It’s after 9:00 on a Saturday night and I’m in my classroom working. I’ve been here nearly twelve hours and I just told myself that I must leave before midnight lest I fall asleep at church in the morning. . .

I didn’t plan on teaching this year. I didn’t plan on falling in love. But when it became more and more clear that if I walked away from this beautiful, brilliant bunch of fourth graders I’d be turning them over to the turmoil and trauma of having multiple substitute teachers, I found a way to stay.

I’m teacher tired. I’m I only have 1/3 of a colon, so my iron is low tired. I’m the darkness of the Arctic is closing in on us faster than I would like tired. I’m I am still a misanthrope and the big people keep talking to me tired. I’m, as the old folks say, “tide.” And yet. . .

Last Friday we read Sometimes I Feel Like a Fox. It’s a quick and fantastic read that is chockfull of things to teach students of all ages. As we considered which animals we find ourselves feeling like most often, a bright-eyed girl with a lot of opinions said, “You’re a hummingbird. No, you’re a woodpecker. . . You’re whatever has a lot of energy.” “A rabbit!” said her smiley-eyed classmate. “You are always bouncing all over the place.”

Say what? The children were adamant that I have more energy than they know how to handle.

Earlier that morning, the same girl had inquired as to whether or not I take any days off or just spend all of my time working in our classroom.

She. Sees. Me.

I’m used to teaching the tiniest humans, the ones who don’t quite connect all the dots when they experience new activities or walk into a classroom that has been provisioned just for them. Fourth graders, in their penultimate year of elementary school, know someone has to do these things. They know that that someone is Ms. Aeriale, their teacher, their Energizer Bunny.

What they don’t know is that every ounce of my energy comes from being in their presence. They are the rechargeable batteries that make me go, go, go.

The first and last prayers I whisper each day are for them – for their protection, for their healing, for their patience with me, and their willingness to teach me something new during our precious moments together.

I didn’t plan on teaching this year. I didn’t plan on falling in love. But I did. And I am. Because I found a way to stay. I wonder how often I have missed out on what God has for me because I left instead. I will never know, but I am thankful I did not miss this blessing. Working in our classroom on this Saturday night is my “Weekend Glory.”