It’s a one-hour delay for students
A meeting time for teachers
topic unknown. acronym foreign
in a weighted tone filled with cold examples and questioning statistics
in this room. surrounded on all sides.
It’s my job so I must stay.
Yet, that hole in my heart widens while my lungs tighten.
the Topic of the Year–speakers, faculty meetings, news stories
the buzz word for a few
a piercing memory for my tattered mind and healing heart
As the clamp on my soul tightens, she says I’m a victim.
I prefer Victor. Child of God. Redeemed.
Don’t make eye contact.
Tune her out.
Stay. This is a test.
Role Play she says. Seriously?
No. I will not. I can not.
I did this. I tried that.
He’s still gone.
8 a.m. and the test, the torture concludes
under a cloud of anxiety
Quietly. Quickly. I escape.
to my room where his picture greets me and His Word soothes me
Dear God, help me.
Friends robed in compassion enter
1, 2, 3
They embrace me and grant me my release, my sobs
it’s time to teach
to pull myself up, wrap myself in His strength and do what He’s called me to do
and so I taught
and when the work day ended, I drove home
exhausted by the incarcerated emotion and surrender
After three years, I still feel the weight and brokenness of his absence
but I choose to exchange it for peace and growth and wisdom
For it is only by His grace,
that my shattered soul shines through the scar tissue of my healing heart