FAILURE. . . .IS IT REALLY?

It was not one of the finest periods of my life.  I rarely talk about it and have never written about it, but in searching for topics to jump start my writing I thought about that time and wondered, “Dare I write about it?”

It happened more than 25 years ago now. Within the span of just a few months my closest family members, all of whom lived within a 10 mile radius of us here in northern New Jersey, decided to move – my brother moved 4 hours north, while my parents moved to Florida, and my in laws to California. 

Suddenly all of the things we took for granted when family lived close were a thing of the past.  When the holidays arrived we either spent them alone, just the four of us, either at home or a hotel somewhere, or we traveled to see family.  Gone were the days when Grandmas and Grandpas babysat, or came to plays or sporting events to watch the grandkids perform, or helped to celebrate birthdays.  On one hand, I found the distance kind of liberating.  I was finally going to have to be the grown up and learn to live without the presence of my family close by.  On the other hand, I also found it a bit traumatizing and lonely.

Around the same time we also moved, but not far away, and still in northern New Jersey, but far enough that we had to leave the church where we had been active and friends we had made in our old neighborhood.  Finding a new church was easy, but making new friends was a bit more challenging.  Eventually though, I did manage to find myself part of a group of friends from our church who also had children the ages of mine.  I still missed the closeness of my family, but life was good.

My oldest daughter started elementary school and I volunteered some time in her first grade classroom while my youngest was in pre-school.  Some time that year her teacher suggested to me that I might like to apply for the position of kindergarten teacher, as that teacher would be leaving.  I began to pray about it.  In looking back on it later, I knew I wasn’t really ready to work full time.  Even after praying, I was unsettled in my spirit, but I was feeling some pressure to take the job, from my friends whose kids would be in that class, from my daughter’s teacher, and from the administrator of the school, and so I pushed my misgivings aside and said yes.

At first I enjoyed the job.  I found an outlet for my creativity as I thought of new ways to teach.  I had never taught kindergarten before and it turned out to be so much fun!  I loved introducing my students to books I had read to my own girls.  We had the added bonus of practicing to perform a play in the spring, and I just loved the energy and fun loving spirit of those kindergarten kids!

As that year drew to a close the woman who had been my daughter’s first grade teacher decided to retire and she encouraged me to apply for the first grade teaching position.  I had taught this age group before and thought it would be more exciting to teach reading and other subjects, so I applied and was hired.  It was then that things began to slowly change.

Teaching first grade required a lot more preparation than kindergarten.  I have always been a meticulous planner – maybe too much so?  So, in addition to being on my feet all day teaching, after dismissal and on into the evening I found myself working on lesson preparation.  I began to feel really stressed when my own children came directly to my classroom after school let out.  At the same time I was preparing my own lessons, I was supervising the homework and piano practice of my own girls in my classroom.   Then it was home to cook dinner and finish up my planning before we began the bedtime rituals.  I confess that I wasn’t always so patient when it came to reading bedtime stories or getting the last glass of water before lights went out. By then my calm was seriously unraveling!

And the stress kept mounting.  The school where I was teaching was a private school affiliated with a church and so my first grade classroom was shared with Sunday school classes on Sunday and after school groups on Monday.  So every Friday before I could go home, I would have to rearrange my classroom for the Sunday class.  Then after church on Sunday, my husband and children helped me to set my room up again for Monday school classes.  Then on Monday, I had to leave my classroom before 3:30 so that another group could use it.  That necessitated moving furniture around again! 

As is true for many private schools, we didn’t have any extra money to pay lunch or recess aides.  So, in addition to our classroom duties, all teachers were responsible to rotate for lunch and recess duties.  I hated it.  On those days I had to go from my classroom to choke down my lunch and head for one of these duties, but that wasn’t the worst.  If you’ve ever had to do lunch duty in an elementary school, you know.  The lunch room and playground are chaotic!  On the outside, I was going through the motions of balancing all of this, but inside I felt like a pressure cooker waiting to explode.

Somehow I got through that first year of teaching first grade, but at the end of the first day of my second year I have a clear memory that describes what was going on inside.  I was in the supermarket with my girls when I remembered something I wanted to buy.  I left the girls on a checkout line with our shopping cart while I ran down the milk aisle for the forgotten item.  As I ran I thought, “I hope I fall and break my leg so I don’t have to go back to work.”  Unfortunately, or so I thought at the time, I didn't.

Maybe someone reading this might ask, "Why didn't you just quit?"  For some reason, I didn’t think I had permission to stop working.  Everyone was counting on me – our administrator, the kids and their families, my husband, my kids.  So instead of just saying, “I’m done”, I kept on keeping on, while the inside pressure mounted.  I thought, maybe if I just get up earlier so I can spend more time in Bible reading and prayer, I'll be able to manage.  I got up an hour earlier so I could do that, but it didn't help.

That was the year I also had a parent who was accusing me of not attending to the needs of her son the way she thought I should.  She accused me of making the classroom a place where he didn’t feel safe.  My administrator supported me, so I took it with a grain of salt, but it still hurt and distressed me.  I was working as hard as I could and yet I still couldn't seem to get on top of things.

And then it happened.  It was the spring of that second year in first grade when I just couldn’t do it anymore.  I came into school that morning and cried of river of tears that would not stop.  I went to the nurse and my administrator sent me home. They were suggesting a rest, but I knew I didn’t want to go back, I couldn't go back - ever.  I wanted to run away to a place where I could be by myself and not tell anyone where I was going!  

The family of one of my students took me out to lunch shortly after and tried to talk me into finishing the school year.  I knew they were concerned about their son and the other students who would have to adjust to someone new for such a short time, and I felt terrible having to disappoint them, but I could not do it. 

I felt like a pariah. I was embarrassed to face the parents of my students in church, especially the new friends I had made whose children were in my class.  I felt I had let everyone down.  Some friends began to distance themselves – or maybe, in my shame and guilt, I just thought they had.  In any event, it caused me to isolate myself for a long time and seriously hurt any confidence I had that I would ever be able to do anything of significance again.

I don't know how much of a role not having family around influenced my mind at that time.  I know I felt alone in my pain and didn't really feel free to speak of it while I was going through it.  

That time speaks “failure” whenever I think back on it, but it certainly wasn’t a wasted experience.  Through it, I’ve learned that I don’t handle stress well.  I've discovered, based on other tasks I've done since, that I don’t like assuming a lot of responsibility.  People tell me I'm good at it, but they have no idea of what's going on inside! At that time, alternating my teacher, mom, and wife hats so often in the course of a day, over weeks and months, is not something I did well.  If you are a woman who manages to do all that, then may God bless and provide for you.  I cannot and I’m thankful that the Lord made that clear to me.  On the other hand, when I am asked to take on responsibility and I know the Lord is doing the leading, I'm well aware that He is providing my strength!  Otherwise I truly don't have what it takes!

Failure has also taught me that I should not say yes to something because others think it would be good for me - unless I have the accompanying clear peace of God the Holy Spirit.  I think I’ve learned this lesson well enough that now I am far more inclined to say no when I don’t think I am gifted for something, or when prayer about it doesn’t lead to a yes from God Himself.  My motto now is:  When in doubt, DON’T!  It really is better to say NO at the outset then have to back out later!

Since that experience and others over the years, I've learned that I love working with older children, but don’t really have the same patience for little ones.  I’ve been teaching middle schoolers (6-8^th grade) in Sunday school for 3 years and have worked as a volunteer with our high school youth group – and I love those age groups.  If you have a middle schooler of your own, then you know that working with them IS a God given gift.  Nearly everyone avoids middle schoolers!

I guess the most important lesson I learned is that God really loves me.  In His eyes, what I think of as failure, was not failure.  It was a divine opportunity to learn: how to discern His will,  to please Him alone and not everyone else, to embrace my limitations as well as my gifts, to learn that a single failure – even a big one – is not the end of my usefulness in His kingdom.

In the end, while I did miss my family, I'm thankful to have gone through those years without them to fall back on.  God's nearness was precious in those lonely times.  He sustained me then, and He sustains me now.  

If you're going through an experience that screams, "failure", in your ear, I hope my experience will encourage you.  Everyone experiences failures, but God's love and care for us remains constant.  You are not alone.