That Day I Cried In Front of 46 Children

It’s time for a little Transparency Thursday (I made this up, its not a thing). But still, today was not my most shining moment as a teacher. I was an emotional tornado. In a matter of 10 minutes I both yelled at and cried in front of one of my sixth grade classes. It was the first time I cried (I wish it was the first time I yelled) in front of the kids, and I despised every second of it. The really sad part is that what happened wasn’t even THAT big of a deal. I just pulled out the wrong Jenga piece and the whole tower came tumbling down. I thought I could handle this. I mean I have a degree in education and a zealous passion for teaching. I thought wrong.

I’m not sure anything could prepare you to teach a second language to 40-60 kids ranging from emerging readers to chapter book connoisseurs in a low resourced school faced with issues like poverty, understaffing, and bureaucratic bull crap. It’s a tough job. I have mad respect for the many teachers at my school that continue to do the best they can with what they have year after year after year. I haven’t even completed one year and I’m already feeling the encroaching burnout at my heels.

Here is the hard truth: The more your care, the more it hurts. I teach my kids that authentic kindness takes courage. And boy ain’t that true! It’s rather easy to be rude, blame someone else, or even be indifferent. But speaking with love to someone who hurt you, giving it all you got even when the odds aren’t in your favour, or apologising first; that takes real courage. Now that all sounds great and nobel, but the thing is that with such courageous vulnerability often comes deep hurt. It can be challenging to wear your heart on your sleeve when you’ve felt the pain of it shattering on the floor time and time again. Wrapping your heart in bubble wrap and keeping it far away from everyone, including yourself, begins to seem more and more tempting with time.

To that point, there is this idea in the Peace Corps world that after serving for a while you start to become jaded. There is even an entire Instragram account dedicated to this “Jaded Corps” mentality (check it out. It’s pretty funny). But many volunteers end up with this jaded outlook because Peace Corps service is hard, painful, irritating, and although I love what I get to do here, it can sometimes even feel almost meaningless. I mean, you start to see just how deep some of these issues are and your efforts start to seem futile in the ocean of issues. Your heart breaks or your brain explodes and you start to think, “Will they ever understand personal pronouns?! AKA Is all this work doing any good?”

Okay. Let me take a deep breath, because that was some heavy stuff and I am just getting to the good part. Stay with me. I was busy praying and repenting for all my silliness in the classroom today when Jesus whispered, “Caitlin, I get it.” And oh my goodness, does He ever. Our God loves us so much that He sent his son to us (John 3:16). He sees our complex, deep, messy problems and He still says “Come to me all who are weary and burdened” (Matt 11:28). He saw the depth of our sin and still was willing to go to the cross in our place and save us with His scandalous grace (Ephesians 2: 1-10). He watches us not do what we want but do the very thing we hate and He still extends new mercies every morning (Romans 7:15; Lam 3:22-23.) He feels the agony of His very own creation breaking his heart and literally His body, and still He turns back to call us His beloved children (John 1:12). I mean, if that isn’t sweet news, I don’t know what is.

So, I’m taking a lesson from Jesus. That homeless rabbi always knows what’s up! We are called to keep on radically loving people even when logic says it’s not worth it because that’s exactly what our God does for us every single day! And we don’t do it because as Christ followers we are some kind of saviour...there is only one of those (Love ya, JC). We do it because as brother and sisters on this earth our humanity and freedom are bound up together. We are to be in the world, not of it, mourning with those who mourn and rejoicing with those who are rejoicing. And I was right. I can’t handle this alone. Only Christ can through us. So, when we fail and freak out like I did today, we have a chance to humbly admit our own brokenness and point the people we try to love to the only One who can actually do it all the time.

I guess the other good news is that I’m not completely jaded (yet), PTL. But I’m not blissfully ignorant either. I am not here to save the world, or even one corner of it. I am here to, as Mother Teresa said, do small things with great love. And you are wherever you are to do the same.

We are broken and we are loved. Share both with the world around you and it will never be the same. May Jesus keep wrecking our lives as He saves our souls.

Love,

Caitlin

P.S. My kids in class showed me some radical forgiveness and grace today. They were quick to forgive me for my emotional breakdown and, goodness gracious, they are amazing. They drive me absolutely crazy, but they are amazing.