A Picture-less Tale

from Laura

So today was Back-To-School Day at Faith. Known under various names around the world, this day is the same thing at every school I've taught in. Parents come, the principal talks, the teachers wave, everybody spends 10 minutes or so with each class period, and parents feel like new students in the building as they try desperately to find their child's next classroom before the bell rings! Oh, and the parents meet the teachers meet the parents. :) For me, this Back-to-School day also included a reminder lesson on perspective, pride, and appearance. 

I am always far more nervous about talking to parents than to students, so every year I over-prepare for this day, especially at a new school. This morning I got up and spent a record length time choosing my outfit. (It needed to be comfortable enough to work in during the open times throughout the day, but also professional enough to impress even the most formal of parents.) Eventually I chose one... And then changed my mind... You get the idea. I did manage to get dressed, was ready on time, and was feeling quite satisfied with myself. 

As we got close to the school, one eye started to really itch. By the time we arrived, I could hardly wait to get to my classroom and remove my contacts. Both eyes itched fiercely for a while and began to feel puffy, but with my contacts out, at least I could function. Which I did, walking around the campus, making copies, and getting organized. I was also getting strange looks, and I knew I was in trouble. Sure enough, a look in the bathroom mirror showed me that my eyes were completely puffy and red underneath, an allergic reaction to who knows what. I looked truly awful! There was nothing I could do, so I just went on with my morning, dreading the arrival of the parents.

As the morning went on, I continued to work, and to explain myself to concerned colleagues, and to get concerned looks from those who don't yet know me well enough to start a conversation with "What's wrong with your face?" The itchiness went away, and the puffiness slowly receded. It was replaced by a deep-red bruised look underneath both eyes. I stopped looking like I had been sobbing and instead looked like I had lost a fight. I mentally threw up my hands and planned my opening line of explanation for each parent group.

By the time the middle school parents arrived and we had our opening meeting, much of the red had also disappeared. At that point I merely looked like I had lost a fight a while ago, like maybe last week sometime. In that general opening session, the principal had all the teachers come up front. We were in a scraggly semi-circle, squished onto a too-small stage mostly in one line, trying to let everyone fit. Somehow, I ended up dead center, pushed forward out of the line about half a step, with everyone packed too tightly to try to move back or go anywhere. And, of course, as the principal introduced each teacher down the line, there was no opportunity to step forward with "Oh, and I just want you to know that I don't normally look like this!"

When parents came, I didn't bother with my opening explanation. Eight hours later, I still look extra-tired from the residual puffiness and red, but no worse than that. I'm sure most of the parents had no idea that I don't normally look like this. Not exactly my best face forward, but c'est la vie.

Which, of course, is the point. God laughed this morning when I couldn't pick an outfit and was so worried about the impression my clothes would give. I'm so often concerned with my appearance, my self-presentation, my hair, my clothes. None of which is ultimately important or lasting or, really, mine at all. In a new place, with so many first impressions to make recently (and still to come), I guess I needed a reminder of how I should be defining myself and my value, and of what I should be concerned with as others begin to know me. I will not be a better teacher because of my clothes. I will not reflect Jesus better on a good hair day. And maybe if I learn this now, God won't have to send an allergy attack next time I'm getting ready for an important meeting... :)