A Wild Flower

What I'm interested in seeing you do is: sharing your food with the hungry, inviting the homeless poor into your homes, putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad, being available to your own families. 

Isaiah 58:7  (Message)

He rode his bike to school everyday.  She noticed that he sometimes arrived early, before students were allowed into the building, before there was anyone to supervise.  At least twice a week he forgot his lunch.  The days grew shorter and shadows lengthened: air crackled with brittle cold and icy frost lined the edges of moisture on browned leaves and fallen pine needles.  

He rode his bike to school everyday, his thin coat worn and smudged with use.  Sometimes he fell asleep in class, lanky hair hiding eyes on a face that might have seen a washcloth that week.  This wasn't a serve-breakfast school.  She told him he was welcome to come into her classroom on those early mornings.  So he wouldn't have to wait outside.  

I always eat a morning snack, she said.  Would you like a slice of apple? She asked.  And she cut, and shared.  And brought more, because he always ate whatever she had.  Bananas, apples, oranges.  Then granola bars, crackers and cheese, even yogurts with plastic spoons.

He was living in a motel - a weekly-rate motel across the railroad tracks.  Across the highway.  Barely within district.  Everyday, doing homework at the table in the room he shared with his mother, and brother, and two sisters.  Until they could find a better place.  

He rode his bike to school everyday, backpack pinned together with two safety pins, homework hopelessly creased and wrinkled, barely readable through the scribbled crayon and coffee rings.  It smelled of stale cigarettes.  One time she saw a bug escape, antennae sniffing the classroom air when he slapped the backpack on the desk to pull his work out.  Work and bugs from that temporary home.  She kept her face still because his eyes were on her.  He knew she knew.

He rode his bike to school everyday.  Two weeks before Christmas, there had been a delivery made to his home.  Christmas angels.  He had a new backpack.   He had a new coat, and mittens, and a hat to keep his head warm.  He sported new shoes.  Do you believe in Santa Claus?  He asked, showing her, his teacher, during their breakfast snack before school.  Yes, she said.  Absolutely yes.

He helped her in the classroom on those early mornings.  Unstacking chairs, rearranging desks, taking down bulletin boards and pulling out staples.  They didn't talk much.  Sometimes about his family.  Sometimes about hers.  She saw his hopeful smile, his little-boy smile, his big-brother smile.  It bloomed on his face like a wild flower along the summer highway.  Beautiful.  Unexpected. Out of place, but oh-so-bright-and-it-filled-her-heart-with-joy, in the white of winter and the dark before school.  He never showed that smile during class and she felt privileged that he shared it with her. 

And then he wasn't there.  His family had moved.  Out of district.  She discovered.  Out of state.  An opportunity at a real life.  

Dear God, she prayed, thank you.  Keep them safe.  Keep them healthy.  Hold them in your hand. 

Poverty is real in this country. Free and reduced lunches and breakfasts help, but are not always enough to fill in the gaps for students in poverty. Thankfully, church-led, community-sponsored, and within-faculty programs have been put into place to help in situations where families just can't seem to find a way. Back-pack programs help with weekend food. There are used-coat drives, and school supply giveaways. There are many opportunities to be a Christmas angel to children and to families.

Having been in public-school education for the past 17 years, I have seen teachers buy out-of-pocket for their students in need. Without fanfare and without publicity. These students are often mobile, moving from school to school, district to district, and state to state - families in search of a better life, or running from the one they have. The teachers don't do it for thank-you. They don't do it for a pat on the back. They don't do it for recognition. They do it because they care. Because it's the right thing to do. Because it makes a difference.

Linking with:  TellHisStory, Three Word Wednesday, Unforced Rhythms

Thank You

The other day, I was working with a student.  We were writing thank-you notes for a field trip.  We had visited Agecroft Manor, in Richmond.  This student was having a difficult time.  She had completely dug her heels in - full stop - claiming the trip had been a boring waste of time.  She tore a page out of her binder to write on.

"Oh," I explained, "your letter needs to be on a sheet that isn't ripped."

She put a title at the top of the next sheet.

"But," I explained, "this is a letter.  Letters don't have titles.  You need the date, and you need your greeting."

I used the torn paper to write some notes.  "Let's talk about what you can write."

Student:   It was a boring waste of time.
Me:  OK, no, you can't write that.  This is a thank-you note.  Wasn't there anything that you liked?
Student:   I thought it was going to be fun.  There wasn't any music.  We just walked around.  It was boring.
Me:  You get out of something what you put into it.  If you put boring in, then you get boring out.  It seems to me that you put the boring in.  You can add the music part as a suggestion at the end.  It's a good idea.  Let's start with the first sentence - Thank you for being our guide.
Student:  Ok, I can say that.

She wrote out the thank you and added but it was very boring.

Me:  You kept the boring part - this is a thank you.  No one wants to hear that they are boring.  Did you like it when I told you that you put boring into your trip?   Didn't anything surprise you?  Do you remember what the house was before it was moved to Richmond?
Student:  It was a manor.
Me:  Yes, it was a manor, but what did the people DO in the manor?  What kind of manor was it?
Student:  I don't know what they did.  They lived.  It was an English manor.
Me:  Yes, it was built in England first.  What did the people in the manor do for money?  What was their job?
Student:  They had sheep.  It was a farm.
Me:  Yes, it was a farm.  Did it look like a farmhouse to you?
Student:  No.
Me:  You can write that.  I was surprised that the manor had once been a farmhouse.

She wrote I couldn't believe the house had EVER been a farmhouse because it was so boring.

Me:  Please take the boring part out.
Student:  It was boring.  I thought it was going to be fun.  There wasn't any music.  We just walked around.  I'm not going to write that it was all fun and stuff.  It wasn't.  No one ever listens to me.
Me:  I'm not saying you have to write that it was all fun and stuff.  But, boring?  This is a thank you note.  We just have to sort through what you're going to say.  A thank-you note is like a gift to the docent.  A gift makes people feel good.  You want the docent to feel good when she reads your letter.   Do you like to get gifts?
Student:  I never get any gifts.
Me:  Not even at Christmas, or your birthday?
Student:  Well, I do at Christmas.
Me:  So imagine your gifts at Christmas.  You see them all wrapped up and you really want to open them.  You're excited, right?
Student:  Yes...
Me:  Now imagine opening one of your gifts, the one with the prettiest wrapping, the one you've been waiting for.  You open it and instead of a present, you get a note that says you're boring.  The docent is going to get this letter.  She's going to be excited about opening it.  Like you at Christmas.  You can give a real gift, or you can give this.  A real gift means that you do your very best.  It's not a gift unless you give it.  You're allowed to pick and choose from the field trip.  Write the parts that will make the docent feel good about leading your tour.  This letter is about her; it's not all about you - like a gift.  Give her your best work.  Wouldn't you rather give that?

The student erased the part about the farmhouse being boring.  In fact, we managed to eke out two more sentences before she was finished - one of them was a suggestion to include music in future tours...

Honestly, I don't think she ever really understood the gift thing.  I think she just wanted to be done, and she knew I wasn't going to leave her alone until she did it in an acceptable way.

But, I got the gift thing.  God has given us more gifts than we can name, the first and foremost, his Son, Jesus, who was perfect.  In turn, don't we want to give back - somehow?  We are the thank you's.  Our very lives - our actions, our words, our thoughts - they are our gifts to Him.  We can pick and choose these actions and words; we can even direct our thoughts.  I want to give him my best - otherwise it isn't a gift.  That's a good reason to choose joy.

As each one has received a special gift, employ it in serving one another as good stewards of the manifold grace of God.  Whoever speaks, is to do so as one who is speaking the utterances of God; whoever serves is to do so as one who is serving by the strength which God supplies; so that in all things God may be glorified through Jesus Christ, to whom belongs the glory and dominion forever and ever.  Amen.

1 Peter 4:10-11