Remind Me Who I Am

I know that I am supposed to be a light.

But I feel the floods of chaos

Sweep me in its drowning destruction.

Bone against bone,

Flesh oppose flesh.

There is a war and I have been charged

The enemy.

Words composed of stones flail

Towards me; they pierce

And I find my heart amongst the casualties.

Ripped and jaded; warped and hated –

My mind weakened

My reflection blurred to something

Unidentifiable.  Your love forgotten,

I feel a fire raging inside of me.

Lividity given way at the sound

Of every poisonous word.

My soul has cowered

In their shadow.  Fear captures

My confidence, crippling it.

Rescue me once again.

Realign my vision to see entirely, for I was

Not intended to succumb to the defeated lies of hell.

I hear the crying of my children dying,

But if I try to save them, surely I will lose myself. 

Breathe into this dust coagulated as the form

Of the One who carries the heavens. 

Not of my strength do I draw,

But the leaven of salvation

Which is the hope of glory for all. 

A Reflection of Someone Older Than I

     During my first year in teaching, I have done a lot of growing up.  Teaching teenagers has a knack for making one self-scrutinizing to make sure that he or she is a model of who and what they are training their students to become.  Additionally, the truth is that one has to grow up to raise teenagers.  I'm not just a teacher.  I am also part parent and councilor to my students.  I am no longer able to remain the cool "big sister" at youth group. 
     I wonder about them.  I worry about them.  How they are understanding the materials (and not just so they can be personally judged by the letter grade they are given).  However, what really keeps me up is wondering how the livelihood of my students are.  If their home-life is healthy, and if not, how can I make sure that in the eight (or in the case of teaching six different classes, one) hours I have with them are the most safe they can feel.  I worry if I am communicating the right words that I care about them and their future.
     Lastly, I am no longer the ignorant white lady off the Rez.  Sure, I heard about poverty.  But you don't really know it until you see it.  Sure you can acknowledge that drugs are eminent, but you don't really don't think of being proactive until the kids that you care for - yes, they are my kids - are highly likely to be involved in such activity.  I have been yelled at and have been insulted. My stress has grown exponentially and to be completely honest, there have been times I've wanted to quit.  It would be very wise of me to leave after this school year. Why should I deal with this?  Just go back home where things are safe.  Where things don't have to be questioned, and my Christian life can be comfortable.
     All this explanation is leading up to a poem I wrote this morning.  I have grown up a lot this year.  And I still have three months left.  I am not the 20-something who wants to party.  No.  I have become a mother whose thoughts are completely perpetuated with students and their discouraging surroundings.   My body and psyche reveal this as I reflect on this past year.  Not attempting to be facetious, but I could admit there have been some hellish moments.  But then again, I bet a lot of my kids have been too.  So much that there is an expectation to no longer expect.  No longer expect change or restoration in peoples' lives, because the past has always been transferred to the present generation.  However, I have to still believe that anything is possible.  If God has been able to do immeasurable transformations in other peoples' lives (including my own), who is to say He can't do it in the town I call home?

"A Reflection of Someone Older Than I"

Behind the eyes filled with innocence
Are the memories of laughter, smiles;
A childlike carelessness.
They are bright with hope and love
Looking toward the glory in each day.

Underneath these eyes are the deep
Circles darkened with heavy concerns
The night brings with it lack of sleep.
Prayers are full of questions and fears,
Hoping that the yesterdays will not last.

Creases of laughter compete
With the wrinkles of tears;
Skin peeks between the thinning of hair.
Though the body is near twenty-five years of age,
The mind is two decades more.
Youth almost forgotten.

But dreams remain...

A hope for a new day to come, 
Pain will set as joy dawns.
A rose-colored redemption transforms
A cleavage between the past from tomorrows.
Faith for a vision restored,
Yet dare not to abandon til it's seen.