The challenges, excitement and rewards of teaching

If you want to be challenged by others' wills and understanding, forced to rely on God for patience and energy and amazed daily, become a teacher. If you want to see God through other people in ways you didn't think he existed, be taken by surprise, have your own assumptions humbled, become a teacher. If you want to pour your life out for kids or teenagers whether or not they appreciate it, because you believe they are good and want to fight for their belief of this in themselves, become a teacher.

If you want to know God in all of humanity, become a teacher. He's there, in each unique soul and body sitting in desks in front of you, looking at you quizzically; frantically waving a hand in the air to get your attention; shooting a basket into the trash can from across the room with a wad of paper or water bottle or, really, whatever is available. He's there -- creative, earnest, wily, vulnerable, wanting to be loved, having so much love to give. It's incredible.

This year I get to teach writing and literature to junior high schoolers. Their insight, humor and openness never cease to amaze me.

One student, when describing the Great Depression: "It was when money lost its power."

Another student, when trying to help his peer think of the term "Asia Minor": "You know, the small Asian!"

A student asks about the history of the American flag. I tell them each star represents a state and then, because I, er, don't actually remember the rest of the history, sing the 50 states song to them. It's the one with all the states recited in alphabetical order to rhythms of various difficulty -- I remember my fifth-grade music teacher working especially hard to get us to understand the "New Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York" section, pounding out the mono-noted rhythm with her pointer finger, over and over again. By the time I get to this section, a few of my students' jaws begin to drop and some of the girls start looking around at each other, smiling with eyebrows raised. When I'm finished, the students explode into applause, faces beaming. If you want to feel like a celebrity, become a teacher.

These young people are amazing.

Xenophon, a seventh-grader in the front row who has been basically quiet until now, raises his hand to ask what "obstruction to justice" means, and then looks down. He's heard it in a movie. I say, "Something that gets in the way of upholding what is right." We're discussing "The Chronicles of Narnia, the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe." He looks up and asks if the White Witch is one. I blink, and then say yes.

Maybe I understand a little more now how Jesus felt toward his disciples and the crowds he taught, why he wanted to spend time with them, disciplined them, entrusted them with so much. Why he does the same for me.