Waves

“If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.” It’s a saying I heard for the first time a couple weeks ago from a friend, and looking back, I can see just how true it’s been in my own life. You plan to stay an introvert and keep to yourself in college; God places you with the most extroverted of people to break you out of your shell. You plan to stay in one county your entire life; God sends you to the other side of the world and inspires a love of travel. You plan to teach high schoolers, God places you teaching preschoolers, then somehow middle schoolers, and miraculously, you end up loving it. It’s been a theme all throughout my life: expect this hand, be dealt another; plan for here, end up there. And yes, it’s true, it’s pretty much always worked out— better than I expected, at that. But even now I find myself asking— where do you want me now, and how do I get there?

Life moves in waves. It’s hardly ever static and, to be honest, that’s probably a good thing. There are moments of calm where little to nothing notable happens, moments which make you think how endless the sea is and how, if not peaceful, placid, things can be. But smooth sailing breeds arrogant sailors. The waves come. The storms come. Even hurricanes come. Ups, plunging you high into the heavens, as a surfer cruising on the perfect crest. Downs, those which slam against the rocks, pulling you into the deep and crushing you with their weight. They vary, naturally, in their intensity and frequency, and a life would not be full without them just as the ocean would not be the ocean without them. Whatever the water, one must learn to navigate this journey and not get caught up in any of it in order to make it to Final Shore. A lesson I’m finding out, again, is one that needs relearning.

Sub Plans

My four months teaching sixth grade have been the dream of a lifetime. I came to love my classroom, cherish my students and coworkers, and consider the district I’m part of home. It came with its struggles too, which I more than laid out in my last blog— but it far exceeded its struggles with the satisfaction that I was inspiring kids. I helped them to become better readers and writers, sure, but more than that, to enjoy learning, to be a better person, and to do the very best they can in any situation. It was, with all its difficulties, a dream come true. But I knew it wasn’t going to last forever.

Giving up a classroom that was your own isn’t easy. It’s your first big job after college, and not only did you end up where you were meant to, you’ve come to truly cherish it. You’ve come to love the school, love working with these kids and this age range and dammit, you’re a good teacher. In time, you will teach again… at least, that’s the hope.

For now, it’s halfway through the school year, and other positions within other schools are limited; so, you become the building substitute. It isn’t nearly the same as being a teacher, but there are certainly a lot of perks. No homework, no grading over the weekend, no parent conferences, no trying to figure out why this kid is failing my class or how to get this one to pass this upcoming test. I’m not going in early to prep or staying late to plan, and with that, I’ve had a lot more free time— I’ve written more of my novel, read seven books in three months, and spent more time with family. The time I’ve spent in school has been full of tremendous opportunities as I’ve gotten to learn how just about the entire school runs from 6th through 8th grade, subbing for and observing classes in every possible subject. My student roster has boosted from about 75 kids to over 250, kids who for the most part get excited when they see Mr. Kline is their sub or has come to help out in class today (not to mention, the roar at pep rally games when they see Mr. Kline is playing). Not only that, I’ve built connections with dozens of teachers and school staff, many of whom (I believe) recognize my efforts and would be eager to see me land a full-time position once and for all.

But as I said, being a sub cannot last forever. Money is the obvious factor, sure, and I can’t plan on doing this next year, especially if I want to get my own place. But more importantly, I can be more than what I am now. Being a sub, as fun as it may be at times, isn’t challenging in the same way being a teacher is. It doesn’t carry the same impact, same reward, same sense of purpose as being a teacher. I know there’s more out there for me to do. The calm (as calm as you can call middle school) is nice, for a time, but, frankly, I miss the waves again.

Then, of course, you never know how strong waves are until they hit you.

Take it or Leave It

Middle school is a much different ballgame from elementary or high school. It’s something that I never thought I’d appreciate, much less love. Now that I’m here, in a school and environment I’ve come to love, it’s hard to imagine myself anywhere else. And so, it was worth considering what it would take to stay in middle school, but with a classroom of my own again. And as it turns out, not much. Because of my undergrad credits from New Paltz, I’ve got all the subject credits I’d need for both English and Social Studies extensions that cover 7th-9th. All it would take are two online, middle school oriented classes I could accomplish this spring, and a test. That’s it. While it may not be a guarantee of a job, or that I’d stay where I am now, it’d be working towards “the next step” and certainly doing something that makes me feel useful and more marketable. It’d be foolish not to do it. Unless…

Another potential opportunity presented itself about two days before the sign up for classes (which, if you know me, I procrastinated signing up for). Long story short, rumor was at my old childhood middle school there may be another leave position opening up that could see me through to the end of the year. Not only that, it’d be working in nearly the same age range, alongside teachers I respect very well, and, it would put me in a very good position should they be hiring new teachers next year. And so, now I faced a great dilemma. Either take the classes in hopes of making myself more marketable toward middle school, or, focus my attention on this new position and new school, should it come out. Suddenly, where everything had been so calm, I was now torn between two potential futures, not knowing whether either would work out. The waves, I thought, would pull me one way or the other— and I was ready to ride them. It was just a matter of finding out which.

Then, both fell apart. I decided— what now feels incorrectly, but in a year will hopefully not— to forgo the classes, at least for the time being. I decided that, should I find myself back in the classroom, I’d want to give it my all, not stressing myself out with classes too. Only, that position never panned out either. It was uncertain from the beginning, I knew, but still I had gambled. There was, for a brief moment, an opportunity for redemption— a new leave position, at the elementary school in my district— but then that too failed to turn out. Now, three potential opportunities came and left, me ready to commit to any of them, should it be right. But they weren’t. Here I was, in the same boat as before. The waves came, crashed, and pulled away; I, remained in the same sea I was before, the same sea of nothing I had been in.

Cut to the Chase

I understand that God doesn’t take you on paths you aren’t meant to be on. There’s some reason I didn’t take the classes. There’s some reason the leave never materialized at my old school, and some reason I didn’t wind up at the elementary school to take the other leave. But being stuck… that’s something I fully admit I don’t understand yet. Again, I don’t dislike where I am now or what I’m doing. But I need to know that there’s a purpose to it. I’m a teacher who’s not teaching. I’m willing to put in the work and willing to make the jump required to do it: extend a certification, move to a different district, work with a new grade… and I know I have the potential to be a great teacher. But sometimes, it just seems less certain.

If I’m being honest, there’s plenty of days where I’m losing faith in where I’m meant to be or what I’m meant to be. I don’t want to go through what I went through last summer trying to find a job and not feeling good enough. I want to have a secure future, I want to have a moderately decent paycheck, but above all, I want to do what I thought I was meant to, what my mom knew and believed I could do and what so many others believe I can do. And now, within the turbulent times we live in and major political, educational, and budget changes/cuts sweeping everything, I don’t even know if I’ll have a teaching job next year— not just at my district now, but any district. And that’s a harsh reality that I still can’t fully acknowledge.

Calm seas breed poor sailors. But massive waves don’t reassure them either. Waves of action you should take; waves of action you can’t or don’t take. Waves of optimism, where you might be able to swing this opportunity to stay on or find a new one elsewhere; waves of depression, where you don’t think anything will turn out. Maybe the current will pull you where you’re meant to be; maybe, it blows the ship completely off-course and into the depths. And it’s not that I can’t sail a rogue ship, it’s that I don’t even know if I’m on the ship.

Waking on Water

Truth be told, I don’t know how it’ll all work out. I go through phases— even in the couple of weeks I’ve spent writing this— where I feel hopeful one moment and discouraged the next. And not knowing the end, I found it hard to write the end of this blog. So on the one hand, I could just say that whatever’s going to happen is going to happen, and I’ll find out when I get there. At the surface, it only sounds mildly reassuring.

But on a much deeper level, there’s comfort to it. I’ve been in this situation before, where I didn’t know the end, where I wasn’t sure how it would turn out, and I did just have to ride the waves and bob in the endless sea to find out how it all would turn out. And every time, not only have I made it out, I’ve been carefully and delicately looked after, so much so that I wound up with far more than I ever could have imagined.

Eleven years ago, the one thing I wanted, one thing I prayed for, was to be healed from losing my mother. That would have been enough on its own. But there was more for me. Then it was college: finding my direction and the determination to get through would have been enough. But again there was more. It would’ve been enough to make friends in college; instead, I found lifelong friendships extending well beyond college. It would have been enough to test the waters of independence and life on my own an hour from home; instead, I got to experience it 10,000 miles away. It would have been enough to have a short-term job and pay off student loans; instead, I found a career I loved and the determination to pursue a future in that career. And it would have been enough to be granted four months teaching in a district offering me the chance to grow, being given my first big shot at being a teacher. But I wound up with more than I ever could have dreamed.

If I’d made it through all these difficult and uncertain times in my life, and been blessed on the other side ten times over, how could I not expect the same now?

“You of little faith,” he said, “why did you doubt?” -Jesus, Matthew 14:31

The waves are not mine to control. I do not know where I go, or how I will get there. But I will. If I truly believe that there’s a God out there that can calm the storms, then I should also believe that even if called out onto it, I can and should follow— even if it means walking out in blind faith on the water. The calm will come. So will storms again. But somehow, some way, I’ll end up where I’m meant to be. I always do.