The first bell rang on the first day of school, and my heart skipped a beat or two. After thirty years of teaching, you’d think I’d be fine, but I still get nervous. Kids walked into my room, and all the questions I prayed about throughout the summer were about to be answered. Will my students and I connect? Will we laugh together? Will this 52-year-old man be relevant at all?
The questions stirred up doubts, but I stuffed them deep down. Tired faces walked past me, some managing to smile and others looking away. Everyone, including me, wore a mask, but there was no hiding the anxiety most of us felt as we encountered the unknowns ahead.
A river of students flowed through the hallway, and Nicole stood at her door right next to me. It was good to have her back. She took a year off to be with her new baby, but now that she was teaching again, her experience and love for kids were already making a difference. The two of us waved at old students as they passed and directed others.
That’s when I saw LaRon. He’s a tall young man who plays football and runs track. Hours in the weight room had clearly paid off, and his long curly hair made him stand out high above the river of students.
He was once a much smaller freshman in my class, quiet and silently hoping I wouldn’t call on him. But now he’s a senior, and as I watched him pass by, he carried a quiet confidence.
He’s faced his share of adversity.
A couple of years ago, when he was a sophomore, some boys ran up behind him, fists flying. There was some misunderstanding about a girl, and these boys felt the only solution was to try taking LaRon down.
I guess they hadn’t considered talking.
Anyway, I intentionally used the word “try” because his attackers weren’t very successful. When they came at him from behind, students stepped back and pulled out their phones, and as the dust settled, LaRon was walking away to math class, leaving the surprise attackers rolling in pain on the hallway floor. The school cameras caught it all. The boys on the ground were the ones who faced charges. And to add insult to injury, they were the only ones needing medical attention.
Now, two years later, Nicole and I stood outside our doors as morning light poured through the window at the end of the hallway. I smiled watching LaRon’s silhouette move slowly away from us.
He was taking his time when another student approached him from behind.
Only this time, there were no fists.
The smallest little body in the entire hallway walked up to him. He had to be a freshman, and he had a question. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but I saw LaRon look down at him—an elephant looking down at a grasshopper. The river of students flowed around them as he listened. Then, LaRon nodded his head, and the two of them started walking together.
The buzz of the hallways was loud, but I could see LaRon’s lips moving as he looked down at the little guy. Then, the freshman, whose backpack covered half his body, nodded his head. This exchange continued as they walked.
My guess—the wide-eyed freshman asked LaRon for directions to his class. That’s when most tired seniors would just tell kids where to go and leave it at that. But LaRon wasn’t like most tired seniors.
He wanted to walk him there!
I couldn’t help myself. I had to bring Nicole out into the middle of that river of students to see what I was seeing.
“Look at those two!” I said, pointing toward LaRon and the freshman. “Do you see that tall guy walking with the freshman?”
“That’s so sweet,” she said, smiling. We watched as their silhouettes grew smaller in the light.
“I think he’s helping him find his class.”
Side by side, the two of them made their way down the hall—the senior and his new little friend. The noise and the chaos all faded in that one beautiful picture.
And it was beautiful. That’s the only way to describe those moments when people choose to do good for others. Like the sunlight filling that hallway, the good I saw in LaRon filled me up and drove away the insecurities lurking in the shadows of my heart.
The final bell rang, and I walked into my classroom to face my students. Things were suddenly different. I had been given a renewed purpose. LaRon’s stroll down my hallway right before my first class on my first day was no coincidence. The Author of my story put him there to remind me why I teach. Yes, I help kids with grammar and writing, and those are great opportunities, but the real reason I’m there is to do what I was created to do—to be a light by doing good.
Later that day, I found LaRon working as a tutor in the Writing Center. Figures, right? Once again, he was doing good. I told him how Nicole and I watched him help that freshman in the hall.
“You made my day,” I whispered, and I gave him a fist bump. The shy smile he offered in return spoke volumes about his heart.
He had no idea how much his actions actually did make my day. In fact, they reset my outlook for that entire year. LaRon was an example for me that morning, and his actions had God’s fingerprints all over them. It was the evidence I needed to see—evidence that God was still at work, moving among us. He doesn’t just hang out in pristine churches and Bible studies. He also reveals His goodness in smelly stables, deserts, and even public schools. He was still with me, and just knowing that was the greatest comfort of all.
Erin Ahnfeldt, a Christian Educators member, husband, and father, has the great privilege of discussing authors and stories with 130 teenagers in his English classes. He’s also a storyteller who loves writing about the evidence of God's creative handiwork in the pages of our lives. If you’re interested in receiving honest stories about the struggles and beauty of being a Christian teacher in a public school, check out erinahnfeldt.com.
