Adventures at Harding

I'm not sure if it was part of God's plan to come back. Let me rephrase. I'm not sure if God's only plan was for me to come back. I am sure that He is working, though. And I'm sure that he would have worked whether I had stayed in Chicago or gone to Dallas, too. Everything is different and beautiful and perfect. Not perfect. Sometimes pretty close, though. And sometimes I still get lonely. And sometimes the evil in my mind takes me to places I don't want to be. But God is always there, waiting to bring me back...waiting to forgive.

The first time I prayed and asked for forgiveness was a few months ago. In Ilona's living room, kneeling on a pillow next to my precious friend, eyes closed, hands folded, head bowed on couch. She went first. I was so intimidated. I didn't know where to start. But once I did, I couldn't stop. It was the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced, to be free. I will never forget that moment.

I'm back, now. I'm still not sure it was the right choice, but it's the one I made and I thank God every day for showing Himself through this time. Like when I was able to stand up in front of my class on only the second day and give a presentation about myself. And when I don't have to get up in front of my Bible class to present current events. And when my teachers were so understanding when I told them about the anxiety and none of them have called on me in class without my hand raised. It's so beautiful to see God here. It's so beautiful to know that He would have been working if I had gone to Dallas, too.

Sometimes, it gets too dark in my room...too quiet. And I do get lonely and sad. And I do long for the laughter and joy that surrounded the past six months of my life. Those kids who made the situation bearable...and even worth it. Those kids who whined and cried every day and had snotty noses and untied shoes. Those kids who gave me hugs and drew me pictures and told me they loved me. I got up every morning for them. And sometimes it's still hard to get up and know that I don't get to see them. But someday, I'll get to be in the classroom again, this time as the forREALZ teacher. I can't wait for that day. And I'll get to see those kids every stinkin day. And I'll want to wring their necks, somedays. And I'll complain about them to anyone who will listen. And I'll have to deal with the psycho parents. And it'll all be so worth it. Tomorrow is Monday. I'll get up early for class. And when I start to complain about the work that I have to do, I'll open my Bible or either one of my agendas or any one of the pockets in my backpack and pull out a picture of those precious kids and remind myself that I'm here for them.