Running Scared: Part 2

"I don't believe in God like everyone else." Brian folded his hands in his lap and waited for me to respond.

I had wondered about the quite young man who sat attentive day-after-day in my class. Often making a comment in class that the other students seemed to miss, but didn't go unnoticed by me. I prayed for him often and hoped he would one day open up. That day had arrived.

"I don't expect you to have the same experience. Why should that be a concern?"

"I'm not sure I can do this."

The next words were out of my mouth before I could think about them. "God is going to use you in the lives of the other students in the class."

He shook his head and smiled. "Half of them don't know I exist. Besides, why would God use someone who’s not sure who He is?"

"Do the assignment," I encouraged, "See what God does."

He shrugged. "Okay."

The assignment consisted of the students sharing about their relationship with Christ. Many of them had been raised in a Christian school, with Christian friends, and were regular church members. But, as I learned growing up, Christian activities do not make one a Christian. Brian understood this and he knew where he stood.

The next day, Brian arrived early to school. I was surprised, but welcomed him into the classroom.

He sat at the table across from me, opened his notebook, and handed me a paper. "Is this what you wanted me to do?"

Usually I tell students not to hand me assignments before classes, between classes, or after school in the hallway. I don’t want to misplace them. But because I knew this was a difficult task for him to accomplish, I reached for the paper.

I blinked back tears as I read. The student who sat across from me looked like the all-American-kid, but the words I read on that page reflected a wounded individual. And one still searching for what it meant to have a relationship with God.

I waited until I could find my voice before I spoke. "Thank you. For being open and honest."

He smiled.

"Would you read this to the class?"

He seemed surprise. "You want me to?"

"Yes."

Over the next twenty minutes, the other students entered the classroom. Kaylee, who’d told me she couldn't do her assignment, avoided eye contact and took her usual seat.

I explained how the students would be graded on their presentation. After a few students shared, I asked Brian to read his assignment.

He stood and walked to the front of the class. At first, his hands shook and his voice quivered. Soon his voice was steady, his words powerful.

I glanced around the room. Every student focused on the young man who was willing to let them into a world most of them knew nothing about. A world of abuse and violence.
With his last words, he focused on me.

I gave him an assuring nod.

He walked to me, turned in his paper, and then sat.

I waited.

Kaylee spoke first. “I never knew.”

It was as if I heard the walls falling down around the teenagers in the classroom. Walls that I had prayed to crumble since the beginning of the school year. God was doing something BIG.

Kaylee approached me after class. “Can I do my presentation tomorrow?”

“Sure,” I said. “What made you change your mind?”

She half smiled. “Not what. Who.” Kaylee turned and left the classroom.

I couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come.

(more to come)

Running Scared: Part 1

Words failed me as I sat across the table from one of my seventeen-year-old students. Kaylee sniffles filled the silence in the room. Tears fell down her cheeks.
She whispered, "You don't understand. I can't do this." Kaylee looked down.

I prayed. And handed her a tissue. "I really believe you can."

She shook her head and looked back at me. Fear rested behind her eyes.

Maybe I didn't understand. For the second time in a week, a student informed me that they couldn't do the assignment. I had asked them to write their person stories about their relationship with God.

She twisted a stained Kleenex in her hand. "I don't have anything to share."

"I disagree," I said, "Everyone has a story to tell. I'm not asking you to make something up. I'm asking you to be real. You can decide how much or how little you want to tell your classmates."

Kaylee sat straight in her chair and held her chin high. With quavering words she said, "I'll take an F on the assignment."

I sighed. God, what do I say?

"You're not the type of student who would do that." I stood, walked around the table, and put my hand on her shoulder. "I believe there's a story in you. I'll let you decide how to share it."

Kaylee’s final words came to me before I entered the hall.

"I can't."


But she will.

Because one student took the time to be real.

(to be continued)