Faith. As the cross between rain and mist saturate my skin with a spa touch I know I have to have faith. Faith in my work. Faith in my students. Faith in redemption and the possiblity of it. As I open those doors from my public to private life to walk home-the drizzle brings a great relief that I don't find myself covering up or protecting myself from it. The dampness of the spray brings a relief from a hard day. Relief from what just happened and relief in the possiblity of my faith as I step one foot in front of another. The wet sprays my face relieving and allowing for my own wettness to fall. I move slowly as I walk home. With sadness in my eyes, with contemplation across my lips, with disppointemnt living on my nose, faith finds a place in the lines between my eyes and loosens my face. It is starnge when you have this look how many people mostly men will look at you. And try to speak to you. As if your sadness might be a sign of weakness a biological need to be saved. No one to save me. But this water washing over me to begin again. But this put the foot in front of the other. But the faith I found in believing. In believing in the possiblity of change.
Yesterday at school my student got caught for a serious offense. An offense that included the dean and the authorities and his family members. A kind of offense that gets you kicked out of school. A kind of offense that gets you a record. At first as I heard the news, I sat down and it slipped off me. There was a pause and disappointment. But it wasn't until I saw his face. His face before he made the walk down the hall and the stairs to a future he was uncertain of. A conversation I knew was about to happen. He walked not knowing what was to come. I stood in that hallway watching him walk away and I froze. Do I go after him to say anything? Do I let him walk along side this secrutiy guard to his destiny? I let him face it alone. Part of this job is letting go. Letting them fly alone. But knew and hoped that I might be able to talk to him. For this moment. But to let him know we were still here. Here for him. For I might not see him again. And a relationship built in writing during a volunteer project became me giving him cliff bars and taking walks and discussions about life and future and choices. There was a gift in that.
As I walked in to the room. I didn't know what I was to say. He looked up into my face. And the first thing he did was cry. Wetness fell down his face. He had held it together until he saw me. Someone who believed in him, someone who he had disappointed. Someone who he trusted and shared more than with many. And in that moment. I know the only thing I can do is sit there. Be there. Help him get through this moment. And let him know. He is more than this. More than a dealer. For he is. As he wipes away the tears, we all are heavy in the sorrow of mistakes made and what would happen next. Consquences are important to make us stop. Stop in our tracks. And the chose we have to decide whats next. Choose right or left. I didn't leave his side until I had to. I knew that being there and caring was more imortant than the yelling and lecturing and legal troubles that would come.
Faith in myself to do the right thing or what I think is. Faith in this student to be who he dreams. Faith that as I walk, walk home that we all get chances again. I have to believe in redepetion. I have to. But now it is something he must face alone. Not with me by his side. But I have faith. That I still might sit there. For him. And as I become more wet from the sky doncation above, it washes over me. As I start again too.