When Carly was a year and a half, a decision was made for me to head back to work. This was an arduous task considering the extent of her medical fragility. Ninety percent of her trisomy 18/Edward’s Syndrome peers had already moved to heaven, statistically speaking. My maternal instinct repulsed at the thought, not exclusively for her, but for my entire family that was dealing with the trauma associated with such a medically precarious situation. I had grown accustomed to finding treasure along broken paths. I began searching.
The large, urban county in which I had extensive connections, was overflowing with educators. No matter how much a principal wished to help, there were zero openings. I found a great job in a nearby county, top rated in the state. Each job had 1,000 applications. I was more than thrilled to be hired! However, due to the student count, I was quickly utilized in an alternate capacity than the one for which I was hired.
As much as I enjoyed the school, staff and students, I felt out of place. I started my career in the inner city and every school where I taught had diverse populations. This environment, overwhelming Caucasian 98%, was boring to me. That mixed salad we discussed in college, was not just a concept to me, I personally loved the bowl we all fell into. I missed it. This was an important point of self discovery.
Several weeks elapsed. I was transferred. This new position had me driving 30 miles away from my profoundly handicapped wee one and staring down the third teaching position in less than 3 months. My head was spinning. My heart was hurting. Adding to the complication, my co-workers adamantly desired someone else! The principal had not hired their preference in a timely manner. The disappointment was palpable.
God graciously arranged one enthusiastic welcome wagon in the form of a second grade student. Down the expansive, dimmed corridor he would wave his arms excitedly greeting me, “Hey! Good morning!” He recognized me from children’s church. He was a much needed spark of light.
The school year ended, fulfilling my contract. Seven months had transpired. I was again jobless. My goal was to spend the summer exclusively with my three beautiful daughters. Unfortunately, the job search and interviews would dominate. I made the best of it. I am sanguine, therefore I enjoyed traveling to discover unknown schools and personnel. I would sit with individuals I probably would never mingle with again this side of eternity. I made a decision. If I had one shot in their presence, I wanted to intentionally leave them with something. I wanted to notice an attribute of their building, workers, students, accomplishments. I desired to communicate to them a kind of “job well done.” This on purpose blessing during interviews, without regard for my goal of employment, became exciting and fulfilling. What can I say to encourage them? What compliment would make them smile? What would I want to hear if I was sitting on their side of the table?
That intention forged a habit. Initiating complimentary words without pretense or manipulation is now ingrained in my daily rituals and routines. People perennially need encouragement. People crave knowledge of what they are doing correctly. As long you are being genuine and sincere, why not be the one to tell them? Why not leave one inspiring thing behind everywhere you go?
My career did stabilize. Two days before school started I was re-hired to work at my dream school, Finegan Elementary. No application, no interview, the principal accepted me sight unseen because three teachers marched into his office and told him to hire me. I was home! More than 80% of our children have a mom or dad serving our country in the Navy. If you ask a random group of students to reach out their arms, you will see a magnificent sight- differing shades and skin tones. Truly, poetry in motion.
Broken but Beautiful 