joy and purpose

In my work, the moments of joy seem to be less frequent than the trials and stresses. Yesterday, I was blessed to get to experience a joy.

My principal came to me to request my help with a fifth grade boy who had not completed his history project for class. It was past due. He had been given all the supplies he could possibly need, The teachers and principal had tried to get his mother involved on numerous occasions, to no avail.

I had 1 hour in which to work this student. He did not want to work with me. In fact, he did not want to work at all. One of the teachers had asked him if he cared about his education. His reply, "No." As he came towards me, he was dragging his trifold board on the floor, his other hand dangling and holding his markers. He stared at the floor.

For quite a time, he hung his head and would not look up. As he and I sat at a computer and I asked him repeatedly about his topic. He kept saying, "I don't care about my education." "I am stupid." "I don't want to be here." "I don't care about this." "I just want to live on the street." It broke my heart to hear him. I was failing to distract him with questions about the project.

I asked him what it would mean to live on the streets. At that point, he began to acknowledge that someone was speaking to him. After quite some time, I was able to get him talking about the project, a report about Abraham Lincoln. I told him how my boys and I had visited the former president's tomb. I described the size of this huge structure and the giant bust of Lincoln in front that was dull except for a shiny nose resulting from tourists rubbing it. When I began to tell him how thieves had tried to steal Lincoln's body, he began a string of rapid fire questions. He was hooked!

He wanted to know about who else was buried in the tomb and about where Lincoln had gone during the Civil War. In the few minutes we had left, he chose photographs to add to his trifold and he wrote captions. As we printed out the last one, he said, "You know, today is my birthday." I wanted to hug him as I would my own child. He had had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day on his birthday.

As we walked back down the hall to his class, he held his presentation high over his head. He wanted to show it to several staff members we passed along the way and then to his classmates. I wanted to linger with him.