Hard

Last week was hard.

For what seemed like the first time in my life, I was trying really hard, but to no avail. The hard work I put in seemed to have absolutely no effect on my output. I was exhausted. My rose-colored lenses of changing the world, one child at a time, got knocked off my face for most of the week, and I began pondering what else I'm good at... that does not involve teaching, children, or intense preparation.

I am incredibly thankful for the people in my life who have pulled me aside, and made me slow down. Who fed me dinner when I had nothing prepared, who made me leave school when I didn't recognize I was stuck in a rut, who lent me their rusty old bike and chased me on roller blades around the neighborhood, who hugged me when words ran out, and who prayed for me daily. I'm thankful for people who know how to give space, how to encourage, and how to love. Loving a teacher is hard.

Each day as I debrief with other teachers, we moan and groan about our frustrations with our students. But we are learning.

We are learning to not just dwell on the stuff that went wrong, but to celebrate their gains and progress, to enjoy our students as developing people. If we only think about the things that aren't going according to planned, we will tire ourselves out. But when we begin to think about these kiddos, their interests, their talents, and who they want to be, the fight for them somehow seems much more doable. It seems impossible NOT to fight through the hard days.

This week I started eating lunch with my kids. Two at a time.

I love the amazing conversations that stem out of this time. The knowing looks and understanding nods between two children who have incarcerated fathers. Their frustrations with not knowing their siblings, and their refusal to call step-parents "mom" and "dad." Two other children who are shy suddenly erupt into stories as they take turns sharing about their favorite kinds of technology, ipad apps, and "teenagers."

Lunch with these kids reminds me why I'm really here. In between bites of my turkey sandwich, I grin as I listen to them argue and interrupt each other, excited to share, but talking as if I was just one of them. The walls come down. They let me in, and then they are ready to learn. As they talk, they wonder, their curiosity simply bursting at the seams. This is what education is all about. What I'm all about: kindling the fire of knowledge and learning through relationships and community.

My job is the hardest thing I've ever done, but it's the most rewarding thing I've ever done.

One Week

It has been one week of teaching.

I can't even begin to express the immense feelings that go through me as I think through this past week.

I think it's mostly wonder. Wonder at the fact that I'm actually here, actually having the privilege of having these precious lives entrusted to my care... to educate them, love them, and help them grow. Wonder at the amazing grace I have been shown at the opportunity to speak truth into twenty-one little lives.

There is complete joy and fulfillment in waking up in the morning knowing that I was born to do this. I thrive off of teaching. I thrive off of being called Miss Rozsa. I love little voices, small hands scrawling furiously on math assignments, writing about themselves, sharing their passions with me. I love when we laugh together, and I love introducing them to things I love. I am fascinated by their receptivity toward my culture and my heritage: a whole line of fourth graders begging for me to say their names in Hungarian. A shy girl asking me day after day when I'm going to bring my fiddle. The whole class eagerly clapping at the thought of Dr. Rozsa bringing cow eyes for them to observe/dissect. Oh. And the whole class wanting to have a pet pig... (pigs are my favorite animal).

Children love learning. Their love of learning drives me to a burning desire to learn too... to learn to become a better teacher for them, but also to keep exploring, devouring books, and writing what's on my heart.

There is a fair bit of exhaustion too. I could use a good week of rest. Now more than any other time, I recognize the importance of Sabbath rest, of boundaries in work and play, and in being able to put aside perfection for "good enough." There are always things I could do better. I will learn. But I don't need to be perfect immediately. Perfection will drain me. Right now, even though it feels like I'm keeping my head barely above water, I'm thriving.

Just Friends

As I have been slowly making the transitions from "student" to "teacher," from "child" to "adult," and from "dependent" to "independent," I am realizing that my relationships with people are changing. Best friends have moved away to pursue their own dreams in other states, my Grace graduating class has dispersed, and the journeys we once started together are now roads we walk with others.

My roommate and I were both ecstatic to be hired into the same district. It's the district where we student taught, where we learned from expert teachers, where we served the students, and where we go to church. We were beyond thankful to have each other in this new walk of life, and we assumed we would be roommates again.

After some consideration, however, we decided to part ways and live separately. Three years of co-existing, wrestling through conflicts, changing relationships, hard classes, personal growth, but also three wonderful years of iron sharpening iron came to a close. Bittersweet, most definitely, but the right time to begin to live lives apart a little more.

We went to new teacher orientation together. Instead of finding our normal place at each other's side as we did all through college, we sat at different tables, occasionally smirking at inside jokes that were called to our attention through a key buzzword a speaker said, but primarily just keeping it inside. We didn't even really talk in between sessions.

At one point, I overheard a conversation she was having with one of the speakers. The speaker had said something that reminded me of a familiar, humorous conversation Bekah and I had often had. I turned just in time to see her laugh aloud as our eyes met. The speaker looked confused about what had prompted this. I watched as Bekah flailed for words, trying to explain how she had read my mind, how she had known exactly what I was thinking... but couldn't. It was left at "that's Zoe."

We reflected on it afterward and we realized there is no true way to sum up our relationship. How can anyone understand the depths of growth, of understanding between us? The term "friends" does not suffice. But "roommate" is no longer applicable. To use the term "sister" is just confusing, but that is perhaps most closely what we are.

While at Grace, most things could be explained by simply announcing we were roommates. People would smile, nod, and put up with our shenanigans. But now, we're professionals. The winks, the jokes, the smirks, and the writing on each other's notes is not necessarily acceptable.

So... I guess we're just friends. Not roommates. But friends. It's a weird transition, and I do feel sad at times as I think about how things have changed. But my sadness does not last long when I realize I get to continue to move forward with my friend, roommate, sister by my side. We don't need to give our relationship a name. It will be different; it will change. But as we have in the past, we will continue to grow and change together.