What can I say? I would describe my current state of being - as in beyond simply "mood" - as melancholy. I have so much inside, and find that my words are becoming less and less adequate to express what I experience and feel here in this pocket of our earth. English may be my first language, but at least 9 hours of the day I limit it to words that can be simply and literally understood by lower-level students. And the gaps I fill in with Japanese. So needless to say, my literary picture-painting ability is beginning to dwindle. Nevertheless, a lot is on my heart and mind, so... I probably don't need to explain that communication is, well, difficult with my students. Do you remember when you took a foreign language in junior high or high school? Do you remember how well you could actually speak that language while you were taking those classes? Yeah. That's about how much English most students retain. So what's left is a frantic effort for me to piece-meal some Japanese words in there, fill in with a lot of gestures, and, above all - read what they are thinking feeling through their eyes. I recently read in a book (The Alchemist - very strange, and more than a little off, but interesting nonetheless), this idea labeled as "the language without words." I often wonder if what I "hear" from the students is not actually more than what they communicate with other teachers. I can't understand what they're saying. so I have to try to read their minds. And beyond that really. I would go as far as to say I try to read their spirits. And sometimes it does work. A person can give a lot away through his eyes: how much sleep he got the night before, if he's angry about something, if he's in a state of eager anticipation, whether he actually understands what he's telling you he understands, if he's discouraged, or if he's...lost. Lost in his thoughts. Not in class. Thinking about something much more personal and of more importance than how to conjugate a verb to its past participle form. One of my 9th graders has been communicating that a lot lately. In the middle of class he's been staring off into space. Not tired. Different. Swimming. Somewhere where the world isn't as easy as a quick translation and then we're through. All the 9th graders have had to take tests recently to change verbs to different past-tense forms. (Sounds like a barrel of laughs, ne?) If they don't get a "passing" score, they have to take it again until they do. Today was this boy's 3rd time around. He sat alone in the designated room, waiting for me to bring in the tests, and stared blankly at his paper. There's a certain glazed over look a student gets when he can't retain information, and I saw it in his eyes as he tried to study. "Are you ready?" I asked him. He looked at me with the same gaze, but eventually duty kicked in and he reached for the test. Forcing a smile, he began his test, as I strolled around the room. About 5 or 10 minutes later, I realized he had only done about 2 of the questions. He was just staring at the page like he didn't understand a word on it, not even the Japanese. So I sat down and helped him through it. "Do you like English?" I asked him first. "No," he replied after some hesitation - feeling out whether he could be honest or not. "Why not?" I asked. "Because it's difficult?" He nodded and gave a sheepish grin. So I worked with him the rest of the lunch period, talking out the places that he couldn't get on paper, and searching for strange but effective techniques to help him remember that "speak" changes to "spoken" when "was" is in front of it. After lunch I returned to the teachers' room and had a few chuckles over his spaciness with my co-teacher. Not making fun of him, just finding humor in the situation. Then she looked at me seriously and lowered her voice. "I heard," she began, "that his parents are..." and she gestured what I considered to mean, "separated." "His mother left recently, and they are near divorce." At that moment everything instantly made sense. "Hmm." I replied sadly. "I can see it affects him...in everything." How do I minister to kids like this? I want so desperately to love them - so much so that at times it literally hurts. Physical touch is slightly taboo, and the deepest we can get in our conversation is "what's your favorite food?" Sometimes it pains me to think that the odds of me seeing these kids again after they graduate - on either side of eternity - is very slim. I wonder what Jesus felt like when he healed people and knew they would still not accept him as their savior. I wonder how he felt seeing the masses and knowing that they would spew slanders at him. I wonder how deep was the wound of his intimate friend's betrayal. He was a man of sorrows. Well acquainted with grief. I grieve for my students. Ache for them. That they might come in contact with The God of the universe. That they might cast their burdens on his willing and able back, and walk in the freedom of no condemnation. That they may find a comforter who won't let them down. Whom they can trust. Always and forever. And that they may find hope. Hope beyond this world and into the next, that they are and always will be saved from the evil forces that press down so heavily upon our world. I am so unworthy, so flawed, so incompetent. But I pray, just as I can see their spirits through their eyes, that they are able to see the spirit of Christ in mine. That he may shine through this damaged vessel and reach the yet-tender hearts of those I have grown, and am growing, and will continue to grow, to love more each day.