She walked into my classroom at the beginning of the school year with a "don't try to patronize me attitude that was written across her chubby little face." There was a bit of aloof strolling in her step and some deliberate swinging of her less-than-neatly braided pigtails that were nothing short of a mess. I took a deep breath and thought, "I've got my work cut out for me with this one!" It wasn't the first time I had been entrusted with a gift that carried so many hurt disappointments and scars that the resolve was not to let anyone get remotely close to them. Yet even though this was not the first time I had encountered a child like this, each time, it seemed like the first time. How would I reach her? How would I get through to show her potential and, even more so, her worth? The thought of the work this would require making even the tiniest entrance into this child's heart was almost overwhelming. Her hardened emotional shell would be tough to crack.
Day after day, Irene did her best to stir up division in the classroom. When she didn't get her way, she hit, yelled, or destroyed things with seemingly no conscience. On the playground, she commanded certain territories as no-fly zones, and on more than one occasion, she threw other children off the jungle gym, reminding them that they had entered enemy territory.
In class, she cared little about participating in conversations, answering questions, or joining the class in activities. Often, she arrived late to school or fell asleep on her desk. She never responded to positive attention or praise. Instead, she gravitated towards exhibiting the most damaging words, actions, and behaviors she could think of. When asked to raise her hand, her standard response was a definite raising of such, which always included the prominent presence of the middle finger. The students would gasp, and her actions seemed to isolate her more each time from the remainder of the class. There was seemingly no reaching her. What was I to do? How would I provide some rescue for her pain and the strife and the calamity she was creating in the classroom?
One day, low on energy and out of ideas, my eye caught a particular place in the classroom that might hold the answer. Irene hated being in the mix of all the students and did her best to act up to be removed from the group. So why did I not think of this earlier? My mind went to work on that area where a small, elegant table painted a beautiful, deep red was placed and accompanied by two powder room chairs with exquisite backs that were upholstered in a deep gray satin with dark black brocade threading pattern. It was the fanciest spot in our room and reserved for special privileges to read or work there. This was it. This was to be Irene's new home!
Later that day, I ran the idea by her, fully expecting her routine crude gesture or worse, but to my surprise, she said yes. It was the answer to my prayers! We reviewed the expectations for this arrangement, and then Irene moved to her new home in the classroom.
I knew the stakes were high. What if she didn't follow through? I had no other place to put her, but I had to take the chance, knowing she was so ostracized in the group setting due to her attitude and actions. To my surprise, Irene had found her home! She remained there for the rest of the year, and her little office provided the solace she desperately needed for the troubled spirit she brought to school each day. I watched her. Things began to change. Her work was completed (most of the time). Her interest in classroom discussions grew, and her playground behaviors lessened with fewer and fewer students flying off the jungle gym. Of all the positives that arose from this, her heart began to soften.
The last day of school finally arrived. Standing outside the school, watching students run to greet their parents and begin the long-awaited summer vacation, I felt relief, satisfaction, and then a sudden pang of panic. Where was Irene? Had she already left, and I missed her? Then, I spotted her as she walked past me, gave me one of her tough girls looks, and walked on without saying a word. My heart sank. I had poured my life into this child for 180 days... I..., and suddenly she stopped and turned around. I didn't know what would happen next. She ran towards me, giving me the biggest hug I had ever had from a child. Then, with no words and one last look, she was gone. Somehow, I didn't need words. The warmth of her hug - truly heartfelt by both of us said more than words could ever say. I knew I had had a small part in changing her world that year. Maybe she could carry that experience of feeling loved and belonging forward in the coming years. Maybe, just maybe, she had experienced what it felt like to have someone love her and see her as worth rescuing when she could not find her way. I prayed she would never forget this feeling because I knew I never would. Irene, in her own way, had found a sense of belonging and acceptance in the classroom, which was a significant turning point in her life. The day I met Irene changed my life too.
This experience with Irene reminded me of many truths that had somehow grown dim in my mind's eye, like the importance of seeing the value in others when they are less than perfect or even unlovable, the fact that the children I worked with each year, as well as the adults, sometimes take actions that come from their pain or struggles, and the fact that all of us, at some point in our lives, need to be rescued.
The LORD says, "I will rescue those who love me. I will protect those who trust in my name.
Psalm 91:14
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