I’m angsty enough to read poetry (and even write it sometimes). One of my all time favourite poems ever to be written is “Hope Is Not a Bird, Emily, It’s a Sewer Rat” by Caitlin Seida. Hot take, but I don’t love Emily Dickinson. For all those poems Mrs. Maki made me memorise in high school that I do love, none of them are from her ouvre. Seida’s poem, however, makes sense of life far more realistically. She describes hope as the mangy sewer rat that’s seen dark things and is a carrier of nasty diseases such as persistence, perseverance, and joy. Boy, does that resonate.
I hope for a better future, and my hope comes from working with teenagers who often have far more compassion and curiosity than cynical adults who cross my path. To be fair, I know a decent amount of hopeful adults, and I don’t mean to dismiss them. I’m just taking a moment to celebrate the future that is bright where young people are asking questions about this Jesus who can change their life.
After my reset weekend, I had a full and beautiful programme the following Friday as I “ran” an event where at least a hundred high schoolers had a bonfire and marshmallows hosted by one of the generous families at our church. My job consists of a fair amount of event planning, but it’s through these awesome events that young people gain a sense of community and comfort that leads to conversations where a teenage boy asks me to baptise him and a different youth catches me at the end of youth group to ask about some scary next steps as she wants to choose to follow Jesus and doesn’t know what that looks like not having grown up in church.
Lord, may I never take these opportunities lightly. As I look at tickets to visit America next year, I’m struck by the number of people who have kept in touch with me from my brief time as their high school teacher, and I’m grateful for the number of them working to set aside time for me. For every young person who came through my classroom, I prayed they would learn to love God and love others better as they engaged with the biblical text purposefully and thoughtfully. In so many ways, I feel like God blessed my socks off to move me to a context where youth show up and ask me to give them a Bible and talk to them about what it means rather than being sat in front of me as a graduation requirement.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, “Let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up” (Galatians 6:9).
Like many of you, I’m exhausted, but that sewer rat has dug its teeth deep into me, so I will carry on looking no worse for wear.
Keep on being hopeful.