does "impending doom" ring a bell?
Tomorrow begins one of the weeks I've been dreading the most.
Dramatic beginning aside, it's nothing life-threatening, really. Just pressure--mostly self-inflicted. I don't know what I'm dreading more--the thought of handling the possible emotional outburst of 16 teenagers, or the impending responsibility to fly said teenagers to another city, tour them around safely, and get them back.
See, part of my job is to handle the retreat-seminars of the high school. It's one thing I myself appreciated in high school--the opportunity to bond with friends and learn something new. But now that I'm the one arranging it, I realize what uncomplicated children me and my friends were (that, and how oblivious we were to the teenage drama of our batchmates, who probably went through all the gossip and trash talk and cold wars that my students are going through now, but we just didn't notice). The retreat-seminars, I'm beginning to realize, are supposed to create an opportunity for these kids to solve their issues--which, small as they are in the scale of reality, mess up the entire world for them. And learning how to get over these enmities and animosities now will play an important part in how they handle relationships in the future.
Anyway. The dread part. This is actually the fourth seminar I'm handling so far, but it doesn't make it any easier. These kids have a lot of unresolved, pent-up issues among themselves. The thing is, these are brilliant kids. Now I'm realizing their emotions and their capacity to hurt each other, smiling, are as intense as their intelligence. The funny thing is--they all want to change things. They all want to be friends. They all know what they each have to do, to change...but they get discouraged by the fact that they haven't. So some think they can't. I know this because I had them answer a questionnaire last week on their batch and stuff, and so was able to read all the turmoil in them. And of course the peace of their hearts and their hope for themselves matters to me. Oiiiiii, these children! They will be the death of me. :))
Look at what one of them wrote me:
Dear Miss,
I know you're trying very hard to help us, but you can only do so much. We're trying too, but it's really difficult. Majority of us had known each other since first grade, and things are still the same. I'm sorry, but I honestly believe that it's impossible to fix us. But please, don't stop trying.
The emphasis of the last line is mine. I had to grin while reading this. It's one of two things--either she really does have hope, but she tends to dramatize and she's too proud to admit it (the hope part). Or she doesn't want to hurt my feelings.
...Which will not happen, really. I'm tempted to write her a reply: I know I can only do "so much," and it doesn't bother me, because...I'm not banking on my skills. Neither am I banking on any innate mushy tendency in them to make amends, forgive and forget--because the truth is, they're not like that. I'm counting on the grace of God, which, in my experience, works wonders in people's hearts. That's why I won't stop trying.
Nevertheless, I can't help but be nervous. What if the activity we have for them doesn't work? What if they still don't take the chance to come clean with each other? What if they resist, and insist on thinking things can't change?
I was beginning to rant to a good friend of mine, and what she said calmed me, somehow. "Look. You're not there to solve all their problems. You're there to teach them how to pray."
And if I teach that last part well--then they'll learn to solve their own problems.
And the flying to another city part? Eh. I'll deal with that later.
Dramatic beginning aside, it's nothing life-threatening, really. Just pressure--mostly self-inflicted. I don't know what I'm dreading more--the thought of handling the possible emotional outburst of 16 teenagers, or the impending responsibility to fly said teenagers to another city, tour them around safely, and get them back.
See, part of my job is to handle the retreat-seminars of the high school. It's one thing I myself appreciated in high school--the opportunity to bond with friends and learn something new. But now that I'm the one arranging it, I realize what uncomplicated children me and my friends were (that, and how oblivious we were to the teenage drama of our batchmates, who probably went through all the gossip and trash talk and cold wars that my students are going through now, but we just didn't notice). The retreat-seminars, I'm beginning to realize, are supposed to create an opportunity for these kids to solve their issues--which, small as they are in the scale of reality, mess up the entire world for them. And learning how to get over these enmities and animosities now will play an important part in how they handle relationships in the future.
Anyway. The dread part. This is actually the fourth seminar I'm handling so far, but it doesn't make it any easier. These kids have a lot of unresolved, pent-up issues among themselves. The thing is, these are brilliant kids. Now I'm realizing their emotions and their capacity to hurt each other, smiling, are as intense as their intelligence. The funny thing is--they all want to change things. They all want to be friends. They all know what they each have to do, to change...but they get discouraged by the fact that they haven't. So some think they can't. I know this because I had them answer a questionnaire last week on their batch and stuff, and so was able to read all the turmoil in them. And of course the peace of their hearts and their hope for themselves matters to me. Oiiiiii, these children! They will be the death of me. :))
Look at what one of them wrote me:
Dear Miss,
I know you're trying very hard to help us, but you can only do so much. We're trying too, but it's really difficult. Majority of us had known each other since first grade, and things are still the same. I'm sorry, but I honestly believe that it's impossible to fix us. But please, don't stop trying.
The emphasis of the last line is mine. I had to grin while reading this. It's one of two things--either she really does have hope, but she tends to dramatize and she's too proud to admit it (the hope part). Or she doesn't want to hurt my feelings.
...Which will not happen, really. I'm tempted to write her a reply: I know I can only do "so much," and it doesn't bother me, because...I'm not banking on my skills. Neither am I banking on any innate mushy tendency in them to make amends, forgive and forget--because the truth is, they're not like that. I'm counting on the grace of God, which, in my experience, works wonders in people's hearts. That's why I won't stop trying.
Nevertheless, I can't help but be nervous. What if the activity we have for them doesn't work? What if they still don't take the chance to come clean with each other? What if they resist, and insist on thinking things can't change?
I was beginning to rant to a good friend of mine, and what she said calmed me, somehow. "Look. You're not there to solve all their problems. You're there to teach them how to pray."
And if I teach that last part well--then they'll learn to solve their own problems.
And the flying to another city part? Eh. I'll deal with that later.