“No! NO! NO!!!!” My students started getting pretty animated today in class. “THINK about it, guys. Literally EVERY SINGLE THING happens for a reason. Literally. I kill someone? I hated them. A tree falls? It was rotting in the middle.”
I was amused today with my 4th period and their strong reactions to an anticipation guide we were working on. The task? Agree or disagree with three statements:
- “Every individual copes with loss in their own way.”
- “Optimists enjoy life more than pessimists do.”
- “Everything happens for a reason.”
I was right in line with their thoughts on statements 1 and 2 – the majority of the class agreed that grief affects every person in different ways, and most agreed that a positive outlook generally yields a happier life. However, the most dramatic split between minority and majority was the third statement. I found myself in the minority: I feel like everything happens in the way it was supposed to (based on some sort of pre-destined fate), but not everything has a greater purpose – not everything happens for a reason greater than its surface level meaning. In other words, I think my students and I were falling into the trap of varying meanings and diverse perspectives.
I specifically struggle with the idea that genocides, mass murders, famine, plagues, droughts, and wars all occur with some “greater” purpose. Sure, we can be a little more grateful for the “good times,” but I personally struggle with accepting that these terrible occurrences serve a greater good. They honestly suck. I also struggle with the mundane: did my cat “meowing” just now TRULY happen for a REASON? Really? Doubtful.
But anyways, back to my still-debating children: “Oh yeah? Well, we aren’t bringing religion into this.” WAIT. Hold up. Slow your roll. Let’s address that idea…respectfully.
Gosh…teaching is a constant battle. It’s hard to imagine, on some days, that if everything happens for a reason after all, this moment…this debate with 14 year olds…was all meant to be…
Age 14
I remember the smell of the dump hit me long before the sight of the heaps found their way into my line of sight…
What is destiny? If you asked my middle school self, destiny looked a lot like a life of white picket fences, a handsome doctor husband, and a handful of perfect kids. It looked like Friday night football and fall festivals and Christmases at home, in West Virginia. It looked a lot like shopping trips, vacations to random beaches, and probably a stay-at-home-mom gig for always and eternity.
Why are they crawling on the garbage heaps…
Now the cafeteria doesn’t hold the same glimmer of wait-your-turn. Now the snack room feels like a prison. I am a prisoner of time and an awareness I wasn’t ready for. I feel guilty all the time. How am I arguing with my friends about lunch table seats when I watched them run down the jagged, rocky streets barefoot? No, Courtney, I don’t care if I’m a dork for listening to that music. I’m much more concerned about people I’ve never met, and people I will never meet.
“I was in middle school and overly concerned with popularity and other preteen obsessions, like where I bought my clothing,” she wrote in a letter asking for help in reaching Africa. “I have always wanted to help others, but I can clearly remember dreading the trip.” It came at a time when she would have preferred to stay home and spend time with her friends, but the things she learned in Mexico changed her life forever. “We helped rebuild a church there, and I, along with the other women, hosted a sort of Vacation Bible School for the children. There was a huge garbage pile right beside the church, and I noticed that the children were playing on the trash,” Putorek recalled. “I wondered why they were doing that, and then, I realized they were digging through it. That’s when I knew they weren’t just playing. They were digging for something they could eat or something they could use.”
Age 15
“Just write a story that tears your soul up…write a story that makes people want to take action.” This command, given to me by my idol – my ninth grade English teacher.
And that’s what I did.
” Like a slow motion clip, I continued to watch her run. It seemed probable that she was running to the next village over to get food for her family of nine or ten. Maybe she was running for help, all the while knowing she wouldn’t make it back in time to say goodbye to her mother who lay on the mud floor of their 10×15 foot shack dying. But maybe, just maybe, she was running to get away from it all. The child in her (for she had to grow up a long time ago) somehow believing – hoping – that if she ran fast enough she would run right into a new life. Out of her old rugged dress and into something beautiful and wonderful. Something she’d only seen in her dreams. When she’d had dreams that is. Maybe she ran because when she did, she was flying free and nothing else mattered…”
While helping her mom move furniture ahead of a paint job in her room, Putorek found a short story she wrote in high school. It told the story of a young woman visiting Africa to serve.
“I found this story last night under the bottom shelf of a drawer, and I knew this was a sign. This is a sign that God is telling me I’m supposed to go,” she said. “I think you just need to look closely and listen, and God will tell us all where we’re supposed to be and what He wants us to do. Why else would I find one story that I wrote years ago, under the bottom of a drawer?
Age 21
I am in Tanzania, pretending to be a Mwalimu, trying to write a million blog posts so I can graduate from college early and GET ON with my life. Here we go again.
“I have been interested in volunteering ever since I can remember. That is not to say, however, that I am some noble and giving person. Believe me. I am materialistic, selfish, and greedy more than I care to admit. And yet. These people are PROUD of me. That is a lot of pressure, my friends. All I can think to say, on this night when I have so many emotions, is – thank you.
I’m grateful for everyone who supports me and loves me. I’m grateful that even though some people may not understand why I’ve felt driven toward this service for so long, they STILL support me. Like I said, I am only now starting to see the path God has chosen for my life, and I know that this journey of service is just beginning. I am pretty sure that while I wrote that story in 9th grade, I was unaware of the meaning it would hold for me tonight, over 7 years later.”
These babies don’t have diapers. These young women do not have pads. I do not have any shred of dignity. And yet. I am too tired to help them sweep their mud floors. Why am I so selfish?
“Since I’ve been in college, I find myself saying “Oh, I have PLENTY of time.” That may very well be true, but one thing is certain: none of us are guaranteed any specific amount of time on Earth. Why not make the most of every second by living a life that means something to someone else?
I hope that as you’ve read my blog posts and columns, you may have felt some sort of encouragement to venture out of your comfort zone. I do not believe I was at all prepared for the direction my life would take after this trip. I went to Tanzania with the vision of two years in the Peace Corps, and a doctorate in Psychology shortly after my tour.
Now, however, I see many possibilities. I want to have as many experiences as possible, but I also want to try my best to serve others along the way. After all, any of us could have been born in another place, in other situations. And yet, if you are reading this post, you are perhaps able to assist others by using your unique skills. What an amazing opportunity each of us has been given.
I guess now is the part of my blog where I thank everyone, yet again, for your support, well-wishes, and advice. I am so blessed in so many ways, but the one thing I hope to never take for granted are the amazing people that surround me and support me. Last but not least, I cannot speak highly enough of Tanzania and the beautiful culture that so graciously received this well-meaning “mzungu.” From the second I stepped off the plan at Kilimanjaro International Airport, I felt comforted by the scenery and Tanzanian air. As I was riding to the airport a couple days ago, I couldn’t help but cry. I looked around me and I realized just how lucky I am.
I truly believe that when my time on Earth is finished, I will wind up back in Tanzania – Mount Kilimanjaro standing majestically amongst the endless fields of sunflowers and corn. At night, before I close my eyes, my mind takes me back to the Karanga Village near Moshi Town. I hear the birds singing and the children shouting with fervency and zeal – so real it is as if they await my reply.
I can imagine no finer place to spend eternity than East Africa. To be immersed in a culture of such joy, with people of such integrity and hope, would be the best of blessings. There may be problems and struggles to overcome, but one was never so welcome or so well loved in all the world as I was during my time in Tanzania.”
I sat down at the iHop booth. The lights were too bright. Mom was looking at me with those knowing eyes that she has, and she knew. I knew that she knew, but I still felt the need to say it. “I’m not going to graduate school,” I said with the decisive tone I like to use when I’m pretending I know what the hell I’m doing.
She nodded, tears in her eyes and simply said “teaching?” I nodded back at her, misty eyed and hopeful, fully committed to a cause I didn’t understand yet.
Age 24
“Oh yeah? Well, we aren’t bringing religion into this.” WAIT. Hold up. Slow your roll. Let’s address that idea…
Tonight, like other nights along this journey when I feel as content as I can with a million and one items on my “to do” list, I also feel nostalgic. I feel stirred by the idea of a fate- filled life, and of destinies so secure and God-ordained, no human plans can interrupt them.
I tell my students often that I never wanted to be a teacher…which happens to be the truth. The second truth – the one I rarely say aloud – is that embracing the very thing I didn’t want has proven time and time again to be the best decision I never even got to make.
I didn’t choose this community, this school, these students, these friends. In many ways, they chose me. I didn’t choose my life journey like I think I wanted to back in middle school. Upon further reflection tonight, by diving back into blog posts and newspaper articles and other embarrassing content, I might have changed my own mind on that third statement (with the help of that lovely debate this afternoon): everything does happen for a reason after all, even if the reason itself feels impossible or terrible or insurmountable.
This evening, I felt like I had to encourage the club I sponsor (as we have a lot of money left to raise for the service trip to Lima, Peru this summer). This is the message I sent:
“I know some of you are concerned about the money we have left to raise, and I’m not sending this message to, like, awkwardly boast about all the cool things I’ve gotten to do in my life, but, periodically I Google myself (because it freaks me out how much of our social media ends up on the internet), and this newspaper article from college was the third thing that popped up. Some of the things I said make me cringe now, years later, but some things I said still make me remember why the work we do in this community, and on a global scale, is so important. If you ever want to read that story of my ‘destiny’ (that ultimately led me through Tanzania and to my TRUE destiny in you all), let me know – it’s in my classroom to remind me of the power of education, the resilience of children, and the importance of service, love, and collective efforts in both. I am lucky to know each of you. I don’t say that enough. I know we will make it (to Peru), long story short. Good things like the work y’all are hoping to do with your lives, in Peru and in Martin County, always work out in the end.”
Destiny or not, I feel grateful for this journey. Not every day. Not every week. Not even every season of my life. During these content evenings alone with my memories and my new fall-scented candle, however, I’m feeling the riveted, winding path of fate that led me here and will lead me even further forward.
Grateful for each of you.
Halie
A diary entry from 8th grade (yes, I named my diary), pictures from that fateful mission trip to Reynosa, Mexico, and the first time I was a teacher in Moshi, Tanzania (2014)….etc.
haliewanders 