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I retired from teaching nearly three years ago, and at that time I remember going through a short time of feeling that I had lost my identity. It was hard to watch the school busses in the early mornings and again in the afternoons. I had taught school for 37 years, and had loved every minute of it, but suddenly it was August and I had nowhere to be. That misplaced feeling continued for most of the first year after I retired.
I was no longer a part of a group. I had lost contact with the young people whom I dearly loved. I had simply become nobody. I wondered if I had wasted those years, I wondered if anybody would even remember me. And during some dark moments, I wondered if all my training and all my teaching had even been worth it.
Life happened, and things changed, and at the end of the first year of retirement, I became a widow. Again I had lost my identity. I was no longer a teacher, and I was no longer a wife. Had my life been worthless? My marriage certainly hadn't, because I have two wonderful children and a more than wonderful grandson, that, along with beautiful memories, was something I held onto during dark moments.
But as a teacher, I still had my doubts until just very recently. It has all come together in my mind now, finally...maybe I am just a slow learner, or maybe I expected a banner flying in the air telling me I had been worthwhile. How can we tell anyway, how can we know that while we were doing the work we felt God had called us to do, we had touched a life in a positive way?
This is what happened...
You know Kentucky recently went through a horrendous ice storm, and I told you about some of my experiences during that time. In the aftermath, my home and my car were left intact, but my beloved trees were badly affected. Limbs and branches covered my yard in such a way I could not budge them. Many tree workers came calling, leaving their cards with estimates ranging from the upper hundreds into the thousands, and I simply could not afford them. Some people promised to come help, but they had their own cleanup to do first.
On the first clear weekend after the storm, my little friend Brady and his dad, who was one of my former students, came to my house and cleared all the debris from my car. That was wonderful, and I did so appreciate it. But weeks passed, and there was no more help. I began to pick up a stick at a time whenever I could. In the meantime, a neighbor told me that the youth group at their church was planning to come by our neighborhood and help pick up whatever needed to be removed from the yards. That did not include chainsaws, though, because the kids were too young for that type of work. I needed chainsaws. I still didn't know what I was going to do, and was so worried because my yard really was a mess. The trees still had broken limbs in them, and with spring winds, I was afraid those limbs might fall and hurt someone walking beneath them. I was really getting worried, but still continued to pick up a stick, a branch, one at a time and drag it down to the curb. I wasn't making much difference.
Last Friday when the weather was warm and I was feeling energetic, I went outside and picked up more sticks. But the large limbs had fallen in such a way they were woven together. It was beyond my strength to do a thing about them. At a little after 3 in the afternoon, a car pulled into my driveway and a lovely woman told me that she had a crew of young people who were on their way to help with my yard. The cars started arriving, and so did the young teenagers. We began working, and I noticed some more cars and trucks arriving. Here came a man with a chainsaw, another with a rake, and others with more chainsaws. I couldn't believe it, this wasn't just a youth group.
After a very short time, kids were all over, dragging branches, raking, and one of the men with a chainsaw walked over to me. He introduced himself and I could not stop the tears. The adults in the group were former students of mine, I had not seen them in many years, but they had brought their teenagers and their own chainsaws to clean my yard. It took them about 2 hours, and it took me that long to stop my tears.
They hugged me as they left, and they all told me they never forgot my classes, they never forgot me. One told me I was one of the few people who ever gave him an encouraging word when he was having a difficult time.
I had not recognized them, you see, because kids change when they are no longer in high school, they grow up and they have a different appearance. I knew them as soon as they told me their names, and with remembering them, came also remembering their brothers or sisters I had known and taught. So I caught up with their lives, I was introduced to their own children, and I can't remember ever being much happier than I was then.
When I offered to pay for their work, their time, one of those former students said this: "You did so much for us when we were in your class, you cared about us and you sent us away feeling better about ourselves. The least we can do is help you now. This is just our way of paying back."
That kind gesture is something I will never forget. Payback. The very best kind. Maybe my life has been worthwhile after all. Maybe we have all made a difference in somebody's life. I learned a valuable lesson last Friday. What we say and do in our daily lives does make a difference to those we encounter. We might not know it at the time, but someday when we least expect it, we'll receive our payback.
The youth group is planning a couple of trips this summer, one in particular is to help do some work at a church in New Orleans. They wouldn't accept money last Friday, but I can send a donation so they can use it for their trips.
My yard and my trees are beautiful again, and you know, those young people were not even from my own church.
