This is awful. You might as well have thought I dropped off the face of the earth or was buried in a salt mine in the Gobi or escaped imprisonment from the darkest hole only by changing my name and running to the farthest corner of the world, possibilities which have all felt true to some degree over the past few weeks. I have been deluged with paperwork, and let me tell you, it is no easy task to take up something which is completely foreign. I know how to teach--I can stand in front of anyone and stay nimble enough to think on my toe--but no, no, it's the technicalities of the thing. I've had to learn an entirely new set of skills, dealing with a system and parents and computer systems (three of them!) for work and communication. And this stern facade I must necessarily wear for the first few weeks is wearing me out. Chin up now, you hear? I tell myself.
I've leaned heavily on Mrs. Lawrence, my old teacher from high school whom I greatly respect and admire, and she has provided me with valuable insight and advice via letter. Perhaps it's the sheer scale of it all--everything, down to the last jot and tittle is new, and not only must I learn how the normal methods of lecture but the differentiated for the dyslexics or slow learners or attention deficit sufferers. And then I have had to learn the bus system all over again to get to school, to church, to the grocery store. How does one work to accommodate all these things? My mind reached its quota a week ago and has ceased to absorb new information at all. If not for the automated electronic reminders I receive on my computer, I would not have remembered a single meeting. I tell those who wonder, "I am really not the person to ask."
I have been reading through Hinds' Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard, and it, as always, has been a steady comfort to me. Much Afraid comes across the threshing ground and the Chief Shepherd tells her, "Bread corn is bruised, but no one crushes it forever" (Isaiah 28:27). This crushing I know is not forever. I am trying on a new shoes entirely, but I haven't quite worn them in. Ask me again in a few days.
I've leaned heavily on Mrs. Lawrence, my old teacher from high school whom I greatly respect and admire, and she has provided me with valuable insight and advice via letter. Perhaps it's the sheer scale of it all--everything, down to the last jot and tittle is new, and not only must I learn how the normal methods of lecture but the differentiated for the dyslexics or slow learners or attention deficit sufferers. And then I have had to learn the bus system all over again to get to school, to church, to the grocery store. How does one work to accommodate all these things? My mind reached its quota a week ago and has ceased to absorb new information at all. If not for the automated electronic reminders I receive on my computer, I would not have remembered a single meeting. I tell those who wonder, "I am really not the person to ask."
I have been reading through Hinds' Feet on High Places by Hannah Hurnard, and it, as always, has been a steady comfort to me. Much Afraid comes across the threshing ground and the Chief Shepherd tells her, "Bread corn is bruised, but no one crushes it forever" (Isaiah 28:27). This crushing I know is not forever. I am trying on a new shoes entirely, but I haven't quite worn them in. Ask me again in a few days.
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