The Symphony of People

 My new principal and I are finding our rhythm, and the new faculty are meshing very nicely together, so work is as pleasant as it has ever been, even if I sometimes miss people who have moved away and moved on. 

The school district is building a new high school in our burg, which will make two high schools for the town instead of just the one we currently have. There are high schools located in each of the three major towns in our valley, but population in all three of the towns (as well as the even more rural townlets) has been exploding for about three years now with no sign of letting up. New homes and apartment complexes are sprouting like mushrooms where there were once pastures and fields, and traffic has become nightmarish on the main streets during rush hour; the influx of new cars and drivers has far outpaced any city planning efforts to provide adequate alternate routes to reduce the burden on the main thoroughfares, though it's still nothing like The Big City. Yet. 

The new high school will siphon off students from our high school and the one in the next town, and I'm fascinated to see what it will do to the demographic of our current high school, whose boundaries are pretty much land-locked from new residential construction. The construction of the new high school will also mean the construction of a new seminary building, which has interesting implications. The new seminary will face the new temple that is under construction a few blocks away. Wouldn't that be a grand view to have at work every day? Plus, Husband works at the elementary school nearest the new high school, so we could, conceivably, have lunch together sometimes if I were to end up at the new seminary.

But all that is still a year or so away at this point. There have not been any mentions (to me, at least) of what my employer may decide about who will staff the new seminary. I'm not very fussed about it anyway. Stay or leave, I will be fine.

A student kept me late after work yesterday because of some angst-driven questions he wanted to pose to me. I would have shooed him out much earlier except that this seemed like one of those conversations that would mean something significant to him and needed to happen. Since I didn't have to leave right away, and because the principal was also able to stay in the building, I allowed it.

He struggled to put into words what he was wondering in his heart.

"Do you think we are replaceable?" he asked, a little hitch in his voice.

"What do you mean?" I said. "Say more about that."

He screwed up his face while he thought a bit, and because his face was flushed, I could tell he was asking something that was making him feel vulnerable and a little emotional.

"I mean, are we really each unique? Wouldn't you find tons of people like me anywhere?"

"Are you asking if we are replaceable as part of a group? Like just one of many in a crowd? Or are you asking if you or I have such especially unique qualities that the lack of any one of us would be felt in the world?"

It was the latter question he wanted to have answered. My heart felt for him. What teenager with any ounce of self-reflection does not ask him- or herself those questions (I know I did): Am I really anything special? Would the fact that I didn't exist make any difference? I can't imagine there is anything particularly special about me, so aren't I just...replaceable?

This kid is not depressed or suicidal, but he does have the normal amount of angsty teen self-doubt. I'm sure something must have happened amongst his friend group to cause him to worry about this right now, though he didn't tell me what, and I didn't ask. He seemed just emotional enough that me asking might cause him to cry and embarrass himself.

I always pray that the Lord will just put words into my mouth when I'm talking to students because I never want to prattle on and on without offering any insights or help. Teens are generally self-absorbed enough to be mostly only interested in delving into their own psyches, not anyone else's, such as mine. As an older adult, I accept that I am not viewed as particularly fascinating by the youngsters except in the way I am willing to listen to them talk about themselves and take them seriously. Most teens have yet to challenge their childish belief that we adults simply pop into existence, fully formed, the moment they happen to need something from us, that we have no pasts as children, teens, or young adults, that we have no relevant or interesting adventures or insights to share. I find that amusing because I remember thinking like that when I was young.

I'm sometimes very surprised by what comes out of my mouth during these conversations, but I know it's not me being in any way brilliant. The Lord brings things to mind as I'm talking (talking as briefly as possible, hopefully), and suddenly I am pulling in scripture and words of the prophets--things I've studied and pondered myself--during our conversations and making connections I wouldn't necessarily have put together under pressure except in situations like these. 

I won't bore you with the details of the rest of this conversation (it lasted a good hour), and I know that I didn't fully convince him that he is precious and unique and that his Heavenly Father is very ready to tell him so when he makes up his mind to ask earnestly and then listen. He will have to feel like he is worth enough to ask God to tell him if he is worth enough, which might take a bit. But he did listen to me, and I listened to him, and perhaps knowing he is heard will be enough to get him through until our next conversation. I obviously pointed him toward his parents, as well. Sometimes talking to a non-parent adult adds a little layer of insulation between a kid and his feelings, but I always want kids to find a reason to confide in their parents to any degree they can. 

Today I had a completely different kind of conversation with another student, a young woman with whom I have become good friends but who had to drop seminary this semester in favor of academic courses so that she would have enough credits to graduate this year. She told me that she had dropped her friend group for the most part because they didn't go to classes or do their homework or care about any of it, and when she hung out with them, that's what she did, too. She made the decision to earn her diploma, so she decided she had to make a break with them so she could accomplish her goals. 

She impressed me even more during our conversation. She is not a baptized member of our church, though her aunt brought her to church since she was little, and she did attend seminary for multiple semesters. She is a Christian, she said, and she worships Jesus Christ as the only way to salvation. She is disappointed in Christians of any denomination who think they merely need to check off some boxes to prove their worthiness for heaven but also feel the need to denigrate and condemn to hell any person who does not adhere to their particular brand of Christianity. She just wants everyone to look to Christ for salvation, not to box-checking or mere external rule-following. She hopes all of us Christians can someday find our common ground and band together as brothers and sisters, lifting each other up instead of tearing each other down as the world becomes more and more opposed to Christ. 

Wow! She is a light on a hill, that one. Love that girl. I was so glad she dropped by to see me today.

Now it is time to make dinner and hang out with my husband, children, and grandchildren. I have a wonderful life. 

(One last point of wonder: the youngest member of our faculty, Michael, and I were talking at lunch about writing, which is something he loves to do. We both said at the same time, "I love the Oxford comma!" Happy sigh. Oxford comma fans of the world, unite!)