I have not been blogging because I started teaching. And I have so many stories to tell. But they are not my stories alone, so they are not mine to share. But this, I will say.
Every day, there is a child, sometimes children, that are out of my reach. And it is like watching someone caught in the rapids of a flood-swollen river. Waters treacherous, cold, and murky. And from the bank, from a bridge, from a raft, sometimes from waist-deep in the water, I just can’t get to them, can’t pull them in where it is safe. And in their choices and circumstances, I find my heart breaking into a million tiny pieces.
Every day too, there is another child, sometimes children. And the angle is just right, my reach just long enough that I can catch their hands, pull them in, and we get back to shore. Winded and exhausted, but triumphant. Safe on shore, we shake off the chill and laugh at our victory over the rapids. Untouchable in that moment. Invincible.
All this I expected.
But every day, there I also another child. This one stands on the bank, and while I am in the middle of the panic, the reaching, the worrying, the trying? This child grabs me. This child steadies me so I can reach a little farther, try a little harder to reach the child caught in the current.
And sometimes, the child in the water yesterday is the child on the bank today. Sometimes, those we rescue, rescue us.
This blessing, not given gently, is what makes me walk in every morning with renewed hope.