ears – specifically the auricles – are incredibly hilarious), I saw a hand raised that was not accompanied with that mischievous twinkle.

Hoping to get the lesson back on a more orderly foot, I called on that student. The question was much more serious than I had expected.

“Why would God not design someone’s ear to work right? If He doesn’t make any mistakes, why does He make deaf people?”

Ouch. Swallow. I walked to my desk and sat on the front edge of it before answering.

(That’s my position for deep discussions. Out from behind my podium or desk, no barriers between us… sitting down as one of them. By sitting on my desk, I still have a bit more height so I assume the role of leading the conversation, without appearing too authoritative.) *And yes, I have been told I overthink things!😄

My mind was spinning. She said, “IF.” “If God doesn’t make mistakes, why…”

The class leaned forward in anticipation. Me sitting on my desk was a signal that were going to spend some time off topic… I’m opening a class discussion on a side lesson I feel is important. And they were all waiting for an answer.

These children had no idea what I was dealing with that day. That their teacher was also wondering why God allows bad things, when He is good. But a child in my class has asked “if God doesn’t make mistakes, why…?”

It wasn’t about the human ear, or deafness. This question mattered, because there was an if where there should have been an absolute. As a Christian educator, I am called to teach the truth about God.

But really? “God, You want me to teach this concept… now?”

I realized I’d been asking the same question and not facing it. Denying it’s existence in my heart, instead of wrestling with it as I should. And now, a roomful of expectant faces waited for my answer, and I knew with conviction there was only one thing I could tell them.

But how could I explain it, while wrestling with it in so much pain myself?

I took a deep breath, asked God to provide words, opened my mouth and plunged in.

“First of all, I want you all to know that God does not make mistakes. Ever. There’s no if… God makes no mistakes.”

Faces relaxed. They’d been taught this, and their childlike impression of God’s character was just reaffirmed by someone they trust. (This role allows me to impact children so much it’s terrifying! They believe whatever I say – I need to speak carefully, wisely, and truthfully!)

But I couldn’t leave the answer there. I’d clarified the “if”, but it would soon be back if I didn’t explain the “why?”.

I found myself explaining how God originally designed everything to be perfect. We went back to Eden, and then the fall of man. “If everything would be perfect now,” I went on, “then we’d still be in Eden. It’s because of us, our sin, that things aren’t perfect.”

“But one thing didn’t change, and that is God’s love for us. We have to live in a broken world now, where bad things happen, people die, plants decay, and yes, sometimes babies are born deaf. But God doesn’t leave us to live through it alone. So when He plans each life, He sees where the imperfections are. He sees the parts that will hurt us and be difficult for us, and He writes His love into every line of story. He never allows anyone to experience something that He isn’t strong enough to help them handle – He plans exactly how much we each can manage, and faithfully carries us through the life He gives to us. So although bad things do happen, they aren’t just random. God is in control, and He loves us enough to help us through all the hard things we face. When God allows a hard thing, it is never a mistake – He plans every detail of our lives carefully and lovingly.”

I don’t know how much they understood… or if they’ll remember this in the middle of their young adulthood struggles 10 years from now. I hope that the concept will at least remain and build their faith.

But I think God allowed that question for me. By forcing me to pause and face that question, knowing I would struggle to answer it myself… He spoke through me to my students when I asked Him to, and therefore impressed the truth on my aching heart as well.

God never makes mistakes.

The girl who adamantly said that teaching is the last occupation on earth she would consider… was taken on a bumpy career journey which eventually landed her behind a teachers desk.

Years later, in a difficult season, she finds herself being taught the truths her heart needs through the precious students God placed in her life.

Yes, He had it all planned to place me right here, this moment. Every event, both painful and good, contributed to God’s perfect plan for my life… and this will continue as He writes my story.

Because I can say and believe with joy,

God never makes mistakes!