Some days we run.

Some days we walk.

Some days we crawl.

Some days we sing.

Some days we cry.

Some days we do a mix of all these things.

“Well, Jess, that just sounds like a roller coaster of emotions”, you might say.

Why, yes, yes it is. Some say that roller coaster is bad. I call that roller coaster, living.

To wake up each day in the palm of God’s hand, we say yes to the emotions and to feel them deeply as He shows them to us. I feel just about all these emotions for a least a little bit each day here.

I do not feel qualified to do this job here. I feel frustrated. I feel angry. But each day, I get up, I go to my classroom, sit on the floor, count squares, sing songs, teach math in a language other than my own, and share a new experience together with girls that have lived to see more things in their six years than I ever have in my twenty two years of life. I do this because the emotion of love is greater than that of frustration or anger.

As a first year teacher, there are several things that happen in your classroom that you may not have learned at the university level. There are only things that you can learn while you have your first class. My first class and my first experience being a primary teacher is a little different than what I thought it would be. I had always dreamed of being a teacher, for some reason that’s just what I thought I was going to do and didn’t think twice about it. Some call it a calling, and maybe that’s what I call it too but I am just not sure if I was called to do anything but teaching in my life.

I can’t do it.

I can’t do it.

I can’t do it.

I called my mom, crying these words.

Everything feels so heavy. I’m messing everything up.

“Do you think that I really was supposed to be a teacher?” — I texted my mom last week.

Later that day, I was reading A Prayer Journal by Flannery O’Connor while sipping some chinola juice in the peace of a small café:

“I want very much to succeed in the world with what I want to do. I have prayed to You about this with my mind and my nerves on it and strung my nerves into a tension over it and said, “oh God please,” and “I must,” and “please, please.” I have not asked You, I feel, in the right way. Let me henceforth ask you with resignation — that not being or meant to be a slacking up in prayer but a less frenzied kind — realizing that the frenzy is caused by an eagerness for what I want and not a spiritual trust. I do not wish to presume. I want to love.”

I want to love. I want to show love. I want to teach love. I want to love. These girls deserve that. These girls deserve to see what true love looks like and I am more than willing to show them.

I can do this. 

I can do this.

I can do this.

I realized this after a hard day with one of my six year olds. A kicking and screaming, girl ready to fight came to me to cry in my arms. She is a feisty girl, never really knowing what will come out of her mouth. I had never seen her cry like this before. The only words she could get out were about her abuser. “Te amo” — “I love you” — I said to her over and over again. First is love. 

These girls are raw. 

These girls are real. 

These girls have stories. 

These stories are tough. 

Sometimes I get so caught up in the teaching of it and making sure they know everything they need to know. But tend to forget the roots that are within each one. The stories that hold onto them. I want the change to happen so fast, I want them to see how much education can build for them. But this is a marathon not a sprint. Step by step. Lesson by lesson. Hug by hug. We can do this together. 

Amor,

Jess

or shall I say,  Miss Jessica