That Question

"At what point do we stop believing that it's a 'rough patch' and start believing that it's God telling us to do something different?"

This was the question that plowed into my mind at the end of this morning's class. It's been two weeks and I had looked forward to the students behaving better, having gotten used to my teaching style and expectations. The morning was a complete wreck - at least that's what it felt like. I had decided to split my class into two groups to be able to teach more one on one and also to teach more advanced concepts to the group with a higher English level. What resulted was not an engaging learning session, filled with the laughter and smiles of successful children. They ran on the tables. Ran. On the tables. And little Glorio and I just sat there staring at each other, both incapable of correcting the situation at all.

Ok, some of you probably have your ideas about what I should do to fix this problem. Make it more fun! Have more structure! Have variety! Involve the children! So let me give you a run-through of what I have tried so far.

Games: They run around screaming.

Songs: They yell and hit each other as actions.

Pictures: They either don't pay attention or they try to rip the pictures out of my hands.

Toys: They break and attempt to eat anything and everything.

Books: They talk over me.

Chalkboard: They ignore me and then try to write on the board themselves.

Worksheets: Best success so far - not at learning, but at being quiet. 

Short Subject Periods: Transitions take half the period.

Long Subject Periods: They stop paying attention ten minutes in.

Full Class with Aid: We both are yelling to sit down.

Half Class without Aid: I'm yelling to sit down.

Yes, yelling. I know! I don't want to teach that way. I've never taught anything to anyone this way, but the noise level is a constant high. They just mumble and bang their hands and stomp their feet and the concrete classroom echoes it all back and forth. To be heard, I have to yell.

Oh - and I got bit the other day.

It is with tears in my eyes that I truthfully say I hate teaching kindergarten. I got on the airplane in Calgary with so much hope and so many plans for the wonderful ways in which I would open the minds of my students. I love teaching new things to people because I love learning and I want to share that experience with others; but I wake up every morning here dreading the day. I have a timer set on my watch, counting down the minutes until they leave. "Be positive!" you say? Well, try physically chasing a six year old around, to take him to the principal's office because he threw a chair at you. All this time, you are asking your other students to sit down, but they are wrestling with each other, eating food out of a random kid's backpack and climbing onto the window sill. When you finally get back, you get an apple juice box poured into your lap. And then do that every day for two weeks. The hope has gone out of me. 

What am I supposed to do? I am not teaching the children, I am only barely keeping them from dying at the hands of their peers. My teacher's aid was the main teacher for the two months before I came and she accomplished much more in those two months than I would have ever imagined. They can count, they know the alphabet, colors, shapes, sizes... they know songs and they can line up by table groups. She would give the children a better education than I ever could. I am not helping, I am hindering with my incompetence. I've never felt this way before - I have never failed so fast or so completely.

I want to give up more than anything - I want to come home. I am no help here and I can think of a million things I could do to help others back home. The soup kitchen and the prison ministries, the Pathfinder club and the Sabbath School classes. I could be a spokesperson for ADRA and organize fundraisers for the missionaries in the field who are making a difference. I could venture out into my own neighborhood and get to know the people right next door, who probably need Jesus and I could definitely tell them all about Him. I could pick up litter by the highway and rescue the starving cats and dogs from the shelters... Please, anything but another day, another headache, another teary lunch eaten alone in my apartment.

I want to give up and go home. Should I? It's only been two weeks and that seems like so little time, but when I can count on my fingers the number of times I've been truly happy since coming here, two weeks is a lifetime. And the great question has been building in the back of my mind from the moment I walked into the staff lounge and knew I was the outsider: "At what point do we stop believing it's a 'rough patch' and start believing that it's God telling us to do something different?" It's said that when we live against God's Will for us, life is made difficult so that we turn to Him and follow His guidance. But it's also said that following God isn't always easy and when life gets difficult we just have to buckle down and forge on. How do you tell the difference?! I've stepped out in faith, trying to do what I thought God wanted, but maybe I heard wrong. How do I know that it's just a trial to test my courage and faith and not an obstacle that God is putting in the way to try to redirect me? Is there a time limit? Is there an elimination process? Is there anything other than more faith, which is just redundant.... ?

I've thrown myself into life in Majuro, teaching kindergarten in the morning, tutoring in the afternoon, running an after school drama club, coaching the girl's volleyball team, running around looking for ministries to be a part of on Saturday, working the garden in Laura every Sunday and starting a small group for the other SM's here. I clean the house and my classroom and cook for my roommate and I. With my spare time, I journal and sketch and take pictures and try to absorb this 'amazing opportunity' everyone told me this would be. I give to others and I'm giving to myself. I eat healthy and I work out and I drink water and, and, and... and I'm just lonely, tired and so disappointed.

And I ask that question.