Be still, my stretching heart

I’ve now been a high school teacher for almost six months and just last week, I became aware of a peculiar and unanticipated side effect: my heart is growing bigger. Of course, I’m not referring to my actual, physical heart, but my ability to have compassion—and dare I say?—even love for my students.

I went into teaching believing full well that every one of my students was a creation of God, certainly. But some how, I never stopped to consider how much my life away from school would be affected by the relationships I am developing with these people day after day.

I looked at teaching as something of a “9 to 5” job and wanted to leave it at “the office” when I came home. But there is no way to do that as a teacher. For one, I bring home stacks and stacks of paperwork to grade.

I pick up an essay and begin reading: “My life changed in July 2002. My father passed away from a heart attack. It was devastating.” Or: “Right now, I hate school with a passion. Ever since my dad went through cancer treatment, he yells at me all the time. We used to be close and now he always seems to be mad at me. He wants me to keep my grades up. But how can I keep up my grades when I don’t have any interest in school? I’m afraid that he will send me back to my real mom.”

And this: “About two years ago my sister told me she was pregnant. And later, my step dad found out. And from there, everything changed. When the baby came, that’s when everything really changed. I and my step sister were up at the earliest hours of the morning to change and feed her. To burp her and cradle her so she could sleep. But by the time I had to get up for school, I only had three hours of sleep.”

It’s amazing how much students will share about their lives. Honestly, I expected high schoolers to be a lot more hard-shelled. And some of them really are. But most of them are incredibly open and even vulnerable. They ask questions with sincere curiosity and can smell injustice or phoniness a mile away--and will tell you so.

At the beginning of the second semester, I distributed a questionnaire to my new students asking them three questions, including, “Tell me about the best teacher you've ever had. What made that person such a good teacher?”

I learned more from reading the answers to those three questions than I ever did from reading stacks of books about classroom discipline and teaching philosophies.

What did I learn? Over and over again, my students wrote about teachers who were patient, kind, nice, and funny. Teachers who took the time to care about them and to explain things to them. They repeated phrases the teachers used and gave examples of how it impacted them--I could almost hear the wistfulness between the lines.

It made a big impact on me. I winced inside, thinking of the times I’d become impatient and given responses that weren’t especially kind—just businesslike. I went to class the next day with a renewed desire to be kind and patient. I don’t think it was my imagination when I sensed that my students responded by being more cooperative and attentive.

I still catch myself on “default mode,” giving answers that come across as autocratic, not caring. The other day I realized my error in mid-sentence and corrected myself in front of the class. I said, “That wasn’t a good answer to your question. Let me explain to you why I’m asking for this.”

I’m allowing myself to be more human in front of my students. I share more stories about my life. I tell them about one of my embarrassing moments. I see their faces screw up in horror and I say, “Well, if I were a high schooler, I would have been horrified. But when you get to be my age, you’ve had so many embarrassing moments, it’s not such a big deal anymore.” Some look puzzled; others relieved.

On the drive home, going to sleep at night, waking up in the morning . . . I see their faces: smiling, earnest, apathetic, eyes lit up with enthusiasm  I am surprised at how childlike they still are—and childish as well. They deal with very grown-up situations and responsibilities; they are caught in that Twilight Zone of life when they are no longer children, but they are not yet adults.

I wonder if the time we spend together will make a difference in their lives. Maybe. Every one of my students could tell me what makes a good teacher. They could give me a name, describe the teacher’s personality, repeat the reassuring remarks. I can do the same. I still remember my favorite teachers and how they made me feel about myself.

That’s a lot of power. And, in the words of Stan Lee, "With great power comes great responsibility."

I do not feel capable of the task to which I’m called. If I allow myself to ponder it at length, the task seems overwhelming and I am prone to despair. Therefore, I try not to think too hard about it!

Instead, I pray and trust God for the outcome. The stretched heart is a bonus.

A Teachers Prayer

Lord, let me be just what they need.
If they need someone to trust, let me be trustworthy.
If they need sympathy, let me sympathize.
If they need love, (and they do need love), let me love, in full measure.
Let me not anger easily, Lord but let me be just.
Permit my justice to be tempered in your mercy.
When I stand before them, Lord, let me look strong and good and honest and loving.
And let me be as strong and good and honest and loving as I look to them.
Help me to counsel the anxious, crack the covering of the shy, temper the
rambunctious with a gentle attitude.
Permit me to teach only the truth.
Help me to inspire them so that learning will not cease at the classroom door.
Let the lessons they learn make their lives fruitful and happy.
And, Lord, let me bring them to You.
Teach them through me to love You.
Finally, permit me to learn the lessons they teach.
(Author Unknown)