When Trusting Is Hard: What I Learned From the Student Who Wouldn’t Tell Me Her Name

 

Welcome! I’m glad you’re here. I’d love to hear from you, so leave me a comment at the end of this post or meet me on Facebook for more encouragement. Better yet, I’d love to meet face to face next fall!  I’m still scheduling speaking engagements for the end of 2020 or for 2021. Check out my speaking page or contact me at overflow@aliciabruxvoort.net to learn more.

If you haven’t read my devotional today at Proverbs 31, you can find it here. But, first, I’d like to tell you what I learned about trust from a skeptical student and a simple purple notebook…

The words scribbled on that blue-lined page in the purple notebook were proof that God had answered my prayers. 

It was hard to believe that the student who’d entrusted me with her story was the same young woman who had left me speechless on the first day of school… 

When I’d welcomed her into my senior composition class with a kind smile and a happy “hello,” she’d responded with a surly scowl. 

“What’s your name?”  I’d asked as she slumped into a desk near the door. 

“Call me anything,” she’d responded with a roll of her eyes. “I just need to pass your class to graduate. That’s the only reason I’m here.”

I didn’t have the slightest inclination how to respond to her curt declaration.  I was a rookie teacher with big dreams for my students. I didn’t want to merely teach teens how to write. I wanted to get to know them and speak life over them. I wanted to help them recognize their potential and provide a safe place for them to grow and flourish. 

“Well,” I replied, trying to keep the wounded wobble out of my voice, “I’m glad you’re here. And I’m looking forward to getting to know you this year.”  She harrumphed and sunk lower in her chair. 

 I turned to greet another student and hoped nobody would notice the tears that were burning my eyes. 

To be honest, my natural reaction to that angry young woman was quiet offense. But before the day was done, the Lord prompted me to set down my pride and  commit to praying for her each day. She may not want me to use her name in composition class, but I could speak her name in prayer.

So, each morning when I began my day praying through my classroom, I paused at one desk in particular and asked God to do what only He could do–

”God, help her to encounter you here. Let her see you in my kindness and experience you in my grace. Help her to feel treasured and known in this room–just as she is.”

For weeks, my prayers felt futile. 

In the beginning,  Miss Call-Me-Whatever-You-Want came and went as she pleased. When she was present, she unnerved me with her indifferent shrugs and apathetic attitude.  When she wasn’t, I worried she’d fall so far behind that she’d give up before she realized I was committed to helping her succeed.

In the fall, she ran away from home and disappeared for days. When she reappeared, her deep green eyes were as empty as her desk had been in her absence. 

On the day of her return, she took her place near the door. While the rest of the class worked on an essay, she doodled fantastical creations in her notebook.  I meandered down her row,  paused at her desk and knelt by her side. “I’m glad you’re back,” I whispered. “I missed you.” 

She snorted and turned her head.

“Let me know if you need anything while you’re catching up,” I mentioned casually before I walked away. “I’ve got time to after school to help you….”

When the bell rang, she wasn’t the first one to leave the room as normal. Instead, she pretended to rearrange some papers in her folder until the classroom was empty. Then she caught my eye for a quick minute and murmured, “See you tomorrow.”

The first quarter passed, and somehow, so did the student who didn’t want to be known by name. So, I persevered in prayer and continued to pursue her with kindness.

As Autumn’s leaves gave way to an early November snow, this bitter young woman’s icy guard began to thaw. She no longer scowled through my class. Sometimes, she even covered her face to hide a smile when I broke out into a goofy song or I gently teased a classmate. 

Shortly after Thanksgiving, I discovered a delicately folded piece of paper on my desk. When I smoothed out the creases, I found an elaborate sketch of a fairy holding a bouquet of flowers.

Printed in curvy scrawl beneath the picture were these words: “I didn’t believe you could actually be as nice as everybody said. But maybe I was wrong.” 

And beneath that handwritten declaration was the name I’d been speaking aloud in prayer since the first day of school.

When we flipped the calendar page to December, the girl who once refused to look me in the eye began stopping by my room at the end of the school day.  “I figured you’d already be gone….” she’d say with a slight shrug and a subtle smile.  Then, she’d grab a chair and sidle up next to my desk.

Slowly, we got to know each other. 

I learned that she loved rap music and she hated pickles.

I learned that she’d always wanted a little sister, and she missed her brother who was in jail.

I learned that she liked to write poetry and she dreamed of going to art school.

And, as we spent time together, she got to know me, too.

She learned that I love to take walks with my husband, and I don’t like to dry the dishes.

She learned that I’d always wished for a little brother, and I ‘d always dreamed of being a mom.

She learned that I’m slow to get angry with others, and quick to laugh at myself.

One conversation at a time, she became acquainted with my heart. 

On our last day of class before Christmas break, I invited my students to give someone in our school the gift of a kind word. We wrote mindful messages on the back of shiny wrapping paper and agreed to deliver our “presents” to their intended recipients before we left for the holiday.

Hours later, I found a square of gold wrapping paper sticking out of the front pocket of my book bag. When I read the black-penned words, I let the tears fall freely.

“Mrs. B, I would come to your class even if I didn’t need it to graduate.”

Throughout the second semester, the young woman who used to hide her smile was laughing out loud in class and raising her hand to contribute to discussions. Her eye rolls had vanished and so had her spotty attendance.

I called her by name each time she walked into my room, and I continued to pray over her desk each morning.

She called to me in the hallway with a wave and a grin and she continued to stop by for a chat on most afternoons.

When she handed me the purple notebook just days before graduation, she added an awkward hug.  “I know I can trust you with this….”  she said before she slipped out the door.

I had no idea what I’d find scribbled on those pages, but soon I discovered she had been writing far more than essays throughout the school year. She’d been writing her story from beginning to end.  And it was raw and real, messy and meaningful.

I was both humbled and heartbroken by the courageous piece of her heart she’d offered me. I cried over every page, my own heart grieving as I read her words drenched in honesty and drizzling with pain. Her seventeen years had been short on hope and long on hurt, wrought with chaos and clouded with confusion.

But as I held that purple notebook in my hands and prayed for this soon-to-be-graduate,  I realized that those ink-scrawled pages told another story, too. Between the loud lines of loss and loneliness was a hushed tale of a God who answers prayers and a girl who had learned to trust again.

I haven’t taught a senior composition class in twenty years. But as I opened my well-worn prayer journal today and poured out my heart on its blue-lined pages, I found myself picturing a purple notebook and an awkward hug.

And I realized that long before I’d come to trust the Lord with all of my heart, He’d sent a broken and beautiful seventeen-year-old  to teach me about trust. 

And what I learned from her pushed me closer to Him.

I’m not sure how you’re feeling about God right now, friend. Maybe you’re trusting His hand or maybe you’re questioning His plan.

But wherever you are with the Lord right now, may I remind you what  I learned as a rookie teacher long ago?

Trust doesn’t automatically grow in the absence of doubt. It flourishes in the presence of relationship. And quite simply, it’s difficult to trust someone we don’t know.

That broken student didn’t trust me because of what others said about me or because of the credentials on my teaching degree.  She didn’t trust me because of my position or my precocity; my authority or my acumen.

She trusted me because somewhere between the running away and the running to find me after school each day, she’d come to know my heart. 

And, dear friends, we have a God who makes Himself available for us to do the same.

So, today, instead of trying to run away from all we can’t understand, let’s simply run into God’s presence.

Instead of trying to comprehend His baffling ways, let’s simply enjoy His beloved company.

Let’s talk with Him and listen, friends.  Let’s open His word and discover His character. Let’s spend time with Him in prayer and laugh with Him in praise. Let’s relish His story and invite Him into ours.

Most of all, let’s be honest and vulnerable.  Raw and real. Because the One who knows our name cherishes our hearts.

And the more time we spend with Him, the more we may discover that-

Trusting and knowing go hand in hand. (Psalm 9:10)

And it’s easier to trust God with tomorrow when we pursue His heart today.

“Trust in the LORD with all your heart; do not depend on your own understanding….”  Proverbs 3:5-6,  NLT

What’s one thing you’re doing to get to know Jesus better right now? Share in the comments and let us know how we can pray for you, too.