On a Thursday about six weeks ago, I hosted our monthly student prayer meeting. Only two kids showed up, plus one more who was actually there for a behavior issue but took me up on the offer to stay for prayer rather than coming back the next day for a conference. All three boys were from the same class, my second hardest class at that moment.
I took advantage of the opportunity to talk and pray about the issues we were struggling with: mainly just the rude, obnoxious behavior--and constant projectile throwing--that you might expect from a class of 12 seventh-grade boys and 6 seventh-grade girls.
I prayed that God would amaze us with the way He would turn around our class. "Has God ever amazed you?" I asked my fellow prayer warriors. They all shrugged shyly, and then one shared a story of surviving a near drowning.
I shared one of my favorite stories, the time when God astounded me by delivering the same message through a phone call and an anonymous gift that came in the mail that same day:
Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. (Deuteronomy 31:6)"Wow, miss!" they said when I'd finished my story.
"You just wait!" I said. "Just wait and watch what God will do. He's going to amaze us."
The very next day, guess what verse was handed out at our monthly FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes) meeting? It was a different verse, but the same message:
Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go." (Joshua 1:9)I taped the verse to my file cabinet, and the three boys were pretty amazed when I showed it to them the following Monday. "I guess God really wants me to get that message," I said. "He doesn't want me to be afraid, because He's with me."
About a week after that, God did something amazing in that class, though I wouldn't recognize His hand in it until later. It was a Friday afternoon, and the usual suspects were getting pretty rambunctious.
Because I was a bit hoarse due to allergies, my voice cracked a little when I admonished two wanderers, "I need you to sit down and get started on your assignment."
Edward*, one of my daily hecklers, immediately repeated, in a high-pitched voice, "I need you to sit down and get started-"
I stalked over to his desk and let every thought in my head spill out of my mouth, in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "Go ahead and make fun of me," I said. "Yes, make fun of my voice, if it makes you feel better about yourself."
Taken aback, Edward stammered, "I... I wasn't... I..."
"Oh, yes. You were making fun of me," I went on. The whole class went silent then, and I felt every eye on me. "But it's okay. I'm glad I can be here for you, if that's what it takes for you to feel like a bigger man."
I felt a little alarm bell go off in my head, but I ignored it. I was having too good of a time to stop now. I thought of every snide comment that Edward and his buddies had directed at me over all these past months. Counting off each insult on a finger, I said, "While you're at it, why don't you make fun of my phone and my shoes and my hairstyle and my hairline? If making fun of me helps you with your low self esteem, then I'm happy to help you out."
My disdain had clearly found its mark. Edward stared wordlessly at his desk instead of arguing with me like usual. The rest of the class sat in stunned silence, not moving a muscle.
"Now get to work," I said firmly, turning on my heel and walking to my desk.They did. All of them.
About an hour later, their class returned for Plus Period, a rotating 35-minute period intended for small-group intervention. For me and many of my colleagues, it's the most trying 35 minutes of the day because the students get riled up when they are out of their normal routine. On those days when my hardest classes come around, I have to grit my teeth to get through it.
Edward had apparently recovered from his earlier dressing down, for he came in ready for round two. When I raised my right arm to make the time-out signal so that I could give the class their instructions, he interrupted in a loud, jubilant voice, "Hey miss! Why's there a wet spot under your arm?"
I smiled sweetly and looked down at my underarm. "Why, Edward, you're right!" I replied. "Thank you for pointing that out to the whole class. Let's check my other arm." I lifted my left arm and then grinned broadly. "Yep, it's wet on that side too."
I sniffed one armpit theatrically. "Ooh, it stinks," I said cheerfully. (For the record, I didn't actually stink.) "Edward, do you want to come smell me so you can make fun of my body odor, too?"
Edward looked really confused, and so did the rest of the class. They'd never seen this side of me, and they didn't know what to make of it.
"Miss, I wasn't-", Edward started to say, looking very sheepish.
But he was interrupted by Jimmy*, a recent immigrant from El Salvador with whom I'd recently developed a tenuous bond over the course of multiple behavior conferences. "Shut the f--- up," Jimmy snarled, lunging out of his desk behind me.
I held out a restraining arm. "It's okay, Jimmy," I said softly. "I'm not angry."
"Why you always mess with the teacher?" Jimmy demanded. "What did she do to you?" And then he let out a string of choice expletives in Spanish.
"Speak life, Jimmy," I urged him.
"Why don't you speak English?" Edward asked.
"Why don't you speak Spanish?" Jimmy challenged in his thick accent. I thought it was a fair question, since the majority of our students do speak Spanish as a first language.
"What are you, stupid?" Edward ridiculed.
"¿Como tú? [Like you?]," Jimmy spat out scornfully. Two-thirds of the class burst into laughter, including myself, but I quickly clapped a hand over my mouth.
Both boys looked like this might come to blows, so I drew in a deep breath and said, "That's enough, guys." I turned to Jimmy, who was still standing just behind me. "It's okay, Jimmy. Really. I'm not angry."
Jimmy glared ominously at Edward for a moment and then returned to his seat. After that, a blissful calm settled over the room, and everyone got to work, including Edward. Just before the bell rang, I smiled at Edward. "Next time, I'll wear more antiperspirant," I called out. "I'm sorry you had to see that."
He returned my smile uncertainly. "It's okay, miss."
How I relished recounting the whole incident to my colleagues after the final bell. It felt so good to relive my victory in showing that little twerp how sarcasm is really done.
A Still, Small Voice
During my long-awaited Saturday quiet time the next morning, however, my triumph evaporated. "Were you speaking life to Edward?" my Beloved whispered. "Were you encouraging him and building him up?"
"No," I said sadly. Now it was my turn to hang my head. "I was tearing him down," I admitted. "And it felt good."
I thought about the venomous exchange between Edward and Jimmy. I had created that environment, I realized. They'd been following my example.
"Please forgive me," I prayed. "Please help me show them what love looks like."
During that prayer time, I rested gratefully in my forgiveness, yet I knew that I had a responsibility to make amends. I had set a wrong example, and I owed both Edward and his class an apology. I prayed fervently that God would help my students to learn from the way I handle my mistakes.
When Edward arrived a few seconds late on Monday afternoon, I was waiting for him at the door, which I pulled shut behind me. "I need to talk with you," I said after I'd given him our customary handshake.
"What'd I do now, miss?" he said, scowling.
I smiled and breathed deeply. "Hello, Edward.... I need to apologize about-"
"No, miss," he said, shaking his head vigorously. "I didn't treat you right. You don't need to-"
I held out my hand, palm forward. "Yes, I do," I said quietly. "I was unprofessional, and I was not speaking life. I did not use my words to build you up, but to tear you down. I'm sorry, Edward."
"It's okay, miss," he said.
I shook his hand again and then opened the door. "Come on in."
As soon as Edward had taken his seat, I addressed the whole class. "I owe you all an apology," I began. "All this year, I've been telling you to speak life, but I didn't speak life to Edward on Friday. As a teacher, it's my job to model the concepts I'm trying to teach you, and it's also my job to model how I want you to treat one another. If I tell you to speak life, but I don't speak life myself, what does that make me?"
"A hypocrite?" one of the other hecklers asked with a smile.
"That's right. All of us are hypocrites sometimes. I try so hard to be perfect, always. But I'm not. On Friday, I didn't build Edward up. Instead, I wanted to make him feel small. And that felt good at the time, but it was wrong."
The next words that flowed out of me were unplanned, and I could feel the weight of them as my usually unruly students listened attentively. "One of the biggest blessings of being a teacher this year has been the opportunity to practice loving students when it's difficult. See, real love is not a feeling, although sometimes you do experience a feeling of love. No, love is a choice. It's an action. It's how you treat others. Going forward, I will do my best to choose love, and I want you to do the same. If I see or hear you being hateful to one another, I'm going to encourage you to choose love, and I want you to do the same for me."
"But miss, what about, 'Speak Life'?" one student asked. "I like that saying."
"We'll still use that one," I reassured him. "They go hand in hand. Speak Life, and Choose Love."
I drew a red heart on the whiteboard, and scrawled, "Choose Love" inside it.
I gave the same speech to my other four classes, mentioning that I hoped to get around to making a Choose Love sign to go next to the Speak Life one.
From that day forward, the climate in Edward's class changed. My heart softened toward Edward, and I even began to joke around with him. The first time I ribbed him, about how our headphones probably weren't as good as his super-cool iPhone earbuds, his friend had to explain to him that Ms. B was joking.
"He's right," I said with a grin. "It's probably hard for you to know when I'm joking because I don't use my sense of humor often enough when I'm at school, and maybe I'm not very good at it."
Although they are still rowdy seventh-graders, Edward's class is often my best class these days. We enjoy each other's humor, and on a good day they are eager to learn. God really has amazed me.
The Choose Love slogan has taken off in all of my classes. One of the girls in my hardest class surprised me with a gorgeous poster last week. It was so cute because she was really furtive about it, sneaking by before school to drop it off. Yet she couldn't hide her pleasure when she saw her laminated poster hanging in the classroom, front and center.
But a girl from Edward's class proudly wrote her full name on her artwork:
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| These were made by two sweet artists |
The greatest joy has been hearing my students reminding one another to choose love, even when they do so in a tongue-in-cheek manner. I hope that they will carry that motto all over the school, as they have done with "Speak Life." As I've told them so many times, words are powerful. I believe that actions will follow. These seeds we are planting together are going to bear fruit.
I have so much more to tell you, but I'll have to save those stories for Part Two. Soon, I promise.
*Names changed to protect privacy.
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