The bus was eerily quiet, save the playing of National Treasure on the movie screens and the occasional soft murmurs of those who would never be caught sleeping on a class trip.  I took advantage of the quiet and opened my devotional, turning to my reading for that day, and read Sarah Young’s exhortation to look for growth opportunities and chances to trust in the midst of the challenges we face.  I chuckled.  Chances to trust, indeed.

I reflected back over the past four days spent with the entire sixth grade class and a good portion of their parents, and I continued to smirk.  One would think the biggest challenge I’d faced would have been the five high energy girls I’d been placed in charge of.  But it wasn’t.  The biggest challenge of that week had actually been the parents.

I used to believe, in my naivety, that once we got beyond middle school, beyond high school, beyond all the cliques and clubs and cliches, that the social strata that divided the haves from the have nots, the cool from the uncool, the will-bes from the wanna-bes would be leveled and life would become an even playing field.

Turns out, I was wrong.

I’ve watched for eight years now as this group of parents has divided and dispersed time and time again along the same distinct, socioeconomic lines as their children.  And despite being more than 25 years removed from middle school, I’ve found myself in the same awkward space of not knowing where I fit in time and time again, as well.

My greatest concerns, entering this trip, were not how I was going to keep these girls under control or whether or not my daughter and I would get along or how were we going to get six females dressed and primped and on the bus in time three early mornings in a row.  Nope.  My greatest concerns, in truth, sounded similar to the ones my daughter voiced just last night when fretting about joining a tumbling class at a new gym.

Who will I talk to?  Who will I sit with?  Who will talk to me?  Why won’t she talk to me?  Am I talking too much?  Am I too loud?  Did I say something wrong?  Why is she looking at me that way?  Is there something wrong with me?

I fought, all week, the urge to be someone I wasn’t, and showered my attention on my girls, instead.  I pushed back against the compulsion to lurk around the edges of social circles I deemed more “cool” and embraced, instead, those who embraced me—sitting with the English teacher, hanging with the parents from the band, introducing myself to parents I hadn’t met yet.  I resisted attempting to prove my worth to women who have wanted nothing to do with me despite years of reaching out to them.  “They don’t know what they’re missing,” one of the Dads from the band told me.  For the first time, I almost agreed.

Returning to my open devotional, I looked up the scripture for that day’s reading, and nearly laughed out loud.

So be content with who you are, and don’t put on airs.  God’s strong hand is on you; he’ll promote you at the right time.  Live carefree before God; he is most careful with you.  (I Peter 5:6-7, MSG)

Chances to trust.  That who I am is okay.  That God’s hand remains on me, even when I don’t feel it.  That he has a plan for my life and will see it through, despite myself.  That I can cast my cares on him, because he cares for me.  That he sees me, and he sees even the stupid, petty, age-old concerns and cares of my apprehensive little heart.  And cares about them.  And will speak to them, directly.

Even on a bus full of sixth graders on our way home from “Sweet Home, Alabama.”

Surviving Mammoth Cave and five high-energy girls and three near-sleepless nights were not my only victories this past week.  Perhaps it was the Klonopin that gave me peace.  Perhaps it was God.  Perhaps it was both.  It doesn’t matter.

Carefree.  I am getting closer.

That is a victory, regardless of its source.

courage devotional inspiration middle school motherhood parenthood parenting raising girls reflection school spiritual growth trust