School Meeting

     I used to dread school meetings.
    I know for someone that has promoted teaching as one of the best jobs in the world, that is a startling admission. Why would one dislike a time of fellowship with those of a similar passion? Why cringe when faced with the boundless energy and enthusiasm found at such a meeting? Why turn away from a chance to hear stories that touch your heart and bring tears to your eyes, occasionally laughing till your stomach hurts?
    Allow me to dig myself in deeper. I also failed to read the Chalk Talk. I didn't just forget. It wasn't that I didn't have time. I simply refused to do it.
    The reason? I hated feeling like a failure.
    I remember going to one school meeting where a teacher passed around picture-perfect penmanship pages and asked how she could get her students to write more neatly. I ducked my head in shame, sure I was red with mortification. I didn't think my students that year were even capable of that level of neatness, and she wasn't satisfied?
    Another teacher got up and left an experience of dealing gently with a student that ended in a "happily ever after." All I could think of were the days I couldn't keep frustration from creeping into my voice and the times I was even compelled to apologize to my students.
    More amazing teachers spoke about the consistent discipline methods they used, how their children were wonderfully caring and kind to one another, how enthused they were with teaching math concepts I could barely understand. 
    Then I would go home and try to read the Chalk Talk. Inside were more heartwarming stories of perfect teachers with perfect direction and perfect students. They always had the right answer to the problems they faced. They always conquered every battle in the end. It was beyond me how they did it. I knew my teaching experience hadn't been like that. 
    And so I tried to keep low. I attempted to blend in quietly in the background while surrounded with all these superhuman teachers at school meeting and in Chalk Talk. I didn't want anyone to see the truth. I wasn't a teacher at all. I was only an imitation. A fraud. A counterfeit. A failure.
    It took several years of living in the teacher realm before I realized what the truth really was. All the inspiring stories, the great talks, the amazing victories that I was hearing were the best side of things. People don't tell about their bad moments at school meeting. You don't publish your mistakes across the conference. You don't share the days that teaching feels like hitting your head against a brick wall. No one talks about the misery of teaching when you don't feel well, whether physically, mentally, or spiritually. All that is left to see is the good side.
    I realized a few years ago that I was guilty too. Hearing me talk at a school meeting you could be under the impression that I am always calm and controlled. You may think that every day I leap out of bed and bound into my classroom with fresh enthusiasm. You possibly would be left with the idea that my students love to learn because I always come up with new, innovative ideas to teach. You might suppose I pray before every decision and am always positive of God's direction in everything I do.
    You would be wrong.
    Why am I telling you this? There are a couple of reasons. One is the hope that I will be able to inspire some other teacher out there who sometimes feels like a failure. I want you to know that you are not alone, even on the days when it feels like you are plodding on through the dreary month of February.
    Just because you make mistakes does not mean you are not in the right career. I want you to know that the stories you hear are told for a reason. They are told because they were special moments. No one tells stories about the hum-drum days of normalcy. At least, no one did until Covid.
    The second reason I am writing this for anyone else that sometimes feels like an imposter. The mom that is comparing her child's lopsided cake to someone elese's Pinterest-worthy birthday production. The youth girl that is never sure if her style is on point when she sees the other girls walk in with perfectly coordinated colors and great hair. The artist that only sees the flaws in her own work when she compares it with others. The writer that doubts her abilities and wishes to write like one of her peers.
    And perhaps most of all I am writing this for the Christians. Perhaps it is the Christians that struggle the most. We look around and see our brothers and sisters winning great victories. We watch as they live placid, stable lives while we are falling apart. They sail through life. We stumble. We cry. We fall.
    And so we hide. We hide our struggles, ashamed. We bury our depression and anxiety, afraid of what others will think. We shove our disappointments to a back corner and try to appear happy.
    We forget that the parts of other people's lives that we are seeing is probably the best part. We forget that we, too, are guilty of showing only our best side to the world around us. We forget that "...we dare not...compare ourselves with some that commend themselves: but they measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not wise." (2 Corinthians 10:12)
    When we can gain the courage to speak with other Christians about our failures, we soon realize that they have struggles too. As long as we try to blend in and hide out, we are putting ourselves at great risk to the Devil's game of making us feel separated and disconnected from the rest of God's people.
    We are a church that needs one another. We cannot stand alone. We cannot afford to sever ourselves from other Christians because of our own idea that they could not love us if they really knew the truth about our struggles.
    Today I look forward to school meeting. I love to soak up the enthusiasm of the new teachers and the wisdom of the experienced ones. I enjoy reading the Chalk Talk, feeling the inspiration that flows from people who love God and children.
    No, we're not perfect. Not perfect teachers, perfect moms, or perfect Christians. But we are doing our best, and that is all that is required. Cling to wisdom, not comparison. Count the victories, not the trials. Choose love instead of loneliness.
    And someday? Someday we will stand together wearing identical crowns, singing songs of praise to our Father in Heaven who loves us in spite of our frailty, who forgives us though He knows we are prone to failure, who compares us, not to other Christians or to some lofty ideal, but to our ability believe and accept the blood that once flowed from a Man that died upon a rugged cross.
    So for today, thank Him. Praise Him. Live joyfully without comparison. Heaven is coming soon.