Call me "Crazy"

You know, I always get the phrase, "It takes a really special person to do that" when I tell people what I do for a living (teach Special Ed and work with at-risk children). I usually come back with, "Or crazy." And even if I don't say it, I'm usually thinking it. Because I truly believe you have to be just a little bit nuts to do this job day after day. Some might argue and say, "Well, you really just need to be able to think outside the box." What better way to think outside that proverbial box than to be off your rocker? Seriously. I don't know how I do it everyday. It's exhausting and heart-wrenching, at times, and a person can only take so much of that on a daily basis. Yet I get up every single day and do it all over again and then I go for a super-sized helping of more on the weekends. That's just crazy.

However, in spite of the challenges over the years--the endless paperwork, the aching muscles from hour-long restraints, the scars from being mauled by angry children, the ache I still feel in my cheekbone when the weather gets cold from taking a small child to the face--I do love what I do. I love the kids. Because when they are not in escalated states of violent turbulence, when they're not capable of being certified weapons of mass destruction . . . they are precious! From the constant demands of a precocious redhead to "KISS ME!" to the mock frustration of my longest term student, "Aw, Mih-Leesuh! Aye, yie, yie!" to the interpretive stylings of the dancing sprite, they are most precious.

Today, as I was taking one student through the target sound of the letter 'N' and the proper mouth position for pronouncing it, there was a great moment. I asked him, "How do we make the target sound?" The answer we've been practicing all week is, "I press the tip of my tongue against the roof of my mouth and hum." What proceeded from his mouth instead was, "I put my tongue on my roof and hum." Let's ponder the mental image that conjures for a second . . . if you ever attempt such a thing, I'd really like a picture of it. I don't feel special because I can do what I do. I feel blessed. This work is a blessing. And I have to pray for the strength to do it everyday, which God continually supplies. Do I love it everyday? No. Do I wish I had the gumption to miss my exit one day and keep on driving? Often. But I keep going back. Because whatever it is that God has given me to do this job, I think He mixed in with it just a little bit of crazy.