And so it begins

This morning at 8:00 a.m., 21 9th graders will be staring at me for 54 minutes. They'll be staring at me, but their minds will be elsewhere--wondering who I am and when the new lockers will come, worrying about finding their next class and making it there on time, worrying about who they'll sit with at lunch, wishing they had gone to bed earlier last night, wishing they had don t their summer reading, wishing they could have their cell phones. They'll also be bringing all kinds of invisible relational baggage into the room--something I often forget. They'll be thinking about the fight they had with their best friend or how their dad didn't come home last night or how they don't have any friends or how they miss their mom who died last year.

And somewhere in the midst of all that, I'll be teaching them English.

This morning at 8:00 a.m., I will stand in front of those 21 9th graders and will talk about the 180 hours we'll spend together this year with great expectation and dreams of being an inspiration. I'm hoping the kids like me, find the content engaging, and are respectful and awake. I'll have my own set of worries: am I too strict or too fun? Did I forget to tell them something? Could I teach any of this better than I already am?

But right now--right now--is calm, joy, anticipation, knowing that God has so clearly called me to this and trusting that He will not give me more than I can handle. This will need to be a year of trust, of leaning on Him, and with that in mind, this is my prayer for the year:

May my teaching fall like rain

and my words descend like dew,

like showers on new grass,

like abundant rain on tender plants.

Deuteronomy 32:2