I’m weak. There are limits to what I can do, and I’m becoming more aware of this as I get older. In the middle of a good conversation with a student, I might feel like I’m Superman flying through the air, but I’m not. All it takes is a failed lesson plan or a student walking out of class to remind me. Teaching humbles me, but in a strange way, I’m grateful—grateful that God continues to reveal to me that His strength is made perfect in my weakness. 

Last week, after the bell rang and the students filed out to go home, Ella lingered. She’s a student of mine who loves writing and, despite being shy, still chooses to get involved in class. Her courage amazes me. She walked to the front and waited patiently.

“Can I hang out here a bit?” she asked.

“Sure, Ella,” I said. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just noisy out there. It makes me anxious.” 

I nodded my head. Still, I waited to see if there was more. 

She took a second, then added, “...and there’s this kid who hates me.”

“What? That’s terrible!” I looked around and noticed we were alone.

Being alone with a female student is something I avoid, so I asked if she’d walk with me to the English department. We crossed the hall and sat at a table where teachers and custodians busily walked past.

“A student hates you?” I asked.

Then she told me about the bullying she’d faced. Someone posted her name on the “Pick Me” site, a fate reserved for students at our school whom other students had labeled as losers. I shook my head in disgust.

“That’s not all,” she added. “I also got put on the ‘Hot’ site for our school, and all these kids rated me a zero out of ten; one kid even said I should die.” She looked down at the table, ashamed, and I could tell she was crying.

“I can’t believe what you’ve been through, Ella,” I said. 

We were both quiet for a moment.

Then I broke the silence. “I got bullied too.” 

She looked up, wiping her eyes.

“When I was in seventh grade, these ninth graders grabbed my legs and swung me around in the halls until change fell from my pockets.” I leaned forward on the table and told her how embarrassed I felt as one of the bullies’ girlfriends watched and laughed.

Ella listened, offering a kind smile. We had both faced the same darkness and found our way through it.

“How are things now?” I asked.

“Not bad. My mom used to be an alcoholic, but she’s getting better.” 

As she shared more about the challenges she had faced, I became overwhelmed with compassion for her. We talked for probably thirty minutes until her mom texted.

“My mom’s here.” She got up and said goodbye. But as she was leaving, she turned around and added, “Maybe we could do this again sometime.”

“That would be great,” I replied. 

Our conversation captured everything I love about teaching. It’s an opportunity to remind students they’re not alone and, in the process, show them God’s love. Did I feel like Superman? Maybe a little, but all that changed the next day…

When the bell rang for lunch, students hurried to the door as they zipped up their backpacks. Then, Ella walked in.

“Hey, Ella!” I greeted her with enthusiasm and a smile.

“Hey, Mr. Ahnfeldt. Do you mind if I stick around for lunch?” One simple question sent a million thoughts racing through my head.

Eating alone with Ella wasn’t an option. The English Department table was full of teachers–no option there. Should I ask a female teacher to join us? Should I just tell her I couldn’t do it?

Ugh. Limits. Like a fish looking through the glass of an aquarium, this was a boundary I couldn’t cross. Ella didn’t know that. She just wanted to talk and enjoy a quiet lunch. I panicked.

“I’m going to go eat in the English Department,” I said, pointing through my classroom door, “but you’re welcome to have this classroom all to yourself.”

Saying those words made me cringe. It sounded like rejection. And Ella had gotten far too used to that.

I lingered a little in the room, wishing for a better way to handle the situation. We chatted about writing and why she didn’t like lunch, and after a few minutes, I headed to the door.

That’s when Jazzy walked in.

She and I knew each other from Bible study, and her name says it all. There’s a brightness in her smile. It’s an overflow of the hope she carries.

She walked right up to me.

“Mr. Ahnfeldt, is there Bible study this evening?” As she asked, her gentle eyes found Ella, now sitting on the couch preparing to eat alone.

“No, we moved it to Thursday nights,” I said. “Do you two know each other?”

Jazzy was already walking toward Ella.

They both exchanged hellos.

“Why are you in here?” Jazzy asked.

“I just wanted to go somewhere quiet for lunch.”

“Do you mind if I sit here too?”

Ella patted the cushion next to her, and as Jazzy sat down, I stood and watched in wonder. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

The two of them started talking—quiet words, smiles, listening hearts, and nodding heads—enjoying a moment I knew was sacred. Like warm sunlight in a cold room, Jazzy was bringing Jesus.

No more playing Superman. I had reached my limit, but the Author of Ella’s story saw her heart and came to her rescue. He wrote into a chapter of her life a twist I never saw coming.

And her name was Jazzy.

My weakness became the curtain call for His strength.

“Have a good lunch,” I said, waving and walking out. Caught up in sweet conversation, they barely noticed I left.

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 his honest stories about the struggles and beauty of being a Christian teacher in a public school, click here.