to be a teacher.

i guess when i signed up to be a teacher, i thought my job would consist of...well...teaching.
i've realized as of late that that couldn't be further from the truth.

the more i think about it, the more i realize the vast expanse of my daily roles:

-stand up comedian
-technology expert
-copy editor
-hall monitor
-etc. etc. etc.
(you get the idea)

but there is one role that i wasn't ready for.
one that i couldn't escape.


it all became clear when i read her poem...
a description of her life outside the safe walls of our school.
a world where violence and fear dominated everything.
a world where she was forced to be the parent and protect her sisters from the abuse no child should ever face.

i pulled her aside after class, and she recounted everything in such great detail.
alcohol is king in her home, and it has ruled with an iron fist for so many years.

as i talked with her, i felt so helpless.
aside from reporting the situation to social services (which i did), what could i do?

i can't go home with her.
protect her.
rescue her.
erase all the years of pain and restore the childhood she deserved all along.

and yet, i want to...so desperately.

and now, all i can do is hope and pray for restoration.
believe that change is possible.
be a source of love and encouragement to a little girl who has grown up too fast too soon.

i guess that's what happens when you become a teacher.
if you do something right, you care...
more deeply than you ever thought possible.

because they need you...
more than they could express...
more than you could imagine.


  1. wow, hanners...and here we were (i guess probably just me) picking teacher over social worker b/c i didn't think i would be able to handle things like that and not take the child home with me... (well, at least i thought that).
    proud of you for caring!

  2. Dear Hannah,
    Now you have become what you have called to do. The academics? Incredibly important! But rescuing hearts? That is what life is about.
    You are reflecting Him so well.
    Cheering for you and praying always, Mother Blain : )

    Your very lives are a letter that anyone can read just by looking at you. Christ himself wrote it- not with ink,but with God's living Spirit;not chiseled into stone, but carved into human lives...
    2Cor 3:2-3

  3. Mother Blain beat me! wow! Love that lady.

    Thank you for caring so much about your students and loving them so well. You inspire me.