Caesura

After the senior class graduated on Saturday, June 3, I finally turned my attention to my languishing ninth grade class. They were languishing in part because it was the curriculum I developed the least, and in part because they are fasting from water and food during daylight for Ramadan.

For the last two months, I have felt as though I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel when it comes to creativity. Though my stores of energy were bolstered by my love for my students and an obscene amount of caffeine, the year gets harder; that's all there is to it.

Today in the teacher's lounge, after the morning's finals, I found myself with two of my closest high school teachers, all of us grading. We commiserated a bit, but we all sensed that it wasn't helping anyone, and we were too tired to be angry or frustrated. Slowly, the conversation shifted, and that's why I'm telling you this. The complaints and the small talk were all the slow introduction to this miraculous moment where we started to talk about what we were going to change for next year.

We hadn't even finished grading our finals, and we were already on to the next batch of classes. We shared ways we would change our systems. We had new phrases, new activities, and new focuses. "That is just the very best part about teaching, guys," said Marie. "We get to change what doesn't work for the next year." (She teaches science, so I guess she knows all about variables and affecting outcomes.)

I know I would not have felt so hopeful if a few months' rest were not ahead of me. But when June 21 comes, and I close my classroom, full of boxes and empty walls, I'll know it's just temporary. Summer is not a full stop to my job, but a caesura. (I teach literature, so I know that caesuras are breaths in poetry; pregnant pauses between two phrases; time for the musician to arrange his lyre and form the next phrase; ... time to see his family and friends, and eat pork products, and sleep for days on end.)

Troubled Sleep

Remind me what you say about peace

and all will be well.

Remind me what you say about fear

and all will be well.

Remind me what you say about never leaving

and all will be well.

Give rest to those you love. 

There's this sweet sea breeze over the hill that pastures simpler beasts. 

Today I found myself wishing I could join them there. 

Give rest to those you love.

It would be trudging on if not for love.

It would be entirely will that trained my course, 

but it's yours.

Give rest to those you love.

Ah, it's these sweet smiles of discovery. 

Ah, it's those broken hearts that have begun to know too much. 

Give rest to those you love.

Praying on Vacation

Me 1: There's a lot of work to do. Time to get started!

Me 2: But right now, I said I would pray.

Me 1: You're terrible at praying. Leave that to the spiritual people. You're good at working. Come on.

Me 2: Thanks, you really think I'm good at something?

Me 1: If it means I can start doing something productive already! It's almost 9:30 AM, and I've done nothing!

Me 2: No. I'm staying. It's a vacation day; no one is expecting me; all I need to do right now is keep trying to listen to God. [Concentrates again on scripture.]

Me 1: You are so lazy.

Me 2: (to Me 1) Stop it. (to Jesus) Hi, Jesus. I had some trouble getting here today. Me 1 won't leave me alone. I have a lot to do, I guess. And if I don't do it right now, I don't know... maybe Me 1 will hate me. Or  maybe other people will hate me. You know how I don't want to be hated.

[Jesus looks at Me 1. Me 1 shrinks under the weight of the silence.]

Me 1: (nervously) Well, Jesus, tell her she has to get something done! Vacation isn't all about her, and being quiet, and sleeping... [She trails off, hearing herself, and seeing that vacation is actually about all those things.]

Me 1: I mean... sure, do all those things, and do all the other things.

Me 2: I just can't. I just can't. I don't feel safe if I'm always thinking of what I should be doing. And what will I lose if I am lazy? What will happen if all I do is sit here with my Bible open, trying to pray? What will happen, Jesus?

Jesus: (with feeling, to Me 1 and Me 2) Stay. Stay and try to talk with me. I look forward to your vacation, too. I have so much I want you to see and know, and the first is that you are welcome here. And you, you must be weary, too. Won't you rest?

[Me 1 melts into Me 2, disappearing, becoming whole.]