an instant message

this is a story i first shared on the blog a few years ago.  i revised it and contributed it to our church's annual book of advent devotionals. 

I stared at my computer screen on a December day a few years back, feeling the same emotions that had plagued me for months.  I was frustrated.  Disappointed.  Bewildered.  This was not the career path I had envisioned when I graduated from college with a degree in mathematics.  

Once upon a time, my career path was what I had envisioned.  After dreaming of becoming a teacher for as long as I can remember, I saw my dream realized; I taught middle school math for eight years in three different school systems and loved just about every minute of it.  I challenged and motivated and inspired my students, forging meaningful relationships with them that lasted long after they left my classroom.  Last spring, my own children were even in the wedding party of a young woman I had taught when she was in the sixth grade.  At every point in my life, I just knew that God had called me to teach, and I received daily affirmation that I was indeed answering His call.

But then I became a mother, and I answered God’s call to step away from the classroom, leaving behind a job I loved but eager to begin my new one.  I missed my students but I always knew I’d return.  So when, five years later, I was offered a part-time position teaching high school math online, I jumped at the chance.  What could be better?  I thought.  It’s the best of both worlds: I’ll be teaching, but I’m still at home with my children.

Within weeks, however, I began to question my decision.  This was a far cry from the kind of teaching I was used to, from the profession I so adored.  My new students were all teenagers who had been expelled from school; they had committed an offense so serious that they were not allowed back on campus for the remainder of the year.  All of a sudden, I wasn’t sharing my love of algebra with a room full of gifted and inquisitive children who hung on my every word.  Instead, I was speaking through a webcam to a group of juvenile delinquents who often paid attention only during the commercial breaks of Jerry Springer.

It was on that December day that I had finally had enough.  I had spent hours creating an interactive lesson that required my students to insert their responses on our webpage.  But instead of insightful answers that demonstrated their mastery of the algebra curriculum, I saw my screen begin to fill up with phrases and drawings that were clearly gang-related.  (The Crips all used blue ink; the Bloods used red.  By this point I was already well-versed in gang vernacular.)  Disgusted, I shut down the webpage and just sat there for a few moments in silence.  This was not, I felt, what God was calling me to do.  So why was I doing it?  Why do I teach?

And then an instant message appeared on my screen, from a student who had just recently joined my class.  I stared at the blinking icon for a few seconds before opening it.  “Heyyyy Mz Mann,” it began.  “I’m being induced to have my second baby tomorrow so I might miss class.”  I typed a response immediately, letting her know I would help in any way that I could, but before I hit enter she had logged off.   I wondered if I’d ever see her again.

But the next day, her username appeared in my virtual classroom.  I texted her, asking if her plans had changed.

“I already had my baby,” she replied.  “He’s in the crib right next to me and I’ve got my laptop in the hospital bed.”  And not only was she present, but she participated in the class, answering questions and solving problems and stepping away only once, briefly, to change a diaper.  When our class ended and everyone else had left, I spoke to her through my headset, telling her how much her dedication impressed me.

"Oh Mz Mann," she replied, "I need this.  I need to finish high school.  I got to show my kids that school's important.  I don't want them making the same mistakes I made.  I know I don't do that good in math, but I'm trying hard.  I'm learning.  I'm doing the best I can."  I then realized that this online program was the best chance she had of finishing high school while taking care of two small children.  This program, which I had begun to doubt was even worthwhile, was her lifeline.

I thought a lot about her that month, as we counted down the days to Christmas.  Surrounded by images of Mary holding a baby Jesus, I couldn’t help but think of my student, a teenager herself, bringing a baby into this world in less-than-ideal circumstances.  As we read Luke’s Gospel describing Mary’s total acceptance of the role that God had chosen for her, I began to evaluate my own role and what God had chosen for me.  I wondered if Mary had mentors to guide her, and vowed to serve as a mentor of sorts to my student, who desperately needed role models in her life.  

I knelt in church that Sunday in Advent, pondering God’s wisdom and timing with the birth of our Savior, and humbled by His wisdom and timing in my life, thousands of years later.  I had asked a question, and the answer was so perfect and so complete that I had no doubt it was from Him.   Because this – well, this is why I teach.