Letter's Home

Often plans are made to be changed, and my plans for Belize were enhanced in a great way when I was invited back to the states for an interview for graduate school. The school’s reluctance to reschedule due to my circumstances gave me an excuse to make it home for one of the happiest and most amazing experiences of my life—the birth of my first nephew, Noah. It was a whirlwind of a weekend, and when I returned to Benque, it all seemed like I had lived a very vivid dream of baby’s being born and hot-water showers.

One of the most difficult things for me to do before I was able to make this short journey was to tell my students that I was leaving. It would be the first time I was to be gone, and I wanted to make certain that they would not think that I was simply abandoning them. I told them the whole story—the interview, the dreams of being a doctor, the very pregnant sister and my yearning to be with her. They were nothing but understanding and encouraging, but mostly they were excited about the possibility of free class periods.

The days before my departure quickly approached, and my anticipation and nerves were building exponentially, but at the same time I felt bothered at the thought of it. It felt like I was leaving right in the middle of some important business. I had Bible history to teach, Marian doctrine, Verb tenses, and reading comprehension. And I was just going to bolt for 2 days of class and miss out on all that opportunity. But alas, the trip was set, and I had to postpone my class projects for another week. I entrusted my class to capable substitutes with ample instructions, and bid my hasty farewells.

As I was about to leave my English class for the last time before my trip, two students approached me with letters.

“What are these?” I asked

“Just letters for your family, to tell them how you are doing here”

And of course I took them. By the end of the day there were three letters (and ample requests for “sweets” and “skinny jeans,” but those were just ignored), just waiting to be carted through planes and customs and eventually to the hands of my parents. They had been sealed by their authors, and I glanced at the home-made and decorated envelopes many times during my long day of travel, burning with curiousity about what the contents might be.

As soon as I was leaving the airport in Cincinnati, having been reunited with my family, I was asking them to open and read them, for I couldn’t contain it any longer. The letters were written to thank my family for having “shared your daughter with us.” “I like the way she explains things” they said about my teaching, as well as “She is very playful.” They talked about their own lives, their aspirations, and their own struggles. They opened themselves up to people they didn’t know in order to show their gratitude that was in no way asked for, and to share themselves with others to make this world one step smaller. To state the obvious, I was moved beyond description.

This was such a small act, but it is such a huge demonstration of the generosity of my students. I did not ask them to do this, and I hope that I would never make them feel required to feel gratitude for my being there. They simply did it as a gift for me, and it did nothing but encourage me that I must be doing something right in my teaching, and to give me every reason to make my hasty goodbyes to my family and warm showers and return to Benque before Monday classes began again.

The first day back was met with jetlag and many papers to grade; but the moment I stepped into that classroom and heard the excited chatter of students who were all a twitter to tell me about the days without me washed all worries away. I was home again, and where I am meant to be.