Somewhere in the back of my sleep deprived mind, the soft melody of my alarm pries me from my sleep. My throat burns; I rub my eyes. Another week has slapped me in the face without much of a warning. Dragging my sick, exhausted body from my bed, I amble to the kitchen to find something to eat that will soothe my burning throat. Sick or not sick, there’s school to teach today.

Soon I grab my keys and my lemon water concoction and cross the short distance to the schoolyard. The gate clicks behind me. Entering the one room school, I’m met with the all-too-familiar reality of missing kids and empty desks. Somehow there’s always something more important going on than school. I inwardly sigh. How will I ever catch my little kiddos up? At least one of my first graders is here. Grabbing an armload of messy binders, I grab a chair and sit down. Math. Yes, math is the first thing. I grab the red book and leaf through the pages.

An hour late and the other third grader shows up. At least he’s here. My first grader is a bit tired and she’s glad when its recess. But recess comes and as usual, the boys find ways to pick on her. It’s not just lighthearted teasing. It’s the desperate attempt to justify pain. I’m tired and exhausted and don’t know what to do with them. Will the boys just stop? The one third grader thinks he’s the boss. He’s got no control over himself and his outbursts of rage and disrespect. Now he tries to comfort himself by bullying my only first grader here now. The boys ignore everything I say. But when do they not? I’m tired and worn, don’t know how to handle it today. They’re only little boys and already have learned the terrible mindset that girls are just play toys—meant for nothing but messing with. No doubt they’ve had one man after another come into their home only to leave when they’ve “had their fill”. Recess ends with my first grader in a puddle of tears and the boys quiet for the moment only trying to sneak their way out of trouble.

Language class doesn’t go very well. My first grader has completely shut down. I can’t get to her. She’s out. Finally I give up. There’s no use in pushing school when she’s unresponsive. 

“Lets take a break.” I suggest. “Why don’t we go wash our hands.” 

I think of something to get her moving, get her out of her own head, bring her back to reality. She stares blankly ahead. I gently come behind her and pull her out of her chair. She resists. I calmly tell her again we’re going to wash our hands. She doesn’t move, so I come behind and gently move her to the sink. She stands motionless. I pick up her little hands and put them in the sink. She pulls them out. Turning on the water, I reach for her hand. I don’t expect her to wash her own hands. Putting her small hand under the water, I rub it till it’s all wet. Then I splash soap and continue rubbing. Finally, she stops resisting. She responds to my touch, the continuous rubbing sensation. Next, I do her other hand, rubbing until she calms down and accepts me.

Drying her hands, she walks back over to her desk. I try the homework thing again. Still, nothing. Going to the bathroom, I lock myself in. Can I just sit here and cry like my first grader? I’ve quit caring about the schoolwork. The child is more important than school. I’m mad that so many little girls have to grow up like this—never being safe, being bullied, taken advantage of, abused. I’m mad that little boys are neglected and taught terrible behavior. I’m mad kiddos don’t have mommys and daddys that love them and take care of them and simply stay. I’m mad that abuse of every kind is so normal. I’m mad that addiction has ruined almost every home here. I’m mad that kiddos are left on their own to fight through injustice and wrong doings.

Somebody just needs to love them. Somebody just needs to be safe for them. I’m at the end of my rope. I don’t know what to do, how to reach my little kiddo. I desperately ask God for help. What am I doing here anyway? Suddenly, I know what I need to do. Exiting the bathroom, I find a coloring page and crayons and set them on her desk without a word. I watch and wait. Instantly she picks up the crayons and engrosses herself in coloring. I give her time. Its five minutes till lunch so I try the school thing again. This time, it works. We do what we can do and in the end, I just need her to know I’m safe and she can trust me, need her to know I will love her even if no one else does.