The heart of a teacher.

This blog post is dedicated to the many, many awesome teachers in my life - my dad before me, my brother, my current co-workers, my past co-workers, and to the many friends of mine who are teachers.

Today was one of those days that is hard on a teacher's heart.

I just walked in from attending the funeral of a 12 year old - one of our 7th grade junior high girls. Bright, pretty, spunky, athletic, with a love of singing...we never anticipated this.

I've "lost" several students in my years of teaching; it's something that never gets easier. It's one of the great many things that college courses do not prepare you for. Being a teacher is a lot like motherhood - you walk around most days with your heart outside of your body.

This precious girl was not a student of mine; her sibling is in our building, and that carries its own weight of grief. But - even more than that - our district is small, our community is small; each loss is felt. The school auditorium (where the memorial service was held) was packed; this is a community where people show up, they are there for one another. I sat in the back row and was overwhelmed with the display of unity and love that was, both, felt and seen.

As I left my classroom this afternoon and began the short walk to the auditorium, I was overtaken with emotion as I paused at the junction where our junior high and high school meet. Right as I was passing by, the junior high students were being led by a whole host of their teachers down the hallway, toward the memorial service for their classmate. Let me tell you, if that scene doesn't bring you to your knees, I'm not sure anything would.

I don't want to "camp out" on this next part, but I do feel it's worth speaking to. The majority of the students we lose are to car accidents, and occasionally a terminal illness. This one...this was a first for me and for many that I teach with. This...was a suicide. Remember, she was 12.

That, in itself, sparks a grief that is hard - as a teacher - to wrap your head and heart around; imagine how difficult it is for the classmates. The pastor conducting the service did such an amazing job - truly one of the most heart-felt, anointed messages I've heard at a funeral. Heartbroken himself, he spoke directly to the family, but also to all of the students. There is a lot of healing and restoration that needs to happen, and he spoke to that and began that process today by pointing folks to Jesus.

When nothing at all makes sense, go to Him.

I rarely go here, mainly because I feel like it is really no longer my story to tell, but like several of the students that I currently teach, I have been touched first-hand by attempted suicide. Fortunately, this person was not successful. But - as a young 24 year old, I know what it's like to receive THE call, to read THE note, and then to spend all day and all night in a hospital room, hoping, praying, BEGGING that somehow, someway life could just go back to being "normal."

But you know what?

It doesn't. You eventually lean into, and then embrace, a new normal. One in which you are no longer the same. You are wary when you never used to be. You look for "signs" at the first appearance of distress or unhappiness. There is a huge, jagged scar that eventually heals, but its presence serves as a constant reminder: life can change at any moment.

I was young, and probably naive in many ways. I had - up until this point - led a pretty sheltered and "untouched" life. The mother of two small little boys, my "one moment" grew me up quickly. The world no longer felt safe, and I didn't know how to stay safe myself, much less keep two toddlers safe.

And that is how - even though I spent all of my growing up years on a church pew - I came to really know Jesus for myself. When nothing made sense, I went to Him, and that has made all the difference in my life since.

If you would, please keep this precious family, our school family - especially her teachers and classmates - and our entire community in your prayers over the days and weeks and months to come. These times tend to have a rippling effect, and we (teachers) must put our own grief, our own disbelief, our own horror aside and be what these kids need.

We will be there to hand out hugs, listen when they need to talk, understand when the school work just isn't getting done, and - most importantly - point them to Jesus.

Because - when nothing makes sense, He always does.