Mrs. Sullivan, read that poem again.

Today I got a huge compliment. One of the new students who is in my BTS class introduced me to another new student, one I had never met. Their Bible class had been combined with mine for the day.

After we finished our class project, my BTS student called me over. “Mrs. Sullivan, read that poem you wrote us ( her BTS class)  again.”  I told her that I didn’t want to read it in the present class, it wasn’t directed to all of them, but that I would give her friend a copy to read. Her eyes fell a bit, but she seemed okay with our compromise. I can’t tell you what it meant to me that she wanted her friend to hear it.

I can only hope that the rest of her class heard me, my heart beyond my words. Sometimes, I have to dart and weave and look long for an opening, a mere moment when there is a cosmic break in the actions of distraction, and when such comes, step boldly through with words held in trust of that moment. The other day was such, I knew the words were connecting, at least for a few, and that we would change – who we were to one another would shift.

There are weeks, sometimes months between those moments in the classroom. I create and deliver standard meeting, knowledge building, wisdom imparting lessons day in and out, waiting, for moment to rise like a new moon, the least sliver, that shows itself.


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