WHEN THE ONE-TWO PUNCH KNOCKS YOU OUT OF THE ROUND (part 1)

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And this year I am not entering the arena.  The school booklet doesn't list my name as part of the "sweet science" of education.  I am not a contender in the daily ring to forge life lessons for souls dry and thirsty and souls budding and growing high.

I could see the battle clearly for others.  I found words of affirmation for others.  I heard them come from my own mouth time and again.  I even adhered to the counsel of those sought after holy words.  I prepared in prayer and sought in tears, but still this round it was me that succumbed to the pain.  Why would I lose when I prepared? When I gave so much of myself?   I had not abandoned the play book.  I followed the strategies.  I even tried to live them and sought Christ, but I was not to win this round.  There was no God abandonment here.  He still fully endorsed my soul.


Battered and bruised, jab upon jab landed on the same weakened work weary body.  An unseen quick one-two punch  sent me flat to the hard mat with blurred vision and a fog dizzy head.  How did I get down here?   I swished in the sweat of  my labor.  Suddenly, every muscle ached. My head pounded visible noise. I was unable to demand my reflexes to pursue a stance. Mind forcing strength and endurance willed to last another round.  Energy drained legs wanted to call fast feet and crushed conscious soul to rise again amidst spitting words to stay down. Where was the referee? Where was my standing eight count, this protection count, a respite?

The bell rang and the ring's corner called for rest.   Smelling salts admitted a jolt to every sinew. Wounds wiped clear and bruises brazed by standing sideline supporters, the final bell signaled, and the towel was thrown to signal defeat. The Prize-fighter turned Trainer and Coach whispered life-saving words that confused this concussion injured mind.  

The  Prize-fighter turned Trainer and Coach observed sheathing pain and damage that caused functional insufficiency.  A fatigue, nerve damage to my whole system.  Diagnosis: neuropathy of the soul. Treatment: balance and cognitive awareness needed.

This knock out round was fought in the bathroom after school on a Friday at 4:30.   It was only one round but the words in an instant stole the soul of this teacher, stomping the wind out of my lungs, and dropped me blinded to the ground. A parent asked to discuss today's events from class, and a forty-five minute round later, I was very late for the dinner I planned to prepare for my husband's birthday. 



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The jabs and one-two punch landed bruises:

JAB
"You don't even understand my child?"

JAB
"I don't know why, but you are the person she always worries about pleasing."

JAB
"You made my daughter cry.  You were determined to do what you wanted come Hell or high water?"

JAB"I will not let my child into your class until we have a meeting with the principal first."

ONE PUNCH
"You are the reason my child doesn't want to come back to this school." 

TWO PUNCH
"You are insensitive and harmed my child. You should go home and think about what kind of teacher you are and if you should even be teaching." 


The fog in my brain kept telling me that I had actually thought through my lesson plans.  Had I lost balanced decision-making for students? Was I calloused in making her do this and didn't understand my callousness?  How did I get to be that kind of teacher?  If that were so, then I needed to not be there.  I didn't want to be a teacher that made kids dislike school or run them away from my school. Why didn't her mom see my plan as a viable next baby step in her educational process? Was my vision blurred?  Was it wrong to want to please me as a teacher or was I a taskmaster in her eyes that her daughter could never please?  Why did she have this perception of me?  Was it the subject  matter the student had difficulty with or was it me, and I couldn't see it?   Where were the eyes to see the many different ways and attempts I made throughout the year to help?  Why were they tainted now?

Why did it feel NOW that I just couldn't enter the ring again after this round?

They say trauma has a way of closing the senses.  I was too numb to any good I had done.  I could only hear this parent's pain and desperation caused by me, a teacher, and feel my own exhaustion begging to run from these type of bouts. If all the time I was spending and what I was doing and giving left me feeling like I had fallen hard on the mat and unable to get up, then I needed to find a better way. There must be some training needed. I needed to feel as if I wasn't a rug frayed and unraveling. With my courageous and persevering nature, I could have mustered the energy to rebound and to join the ring for future bouts, but the long term effects and final price I would pay if I were to continue to endure would be a numbing pain existence. 

After some of the brain fog cleared from that inflamed round, I better understood.  The Prize-fighter turned Trainer  and Coach had whispered: "THAT is not HOW you are called to live, not a life endured but a life abundant." And so the towel of life was chosen and thrown into the ring.  I admitted defeat to numb living.  I chose to lay down my life for the life the Trainer called me to, even if it meant enduring the pain of leaving the ring and arena that I love.