Teacher's Hope Inspires Students

I loved my first grade teacher. Even today I can recall lots about her. She smiled all the time and hugged us a lot. She was constantly encouraging us and I can’t remember “Mrs. A” ever showing any irritation, except for the time a girl named Tina wet herself and the wooden chair where she sat instead of going to the bathroom. Even today, I can picture her smile and recall what her hugs felt like. But I also remember the days at our lunch table when I witnessed Mrs. A prop her elbows on the table, place her face in her hands, and sob quietly for what seemed like an eternity. Normally the teacher assistant or a substitute would take over for the rest of the day and we were told Mrs. A had to go home because she wasn’t feeling well. It happened on several occasions, and though we were too young to understand, our fragile little hearts hurt on the inside because we could tell the teacher we loved was sad. Mrs. A had a legitimate reason to be emotional. Looking back, I’m amazed she held up as well as she did under the circumstances. A month or so before Mrs. A began having trouble making it through lunch, the principal had come into our class one morning and explained that our teacher would be taking some time off due to a tragedy in her life. But she promised Mrs. A would return as soon as possible. That tragedy was heartbreaking. Mrs. A lived on a farm and her family worked hard to maintain it. I don’t remember all the details, but one day something awful happened in the silo on the farm when her son had gotten trapped and was in danger for his life. Attempting to save his son, Mr. A immediately risked his own life by going down into the silo. Tragically, the accident claimed both their lives. When you are six years old, you mainly think about how events affect you. It’s hard at that age to understand the pain Mrs. A suffered. Our main concern was when we were going to get our beloved teacher back. When she returned, we assumed all was well and life would return to normal for all of us. But for some reason, lunchtime was the roughest part of the day for Mrs. A. When her head fell into her hands, we automatically lowered our voices to a whisper out of respect. Some of us just sat and stared at our leader, our small minds unable to comprehend the depth of her pain. But alas, there is hope in this story. Mrs. A was hurt, but she wasn’t defeated. Following her lunchtime departures, she would invariably return the next morning wearing her smiles and offering her hugs. She bounced around the room teaching us how to read, write, and go to the rest room instead of peeing in our wooden chairs. Where did that enthusiasm come from? How could she smile and hug in the midst of her heartbreak? The answer is HOPE. The same kind experienced at Easter, where hope triumphs over tragedy. God placed that hope within her and she shared it with us. And in doing so, her influence remains steadfast in my heart nearly forty years later.