No Choice but to Love

Image from "Rain Room"
at the Museum of Modern Art in New York.
http://darkroom.baltimoresun.com/

I moved into school administration this year-moving out of the classroom into this new role is fodder for at least five posts alone. I now have 542 students instead of 120. This morning, I was reflecting on spiritual gifts, and worrying about a few students, wondering how their current situation is playing out over their weekends. I now see I will be doing this on a larger scale as an administrator, because I know more.

My spiritual gift is love. I have finally come to see and embrace it for what it is and what it means. This gift can be hell in my own love life because when I meet someone, I immediately want to shower them with the full arsenal of my intuitive powers, meet their needs, serve them--just love them in the purest sense of the word, and this makes men panic and flee. I've joked with my friends that I'm a man repellent. More on that in a separate post; insert much laughter and head-nodding here. I'm still learning how to rein that in. Hopefully one day I won't have to.

With students, though, this spiritual gift has a much different result. It doesn't repel them, it draws them in closer. It's magnetic. They soak it up. I can't give out too much or give it fast enough.  "Students who are loved at home come to school to learn, and students who aren't, come to school to be loved." Nicholas Ferroni.  And because it's a spiritual gift that comes from God, I never seem to run out; it doesn't exhaust me, in fact, it energizes me, and I become a conduit of an endless supply that flows through me. What a strange and upside down concept, but that's how God works.

When we love, we risk having our heart broken. I will be dealing with Family Services, the police, other various agencies; and my heart will be shattered in a hundred ways. I can't save them all, dammit, and I can't take them home with me. Sometimes things happen to them that's out of their control. Sometimes they make choices outside of school or my presence that land them in jail or the morgue. It's happened. This week there were many cries for help and for love: the one who told me he was homeless, the self-harmer, the thief, the bullied one, the fight that I'm sure will be taken up again with more damaging consequences, the vandal, and dozens more.

And then there is mijo. I call him "my son" affectionately, which I do with most of my boys, but there is a different tone in my voice when I say it to him. He is a tough one for others to love, and he tries my patience as well. I overheard him refer to me as his "auntie" to his friends. When he is stressed out or escalating, he gravitates to my office. He has been held at gunpoint-twice, seen death firsthand, and lived way too much life for anyone. He trusts very few people, but he trusts me. We love each other, but this is, of course, unspoken. He held back the tears when I put my hand on his shoulder the other day. One of these days, I will be able to hug that boy, but we're not there yet. My mission is to keep him in school and alive, but so much is out of my control. He's 13.

 I can't choose anything else but to love and to keep on loving. My job as an educator begins and ends with love, but higher than that, it's why I'm here. To not love would be to deny God's purpose for my life. I only get what seems like minutes a day to make a difference. I know my heart will break again someday when I read the newspaper or turn on the TV. It's my greatest fear. I have those few minutes every day, and I will seize them. And pray it's enough.