I hit a bit of a wall with my writing this week. That happens sometimes. As it turns out, writing is not romantic. It’s work, just like anything else worth doing.
Usually, when that happens, I try to return to something from the past. Sometimes I rework it; other times I post it as is. Today’s writing is a bit of both.
I originally wrote this in 2014. At the time, I was working at a non-profit after-school program. We had 25 or 30 students from all kinds of backgrounds. Part of my job was driving home students whose families had no way to pick them up.
Most of the time, I never minded that part of the job. In fact, some of the best conversations I had with the kids were when we were driving home. Many of the students were from immigrant families, and, as new members of American society, they had a lot to figure out.
Other times, the conversation wasn’t so heady. Instead, we’d talk about our days or silly things about our lives (like my plant named George). This time, while my student and I played a game, I caught a brief glimpse of the relationship God desires with us.
March 29, 2014
It’s Wednesday. We are barely a week into spring. I’m leaving work around 6, and the sun is peeking out after what seems like a year of hiding. I am grateful.
It’s been a long week full of emotional triggers that have been hard to check at the door. And the week is only half over. The sun, warm on my face, is stinging my eyes through the windshield. Like a tangible ray of hope.
This evening, I have a passenger. A small fourth grader occupies my backseat. His green and black coat is tossed haphazardly across the seat, his backpack tucked between his feet. I give this nervous boy a lift home once or twice a week – his mom doesn’t have a car.
He and I do not live in the same area of town. To take him home is the opposite direction I drive home. But despite the small inconvenience of the trip, I welcome the distraction. I have a lot on my mind.
More often than not, I enjoy chatting with students on the drive home. I’m learning to find hope in my students, too.
An Innocent Ask
This particular boy always wants us to be first out of the parking lot. Rarely do I pull out of my parking spot before my boss, and I hear him exhale an audible sigh of disappointment in the back. “Man, she’s going to beat us.”
Today, like most other days, we are second.
He comments all the way down the road on how far ahead her white hatchback seems. Will we ever catch up? He wants me to drive faster. His excitement is palpable as we pull up to the stoplight and wait to turn. This is our chance. We are directly behind her.
I honk, and she joins in the fun, playing a modified peek-a-boo game in her rearview mirror. As the light turns green, I say out loud, “I’m not sure we’re going to make this light.” The green at this intersection doesn’t last long, and we are at the back of the line, barely within the turn lane.
Despite our less-than-ideal position, I hear my student whisper a small plea, “Please stay green, come on, come on, stay green.”
As we sailed through the still green light, his cheers of success leaked out of the car’s cracked windows. I was struck by the simplicity of his request and the joyous result when it was granted.
Keep Your Eyes Open
It’s not until later, as I reflect on my week and all it has held, that I remember his whispered request. The more I think about it, the more I see God in it.
Of course, I remember being a kid and doing the very same. I wondered if my prayer would change the direction of the future. Is anyone listening? Would the light have turned red if he hadn’t asked?
As a kid, I wondered if I believed enough, if I would get what I asked for.
This last week was hard. I felt as if I fought through it, almost like trudging through knee-deep mud. But watching my student reminds me that God desires to give us good gifts. He hears every whispered request, no matter how big or how small. God is overjoyed when we know him and trust him enough to come to him and ask.
But we need to ask. We won’t always get what we pray for. God has wisdom about us, the world, and his plan for it, that we aren’t always privy to. But what a privilege to see a request answered so immediately, a game continued, a memory made.
I’ve always been told that working with students isn’t just about you teaching them – it’s about them teaching you. Today, I’m reminded to ask for what I need, no matter how big or how small. It doesn’t matter how urgently I ask, or how loudly.
Instead, what matters is that I ask and then watch, in hope and expectation, for the answer.
