I am a teacher. I live in the center of a big city and drive 20 miles west along the Columbia River to a small town. We have one high school, one middle school and elementary building and three primary schools. The commute is reverse. The heavy traffic goes in the opposite direction toward Portland. Another gift is the view. Highway 30 is elevated above and along the channel that creates Sauvie Island. Visible, on clear days, are the three volcanoes, spectacular sunrises and marvelous wildlife. I’m in grateful awe most mornings.

And that is a good thing. Nature is helping. The 30 minutes it takes to drive is an important part of my prayer life. It begins just as I blast on the Highway 405 ramp at NW Glisan. Five seconds to cross two lanes of heavy traffic in order to take the St. Helens exit dropping onto Highway 30. Sometimes it can be a bit dicey. I round the off ramp and pass St. Patrick’s Church, which is tucked nearly under the freeway exchange, uttering a prayer of thanks as I try not to be killed by the merging south bound traffic coming off the Fremont Bridge. All of us are trying to come into the industrial section of the city at the same time. It is a good thing that I do hall duty at the mid school. It toughens one up for crowded and fast-moving situations like this.

Getting through this part of town takes concentration. I had a close one, several years back. Thanks is given when I cross the intersection of Yeon and NW 35th. I still don’t know how, after being pushed into on coming traffic, skidding and turning 180 degrees I ended up exactly in the center turn lane. The truck that forced me over sheared only the front fender. The spin was so even the air bags didn’t inflate, and my coffee was not spilt. I thought I was dead because it was so calm. A brave driver surprised me by stopping near and tossing her business card saying, “I saw the whole thing! Give me a call.” So you can understand why what ever happens during the rest of the day may seem relatively calm compared to the commute.

One February I was very depressed by the dark weather and overwhelmed by the heavy workload. I pulled out a looped tape of Taize chant that I had engineered in the early 80’s. By the time I reached the parking lot my attitude was improved. Centering prayer always does that.

As the years went by, the attitude of prayer became my driving companion. The scenery would prompt prayer. The day’s agenda would certainly cause supplication. I began to notice that specific students and special interests would bubble up. Some were surprising to me. I learned to pay attention. Often during the day what had surfaced in prayer took flesh in the halls and classrooms.

I’m not really sure when this happened but my prayer for my students shifted. It made that journey form head to heart. Standing in the hall one day, I was overwhelmed by this tremendous warmth. I saw the kids differently. I was surprised by love! I genuinely liked most of my students. I like teaching. I was happy in my work. Now love joined my professional life. It wasn’t anything that the students did that prompted this change and I really don’t recall asking for this gift. It arrived a complete surprise.

I fell in LOVE with my students. Not the sentimental, sloppy kind of love, but a strong and focused concerned type. It seemed to equally apply even to my “challenging” students as well. The difference was profound. Energy flowed and true fun was enjoyed. My perception of each student was focused. They were seen as individuals. Not just a herd of students to get through the curriculum. An aggressive fearlessness about certain issues developed.

In my mind changes also began to occur. I, for want of a better term, develop VISION. I knew what I wanted to teach. No more wandering around looking for something to fill the time. Not just what the curriculum said I had to present. Previously there was extra time that needed to be filled. Now there wasn’t enough. A drive emerged to share and lead my students through and to information and attitudes I thought essential. A true passion developed for what I was doing. I saw these students in a different light and heard and listened to them with awakened ears. They were seen as the 12-14 year olds they were and then I would see them as young adults. I began to teach to both at the same time. I taught to the NOW and the NOT YET, celebrating their childhood and evoking and coaxing the adult to come out. I saw their hearts. And I was hooked, big time.

Recently I’ve been gifted with opportunities to speak with others about my career. The phrase I use in describing how I feel is, “ . . . in the right place, at the right time.” I don’t want to be anywhere else. Teach, and teaching here, is it. I love what I’m doing and on most days it loves me back. For that, I’m profoundly grateful.