"Teacher" Material

I love mysteries.

They keep you on your toes. They keep you aware. They force one to think and reconsider what they perceive as “normal.”

I think it’s a mystery that the human mind shifts so easily. One day one is an adamant believer of one idea, and the other day he could be a violent activist against it. It makes me think of the doubtful man James talks about, whose thoughts are thrown back and forth like waves. I usually observe this behavior in other people, but this time I’m seeing this in myself. I was once an adamant believer of Christian education, but a few strikes from certain people made me waver. Thankfully,  this story is about how I came back even stronger. 

I should probably give a fair warning to the readers that this is indeed an honest post. A painfully honest one. I’ve debated back and forth on whether I should open up about this issue because I didn’t want to be a stumbling block. But after praying about it, I realized that I have

nothing to lose anyway.

It started when I met one of the officials of an esteemed Christian education institution from Indonesia back in 2016. I was a young, stubborn, idealistic senior finishing her thesis and her last year of college. It was an unplanned meeting, but it opened the door for an opportunity for me to contribute to the nation’s development.

Two years passed, and I eventually left the school. My dream to contribute to Indonesia's development was still there, yet it was a flickering. It wasn't the flame that burned passionately as it had when I started. During the two years, I went through a lot of ups and downs with my students, colleagues, and bosses. The last straw came in the first semester of my second year. I won’t elaborate on what happened, mainly because a lot of things were happening simultaneously, but let’s just say I was pretty sure that AY 18/19 was my last even though I contributed a lot to the team and improved. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Every day I strived to keep a smile on my face and give the best to those entrusted to me.

There were, however, a number of classes that started and ended on the wrong foot. And I admit, there were things I did in the past that I regret. For instance, I kept tripping up because of one thing or another, but if it wasn’t clear before then let me make it clear right now—I love all of my classes, and I wouldn’t trade them for the world. That’s not sweet talk. That’s the truth. If you approach me one on one, you’ll see a different side of me than if you approach me with an army of twenty. I’m not kidding you. Those of you who had approached me through a one on one meeting will surely know I’m much more affable and less strict than when dealing with a whole class of twenty-somethings.

But I think not a lot knew that about me. I can’t be sure on that. At this point I can’t be sure of whose perspective I should listen to; all I know is that as long as I stay humble and listen to what God says through my authorities and personal time, I know I’m on the right track. Anyway, let’s get back on to the point.

During the weeks leading up to my last day, I cried every night. I cried out of pain, confusion, and bitterness. I didn’t know what to do and where to go next. It seemed that I shut one door and forgot to open another one. I thought I loved teaching, but certain words from certain people seemed to ring louder than my passion. That’s how much words can hurt, readers. It can discourage and dismantle one’s fervor. It can disorient an ardor for something one was initially sure about. I would spend the nights teary-eyed and the mornings blotting out the puffiness from crying. No one needs to know, I thought.

My last days came. I left. I went home for the holidays.

During my stay home, I encountered God again. During those encounters, I clearly felt the tug to go back to teaching-- that all is not lost after the two years.

Afraid to get hurt, I refused. Adamantly. I fought. I ran away. I told God I wanted to use my other gifts—writing, for instance. But no, God was clearly leading me to teach high school again.

After weeks of running away, I finally submitted and applied to a Christian school to teach high school English. By His grace, all went well. This final school is currently the one I teach in, and slowly He is restoring to me His joy.

It is indeed a mystery—this life of mine. When I think about it, I’ve tried so hard to get out of teaching, but I can’t.

I guess being “teacher” material isn’t tied to having a Bachelor’s in Education. In my case, being “teacher” material is simply submitting and humbling myself to God’s big plan for my life. It involved a lot of unlearning—I had to let go of my ego, my pride, and my false sense of shame. I had to consistently capture my thoughts, insecurities, and doubts and dispel them with the Truth. I had to fight to forgive. I had to fight to move on. Thankfully, by His grace, I was able to endure this painful process of unlearning. It hurt to heal, but it was worth it.

In summary, I am not a teacher. By normal standards, I do not qualify as I do not hold a Bachelor’s in Education. I am teaching only because I am fulfilling my calling in life— to be a part of Indonesia’s development through training the next generation of leaders (and yes, that flickering flame has been restored to a full blaze as well). I’ve learned a lot from my first two years, although the roads were bumpy and the journey exhausting. Yet now I know I am where I am because of God’s leading and calling. I might end up teaching for a long time, or I may stop at three years and call it quits. But being “teacher” material is not only tied to lesson planning, semester planning, and Academic Year planning as according to Curriculum 2013 (which is very important, by the way—I’m not disregarding it!), but it is also practicing wisdom and patience, hoping for the best in each student, and, most of all, loving the unlovable.

Teaching is showing me how to love. And that, personally speaking, is true teacher material.