"he was, but one..."

I was reading a post by a young friend on Facebook, and I recognised a familiar angst, frustration. Unlike the legendary 7-year itch, many young teachers feel a 5-year itch. It is a point at which you have learnt enough of the craft and content to be comfortable in the classroom; but it is also the point at which you would have had time to assess your successes and be in a position to evaluate the impact of your work. Many young teachers feel a lack at this point: what have I really achieved? Does my work matter? What have my students really learnt? Surely there is more to life than this?

Having walked this path, it is a crossroad I recognise. In a way, the Ministry of Education also recognises this and there are processes in place to ensure that those who are more able are offered job rotations or promotions round about their 4th year of teaching, to keep them learning and not stagnate. 

But there are sometimes many who don't get such an opportunity to grow, or choose not to take the path, and instead contemplate leaving the profession altogether. I am very aware that each person is called to walk a different path, but it saddens me when effective, caring Christian teachers leave. Because I ask, who then do you leave the children to? Who will take your place? 

It is sad that the more effective and caring a teacher is, the more quickly he / she gets burnt out. And if the caring teachers who are willing to go the extra mile, and the next mile, and the next mile, leave, then the ones left in our schools might well be the ones for whom teaching is just a Mon to Fri job that ensures a paycheck. 

So, my young friend, yes, there are injustices in the world. But as Jesus said, you will always have the poor with you. Will you always have that opportunity to have these students in your class for you to model Jesus to? The injustices of the world were there before you became a teacher and they will be there after you retire. But how long will you have that 14 year old in your classroom,  maybe thinking about the latest gadget and wishing your lesson will end, yes, but still, in your classroom. Looking at your face, feeling your hand on his shoulder, listening to your words and experiencing the presence of Christ in you in a far deeper way than you will now realise.

So I say to you, don't give up. Remember Abraham. Remember God says "he was but one, when I called him, that I might call him and bless him" (Isa 51:2). 

You and I are "but one". But the same God who saved the nations through the obedience of one, will multiply your efforts. The same God who sent his One and Only to save generations, can and will bless your students therough you. You will never know till you see His face, how he has used the faithfulness of "one".

All Work and No Play

I have been training to be a Facilitator at a course that is run by the Pastoral Counselling Ministry of my church. It's an 8-week course and I've just finished the fourth week. It is a really interesting course called 'Search for Life', originally designed by a church in Australia. It's a fantastic course and created a whole new sense of self-awareness and self-discovery in me when I attended it as a participant in 2009. This time I am attending it to be trained as a Facilitator.

Though it is my second time in the course, I realise there is still more I can learn about myself.  The last session on Family of Origin was fascinating for me. and I realise there are many aspects of my childhood that I have not explored or remembered. Thinking about my childhood specifically this time around has made me both pensive and grateful.

One thing that stood out for me is the realisation that I never played as a child. All the others in my small group had fond memories of playing with their siblings and/or cousins, they spoke nostalgically of games they played, but I had no similar memories. I only remember reading, and reading and reading. Because that was the one thing I could do on my own.

I spent a great deal of time on my own because although I was the youngest of 9 children, there was a big gap in years between my siblings and me. The sister just ahead of me was 8 years older and my eldest sister was 25 years older than me. Most of my sisters had left home - either because they were married or for their studies. And sisters in their teens and twenties had no time for a child.

Because I belonged to a small community called the Brahmins, playing with neighbours was out of the question. The other Indians were considered 'unclean' because they were of a different caste and children of other races were 'unclean' because they were meat-eaters unlike my strictly vegetarian family. And unlike the others in my discussion group, we did not live in a 'kampong' where there were common play areas for neighbourhood games. My one highlight was the monthly prayer session that my parents would go to - at  the Samajam, a  place specially built by the Brahmin community for them to have their elaborate prayer rituals far away from the masses. Here I would meet my cousin Jeya. And while the adults prayed, we  kids would talk. But there was no rowdy play. We were, after all, at a mass prayer session, and clad in our long 'pavadais', there was  little room for boisterous behaviour.

Thinking back, I feel a sense of loss that I never played. I think I just accepted such social isolation . Perhaps that's why books feel like companions. Perhaps that's why I like to be quiet and listen to people talk. Perhaps, that's why when my baby was born, I had no idea how to entertain her, except by reading. All the parenting I did was by reading as well. I read books on age-appropriate play for children and religously followed the suggestions. I read about how babies needed to be talked to, how to make mobiles, how to sing nursery rhymes. It was your father who played catch, who played ball games and taught you to ride a bike. And it was me who picked your books :)

I feel sad for that little girl who didn't play. But I marvel at my God who caught that little girl. I look back now and wonder at how I managed, at what I learnt. And looking at the two of you now, my daughters,  I feel sure God was watching over us, giving to you what I didn't know I didn't have. I learnt to play because of you :)