For as the rain cometh down, and the snow from heaven, and returneth not thither, but watereth the earth, and maketh it bring forth and bud, that it may give seed to the sower, and bread to the eater:
So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.
I have been weeping over these words today. Three times today I have broken down in tears thinking of these words. Why? I am a teacher, so these words hold a special place in my heart, in my calling. The possibility each day that something I do or say might change the thinking of a young mind, leading the learner to a better outcome than the trajectory on which they are currently is often what gets me out of bed. Teaching is different than when I started in 1989, it's different than when I started anew in 2008, and not different in a good way.
So why weep, why not just do something else? Because I must do what I am called to do. I cannot run from what I am called to do (more on that later). Every good teacher that I have known has one thing in common; a desire to improve the life of children. That is not to say that all children are in a miserable state, it speaks to seeding their future with tools they can use to reap future successes and experience that future in a deeper way. I find myself more and more often looking into the eyes of my skilled fellows, women and men of passion and empathy, and seeing dejection, disillusion and despair. Yes, everyone goes through hard moments, but seek out a group of teachers and ask them what they place their hope meters at. The answers you get will show a dark level of morale. But ask them what make them keep coming back every day and the answers will be all about the kids.
So why am I weeping.....? I don't see the promise of a harvest the way I did in years past. I see fields of young minds stagnant and rotting. Too many are in the classroom because they have to be. These see no problem with trading 7 hours of their life for nothing; new knowledge holds no value to them. Many have given up caring about their academic rights after being forced to live years with the first group, made to be tolerant of the daily drain of time caused by miscreant classmates whose right to waste precious classroom time is more important than their right to be enriched. A growing group are the ones whose parents either do not respond to your suggestions meant to aid or lay the blame for 10 years of poor parenting on you the teacher who has been in the child's life for mere months; those children who move through their 7 hours with you like dark eyed ghosts or empty shells who have already given up on life. I weep because that group in the middle, the ones I can reach are torn from me by the first, and because the last group cannot hear from my lips the words they really need to hear; that they are preciously made, valued and loved by God and therefore loved by me. I weep because that first group is too often the focus of a darkness that I would rather deny exists within my own heart and because they refuse to take my hand, the very same hand that I will offer to them every day knowing that it will be rejected. I weep because our culture has turned our 10 year-old children into something that resembles angry cast members from the Jerry Springer Show. I weep because I don't see the harvest any more.
I keep going, each day, because I have hope there will be a harvest, that somehow, in spite of the current struggles, seeds have found fertile ground, taken root and will grow and prosper despite what I fear. I open the door to my classroom in the dark each morning, before most people are even out of bed, because I hope that today I will see signs of a harvest. I prepare my classroom each morning to make wise use of every minute because of a hope that one student, once entangled by the vines of ignorance, will be able to break free from the darkness and begin to produce the fruit of knowledge. I keep striving because I have a promise that a harvest will occur.
Yes, I believe I am called to be a teacher. I have run from God's callings in the past, and always I end up right where He wants me.... eventually. Often my running is because I don't see the logic in the calling. I run to avoid that which I fear or find uncomfortable. I have found that I most often run from that which I am called to do. So for every excuse that my heart tries to use to keep me from teaching, I must remind my heart that it is this struggle for which I was made.
Verses 8 and 9 say: For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts. It is this that I tell myself in the morning as I step in front of the bathroom mirror, during the struggle in the middle of class, in the afternoon when I am home alone weeping over failures from the day, and at 3 in the morning when I wake up afraid, full of doubt. It is this upon which my hopes rest, hoping for the harvest today, being aware that I may never see that harvest, but knowing that if I speak truth the harvest will come.
Verse 11 says, So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it. So shall my word be that goeth forth out of my mouth: it shall not return unto me void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper in the thing whereto I sent it.
So what am I to do? I will go forth. I will heed the call. I will trust my God. His word will not return void.
