Why I Am a Catholic

For the last couple days of class for the semester (before preparation for finals), I decided to try something new.  It was an idea I had a while ago, but it just seemed to work to implement it this year.  The section is dubbed, "Why I Am a Catholic."  After weeks of (hopefully) learning Apologetics, I wanted to have them consider why they are Catholic.  I challenged them to find something beautiful, compelling, or desirable within the Church, even if they struggle with different facets of the faith.

I listed off for them Peter Kreeft's seven reasons why he is a Catholic.  I read a line from G.K. Chesterton's "Why I Am a Catholic" essay.  Then, because I wanted this to be real for them, I told them my reason for being Catholic.

In all actuality, it cannot be boiled down to one reason that I am Catholic.  Yet, for the sake of simplicity, I picked what was central to my faith and declared that it was the reason why I was Catholic.  What I didn't expect, though, was that I would nearly cry in every Apologetics class as I told my story.

Honestly, I was a little annoyed with myself.  "Really, Trish, get it together!  It isn't as though you have never talked about this before."  I'm still a little confused, but I think the primary reason is that I was opening my heart to them.

I've shared with my students different experiences I've had, places I have traveled to, and stories I have heard.  As a Theology teacher, I am daily speaking of persons and ideas that are very close to my heart.  But to open my heart, to share part of "my story," and to point to something so personal, in a classroom setting, is difficult.

I told them that I am Catholic because of the Eucharist.  Yet I had to give a bit of a back story for why the Eucharist is so pivotal personally, not just theologically.  So I had to go to the beginning of my faith hitting the pavement, nearly the beginning of a heart that aches yet keeps it all tucked away within.

Naturally, it was a story about my sisters.

My two older sisters, specifically.  And my throat became scratchy and I prayed that Jesus would just let me get through these stories without crying.  The feelings I was portraying aren't ones I typically feel now, but ones that were jettisoned across time from nearly 12 years ago.

When I was in 8th grade, my older sister entered a Carmelite cloister.  She was the one who seemed to know me.  As an introverted melancholic, I've always ached to be known.  While she was still my sister, our relationship was dramatically altered.  I could pour out my heart to her in writing, but then I would need to wait months for any sort of response.  I became angry and bitter, yet still had to present a happy exterior, because that was expected of one with a nun for a sister.  When I was a junior in high school, my other older sister joined a different convent about twenty-four hours from home by car.  The feelings of bitterness and anger were once again kindled.

I was teaching myself something that is untrue about God.  Internally, I was learning that God will take from you that which you hold dearest.  Whatever you don't want to do, He will ask it of you.  I was learning the sacrificial part of Catholicism without the love or joy that must accompany it.

As I'm telling my little stories, I am looking into their eyes.  For once, the classroom is mostly silent and their eyes are on me.  I'm wondering, as my insides quake a little and my hands shake, if they can see that I'm opening up part of my heart to them.  I'm hoping that even though their story is different, that they are open to discovering the beauty of Catholicism, too.

So how do my sisters entering the convent make the Eucharist the reason I am Catholic?  When my sister was entering the cloister, she turned around and said, "I'll see you in the Eucharist."  Eighth grade me wasn't impressed.  That's nice....but how about you see me on my birthday and at Christmas?  How about you hold my children and are answering the phone when I want to talk?  Despite the minimal impact it made initially, it eventually became a central point of my personal spirituality.

When we go to Mass and receive the Eucharist, we are receiving the Body of Christ.  The Church is the Body of Christ.  When I receive the Eucharist, I receive the entire universal Church, the Church inside and outside of space and time.  As I missed my sisters, I would receive the Eucharist and know that this union that I tangibly experienced in Holy Communion was the deepest union I would have with them.  It was comforting when I went off to college eighteen hours away and I missed my family.  The Eucharist bound me to all my loved ones.  Moving from college back home and being separated from beautiful friends, I found solace in the ties of the Eucharist, bonds that even death cannot break.

Why I am a Catholic cannot be simplified to only one reason for me.  There are many factors and influences, but the central point is the Eucharist, God Himself.

"The difficulty of explaining “why I am a Catholic” is that there are ten thousand reasons all amounting to one reason: that Catholicism is true."    -G.K. Chesterton 

To Be or Not To Be....All is a Gift

It was the end of the day and one of my students was posing one of my least favorite questions.  The question is mildly manageable if I sense that the student is asking this question out of sincerity and a desire to understand God in a deeper way.

That wasn't how he asked the question.

His question was posed more in opposition to God.  It was meant to hurt our perception of God as loving and merciful.  And I find that attitude very difficult to tolerate.

"Did God use Satan to strike the people down in Egypt at the Passover?  Or did He use one of His angels?  And if it was one of His angels, how come God decided to kill so many people?"

In a certain sense, it is a fair enough question.

In another sense, it tears at my heart.

So perhaps my reply was a little more abrupt then necessary, but it was to illustrate a point.  I didn't directly answer the question at first, but I attempted to answer the incorrect aspects surrounding his perception of God.

"God doesn't owe us anything.  God doesn't even owe us life."

I think they were surprised by that response, in all its bluntness.  I reassured them of God's great love for them, but spoke of how it is never our "right" to exist.  Existence, in its entirety for humanity, is a gift.  God, in His great love and mercy, never blots out our existence.  For mere mortals, death will come.  For even the God-man, death came.  But life continues beyond the grave.

We are a people who expect that certain things are our due.  It seems an injustice to us that bad things happen, that we are not treated as we wish, and that death will come to us all.  How many people have expressed, in the throes of sorrow after the death of loved one, that it was so unfair to lose them as they did, when they did?  I do not disagree that death can be tragic or that we will be left with many, many unanswered questions and seemingly unheard prayers.  Yet isn't it the natural course of life?

I am not owed this next breath.

It is not my due that tomorrow will dawn and I will be alive to see it.

It is not my right to live until an old age, surrounded by loved ones.

In reality, God owes me nothing, because He has given me all I have in an act of extreme generosity.  It is not necessary that I am alive, but He wills it to be so, for now.

God gives life and God can take that gift away, too.  It doesn't make Him a murderer, as the question my student posed seemed to imply.  A murderer is one who does not have the right to take a life and yet does.

Let's say each month you receive $100 in the mail from a close friend.  If that friend should stop sending that money, would you then call them a thief?  Of course not!  They were generous to give the money, but as a gift, it must be freely given.  And as a gift, it can end.

All of this is not to make you question the tenderness or faithfulness of God.  He cares about you with a fierceness that is intense to behold.  Yet His ways are so often not our ways.  It can be confusing to muddle through the events that befall us and see how God is working in the midst of devastation.  It won't always be easy and we often won't understand.

But this is necessary to know: If God removes a gift, it is because He is offering a different kind of gift.  

It may not always be easy to see the beauty in that new gift, though.  When we are no longer healthy, we can experience the gift God offers in suffering.  When we experience a death, we can see the gift God offers in grief.  The gifts never cease to flow abundantly from His hands, but they may look other than we would wish.

To a generation that thinks they are owed so many things, I told them God has never been beholden to them.  Everything they have and everything they are can be chalked entirely up to the mercy and love of God.  They did not have to exist and yet they do.  And it is very good.

You are here because God desires you to be here right now.  It would not be less loving of Him for you to no longer be alive; He would simply be offering you a different kind of gift.  However, since you are here right now, God has a purpose and a mission for you.  Throughout this life, He will offer you many gifts.  You might not like them all.  But in the end, He will offer you one of the greatest gifts, life everlasting with Him.  I see that not as robbing me of something that is my due (how pale this life will seem in comparison to the Beatific Vision), but inviting me into a mysteriously beautiful gift that is entirely undeserved.

So breath in and breath out.    

Those were gifts.  Handcrafted, uniquely given to you.  Not because He had to, but because He chose to.  Someday that won't happen.  And that will be a gift, too.

Thank You, Lord, Giver of all Good Gifts.

Duc in Altum: Classroom Missionary

I've spent the last two months deciding if I would continue teaching next year.  There were pros and cons on both sides and I couldn't tell which side was weightier.  Even though my mother insisted, repeatedly, that I should sit down and make a pros and cons list, doing so didn't seem to really help.  The benefits and drawbacks of either decision seemed incapable of being captured in words to jot on one side of a t-chart.  I couldn't go with my gut because it, too, was conflicted.  In the end, I chose to stay and while I'm still uncertain if that was the correct decision, it was a decision and I finally made it.  A part of me felt sadness to pass up a great service opportunity and another part feels concern that next year I will be climbing the walls of my classroom, wondering what momentary weakness caused me to sign another year of my life away.  Despite these concerns, I am beginning to make plans about what this next year of life will look like.  As a teacher, life stills comes about on a yearly schedule, broken neatly into semesters with lovely summer and winter breaks.

Last semester I was growing more and more convinced that I would love to not teach next year.  It wasn't one thing in particular, but it was a bunch of things all wrapped up together.  Yet after applying for and being offered (even if only temporarily) another job, the joys of teaching became clearer to me.  The things that I would miss stood out in my mind and I didn't even want to think of telling my department head that I would be leaving or cleaning out my classroom.  Yet I didn't want to stay just because I didn't want to do those things.

As frustrating and foolish as students can be at times, they can also be hilarious, witty, deep, encouraging, and beautiful souls.  Yes, they complain, test my patience, seem incapable of following simple directions, make me question my own sanity, and relentlessly insist on moving the far row of desks next to the wall so they have a backrest.  Yet at times we laugh together, we can reach a beautiful depth at times, we develop a relationship that is unlike any other relationship I have formed before--one of student and teacher.  Over the past three years I've grown more comfortable with my students.  Today I gave a test to my seniors and after they were finished, I couldn't help but look at them and feel pleased.  We aren't best friends, but it is my class and we do have a unique dynamic.

I don't know how long I will teach for and how long I want to teach for depends on the day.  In the midst of my crisis (the I-have-only-two-days-to-know-if-I-am-going-to-sign-my-contract-and-I-don't-know-what-I'm-doing crisis), I called my sister.  She asked me questions that I didn't know how to answer about my personal desires and feeling peace.

"Answer this as quickly as you think of an answer," my sister told me.  "If you could do anything, what would you do or be?"
Pause.
"A missionary."

Then she read me something.  At first, I wasn't quite certain what she was reading me.  After a little while, I realized she was reading me one of my very first blog entries.  "Young," first-year teacher Trish was writing about how she was a missionary of the classroom and how even as she longed for greater missions, she was called to be a teacher and minister in the seeming mundane aspects of life.  And that young teacher inspired me.  As my sister read my writing, I felt inspired to truly take up the mission of being a teacher and to live it with a radical zeal that I had forgotten.  At some point I had begun to resign myself to having a job rather than being a missionary.

So even in the midst of uncertainty, I am starting to look forward to another school year (of course, after my (I believe) well-deserved summer break) to be a missionary in a high school classroom.  Because Christ instructed us to put out into the deep and I intend to cast my nets into the high school ocean.  Because the harvest is abundant and the laborers are few.  Because the Church needs the youth.  Because Jesus says there is a millstone with my name on it if I fail to bring the little ones to Him.  Because, for some unknown reason in God's inscrutable Will, I am called to teach.

Melting My Heart

Those lovely sophomores are at it again, chipping away at the ice around my heart and melting me into a pool of gushing affection for them.  Today was student led prayer.  Do you know what they requested?  I'm not quite certain it is really a prayer, but they tried really hard to make it into one and I gave into their supplication.  Their prayer was being thankful for all of the memories made in this class and then they tried to list their favorites.

If they would have been more serious and not the fun-loving, chatty sophomores that they are, I might have been reduced to tears.  As it was, there was just enough sincerity mingled with humor to keep a smirk on my face and feel my heart ache while not letting my tears flow.  The memories they came up with focused on none of the lessons I taught or really on me in general.  Yet the student appointed leader finished the "prayer" off with thanking his classmates for being in his class and being thankful for me.  My heart nearly burst.

I followed this sentimentality up with, "That was nice---but you still have to take your quiz today!"  I love them and I never want them to leave.  A while ago some of the students joked about failing this class so they would have to take it again next year.  Now I'm thinking, would it be alright if I found a way to fail all of them?

Good for my Heart

My beloved 7th period class is good for my heart.  I was recently talking about them, and I felt my heart overflowing with a sense of gratitude.  Despite my fondness for them, I will never claim that they are perfect.  They are beautiful and they bring out my best side, which probably contributes to the warm reception I receive from them.

I have never had such a clear favorite.  This is one of the first things I will tell people before I gush about my class.  While I am far more comfortable with my classes then in years past, this is the one class where I can let my guard down.  I never feel like I'm defending myself or persuading them of something or fighting them to accept a truth.  We laugh together, have inside jokes, and learn together.  I'm not their best friend, but I am definitely one of their favorite teachers.

There is a freedom that comes with being loved.  I can give them more of who I am really am.  Each day, 7th period, I feel like I teach the best.  Sometimes we get off topic, there is chaos, too much energy--but always there is a familial atmosphere that fills the room.  I don't myself subtly battling the class in defense of the one kid that says things people roll their eyes at or repeatedly asks questions already answered.  When I was sick this week, one girl said she missed me.  Although I'm not extremely close with each student, I feel an understanding with most of them and, if nothing else, the class as a whole.

I am not the only one to appreciate my blessings.  One of the freshman teachers made a remark to me about my beloved class.  Typically nobody else sees the class as a whole but all of the classes each period met in auditorium for preparation for confession this week.  I have never sang the praises of this class to this teacher, so I was overjoyed to hear him applaud my class.  He said it was though each good student was hand-selected for my 7th period class.  As he was saying this, I realized they were.  The good Lord knew that I would need this oasis, this haven from the storm during my school day.  I look forward to them and love the time we spend together.  Professionally, I need to remain fair toward my classes, but I often feel a desire to spoil them, to give in to all of their requests.  Today that teacher stopped by when they were coming into my classroom and declared that heaven came early today.  We smiled and he told them it was an inside joke.

This class is the only reason I am not running forward with utter joy to Christmas break.  Next semester I will have most of these students again, but they will be shuffled around and students from my other class will be mixed in.  I am hopeful that next semester will be wonderful as well, but I know that the beauty of this class will soon end, never to be achieved again.  Life will move on and they will simply be the cherished favorite class of the past, the ones I subconsciously measure each future class against, sighing when they inevitably fall short.

For now, they are my precious gift.  They are blessing to me from the Lord.  Yet it is only the difficulty of my first two years that makes me so deeply relish this class.  If I had them my first year, I would have expected all classes to be like this.  Now I know, battle-weary veteran that I am.  This, is not the norm.  This is, most assuredly, a gift from the Lord, hand-selected for the good of my heart.  Another beautiful display of the Lord knowing what I needed before I even thought to ask for it.  

My Cute Sophomores

My little sophomores are so cute.  Don't tell them I said that, though.  To them, at 15-16 years old, cute isn't a compliment.  But I mean it as a sincere compliment.

A few examples to illustrate my point.  Today we had a test in Scripture.  They came in and wanted to write "Knowledge Celebration" on the board with balloons.  They proceeded to gather around the board and do that--one person delegated to write "knowledge" and the other "celebration."  Someone else wrote off to the side "Celebratory woop!!"

After prayer, a couple students begged to tell a story of their adventure last class period.  I gave them three minutes.  One of them rapidly told the story, including much animation, humor, and excitement.  The other outlined the story on the board with rudimentary symbols and signs.  In the end, the class politely applauded the adventure that had occurred.

Yesterday I wore glasses to school for the first time.  This sophomore class was the only one to mention anything about them, although I am sure most of the other students noticed.
Student 1: "Have you ever worn glasses to this class before?"
Me: "No."
Student 2: "You look like a whole new woman!"
Student 3: "You look very scholarly."
(Murmurs of assent.)

The other day one of my students gave me a back-handed compliment.  He meant it in the best way but it isn't exactly in the way a teacher desires to hear it.  (But as compliments are hard to come by in this profession, you take what you can get.)
"It feels like we never do anything in this class and yet I feel like I am learning a lot."
"Thanks,"
"No, I mean--I enjoy this class so much it never feels like work."
That's better.

They are at an interesting point in their lives.  They are in the midst of high school life.  Growing up, they are determining who they will be for the rest of their lives.  Yet there is an innocence that is found within them.  Particularly this class.  They have troubles and stresses but they are genuinely good kids.  And I love them all the more for it.  They are definitely not perfect, but they are sophomores and they give me hope in a seemingly hopeless world.

I wonder what the Lord has planned with their beautiful, fragile, so-much-potential lives.  And I am thankful to be a part of it, if only for a while.

Heart of Jesus, Sanctify my Heart

Can you imagine how large the heart of Jesus must be?  How patient, how loving, how gracious, how kind, how relentlessly unfathomable His mercy?

I wish I had a heart like that.  A heart that could encompass the entire world.  A heart that was large enough to love all I encounter, sincerely, truly, seeking the best in them regardless of how they respond to me.

My heart, tiny, puny, cold thing that it is, is impossibly small.  It is not enough to envelope my students.  It is not enough to embrace my family.  It isn't even enough to surround myself.

They frustrate me.  I can be lead to feel defeated, disheartened, angry, annoyed, sarcastic, listless, bored, and on the verge of tears.  My life is not based on teenagers, but I don't think they quite realize how much of my life centers on them.  For hours I am with them.  My offerings are typically rejected because students (surprise!) don't like homework and seem particularly prone to dislike even more "religion" homework.  Because it is supposed to be easy.  And Jesus is always the answer.

Part of me wants to lecture them for an entire class period--about how I don't like grading their papers but I do it because it is asked of me.  I don't like their attitudes but I try to be forgiving without being a push-over.  And I try to remain calm when they so flippantly assume that teachers desire them to fail and want to push them to the limits of sanity.

Why would I want that?  I'm on the limits of sanity myself, how would an entire class of teenagers bordering on madness help me?  One day last year, when the comments were more than I could bear, I asked them to think logically about what they assumed.  Unless a teacher really derives pleasure from their pain, what benefit would we gain by making our students hate school?  We are the ones that have to be with them all day, anyway.  Why would we want to make them miserable and then try to teach them?  The answer that they didn't give me?  The students feel better when they assume it is simply out of spite that we give them homework.  That we challenge them, not because we desire their growth, but because we desire their tears.  It's an obnoxious assumption that I am certain I entertained as a high schooler.  Now, on the other side of the desk, I see the ridiculousness of it all.

And this, readers, is why I need His heart.  Mine is clearly too small.  It gets annoyed at many things and subconsciously chooses favorites.  It makes hasty judgments, harbors unforgiveness, settles for mediocrity, and all sorts of other vices.

They deserve so much more.  They deserve a wide-open heart, one that has room for and welcomes all.  They need a heart that is tender yet firm, tangible yet limitless, patient yet demanding, relational yet depths beyond imagining.  They need Jesus.  So until they understand where He is and that He is, I must be a witness of that heart of His.

Sacred Heart of Jesus, sanctify us.


"He has loved us all with a human heart. For this reason, the Sacred Heart of Jesus, pierced by our sins and for our salvation, "is quite rightly considered the chief sign and symbol of that. . . love with which the divine Redeemer continually loves the eternal Father and all human beings" without exception."  --CCC 478

To Know God and Speak of Him

Before I started teaching I remember speaking to a priest about my lack of knowledge and experience.  I was worried I wouldn't be able to answer all of their questions and would find teaching to be too much for me.

"Do you trust that the Church has the answers, though?  That your students couldn't come up with a question that would prove the Church wrong or that she hadn't thought of?"
"Absolutely."

Father seemed to look at me as if that was enough.  So I would be delving into teaching a subject that I didn't know everything about but I believed that the Church could answer every objection.  In other words, what was the worry?

That realization, that nothing my students or anyone could do or say would change my trust in the Church, was a necessary one.  Even if I don't know the answer now, I believe there is an answer.

I have a few students who are over the Church.  They don't want anything to do with religion and their perception is that mandatory theology classes are killing them.  I graded a journal the other day and some of the things the student wrote made my heart ache.  He was writing words that spoke strongly of his dislike for the Church, his disbelief that Christ was there or listening, and his dislike at even having to keep a prayer journal.  What may have surprised him was how I read his words.  When he talked about Christ not listening, I pictured a hurt little boy too closed off to even accept the comfort Christ was offering.  As he described his desire to do whatever he wanted and not follow the Church, I envisioned reckless parties and a continued desire to fill an aching hole within himself, all the while refusing the only true means of fulfillment.

I don't know how to prove the existence of God.  I can give them different arguments for God's existence but I cannot give to them my experience of God or the fact that I know, without a doubt, that God is present and that He loves me.  In many ways, I am baffled by disbelief.  I understand that I am a teacher and I am supposed to help them through these things but it is never something I experienced myself.  Sometimes I was angry at God, sometimes I felt He didn't care about me, but I always thought He was there.  I see my students aching for God and yet not even willing to acknowledge the ache.

When I hear their questions or their critique of the Church I wonder how we can see things in such a different light.  I see a loving Mother and they see rules.  I see a tremendous love story and they see someone uninterested in their lives.  It doesn't make me doubt my faith or doubt God.  Rather, it makes me desire, somehow, someway, to give them my faith, to help them understand God, to trust in Him.  I haven't figured it out yet, but there must be a way.

Surrogacy and Women: A Rant

"Wouldn't spending the money and going through the extra effort prove they loved the child more?"

"Isn't is just nice to do for someone?"

In a move that was perhaps questionable from the outset, I decided to open the floor to questions for the entirety of a class period.  After a couple weeks of my classes being off-sync, I wanted to finally draw them together and the rampant questions of one class had provided the perfect opening.  However, that class asked questions that flowed naturally from one to the next and with only thirteen in the class, there was a feeling of closeness and simplicity.  Trying to re-create that atmosphere for a class of twenty-nine was a different story.  I offered to them the chance to simply ask questions that they had about the Church or the faith.  The first class had found questions that flowed from Our Lady to salvation to exorcisms.  The next class found a different route and were spurred on by different questions.  They followed the line of exorcisms with a leap to evolution and surrogacy.  The result was a class that ended with a bit more intensity and moral depth.  Time ran out and they left unsatisfied with some of my answers.

I have never really discussed surrogacy with a class before but I had recently talked about such things with a friend of mine.  One girl originally asked the question and she seemed alright with my answer.  Others were not.

"Wouldn't spending the money and going through the extra effort prove they loved the child more?"

I tried to explain that spending money doesn't mean more love.  (Only later did I think of prostitution as a fitting example.)  Can the couple love this child?  Of course.  I'm not denying that a couple can love a child they "paid" for, but I don't think it means they love him/her more.  A great example came to mind (thanks, Holy Spirit) that the true statement of love would not be that I can afford to create a life in a laboratory but rather that I can let go of my desire to have a biological child and rather adopt.  (They argued that adoption was spending money, too.  A different matter, I believe.)  The love is found not in the willingness to spend a large sum of money so that their desires can be fulfilled but rather that they can accept the disappointment and then love a child that isn't theirs biologically but is accepted totally into their loving family.  That seems to indicate a great love.  

"Isn't it just nice to do for someone?"

The heartache of infertility is not one that I have experienced nor one that I hope to experience.  However, lending my womb to a friend doesn't seem to fall under that category of "nice."  This world tends to approach situations with an "how can I get what I want?" attitude.  The desire isn't simply, "I want a child."  That would be easily remedied.  The desire is, "I want a child that is biologically mine even if I cannot carry that life in my womb."  Perhaps, even, the "want" is changed to "deserve" or "have a right" to a child.  

It isn't "nice" to let yourself be a host for a child.  You can love that child, you can love that couple, but you are not permitted to let your womb be used in a paid/unpaid transaction.  The worth of woman is more than just a womb.  I don't quite understand what people mean when they say the Church suppresses women or has a negative view of women.  They have never read Chesterton.  Chesterton will throw men under the bus and elevate the dignity of women in one fell swoop.  They also have never looked very closely at theology.  The Church says no only so that she may say a greater Yes. 

Woman, you may not engage in sex outside of marriage because you deserve the lasting love and devotion of a man who will offer his very life for you, not just a few moments right now.  

Woman, you may not have an abortion because that little baby in your womb needs you and you will only inflict a great wound on yourself.  You deserve better.  

Woman, you may not use contraception because you are a precious gift in your entirety and when you offer yourself to your husband, you must offer your whole self holding nothing back, masking nothing of your beauty.  Your ability to create life is not something to be disabled but something to be exalted.

Woman, you may not be a surrogate mother because you are far more than a host for the baby of your friends or strangers.  You are not an object to be used but rather you are a person to be loved.  It is beautiful for the gift of life to grow within your womb but it should be planted there by God and your husband, not by the doctor in the laboratory.  You are more than what they would lead you to believe.

How any of this becomes heard as "Women are stepped on by the Church" is beyond me.

This "niceness" is not something that should be encouraged because it is the same "niceness" that will cause me to put you out of your misery if I think your quality of life is not good enough.  "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions" is a cliche because there is truth to it.  It is not enough to just intend to do good things, you must actually do them.  And this good must go beyond my personal understanding of good.  (Cue Hitler and his quest for what he deemed good.)

I was surprised with the direction the class took the Q&A session and how we wandered into the realm of sexual morality.  Again I am convinced that the way to win the next generation is to have holy couples that teach their children the faith in their home and live it out daily.  My rant is finished but I cannot help but wonder what the future holds for this world.  The youth are such an important part of the future and their hearts can be in a world-imposed ignorance.

Our Lady of Lourdes, pray for us.

Jesus Take the Wheel

"OK, Lord, this is Your classroom."

That might make you think that I am a very holy teacher.  Trustingly surrendering my classroom to the Divine Teacher and allowing Him to work through me.

In truth, that was a prayer murmured out of necessity.  A final spiritual dropping to my knees and surrendering out of the inability to do anything else.  It was the first day of a new semester and I was becoming nervous again at the prospect of being scrutinized by new seniors with the inevitable assessment of found wanting.  My emotional transition to a new home wasn't really playing in my favor and to make it a bit more challenging, I forgot my school bag.  Of course I remembered to bring my prayer journal, Bible, cell phone, and prayer materials.  However, I had completely neglected to bring my computer with my introduction PowerPoint and a fun brain activity for them to go through.

At 7:30 in the morning outside my car in the school parking lot, I frantically thought of racing home (15 minutes away) and back to school with my computer.  It was possible, though, that I would come to school late--something I am certain would have led to a melt-down.  Yet if I managed to not be late, I would assuredly come in panicked and short of breath.  This was not a good beginning.

It was here, in the midst of panic and stress that I "surrendered" my class to the Lord.  I realized, as I prayed this silent prayer, that it was because my own means had failed that I was giving God the reins.  If I would have had my computer with the PowerPoint filled with cute family pictures, I would have started the semester in a state of semi-confidence.  Instead, the Lord was given control at the last minute.

This image just come to mind as a plausible analogy of what I did:
I'm in a car driving.  Then the roads get slippery.  My omniscient, omnipotent passenger asks if He can help.  But I've got it.  All of sudden the car is careening toward a cliff or an oncoming semi and just when I'm about to slip over the edge or be crushed, I pull my hands from the steering wheel, cradle my head in my hands, and shout, "Fine!  Take over!"

I felt a little guilty surrendering my classroom only after all my plans had failed.  Perhaps it is a lesson for the semester.  I am not in control.  It is better to just give God my classroom and myself right now instead of waiting until things are crashing and burning all around me.

My goal for this brand new semester is to take the passenger seat and allow God to dictate my classes.  Not once I tried my way and it failed.  But His way, always His way.

Who knows---maybe God will have a better method than me.

Heaven is like a Symphony

I don't quite recall how we got on the topic, but I was talking to my first period class about how we will experience Heaven differently.  My reference was to the idea that Heaven will be experienced as deeply as we allow Christ into our lives now.  To be sure, Heaven will be fantastic, beyond anything that I can imagine.  When we get there (if we get there) we won't be comparing our Heaven and wanting somebody else's Heaven.

One of the students didn't understand what I was saying.  How could we experience Heaven differently?  Will we each have our own Heaven?  It was about this point in time that I wondered why I brought this topic up, since it didn't have a lot of bearing on the subject at hand.

Then the Holy Spirit (He gets the credit/blame, anyhow) provided the perfect analogy for me in the situation.

"Heaven is like a symphony."  I said it and I liked it, the richness of a symphony and the depth of Heaven.  I went on to briefly explain that we could all go to the same symphony but some of us would appreciate it more.  Perhaps someone knows more about music and they would be able to understand and love aspects of the symphony that others might not notice.  We are all at the same symphony, but we are able to experience it in different ways.

His face seemed to lighten in understanding.  I, on the other hand, was particularly pleased with this off the cuff analogy.  However, I know it had little to do with me...

The Lord provides.  Thank the Lord He provides!

Making Excuses with Moses

Moses and I might as well be twins.  Yes, I am aware of the historical, ethnic, and cultural difficulties associated with that type of relation, but it is very true.  Moses and I both balk at what the Lord asks of us and then we make excuses.  Not just one excuse that can be neatly answered, but multiple.  And if we run out of excuses, we start re-using the old ones, just in case they appear any stronger after a period of neglect.  I don't even need to alter much to make the excuses of Moses my own.

Granted Moses faced a bit more of a challenging task then I do.  He was saved from infanticide, raised in Pharaoh's house, sent into exile after killing an Egyptian, and called by God from a burning bush to march his people (that he never really lived with) out of slavery and into a Promised Land.  No big deal, right?  I, on the other hand, am simply told to be the best teacher I can be, proclaim the truth without fear of the consequences, and become of a disciple for the Lord.  When placed in that light, Moses had very good reason to throw up excuses while my position has a much weaker foundation for it.

Q: "Who am I that I should...?" (Ex. 3:11)
A: "But I will be with you..."
Q: "If...they ask me, 'What is his name?' what shall I say to them?"
A: "I AM who I AM."

Excuse: "But behold, they will not believe me or listen to my voice..." (Ex. 4: 1)
Reply: "Do not say, 'I am only a youth'; for to all to whom I send you you shall go, and whatever I command you you shall speak.  Be not afraid of them, for I am with you to deliver you, says the Lord." (Jer. 1: 7-8)
Excuse: "Oh, my Lord, I am not eloquent..."
Reply: "Who has made man's mouth?  Who makes him mute, or deaf, or seeing, or blind?  Is it not I, the Lord?  Now therefore go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall speak."

Final plea: "Oh, my Lord, send, I pray, some other person." (Ex 4: 13)

This final plea is sometimes what I find myself reduced to.  Just send anyone but me, Lord.  I think of others who are clearly more qualified for the job than me.  I wonder how the Lord could make such a large mistake, could have overlooked their finer qualities and overlooked my giant deficiencies.  This feeling of "Please, Lord, someone else!" isn't just with large missions, but is with lesser things.  When there is gossip taking place and I feel uncomfortable, but I don't want to be the one to squelch it.  If I see something that is wrong but wish I hadn't seen it so that I could simply be naïve. 

When I was offered the teaching job I felt incredibly inadequate.  I had just finished convincing people quite a bit older than me that I was the person they wanted for the job.  Then I was offered the job and I had a more difficult time convincing myself that I was the person for the job.  In fact, I began to compile a mental list of people that would be better at teaching than I would be.  I thought of intelligent priests I knew, passionate young adults filled with both knowledge and fire, and young religious sisters who would be able to articulate the faith in an eloquent manner.  Then I thought of my own abilities and talents.  The list seemed to be woefully short.  I hadn't lied to the interviewers...I had simply spoken with more confidence than I actually had.  Who would hire someone who said, "I am pretty sure that I can do this job, I think.  _________ and ___________ would be perfect for this job but they aren't available.  At the very least, I think I could be a decent babysitter for high schoolers.  Hire me.  Please."  That probably wouldn't be sufficient.

Instead of relying on my own incredible speaking abilities (which I don't have) or my limitless intellect (again, fictional), I was forced to rely on the Lord.  Of course, I failed in that but I was forced to try more than if I was gifted with all that was required of me.  I knew that I could not do the task properly on my own.  However, I did know that the Lord could use me to do His will. 

How did I know this?

Past experience, yes.  Bible stories, yes.  Witness of the saints, yes. 

Abraham.
Moses.
David.
Our Lady.
Padre Pio.
St. Margaret Mary Alacoque.
St. Faustina.

It is not my job to tell the Lord that He has chosen the wrong person or that I am under-qualified.  He already knows my gifts and He knows my weaknesses.  I am convinced that often the Lord chooses people with major weaknesses so that it may be evident to the world that He is doing the work and it is not his/her own skill.

The requirement is a wholehearted yes.  Or at least an openness to being used for God's will.  It is saying, "Please, Lord, choose somebody more qualified" and then going to talk to Pharaoh anyway when the Lord tells you to.  You are required to be uncertain of the future yet entirely certain of He who already knows the future.  It is surrendering your weaknesses to the bridegroom on the altar of sacrifice and welcoming into yourself the bread of the angels, the strength from heaven, the necessary graces.  It is allowing His to overflow in you and into those in your life.  It is hands wide open, entrusting everything to Our Lord even when we don't know what that everything even is.

Moses and I both question the Lord and ask Him to choose someone else to do the hard work.  Yet God is unrelenting. 

He crafts our souls, breathes life into us, nourishes us, and then poses a question to us that is hard to refuse. 

"Trish, I created you to reveal an aspect of Myself that nobody else can reveal.  I have a plan for you, I have graces for you, I have a mission for you.  Will you reveal Me to the world and be a part of salvation history?"


Whoa. 

How can I refuse?

Witnessing to Lived Faith

They were nearly in the palm of my hands.  Not all of them (that would be a miracle) but many of them.  For what seemed like the first time in the entire semester, this class seemed interested in what I had to say.  Gone were the faces etched with boredom.  They were replaced with genuine eye contact and interest.  I hadn't intended to launch into the discussion for an earlier class, but I had and it had gone well.  Now I was facing a more difficult to please class and the transition I used before wasn't clear.  I considered not even broaching the subject with them, but just continuing on with the class and ending early.

When I finally began to speak on it, it went better than expected.  I remember thinking at one time, "Lord, this is going great.  They are listening and the story is flowing well."  This was the best they had listened all year.  I was thrilled.

It struck me later as very interesting that what they listened to the best was what was most personal to me.  I've been talking to them about faith and reason for the past few days.  This particular class day I had reviewed the introduction to Lumen Fidei and we had explored what faith is and what faith isn't according to the encyclical.  I love theology.  But to them it is just another book, at times, that must be read and regurgitated.

I began to tell them that having faith doesn't mean that it will all be easy.  Yet regardless of the trials, faith is worth it and God desires to be in relationship with us.  Then I told them more in depth about my older sisters who are religious sisters.  I didn't try to white wash any difficulties or try to evoke pity in them.  Rather, I told them about how it was difficult for me to watch my sisters choose to leave me because they were following God.  My intention wasn't to highlight any strictness of the orders.  I wanted them to see that I understand sacrifice, being angry with God, and feeling like what is being asked of me is just too much.

This second class seemed to grasp it most fully.  A couple seemed near to tears but just about everyone was alert and listening.  I think it helped them realize my humanity.  Do I love the Lord?  Yes!  But even with this love and this desire to love, I still find myself balking at the sacrifices that are to be made.  While I often paint this as a past sacrifice, it is still an ongoing sacrifice.  I do not always think of the sacrifices but there are moments when the emotions are sharpened, the scab reopened, and the ache felt again.

Perhaps today they forgot everything that I said yesterday.  What I hope remains somewhere within them is the knowledge that life will be filled with sacrifices.  Will I choose to make them with Christ or without Him?  A life of Christian sacrifice is not easy.  Yet I do not think a life running from Him would be easy, either.  Life will arrive and demand things and people of us that we are not prepared to surrender.  Faith is knowing that Someone else cries with you and that Someone desires you infinitely more than you desired your lost love.

That is what makes life bearable.

Another Weary Day in the Battlefield...

It has been a rough day and a long week.  One of those weeks where I look at how many months it is until summer break and I realize that I have only just begun.  My thoughts should still be turned to those of excitement and eager anticipation of the events yet to come.  Maybe I feel so worn down because I've been lacking in prayer.  Perhaps I'm simply tired.

At times I feel this weariness deep down in my bones that shouldn't be found within the person of only 23 years.  I long for Heaven.  At times, I seem to ache for it.  I'm weary of life.  Already this year I've had my fill of teenagers and they are the source of my job.  I'm tired of rolling eyes, softly muttered comments, overly talkative classes, looks of pure boredom, and the list continues.

Last week I asked my students if they would rather work a job where they make lots of money but hate it or a job where they make more than enough to survive but have to forgo fancy extras but love their job.  In one class the majority chose to work a job they hate so that they could have all the things they want, take nice vacations, and retire early.  I always figured I would rather work a job I love but this week confirmed it.  Sitting at the dinner table, exhausted and wanting nothing more than to sleep for a week, I thought of what a horrible existence it would be to spend 8 hours at a job I hate, spend the rest of the day tired and dreaming of sleep, only to wake up and do it all over again.  Not for nine months but for the entire year.  Where is life in that?  Where is the time to actually live and be with people?

I do not hate my job.  On some days, I love it.  On days like today, I go to the chapel, beg the Lord for help, and return to the street/battlefield/classroom.  And this idea begins to grow in the back of my mind--what if the Lord desires something else from me?  Maybe He doesn't want me to teach next year but rather to......  And I draw a blank because there isn't exactly an application for "wife and mother".  [And I would cringe at the thought of answering that kind of help wanted ad. "Help wanted: woman to marry and rear children.  Will be paid in a decent house, being woken up in the middle of the night to feed/change/rock child(ren), and beautiful drooling smiles.  Mail application and sample of chocolate chip cookies to....."]

Lord, I pray, I'm lonely.  I want a "kindred spirit" or a "bosom friend" with whom I may pass through this world.  What a feeling it is to be surrounded by people all day long and yet desire to be alone, but not truly alone, just away from the maddening crowd.  Sometimes I blame God because I feel that He should have made me more adaptable to this world.  My heart shouldn't get hurt so easily by a few rude looks or a handful of subtle attacks.  I shouldn't long for solitude so much if I was to have a profession that deals with so many people.  I know God didn't make me for this world but it seems I could have been made with slightly more skills suited to life on Earth.

Convents sound like beautiful places at this point.  Not because I believe they are easy but because in many ways my heart feels very much aligned with it.  I like to be quiet and by myself.  I enjoy work and prayer.  I would love a community of sisters.  My two older sisters in religious life have made me quite aware that there is more to monastic life than that.  Nevertheless, I desire it.  Yet not the vocation itself.  I desire marriage.  I am a contemplative thrown into the world who seems to not find time to pray.  I am a fish thrown out of the water and I refuse to admit that the water is my source of life.

I'm unsure if any of this makes sense.  All I know is that today I nearly cried during a class and I've thought several times over the past couple days, "What if I didn't come back next year?"  My spiritual director has been helping me find areas of hurt and bring healing to them.  We are trying to make my heart whole again.  Today I began to believe that teaching was simply destroying the whole process.

Maybe I love far too many ideals and not enough realities.  I love my students--as they should be.  Yet when faced with a teenage girl who is subtly mocking me in front of the class, I have to keep myself from crying tears of rage.  I love teaching--on the days when things goes perfectly and my students radiate with kindness and sincerity.

Heaven help me.  So if you are reading this, stop right now and say a prayer for me and my students.  We can definitely use it.  For all of those out there facing far more difficult battles in the streets, know that my little sufferings and prayers are with you.  And let's all get to Heaven so this can all just look like one inconvenient night in a hotel (thanks St. Teresa of Avila).

Deo Gratias

"We don't actually think you're crazy." 

I smiled at that as the student walked out the door.  While I wasn't extremely worried that they thought I was, there was a moment today when I wondered if I had pushed them over the edge. 

We were finishing up a PowerPoint from yesterday about Purgatory and someone asked a question that related to saints, although I'm not quite certain what it was at the time.  The saint they used as an example was St. Anthony.  Oftentimes I don't share personal stories with them for a few reasons but today one instantly came to mind.

"I got in a fight with St. Anthony once."

They looked up at me, puzzlement chiseled into their features.

"When I was younger my mom always told us to pray to St. Anthony if I lost something.  So I would pray that he would help me find my overdue library book.  And he would.  One month later after I already bought the book.  So I finally got mad at him and told him I wasn't going to pray to him anymore.  And so we didn't talk for a while."

"Wait...you and your mom?  Or you and St. Anthony?"

"St. Anthony."

I looked at their faces.  They wore a bemused expression but they were all paying attention and seemed interested.

"You guys think I'm crazy."  The entire class laughed.  I knew that telling them about a close relationship with a saint (i.e. a physically dead person) probably didn't strike them as the most normal thing.  But the positive thing is that theology teachers can get away with crazy things and the students just chalk it up to their faith.

"Anyway, I started talking to him again and now he helps me find things all of the time.  St. Anthony is great!"

The PowerPoint presentation continued and I put the incident out of my mind.  While they are one of my favorite classes they also are often the least productive.  The interesting story of St. Anthony was replaced with a frustration that they weren't working on their assignment but seemed to be talking about everything but theological matters.  Yet when that student told me that they didn't really think I was crazy, the frustration melted away and I had an "I'm glad I'm a teacher" gushing of emotions.  Of course, it isn't the easiest thing to do and sometimes I want to give up, but it does have moments of joy and gratitude.

Some of my sophomores even claim that they wish they were me.  I was rather shocked by that statement but then I realized it was induced by my close proximity to their conversation and their combined frustrations over school, tests, and homework.  "I wish I was you, Miss ------"  Instantly my weekly life flashed before my eyes and I was firmly convinced that if they knew my life, they would be immediately grateful for their own.  Late nights grading papers, frantic test-writing, suppers with the parents, euphoria over Friday nights that end in an early bedtime...yes, they would sprint back to their current lives if they knew much more.  Their claim that I didn't have any homework to do was the added cherry to the top.  Despite my vehement internal opposition to their claims, I had to laugh at the naivete of my lovely sophomores.

I like my life.  It may appear boring or mundane to others.  But it has a fair amount of joy and blessings mixed in with the suffering and trials.  Too often we are in a state of discontent.  I want to just thank the Lord right now for this moment of contentment.  For the sunshine outside, the weekend languidly spread before me, the empty classroom that was just occupied by so many beautiful, wandering, searching young souls, the jeans of a dress down day, the love of friends and family, the imminent Sacrifice of the Mass, and the knowledge that someday all of this will end and what will replace it will be infinitely better. 

Deo gratias. 

I'm Worn...

I’m Tired I’m worn
My heart is heavy
From the work it takes
To keep on breathing
I’ve made mistakes
I’ve let my hope fail
My soul feels crushed
By the weight of this world

And I know that you can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left....

My prayers are wearing thin
Yeah, I’m worn
Even before the day begins
Yeah, I’m worn
I’ve lost my will to fight
I’m worn
So, heaven come and flood my eyes

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart
That’s frail and torn
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that’s dead inside can be reborn
Cause all that’s dead inside will be reborn
--"Worn" -Tenth Avenue North

That was how my week ended.  It found me filled with a great sense of tiredness and my inability to be perfect and teach as well as I desire.  I want perfection or at least success.  It is hard to remind myself that God is desiring my faithfulness far more than my success.  My competitive nature wants to win and even though I don't quite know who I am in competition with, I can feel that I am not winning.  Perhaps part of my mopey feelings stemmed from remembering that I was a natural at school as a student but am not quite a natural as a teacher.  For some reason I assumed that those two went hand-in-hand.  But, alas, they do not.

I received some criticism, some fair and some unwarranted, from a student as the topping to my Friday.  Those words echoed in my mind throughout that evening and into the rest of the weekend.  We are an ungrateful society but it is difficult to find gratitude in the faces of students who don't even want what you are offering.  So I spent the weekend wondering what God wanted, frustrated with my students and more so myself.  If I was less stubborn and bull-headed I might have considered quitting or finding a different job in the near future.  This sounds dramatic considering the conversation that took place wasn't earth-shattering.  Primarily what topped the feeling chart was that I was tired of not adequately communicating the love I have for Jesus and the Church and wondering why I was in a position so obviously ill-suited to my temperament.  Yet the weekend continued on and all of this pondering and wondering led to much fruit.  On Sunday I watched "Beyond the Blackboard" and I began to put my situation in perspective.  The movie is about a teacher who faces seemingly insurmountable odds and yet, of course, she manages to come out ahead and be a wonderful inspiration.  I knew the ending would be triumphalistic but it was what I needed to get me back into a "I can make a difference and help people" mindset.

So I decided to pursue a course of change.  For a melancholic, this is a quite a feat in itself.  Monday I started all of my Apologetics classes with my students writing down what they like and dislike about my class.  I encourage charity and criticism with the intention of being constructive.  For the most part, my students were very good.  While my ego was wounded a bit in the reading of them, I found much that encouraged me.  Some students were encouraging since I was a first year teacher and others told me to not take it too personally because religion isn't well-liked by many people.  It also reconfirmed the realization that no matter what I do, I will never please all of them at the same time.  The weekend gave me time to build things up and feel as though everybody hated me and my class.  Some of the students claimed to have no complaints, others had some reasonable complaints, and others took the opportunity for what it was worth and, hiding behind the anonymity of it, let me have their unadulterated criticism.  I shared with my mother that I was beginning to partially understand how God could be frustrated with us--I have only 115 or so students that I am trying to please while God has 7 billion.  No matter what I due, someone will be displeased.  God does things far better than I and still people are continually unsatisfied with what He is offering.  Too often I am among that number.   

I wonder at times if the Lord has placed me here not because of anything I can teach my students but rather because of something that He desires to do in my own heart.  Perhaps in some way teaching can convert my heart like nothing else could.  Sometimes my stubborn heart is my downfall and at other times it is that which keeps me from giving up and surrendering the battle. 

Lord, I am still in this battle until You take me home.  But I renewed my desire again today that it be Your classroom and not mine.  You are a much better teacher.   

The Quest: To Be a Saint

A new year, some new classes, and nearly 80 new students.  Some interesting things have already transpired, some for which I suppose I asked.  I thought it would be neat if my students took a temperament test and then I could review the results and try to discover some of their characteristics quickly.  So in class I gave them the web address that I wanted them to go to take the test and it just happened to be one for Catholic Match.  I didn't fully understand what I was setting myself up for until I was preparing to write the address on the board.  When I did, the response was typical--some chuckling, a few muffled remarks, and the overall questioning air that seemed to compel me to confess or deny their silent accusation.  I did neither, for the most part.  Perhaps the next embarrassing thing was telling them that they couldn't do this assignment at school either, because the school had blocked the address.  At times I forget about the person of the high schooler and fail to remember that many trivial things can be made ridiculous when presented to a group of teenagers.  Another interesting thing occurred when I reviewed the syllabus and mentioned the school policy on cell phones.  In order to make it absolutely clear to them, I added a line that said that failure to comply with the rules would result in harsher penalties.  My seniors primarily glazed over that but my sophomore classes picked up on it and some wanted to know what the penalty was.  I hedged and simply told them that they didn't really want to find out.

As I was speaking to my seniors today I tried to present the idea of sanctity to them.  I called them to become saints and to not wait for later or to assume that knowing the answers is sufficient.  As I spoke to them I realized how much of this I need to remember.  I cannot simply spend my day talking about Jesus, I must talk to Him.  The more I interact with my students, the more I realize how much further I have to grow in sanctity.  The thought came to me today that God is using this job as a way to draw me closer to Himself, that all of the challenges and problems are His way of perfecting me.  There is a lot of perfecting that needs to take place.  Today I considered my deficiency in love.  I want to love only those who like me.  Praying outside the abortion clinic in college was my initial experience of forcing myself to love in the face of intense adversity.  However, school is different.  It is much more of a marathon.  It isn't exhilarating or enlightening to love my students in the midst of their utter humanity.  It doesn't seem heroic, it doesn't fill me with warm feelings, and I don't have someone to talk to about how much I feel like I grew in the process.  Instead, it is just hard.  I don't want to do it and I can feel myself rebel.  Loving to the point of pain.  That is my calling and yet I fail to do it so often.  I was serious when I told them that I would help sanctify them and they will help sanctify me.  Then I realize that if I truly desired to be a saint above all other desires, if my holiness was what I was concerned about more than my physical or mental health, how much more I would do to further that goal.  It is often surprising how lukewarm we can be while mistakenly thinking we are so zealous and hard-core.  How good it is that we have a God who knows the trappings of human nature because He took them on Himself.  But our desire to please Him and live for Him does please Him.  And if we are serious, we will accept the grace He offers to live out His will.

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.
                                                                                         --Thomas Merton
   

Beyond Grades

Teaching is an interesting profession.  What I do is primarily judged by test and quiz scores and the single letter marked down on the transcripts of my students.  People come in to my classroom to observe me and see how well I teach.  But the interesting thing is that the heart of what I do, the depth of the relationship I have with some of my classes is witnessed only by myself.  When that observer enters the room, the mood changes and it is no longer the relationship that has been steadily forming.  That single letter inscribed on a transcript is not observant of the laughter that has been shared, the hours spent together, the prayers uttered to God on their behalf.  I do not teach perfectly and I do not know all of my students very well.  Yet there is this delightful feeling when I remember laughing with my classes even if I cannot remember what we were laughing about.  Maybe they forget far quicker than I do but I am still repeatedly amazed about what people refer to as my "job".  I get to see over one hundred students every day and try to give to them part of the love that I have for the Lord.  And every day I mess up, yet every day is a new day to try again.  Nobody but the Lord can really see what I do or judge how effectively I do it.  Because I like to think that I am revealing to them something that I cannot test them on.  I prefer to think that the joy we share (at times) in the classroom is indicative of something deeper.  And I pray that someday I will be blessed enough to see the fruit of my labors, even if that day only comes in Heaven.