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Every spring, I look forward to the blooming of trees and the blossoming of flowers. Not because of their beauty, though they are stunning, but because of what they represent.
Dead things coming back to life.
A fresh start.
A new bloom.
A second chance.
Time to begin again.
A glimmer of hope for even the coldest and most shriveled plants.
A curtain of comfort for those making their way out of hibernation or flying back from the yearly migration.
The Mondaiest of Mondays:
Monday of this week, I had a really Monday-Monday. And on the first day of May, I’m sure you know what I mean. After two electrical outages at the High School, followed by dozens of mini-crises and countless conversations, I ended the day worn and weary.
I knew other teachers were experiencing these symptoms.
I knew students suffered in shame, though, they too, remained silent.
But without speech, I felt alone.
Depression fought tooth and nail for my concentration, but I was determined.
I will not let the darkness in.
I will not let the shadows engulf my heart.
With every ounce of strength and courage, I mustered fragmented prayers throughout the days. I said I can’t do this, God, but with you all things are possible. Though the storms came, I remained steadfast on the solid ground beneath my feet. And as the chaos of the day grew, I somehow gained energy and footing.
My circumstances didn’t change. In fact, this crazy day only seemed to get worse. But one thing broke the light into my shattered heart. Into my searching mind and anxious soul: Vulnerability.
