House on the Rock

It was the night before the first day of school when my mom was rushed to the hospital with difficulty breathing.

I remember tossing and turning all night, knowing this restlessness would not set me up for a successful start to school but not being able to do anything else. Desperately refreshing my phone for updates, then opening the Bible app when I was too scared to sleep. Tossing, turning, praying.

It was the first day of school when they found cancer everywhere.

I remember purposely assigning my students independent work time so that I could tuck behind my desk and read the latest news from Dad. Watching the clock for the 3:30 bell so I could grab my things and head south. Waiting, always waiting, for the other shoe to drop. Waiting, watching, praying.

It was a sunny September Monday when she wasn’t waking up.

I remember rushing to the copy room at lunch where I could have a quiet place to call Dad. He assured me she was breathing fine, just really tired that day. The phone call as he trailed the ambulance came only minutes later, so I ran to get Joe so we could get on the road. Calling, crying, praying.

It was a blue-skied day in October when they said she’s coming home.

I remember emailing our secretary for coverage, tracking the location of Mom’s ambulance every thirty seconds. How quickly I bid goodbye to my students; how desperately I wanted to beat her home so I could watch her witness her new floors and doors. Dashing, driving, praying.

It was a rainy October night that marked the beginning of the end.

I remember preparing for another week of school, rounding out the trimester but receiving a message from a co-teacher: Stay home. Seriously. You won’t regret it. I breathed relief at her nudging, then put in the request for a sub. Grading projects while sitting by Mom’s bedside in her last days on Earth, whispering thanks to God for that teacher who encouraged me to stay home. Grading, groaning, praying.

It was the second day of finals when she took her final breath.

I remember relishing the time spent with her, not for a moment thinking about school thanks to the multitude of co-workers who stepped in to cover, print, proctor, grade, and teach. Receiving heartfelt messages from students as they bid farewell to the trimester, and onto another teacher they went. Relishing, reflecting, praying.

It was just before Christmas break when I realized I was late.

All this time of trying to conceive, then going to the bathroom during passing period to find I had passed my period indeed. Keeping it a secret until the next morning, when I could be sure. Showing the test to Joe right before we left for school: positive. Finally, something positive. Praising, preparing, praying.

And it was just after Christmas break when I realized the baby was gone.

Blood began to pour and I was back to sending sub plans — driving to school late one January night to print packets for sleepy-eyed students while a lifeless baby slipped from my womb. I stopped by the faculty bathroom before heading home and sobbed as clumps of clotted blood — my baby — made its final descent into the toilet. Bleeding, blubbering, praying.

But it was just before spring break when winter began to give way to spring.

The new season brought with it a lightness — both as sunlight spanned longer and I slowly began to heal. I laughed with seniors in Creative Writing and coached competitive games of tag as persuasive essays confirmed my students could use a little recess. We read, wrote, researched, and really focused on growing together. English 9 students emerged from their prepubescent years and I thought man, it’s good to be here. Laughing, loving, praying.

And now, it’s the final week of the school year.

The study guides are collected, all exams are printed. The candy bowl’s full and my heart along with it. It was the hardest school year I could have ever imagined — my classroom often feeling like a bunker I’d retreat to as war waged all around me. But that bunker meant my desk became a prayer room. My co-workers became comrades. My students, despite being young, became the sweetest encouragers bearing handmade notes and cookies from home. And God became bigger than ever before. Now I’m hurting, but healing, and praying His bigness might grow more and more.