Sing

This video is my latest obsession. I can't stop watching it. It's kind of bizarre, I know, but it seems like I pick up a new detail every time I watch it. It seems I've always had a penchant for bizarre, futuristic Blade Runner-esque stuff. I've never been into My Chemical Romance, but I watch Glee and they did a cover of this song, so, of course, I, like I'm sure many others, went to check out the original. And I discovered this little gem. And it doesn't hurt that the song is incredibly catchy.

So anyway, UGA this past weekend was lovely. I mean, the visit couldn't have gone any better. I met lots of people, was able to kind of get a feel for the department and was able to talk with people who are interested in the stuff I'm interested in. I picked up many reading suggestions and a few journal articles as points of departure for this idea I have in my head for a possible dissertation topic. But I've got time for that. I'm looking forward to getting started in the fall. Time to strike out into new territory again.

I will admit that part of my reluctance comes from a little liar who comes around and tells me that if I start a PhD program, my chances of ever meeting anyone will plummet even further. But then I kind of shake myself and reason things out this way: If starting my PhD is supposed to take me further from meeting the (within truly exaggerated air quotes) man of my dreams, how is NOT starting a PhD program going to bring me closer to meeting him? I've gotten up to this point without pursuing a doctorate without having magically happened upon him, so . . . (the plausibility of magically happening upon him to be discussed at a later date).

Anyway, I've never known what I wanted to do. I still don't. But I know I've always been pretty cool with my state of affairs when I've been in school. I dunno. School is just something I've always been good at. I would love to be a professional student. But it's just dawned upon me that I can be. As a professor. I would teach (which I adore when my students aren't recalcitrant ingrates) but I'd also research, and keep learning stuff. I like being a nerd. Why not get paid for it?

I had a teacher moment last night. Tears almost sprang to my eyes. In my Intermediate professional development Spanish class last night, one of my students blew me away with how much she'd learned! Their homework was to write a paragraph introducing themselves, telling what they do for a living, describing their families and the places they go during the week. Just an attempt to help them review the many things they'd learned in the Beginning class as well as the new things they've learned in Intermediate. The thing is, it's not like she'd created some fancy, perfect composition, using complex verb tenses and an extensive vocabulary. She simply took the basic things we'd learned in class and went all the way with it. It was fabulous.

The other day I was in the copy room and an incredibly cute, braided, beaded little girl who was supposed to be taking a diagnostic test in another room wordlessly wandered in and encircled my waist with her little girl arms and rested her head against me. Lord, my ovaries.

I think I'm going to get a pedicure today. My toes are up for a little pampering. The weather is demanding they be presentable.

Embark

Ahem.

It has been a little while since this little blog baby has gotten some TLC. Here I sit, nursing a bowl of lukewarm oatmeal, trying to figure out what I'm going to wear on Monday.

Today, I'm heading out to spend time with some friends in GA for the weekend, and then Monday, I go up to UGA for a little departmental visit. The department is reimbursing me for all my travel expenses, food and hotel stay. Sweet. I should look professional, but don't want to be overly dressy.

There's a lot going on, and a lot I have to do. I feel unprepared. What kinds of questions am I going to ask? I have to strike a balance between confidence and humility. I have to come across like I have something to bring to the table. I can't just be this wide-eyed, gushing little girl.

Where am I going to live? Where am I going to go to church? I'm going to visit around a little bit this weekend.

And then there's Lord Henry. What I have to realize is this: Moving to start my doctoral program in August could be turning a clean, new, unfettered page, or it could be the beginning of another downward spiral. It simply cannot be the latter. I've suffered enough and have overcome too much.

I was gleeful to get my Word Aflame Press check in the mail. Remember those stories I was talking about? I got those suckas finished off and submitted. And ya girl got paid.

I also have a slight cough that tastes like Ramen noodles. I never get sick. At least I didn't wake up this morning like I did yesterday feeling like a weed-whacker went crazy in my throat. I don't claim it. I don't claim it in JAY-sus name!

And the weather, oh, the weather. Thank you for warming up, weather. Warmth makes things brighter and happier.

Snippets

While procrastinating on putting in my Spanish students' credit hours into the professional development system (by watching Glee and Community on Hulu), it dawned on me that I pledged to make brownies for a Sunday School bake sale. Oh, frobscottle.

I still need to get my life together. I have a visit next weekend to my future home of higher learning, and I need to make arrangements. The prospect of moving and doing a long-term new thing is trickling down into my psyche. I have the chance to be a new me. Why continue stumbling along when I can stop, take a deep breath and start walking tall?

I got my hair did (yes, "did") and want to whip it back and forth.

I ate my entire dinner last night with chopsticks. I'm pretty good with them.

I really don't want to go out into the cold to get brownie mix. Plus I might run into someone I know yet don't want to see at the supermarket.

Update: Mom had already bought brownie mix (score!) and I'm also making heart shaped gingerbread cookies from mix left over from Christmas. Hearts because of the impending Valentine's Day. All of that to say I didn't have to go out into the cold.

Speaking of the impending Valentine's Day and being out in the cold . . .

Agh. Nevermind.

On this dreary Friday morning, I reflect.

Middle brother's going to Iraq today. Again. Not out of obligation, but out of choice, which really burns my biscuits. I could see if he was a patriot or something, but he's chasing that paper. That's it. I love the kid and I know he has his reasons. But he's stubborn. It's flinty-edged. I know what I'm doing. I'm a man. I have to do what's right for me. I'm doing it despite what you think. I'm. I. I. I. Well, I'm big sister, and I'll always be. I know France and Iraq are worlds apart, but why I went to France and why he's going to Iraq coincide like the middle part of a Venn diagram. And I tried to tell him. Running away from it will never resolve it. It'll follow you there. And it'll still be there when you get back.

Last night, I wanted Cheezie's pizza. Pepperoni and cheap and good. They close at 9:00. The Lord sent green light angels and gave my car the wings of the morning. I got there at 8:55. The lone pizza guy there was young and my smile softened his heart. He just happened to have made one pepperoni pizza too many. It was the will of God. I told the pizza guy that, too.

I just have to accept the fact that if anyone of the opposite sex in my orbit ever shows up on my father's radar, he will scrutinize every single thing. There will always be flaws. They will never measure up. Even if I have previously rejected the person as a serious contender myself, my father will remind me of the flaws and accentuate them and exaggerate them. No matter who it is or how I old I get, my father will do this. My father will also act hard core if a situation arises where I won't be around (i.e., getting accepted into a PhD program a state away). He is proud of me, but he can't be effusive about it because he is a dad. And I am a daughter.

I have a good car. I love my good old car. The only times I've had to take it in for anything serious was because of something dumb I did. My check engine light came on when I got into my car the other day. The next day the light was off. If it comes back on, I'll take it in.

My official acceptance letter came in the mail today. Forms and forms and forms. O ye of no health insurance and out-of-state status.

Life doesn't go as planned. It just doesn't. So what's a girl do to?

1. Have a meltdown every time it doesn't.

2. Enjoy the ride.

I'm shooting for #2.

My Moment

So, I had a moment this morning. I had a couple of moments.

Today was the phone interview with the department. There's really only so much you can do to prepare. I was informed beforehand that we would discuss my academic goals and interests as well as my teaching experience. I made a few notes and read up on the professors who would be interviewing me. But today, panic set in. The bigness of it all began to loom and I felt super intimidated and insecure and unprepared.

I had a moment (i.e., a mini-meltdown involving tears and snot). They come (more often that I'd like to admit), but they go. I eventually pulled myself together before the call came right on the dot.

I've had interviews in the past where I know I nailed it. Where I felt confident and in my element. I did not feel that way after this interview. I didn't feel like I blew it, but I felt like I rambled and that my responses weren't as specific and serious-sounding as I would have liked. I felt like I answered the questions, but I didn't feel like I did so impressively. At all. And it was conducted in Spanish, and even though I usually feel comfortable speaking it, it's still not my first language. I didn't sound as fluent and as confident as I would have liked. When they asked if I had any questions, I asked them very practical questions about the conditions and the requirements of the teaching assistantship, if I were offered one.

After it was all over with, I semi-devolved back into sniffles and tears, and in the middle of talking it out with someone, I checked my email, not even 30 minutes later, to find this from the graduate admissions director:

Dear Chantell,

I am delighted to inform you that the Spanish Admissions Committee has recommended that you be accepted into the PhD program, and that you be awarded a teaching assistantship. Final approval must come from the Graduate School, but I wanted to let you know right away that the Commitee was very impressed with your application and your telephone interview.

In fact, your dossier is so outstanding that I am going to nominate you for a Graduate School Assistantship. This is a special award that provides 21 months of support (two academic years plus the summer in between), and allows students to do research under a faculty member's direction. After the first two years of your program, you would continue to be supported through a departmental teaching assistantship.

These are highly competitive awards, but you definitely qualify! We should know the results by the end of February.

In the meantime, please accept my warm congratulations. We truly hope to welcome you to our graduate program this coming fall.

You're kidding me, right? Like, I JUST got off the phone with them and thought my interview was not even close to impressive. And THEN they're nominating me for a Grad School Assistantship too?! (Which is fancier than the departmental one.) I had to stop and laugh at myself for being such a doubting crybaby. And I had to stop and thank God. I think He's trying to show me that I really need to chill out. For real. That I really am going to one day have to trust Him to take care of me.

I was kind of ambivalent about this whole thing at first. But now I'm looking forward to it.

You Procrastination Slave, You

Another quick list:

1. Gotta get a lesson together for my Intermediate Spanish class. Blast me for always waiting until the last minute! (Least I got copies made and squared away for Beginning already. Bless the industriousness that does eventually emerge from time to time.)

2. Gotta finish writing my short story series before midnight this Saturday. Blast me for being a glutton for time crunch punishment!

3. Junior Bible Quizzing tournament Saturday morning. And guess who's an assistant coach . . .

4. Got a phone call back from the Romance Languages department! Director of Graduate Admissions told me I was a fabulous candidate, that my resume looked great and that they wanted to interview the strongest candidates first! The interview (phone interview) is this Friday and will be conducted entirely in Spanish. Downside: Fluffy answers about wanting to "explore" blah, blah, blah won't cut it. I have to be specific about my interests and goals. They need to know that I'm serious, and be left with no inkling that I might be a wanderlust-laden, indecisive girl-woman. I can't say, "I've always been good at school and I don't know what else to do with myself, so I figured I'd give a PhD a go." Let's pray the good Lord lays something on my heart before Friday afternoon.

After this I have to keep writing my stories.

1. I have a friend with whom I can play pick-a-language when we talk on the phone. We start out in Spanish, usually, spend a little time in French, and end in English. It's amazing when I stop to think about it. He's the only one I can do that with.

2. My side-job Spanish classes seem to be a hit. I got a really sweet email from a student saying she loved my enthusiasm and enjoyed the class. I had people who aren't in the class tell me they heard about how good it was. Wow. The downside to such praise is that now I have to keep it up.

3. I am trying so hard not to think about turning 29 in a couple of months. It's not a big deal. People turn 29 every day. But it's taking everything in me to fight off a spreading sense of panic. I'm living at home and I have stuffed animals on my bed, fuzzy bear slippers on my feet and wear college t-shirts over pajama bottoms with hearts on them. My future is hinged on entering a PhD program which I'm ambivalent about. The only official relationship I've ever had was embarrassingly long ago, and the history after that been strewn with ambiguous disappointments and inappropriate disasters. I cannot afford to let this quicksand pull me under again. There are only so many times you can bounce back.

4. I'm a teacher. I'm a math teacher who majored in Spanish. I'm also a Spanish teacher who originally majored in English. I teach teenagers (Miss Smith). I teach adults (Chantell). I teach children (Sister Chantell). I teach toddlers (I wan sum appo duce). It's what I've always done.

5. Sometimes I find myself in the middle of doing something, and I'll feel outside myself. Like I'm not the one doing it, but I'm watching myself do it from an imaginary psychological distance. Sometimes I'll be struck with the fact that I am myself and that I will always be myself and that the world will only look to me the way I see it and that I will never be able to see it through any other eyes, gender, race, culture or experience and that no one else will be able to see it through mine. At no time will being me be over, and then I'll move on to the next thing. This is it.

6. I feel abject when I have nothing to do, when I'm not working towards something. So I fill my coffers up with tasks and get involved with things. Then I feel pressured because I have a lot to do and deadlines loom and showtime arrives and evaluations hover. Because there is always a reckoning.

7. I get annoyed with myself because my existential quandaries are nothing unique to me. There's not some special, weird thing about me or the situations that arise or the things I think about them or the ways I cope with them. It's actually standard procedure. It's not an everlasting problem needing a solution. It's just how it is.

8. I think I'm addicted to pepperoni pizza. I never tire of it, and I crave it quite often.

Life Nuggets

Why does so much of my bloggery revolve, in some way, around Starbucks? The Bucking Star. It's just that place I go to, and leave smelling like coffee grounds.

I've been waking up better, steeling myself less, involving myself more. Trying to take care of and move forward in the now, trying to spend less time conjuring the unforeseeable future. I remember in high school calculus, learning about imaginary numbers. Imagine that. The square root of a negative number which doesn't exist, isn't real, but has concrete application. The square root of my future doesn't exist in this plane. I've resolved to stop trying to make it a real number.

This, of course, from a Spanish teacher turned math teacher out of necessity. (The square root of which was choice.) Well, math, science, ACT review, Spanish and everything-in-between-teacher-tutor-in-one. It's what I've been summoned to do at my new learning center gig. It'll do. Even when I see faces from my public school past reappear for after-school homework help. Hey, Señorita! Our new Spanish teacher is really strict. She took up my phone the first day! Well, praise the Lord. Someone permanent, experienced in teaching Spanish, and "mean." Just what your unruly behinds needed.

When I write stories, I snatch nuggets from my own life and coat them with fictitiousness. (sigh.) That's what I should be doing now. Coating life nuggets with fictitiousness.

Enter a girl in Starbucks, alone.

Enter a girl in Starbucks, alone. She sits at a table, with laptop open, intent on getting started on a short story series. Enter a balding, bespectacled, 30ish man.

Man: Is this seat taken?

Girl: No, go ahead, not at all.

The man takes the chair and sits at a table in front of her. Facing her. He sets out his laptop as well. One of the baristas calls out a drink.

Man: Is that your drink?

Girl: (slightly puzzled as to why the man is addressing her) Um, no . . . I already ordered mine.

The girl's cell rings. She talks to a family member about her whereabouts, mentions what she's working on, promises to meet said family member in a few minutes.

Man: So, are you a writer? I'm sorry, I couldn't help but overhear your conversation and I'm curious.

Girl: (Giggles self-consciously) Well, no . . . I-I mean, not professionally . . .

Man: Well, I guess we're all writers somehow, right? I guess I could say I'm a writer too, with these papers I have due. So, what do you write about?

Girl: (Again, she giggles self-consciously, not really wanting to answer.)

Man: I know, I'm sorry I'm being nosy. I'm just curious because, well, you're really cute and you seem like a really interesting person.

Girl: (Flattered yet unsettled, wondering how this man could consider hitting on her. What makes him think I'm his type? He's older, white, balding and short. Don't people tell me I look younger than I am? Shouldn't this be a deterrent?) I write Sunday School literature for teens.

Man: (Not sure how to respond.) Oh . . . that's cool.

Girl: (Attempting to turn the tables on him.) So, what do you write?

They strike up a mildly interesting conversation. She learns that he's an officer in the Air Force taking military science courses on base. He learns that she's traveled a bit and speaks Spanish and French. She becomes slightly more interested when she learns that he has a Masters in International Relations because she considered going that route. He tries to prolong the conversation even though he knows she's about to leave. She thinks he talks too fast and is trying too hard. She has a sinking feeling it's going to happen in 3, 2, 1 . . .

Man: I know you have to go, but um, I think you're such an interesting person and wanted to know if maybe we could get together for coffee sometime.

Girl: (Hoping her voice conveys regret, shaking her head.) I have a lot going on.

Man: (Getting it.) Oh, you do? (pause) Well, hopefully I'll see you around sometime.

Girl exits from Starbucks, alone.

"Ice" Day

Southerners always flip out at the very wisp of a threat of bad weather. Always better safe than sorry, I suppose, but the case, more often than not, is that reality falls short of the hyped up forecasts. Then again, I'm in Montgomery. Things are worse the further north you go.

So, I've been treated to a three-day weekend. What must I do in order to feel productive?

1. Write letters to my friends in French. I know . . . I could just send them messages on Facebook, but I'm stubborn and old-fashioned and need to practice my French. Plus, I think it's special when you write things out by hand.

2. Begin writing a series of short stories for Word Aflame Press Sunday school literature. I wrote a series for Youth last year and it was fun, so I've been entrusted with another one.

3. Get into some Harlem Renaissance books I purchased from the Schomberg Center when I was in NY.

4. Gear up for my professional development Spanish classes starting back up next week.

Here's to productive "ice" day Mondays!

Hash It Out

Writing here gives me a way to hash it out.

I realized that I didn't even formulate a New Year's Resolution.

There are two big things that I need to work on: trusting God and being consistent.

Frankly, 2010 was a year of a series of bad decisions. It would be unwise to enumerate them here, but I have to own up to the fact that I made many decisions based on fear and lack of trust in God which have resulted in an emerging pattern of inconsistency. If I plan on ever finally facing my demons and overcoming them, this cannot continue.

There's no golden ticket. No one is going to rescue me. If I'm ever to regain ground, I have to do it on cold, hard, realistic terms.

It doesn't have to be so grim and dire. I need to learn to accept the fact that life never stays within the lines and that just because bad decisions can't be undone it doesn't mean that we cannot move forward or that God is not still in control.

I was reading Genesis during a bible study the other day and was struck with the beauty of the creation story. God spoke things into existence. They were good. He gave things a name. He separated the light from the darkness. He created order out of the void.

I got an email the other day from the Romance Languages department of where I'm applying to enter the PhD program. All materials have been received. Soon they'll schedule a phone interview to be conducted entirely in Spanish. I need to be ready to give specific answers about my goals and interests.

There are so many bright spots I can focus on. My life is being lived right now.

Sometimes . . .

a jazzed up frozen pepperoni pizza popped in the oven that comes out fresh and bubblin' is enough.

One of Those Posts

I hate writing posts like this, but there's an irritating part of me clamoring to express itself and will not cease until I relent. You've been warned. I'm so sorry.

I cannot express how much I wish I could just relax about things. I'm so hard on myself. Everyone tells me I'm too hard on myself and I realize in more sober moments that it's true, but that doesn't stop me from doing it.

I wish so badly that the most insignificant things didn't make me tear up. I wish I could take things like a G, suck it up and soldier on. But the least little thing that doesn't happily follow along with the way it's supposed to happen in my head makes my eyes water. It's so annoying and spoiled and just ridiculous. I am too old to react to life this way. When is it going to register in the depth of my being that the last time I was a 12-year-old girl was a little over 16 years ago? What is it going to take for something to slice through my constant formulation of impossible expectations to reveal the fleshy, raw fact that it's never going to happen the way it's "supposed" to? It's just exhausting, but most of all, utterly unnecessary.

I suffer from an irrational, debilitating fear that springs upon me like a panther that I will never be satisfied. That the idea that I'm going to finally arrive at this golden place is a fraud. That I'm sinking deeper and deeper into a self-fulfilling prophecy that I'm afraid of never being happy therefore I never will be. Like I'm watching a train wreck about to happen from afar but at the same time, I'm in it.

I hate that I can't seem to sit still. I flit and flutter and rove and wander. I hate that I consistently second guess myself. I hate that I can't see the forest for the trees because I'm so blinded by the present.

Please. Open my close-minded eyes. Please. Lift me out of my complacent egocentrism. Please. Give me a desire to choose life every day. Please.

Aromatherapy

You'd think that eucalyptus and spearmint scented body wash and lotion would smell like medicinal Doublemint. Imagine my surprise when I opened it up and got a whiff of sweet blues.

Tomorrow is the beginning of the rest of my life.

So, I got back from NYC in one piece. It was lovely seeing my buds.

I'd say the highlight was going to Harlem and going to the Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture on Lenox Avenue. Yes, the Lenox Avenue.

Down on Lenox Avenue the other night

By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light

He did a lazy sway . . .

He did a lazy sway . . .

To the tune o' those Weary Blues.

But now I'm back here, and back in that place. In that place where I'm kind of starting over, starting something new, starting a new chapter and don't know where it's headed. But first the old one has to end.

Tomorrow I have to drop off some lesson plans and collect my stuff. Am I going to see people who are going to ask me stuff? I don't like explaining stuff. I can imagine that feeling that's going to settle over me when I turn the key, struggle open that jammed iron door, and smell that high school building smell and hear my footsteps echo down the too-early halls. When I sweep my dusty, gum-speckled wooden floors and memories and hurts seep through.

And my side job . . . I'm pretty sure the gig's still on, but how is it going to materialize? What if not enough people sign up this time around? And my supervisor.

And the new job. Do I really know what I'm getting myself into? We've all heard of jumping from the frying pan and into the fire. From sizzling to burnt.

And me + PhD? My professors finally slid their recommendations into pre-deadline home plate, lucky me. Everything else has since been cast upon the waters. What shall I find after many days? I'll find out in February or March.

Here's to tomorrows.

La Noël et autres détails de la vie

Christmas was lovely. I'll treat you to this pic of my brothers and I. We are so old but still act like brothers and sisters. And my brothers never want to smile for the camera.

So, tomorrow I'm headed to the NYC provided there are no further flight delays. One of my grad school buddies is a new daddy and I can't wait to hold his little one.

I've been knocking things off of my to-do list. All is done except for number 5, which I should be able to polish off tonight. And God please let my absent-minded professors send in their recs before the deadline. And if they don't, God please let the department be merciful. Amen.

Speaking of grad school buddies, another one of mine came down this week with his sweet little sis and we had a grand old time. I laughed A LOT. Boy, I needed it. I will never tire of the story where he awkwardly encounters one of our least-favorite professors in the men's room. Ah, I can't even think about it without chuckling.

I've also been enlisted as a Spanish tutor to . . . ahem . . . a certain tall, dark chocolate, handsome man. Perhaps he will join my professional development Beginning Spanish class when it starts back up next month. Nah, it's not like that for real. I still don't really know the dude. He's gorgeous, but looks aren't everything.

I've always been a last-minute packer. I'm going to try to be a little better and not wait until 12 a.m. this time.

Calm down.

But there's this manic little me that wants to explain, that wants to make sure I'm not perceived as not the way I want to be perceived because if I were then I'd be misunderstood and feel insecure and I don't want to put myself into a position where I am looked at as immature and eager and naive because I'm trying to make sure that I come across as the way I want to come across and

Please, do yourself and everyone else a favor and calm down.

In your vain attempt not to be annoying and too much, you are being annoying and too much.

Breathe.

Unashamedly accept the unchangeable fact that you are yourself and calm down.

The Nutcracker

The best moment: The first few dainty plucks of the strings before the sugar plum fairy tiptoes and pirouettes across the stage.

Today I woke up and made pancakes.

I felt like being a housewife. To accompany the pancakes I made bacon and scrambled eggs. My dad and brothers were quite pleased.

Now I must . . .

1. Start Christmas shopping. Christmas is Saturday. Geez.

2. Mail an English Bible to a friend in France. (It's not going to get there in time, but c'est la pensée qui compte.)

3. Send some Christmas cards in French. Gotta practice. Madame sent me one like 2 weeks ago.

4. Finish writing my statement of purpose and get the rest of the application sent off. The deadline is January 1st!

5. Finish watching training videos for my new gig.

Please God, please let my stars align. I know that I am an underling and that the fault lies not in them (quick explanation), but please . . . last night we sang "You Give Us Life" at church, and it suddenly hit me that I've been given the gift of life. I felt positive, refreshed, forward-looking. I don't want to lose it. There's an itsy bitsy hope buried under layers and layers, incubating, lying patiently dormant. Don't let it die.

Miss Señorita Says Adiós

I was a little surprised during my goodbyes yesterday. More of them cared than I thought. One student who gave me constant problems begged me not to go. "Please, Miss Señorita, please don't go. I am so sorry for everything I've done. I promise to do better if you please don't go." A few of them wrote me notes telling me how great of a teacher I am and how much they're going to miss me. When I made the announcement that I wouldn't be back next semester, a common refrain was, "Why you leaving us?" That really got to me. I hate the idea of leaving people behind.

A friend of mine made me laugh harder than I had in a while by telling me that I invent new reasons to beat myself up. Maybe she's right, but I have to be honest and say that I feel like a failure. I do. I gave up. One of my students even said, "Quitters never win and winners never quit, Miss Smith. And you're a winner. So you can't quit." It made me want to laugh and cry at the same time.

So many of my students come from broken, desperate situations. It's in the air at the school. You can smell it and breathe it in. And I allowed it to drag me down. I got tired of fighting. Of feeling ineffective and inept. Of feeling powerless for not being able to exert enough authority to control my classes. Of helplessly watching the future get carried off in handcuffs and totter down the hallways pregnant. Of hearing vile language everywhere I turned. Of feeling disregarded and rejected and taken for granted.

I am in this world. I am charged to be a light in this world. And if I start making a habit of quitting, how can I say that I truly believe in a God who strengthens me?

Maybe the disappointment and frustration that I felt is just a minuscule fraction of what Jesus felt every day during His life among us. Broken and desperate people.

Now I'm Facebook friends with a few. I told my pregnant students to give me a call when the baby comes so that I could go visit them. Maybe I can still be a positive influence even if I'm not in the classroom.