My second student teaching placement was in a middle school that fed one of the worst high schools in our area. The district, located in a small city listed as one of the most dangerous places for violent crime in the entire country, had been taken over by the state because of abysmal graduation rates. Eleven-year-olds passed through metal detectors every day as they entered the school, and it was well-known that the majority of them were involved in gangs.

My cooperating teacher had been there for over 30 years and was long past the point of burnout. And she was happy to have me in her classroom so she could take 10 weeks off. 

On my first day, she sat with me on the side of the eighth-grade classroom, gossiping about each student. When she got to a slim, tough-looking girl with long, dark hair who looked at least two years older and about 7 inches taller than her classmates, she sneered and said, “I hate Luisa.” 

We all know that teaching, especially nowadays, is hard. 

Our students are immersed in a confusing and destructive culture; some live in environments of poverty, abuse, hunger, instability, grief, trauma, homelessness, and mental illness. And, suicide and depression rates among youth are at an all-time high. 

Truthfully, teaching has never been light work or glamorous. It entails holding children to high academic standards while also accommodating severe learning deficits and managing attitudes of entitlement, apathy, and flat-out defiance. We sacrifice our most precious commodity: time, working unpaid hours after school (often without thanks or recognition). We invest in children who are the most powerless segment of society—they cannot offer us money, position, or esteem. We smile and make conversation with the kid who has no friends, and we won’t hesitate to pull up a chair next to the kid who looks and smells like he hasn’t showered in a while.    

Unsurprisingly, serving as educators can easily cause us to feel overwhelmed, frustrated, burned out, and questioning our callings (like my cooperating teacher). And yet, despite the challenges…we persist. 

But why? What is it about teaching that keeps us coming back, ready to try again? 

While at times we struggle to find the answer, I think we come back because we know there's something beneath the mountain of stress and exhaustion. Deep down, we know there is still beauty to be found in teaching… 

Have you ever had students come into your classroom dejected, full of insecurity and low self-esteem, and believing they are “dumb” and “bad,” and then you had the opportunity to call out those lies and speak the truth over them? Have you witnessed moments when students suddenly see within themselves that which you have seen all along—they get a concept and their faces light up, earn a grade they never thought was achievable, or walk out of your classroom with their backs a little straighter and heads a little taller?

There’s nothing like it!

Every single day, we have these opportunities to demonstrate Christ’s love to our students by encouraging them to see themselves as God sees them: fearfully and wonderfully made…and that is the beauty of teaching. 

Now, back to Luisa… 

A few weeks later, during our poetry unit, I noticed that Luisa just sat quietly in her seat without doing her work. 

I approached her desk and discretely asked her why.

“I don’t like these poems. I write my own,” she replied.

I simply told her that I would love to read them if she was willing to share and then moved on to the next student. 

About 2 weeks later, she came up to me after class one day and asked in her tough, no-nonsense tone, “Do you really want to read my poems?” 

When I said, “Yes!” she just nodded and walked out.

The next day, after the classroom had emptied, Luisa marched in followed by three smaller girls who were her constant companions and unquestioning assistants, each carrying a heavy backpack. Without a word, she gave them a look, and they emptied the backpacks onto the desks, dumping out about 40 marble composition notebooks. 

Luisa explained, “You said you wanted to read my poems. My whole dresser is full of these.” 

As I opened a notebook and started to read, I discovered beautiful, raw, eloquent poems, written in a masterful blend of Spanish and English. She told me that after her older brother (who’d been her best friend) was shot and killed two years ago, writing poetry was how she dealt with the pain. I sat down to keep reading; so did Luisa and the three other girls. I cried at the beauty in the pain—at how this young, wounded girl had poured her entire heart into these poems and allowed me a privileged glimpse inside all of it. 

During the following weeks, Luisa started engaging with class assignments. It seemed as though once she knew that I truly saw her, she felt safe enough to open up and share her gifts and talents with others. 

Isn’t this what God does for us? 

On my last day of student teaching, Luisa came up to me, looked me square in the eyes, and told me with a shaky voice that she was going to miss me. We both began crying and embraced in a long hug. 

I don’t think Luisa opened up and connected with me in her vulnerability and pain because I was the best student-teacher in the world. Rather, I think it was because she saw the love of Christ through me. 

I didn’t approach Luisa with the assumptions, contempt, fear, and hatred she was used to receiving from others; instead, I approached her humbly, with compassion and love as Jesus would. I think she sensed the presence of His unconditional love, enabling her to see her own beauty—beauty that the rest of the world missed. 

Teaching, if you do it right, will break your heart almost daily. But this is what a life of service looks like; this is what ministry looks like; this is the beauty of teaching. It is the selfless love of Christ working through us, driving us to give ourselves away, even if people don’t notice or appreciate it.

As Christian educators, we have the power, responsibility, calling, and privilege to show God’s love to a lost and hurting world, one student at a time. It’s not easy. But it is beautiful.

Rhapsody Jordan-Parisi is a high school English teacher, writer, and Christian Educators member. She’s passionate about helping overwhelmed, discouraged teachers through support, encouragement, and strategies to help them reclaim time, peace of mind, and work-life balance. You can connect with her at TightropeTeaching.com.