(Thanks to Laurel Wreath for allowing me to post this!)
Ken and I are in St. Tammany Parish today so that I can complete my paperwork to return to Fontainebleau High School (Vanna…can I buy a vowel??)!
Beginning August 8, I will be returning to Fontainebleau High School in Mandeville after teaching at Barbe High School for the past two years. It is a bittersweet experience. The teachers and staff at Barbe sheltered me after the winds of Katrina blew us into Lake Charles. They were gracious, friendly, and generous. I was “adopted” by teachers in the English department who made sure that I did not eat lunch alone. They even climbed into the dumpster with me to look for tests when I thought I’d been a bit too ambitious in cleaning my room after an exam. And when we found the tests buried under stacks of papers in my classroom, they still liked me!
I will miss my students. Without Sam’s help, I would not have even started this blog. My AP class challenged me to write and to not be afraid to be a writer. They trusted me with journal sharings that brought tears of laughter some days and tears of sadness on others.
In fact, all of my students have–in one way or another–been responsible for my growing as a teacher and a person these past two years. My first year at Barbe, we shared the experiences of Hurricanes Katrina and Rita. I’m sure there were some students who wished the hurricane had continued to move my family over the state line into Texas.
Two years ago, I never imagined ever leaving my home in Abita Springs or FHS, the school I’d been teaching in for twelve years. Now, two years later, it’s difficult to imagine leaving my home and my school here in Lake Charles.
I’ve enjoyed living here. Great neighbors, incredible services for Sarah, two and a half hours away from my children in Texas, a ten minute ride to anything I need, two minutes from school…For a long time now, I’ve dug in and decided this place was where I needed and wanted to be. I did not want to move.
One reason we’re moving is due to health insurance issues–a totally unexpected snarl in moving from one school system to another. I thought about God’s timing in all of this. Okay, I’ll admit, I questioned His game plan. But it wasn’t until I was talking to my neighbor a few days ago that I had a melting awareness of God’s hand in this.
I wasn’t going to move. I didn’t want to move. I’d chanted this mantra to Ken several hundred times over the past two years. Of course, God knew that. He also knew that, if faced with a life-changing decision–one that meant staying would be sheer stupidity–I would relent.
God told me, “Sister, it’s time to go.”