It’s hard being a pastor’s kid sometimes; yeah, its hard. It’s also hard having been a homeschooler and transitioning to a public world. A combination of both difficulties present new, unsolved problems. Because you know? Everyone knows that I–a junior–am going to public school for the first time ever. Everyone knows and everyone “cares”–just because my parents have said it into the microphone.
From outward appearances, it would seem as if I’m doing great. I have friends, and (most of) my teachers are amazing. The classes aren’t hard–and if they are, I like the subject so it’s a pleasant challenge. I have a place to sit at lunch and I have good grades. All these obvious blessings make it too easy to say that, “Yes, I am adjusting to public school. I’m getting used to it and everything is peachy-keen,” when, really, I am not adjusting so easy. I am not “getting used” to it that fast. Everything is not peachy-keen.
It’s not that I am dishonest; well, I guess I am. But I don’t have time nor do I want to explain the extent of my trouble to everyone who wants to know. Instead, I say I’m fine. I’m adjusting. Whatever. I am not frustrated with anyone; it’s just hard knowing what to say sometimes.
I do express my troubles, though. To those who care and to those who have the time, I explain that it’s difficult, that I wake up every morning and hate the thought of “going” to school. I tell them I am afraid of the changing class periods and I am afraid of all the faces and places I don’t know. I explain that it’s difficult for a twelve-year homeschooled veteran to spend hours upon hours in school–and then come home to a pile of homework. And then there’s numbers. Test scores and GPAs seem a little much; I’m a little overwhelmed.
Life just seemed better the way it was; why in the world am I here, in public school, anyway? It’s the start of week six and I’m asking this question everyday. Why am I here?
Truthfully, it hasn’t been all storm clouds and downpours. In a song by Needtobreathe, Bear Rhineheart says, “In this wasteland, where I’m living, there’s a crack in the door filled with light.” And that’s how I feel. Because I’m living in a wasteland. When I need it, God cracks a door, and then I can see a little bit of him—a little bit of the future glory awaiting me in his arms. I’ve had good days planning senior trips with new friends and working hard to receive good grades. In those days, I also thank God for whatever blessings I can find. But overall, it’s been hard more than it has been good.
It’s okay, because I am adjusting. I am growing, slower than I expected, but I am growing. I’m learning more about life and people and the faithfulness of God each day. I know that I know that I know that God is preparing me for cross-cultural ministry, in these days. Sometimes, I just forget that. But He is always good anyway.
And so, in the words of my friend Curtis, I “keep truckin,” one class, one day, one question at a time. At this rate, I’ve lived through my first five weeks of school—and I firmly believe the next five will be much, much better.
Those who live in the shelter of the Most High will find rest in the shadow of the Almighty. This I declare about the Lord: He alone is my refuge, my place of safety; he is my God, and I trust him.