When I began student teaching in the fall of 2007, I set out mentally for a semester filled with my own learning and formation as an educator. I was prepared to stretch myself by creating varied lesson plan formats, applying strategies to increase literacy and phonemic awareness, and accommodating all learning styles in what I envisioned to be my (perfect) classroom. It was going to be a great experience for me, and vicariously, for my students.
I put on my teachery-est outfit and shoes and arrived 15 minutes early, latte in hand, to meet with my cooperating teacher for a prep day the day before the school year would start. The plan was to prepare the classroom for the year by labeling a desk, cubby, supply drawer, and coat hook for each student.
My cooperating teacher handed me the class list. The very first name on the list was Jesus. At first, I giggled to myself. I had never met anyone named Jesus (pronounced ‘Hey-zeus’) and it certainly took me by surprise to see it on the top of my class roster.
I wrote out a label for his desk, Jesus’ desk in my classroom.
I labeled Jesus’ cubby.
I assigned Jesus a spot on the rug for group time.
Suddenly I realized that this semester would be, by no means, about me.
I would be teaching Jesus to read. It would be my responsibility to help Jesus love to learn. When he walked into my classroom every morning, I would make Jesus feel safe, welcome, and loved.
“And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men… for you serve the Lord Christ.” -Colossians 3:23-24
An amazing change of perspective happened in my heart that morning, and it only became more profound as the first week of school went on.
It just so happened that Jesus’ family couldn’t afford most of the items on the school supply list. On the first day of school, while the rest of the students were excitedly unloading brand new crayola boxes and fresh spiral notebooks from brightly colored backpacks, Jesus sat quietly at his desk.
Jesus sat at his desk in my classroom.
That night, I scoured the aisles of Target for pocket folders, colored pencils, and size 2 gym shoes.
For Jesus.
My student teaching was not about improving my teaching ability or honing in on best practice, it was about meeting Jesus’ (and Bethany’s, and Mia’s, and Jayden’s…) needs. Sometimes, Jesus needed a hug in the morning as he came into my room. Sometimes he needed an extra push and encouragement with reading. Sometimes he, very literally, needed shoes.
“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’” -Matthew 25:34-36
Every student in my classroom became Christ to me, to serve for their sake, not my own. I pictured My Savior being able to say to me at the end of the term: “I couldn’t read and you taught me, I struggled with self-image and you gave me confidence, I was falling behind and you differentiated for me, I had no voice and you advocated for me.”
Now that I am not in the classroom, and I have no literal Jesus walking through my door every morning, I am working to see my son as the Jesus whom I serve. Laying on the floor all day with a pre-crawling infant, it is easy for me to see what I do as tedium.
But this is my work!
This is what I will do heartily, as unto the Lord, seeing in my son’s face the very face of Jesus.
{Copious amounts of dip}
{Marjorie’s ridiculous lemon-filled coconut cupcakes. I die. Ok, I eat 3 and then I die.}
{OBaby in his Colts colors, DanO, still faithful to the ‘ol vikes.}
{One of those quintessential he’salwaysmovingthesedays blurry pictures.}
