Painful Lessons

Yesterday and today I learned two rather painful lessons. I have been humbled by both of these circumstances and can only pray that someone out there learns from my mistakes.

Yesterday one of my nieces and I decided to go to Rapid City for the day. As an eight-year-old who rarely gets to leave Kyle, the event was an exciting one for my girl. I was simply going because I was restless.

Before we headed into town, W's dad asked me to stop by the clinic in Kyle and pick up her glasses. I drove my truck into the parking lot and pulled up next to an old van. As I stepped out of the car, I noticed a face that I recognized, peering through the smudged glass of the van window. It was Maria Rapha.

I really can't express the wave of emotions that came over me in seeing her again. To be honest, her departure was a very abrupt and painful one and seeing her actually brought me more pain then joy. But though I was uncomfortable, it was clear that she was far more so. She shied away from the window and barely replied to my greeting. I hastily walked away, practically dragging my niece into the clinic.

When we came back out, I obviously had to walk pass Maria Rapha again to get into my truck. She called out to me this time and I was able to take a good long look at her. What I saw saddened me. Her faced was smudged with dirt and seemed to have aged years. Her eyes were filled with sadness and the mischievous sparkle that used to be there was gone. She told me that she was moving back with her mom today who lives in Nebraska. I nodded, having known that this was coming. I told her I loved her and to keep practicing her reading. She slipped her hand out of the window and I squeezed it. I don't think I shall ever forget the look in her eyes as I left. I have seen it so many times before, but it always haunts me just the same. It is the look of abandonment, weariness and defeat.

If the situation with Maria Rapha wasn't painful enough, today drove the dagger all the way through. A few hours ago, the first student I ever met in Kyle knocked on my door. K whom I call Hannah Montana, is a beautiful girl who is absolutely anchor-less in this world. She is searching for love and beauty in all the wrong places, but I am very fond of her. Anyway, when I saw her at my door, I threw my arms around her, despite her being soaking wet from head to toe. We naturally got to chatting about her summer, how much she had grown, where she would go to school next year, etc. At one point in the conversation, she paused and told me this:

"Miss Brendsel...last week I was at the school and the principal was there. She was talking to one of the teachers and I overheard them. I could hear the principal telling one of the teachers that you said I was annoying. Did you say that?"

I wish you could have seen the look in her eyes. There was so much pain. I would have given my left arm that minute to have taken that sorrow away. I admit that my initial reaction was anger with my principal in being so careless with her words. But what about my words? To be honest, I don't ever recall calling any of my students annoying. However, I do know that at one point I had told the principal that I would not agree to have K transferred into my class because she and I were too familiar with each other (one of her relatives had requested that she be moved into my class). I think I even said that her disrespect and materialistic obsession frustrated me at times. Though I was merely venting my frustration, I was unknowingly speaking words that would months later be misinterpreted by a wounded child. In her mind, my "true feelings" were revealed in that office. Nothing I could say could convince her otherwise--I could see it in her eyes.

Words. They have so much power. They bring forth life. They bring forth death. They can be arrows or the Balm of Gilead. Sometimes I think it would be better if I were mute.

Father, why have you chosen such a broken vessel to care for your most beloved children?

Reach out to heal their hearts Father, for I cannot.