I had a gripe partner. For years, she was my best friend. The one I would call because I knew she would listen, and I listened to her. We might not be close anymore, but I could sing it to her when I think, “So much of me is made from what I learned from you.” She did teach me so much, sometimes unintentionally. Her insight was powerful, and is for others who get to experience it still. I remember the day that Nichole (another friend) said to me that she was thinking of going back to school to become a teacher. Then, Nichole said the following phrase to me, “If you can do it, I can do it.” I immediately took offense (I’m good at that. It was modeled for me for eighteen years after all), and I called my bff. The one who was always there to listen to my gripes. This was a doozy. I mean, how dare Nichole say that to me? If I can do it, well then surely she can, too, right? Because she has all the same abilities as me and nothing sets me apart or makes me more qualified, huh? What an insult! I explained it all to my bff, leaving out no detail or voice inflection.
When I
finished, I didn’t hear a gasp. All I heard was, “No.” She said it soothingly. “Nooo.
That’s not what Nichole meant at all.”
Bff had me mystified,
of course. What in the world could she
have meant by that then? Do tell. So she did.
“When I say that or even think it," Bff said, "I think it because someone inspires me. Someone I respect
and admire is doing something, so I have the courage to try it, too. If she can
do it, I can do it.” She stopped and let that soak in. She knew when to give me a minute to process the brilliance.
Ah, when you put it like that… well,
you must be right. Nichole was saying I inspire her. What a lovely sentiment, I thought.
I told you former bff taught me things.
That
conversation took place almost ten years ago. Fast forward to today. And today,
thank God for Facebook. It was through Facebook that I was able to find my 2nd
grade teacher.
Oh, sweet. I can hear you now. No, you don’t
understand. My 2nd grade teacher was not just any 2nd
grade teacher. My 2nd grade teacher was the single strong female
presence in my life when I was eight years old. She was the one teacher in all of my
elementary school education who truly made me feel like a somebody, when voices
at home were screaming at me that I was a nobody. She entrusted me with responsibilities.
She expected the best from me. She called me her left hand. Do you understand? I was Mrs. Bryant’s left hand. And
whether she believed it or not, she made me feel smart. I’ve waited
twenty-eight years to thank her for the influence she had in my life and to
tell her how much I appreciate her. Thank God for Facebook, because Facebook
allowed me to tell her what I needed to tell her. She responded, through
Facebook, that she wanted to come for a visit, and that visit was arranged for
today. On my lunch break. It was twenty minutes of bliss. We reminisced, I
found out where she had been led after teaching me and what she had been doing
for the past twenty-eight years, she gave me some nuggets of teaching wisdom,
and then she listened as I told her my life goals. It was a jam-packed twenty
minutes that I didn’t want to end. Completely wonderful.
It was
certainly nothing like my usual lunch breaks. Running to make a copy and pull
up a PowerPoint while shoveling in yogurt, only to get interrupted by someone
whose business, complaints, papers to sign, and questions to ask just can’t wait. No,
this lunch break was nothing short of peaceful.
Huh. Peace.
In my classroom. Like Jesus being able to sleep in the storm. Remember that
from Matthew chapter 8? I was feeling peace in this place that would soon be
the scene of complete bedlam. This place where I rarely feel successful in my
endeavors or get paid any more for working overtime, yet I still work over on
the weekdays and every chance I get on the weekends. This place where I have
been accused, threatened, disrespected, and degraded. Me feeling peace here
was like Jesus sleeping in the boat.
Just as miraculous. Just as ridiculous. That’s when I knew that the peace came
from Him. And I knew that because I knew that Mrs. Bryant came from Him.
The time for
her to leave came too soon. I walked her to the office, then headed toward the
cafeteria. It began to hit me what just happened. How Mrs. Bryant had just sat
down with me and talked about grown-up things. With me. Like I was a colleague and not a student of hers. He who walks with the wise becomes wise,
I thought. Proverbs 13:20. I felt the
back of my eyes start to burn. I wanted to stop all activity and meditate on
what had just happened. I wanted to let the emotion that was welling up inside
of me come out. But there was no time to meditate, no time to contemplate, no
time to curl up in the fetal position, and there was certainly no time to cry.
I had to pick up my kids from lunch.
And at that
moment, I knew I could. I could pick up my kids. I could make it through this
day without shaking with anxiety over how tasks were going to get accomplished.
I could walk these halls with my head up and my stride steady, and I could do
it because I knew Mrs. Bryant did it. For years, she did it. She did this job.
And if she can do it, I can do it.
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