It's the last week before spring break. Also known as the Last Great Battle of the school year.
Sure, there will be troubles to come. After all, KPREP is a mere 24 days away (we're keeping count), and there will be days upon days of dreary review material, during which the kids will hate me and I'll hate Common Core and we'll all pretty much loathe life. But this week is the Last Great Battle, because it is the last week before an extended break. And what a break it is; the first break since returning from Christmas vacation, snow days notwithstanding. Long-anticipated through cold, dark, dreary days.
And this week finds most of us, teachers, running on empty.
This is the week when we try to quickly assess over content we know our students will forget over the long week's vacation. The last chance to get another project finished, to try some new activity to keep our students occupied and happy and engaged for just five more days.
So we scour the internet for ideas. We beg, borrow, and steal from colleagues. We comb the resource closest. Anything and everything is thrown at the wall, to see what sticks.
And as the days progress, students get wilder and wilder and wilder.
As of now, there are three days left in the week. Three days I am not looking forward to. But three days I've got to endure.
Which sort of what makes this feel like the longest week of the year.
I'm right on the cusp of race season; my favorite races of the year are all mere weeks away. But nothing this week but anticipation.
Normally I can occupy myself with the NCAA men's basketball championship. But, this year, the University of Kentucky lost in the second round to Indiana, a team with more sleeper potential than anyone living in the Bluegrass state gave them credit for. With them gone, I've lost all interest in college basketball. Which leaves baseball as the only viable sport to become invested in. But even on its best days, baseball can't hold my attention the way football and basketball can. Since the baseball regular season has yet to start, I've got nothing to distract me from the thickness of this miserable week.
But then I remember what this week is really supposed to represent. Yes, it's a week when I'm still responsible to teach my students the content they need... but, more importantly, it's Holy Week.
Holy Week is the week before Jesus' crucifixion, when He returned to Jerusalem even though he knew what awaited him there. On Sunday, He rode triumphantly into the city, as onlookers proclaimed, "Make way for the Christ! Make way for the Christ! Blessed is he, who comes in the name of the Lord!"
Jesus knew word would spread. He knew the teacher of the law and Roman guards alike would surround him before the end of the week. He knew of his arrest, his farce of a trial, his conviction. He knew he'd endure hours and hours of torture before being subjected to the most painful death imaginable. But still, he rode into Jerusalem for the Passover festivities with his head held high. He knew who'd send him, and what he'd come to do. And he thought we were worth it.
How whiney must my complaints sound to him?
I gave up social media for Lent, and it's been difficult. This last week of media abstinence has me nearly foaming at the mouth to open Facebook, just for the heck of it. It's almost as though giving it up for Lent has actually increased my dependence on in instead of breaking me of the habit cold-turkey.
On this day, nearly two thousand years ago, my Lord was giving one of his last addresses to his closest followers. I can't wait four more days to take a personality quiz?
A woman anointed Jesus's feet with perfume and her tears, overcome by the weight of her sin and guilt in the presence of her Savior. And I'm complaining that I have to teach three more days before I get a week off?
My Friday is going to consist of whatever activity I can throw together to keep my kids occupied until the final bell rings. Jesus' Friday consisted of him crying at a lonely rock, pleading with his Father one last time for some way, any other way, to save all of humanity than what he was about to go through.
On Saturday, my family and I are flying to Disney World, the self-proclaimed 'Happiest place on earth'. Jesus would get no sleep on Friday night, because of his trial that takes place in the dead of night. He endures stones, whips, thorns, and finally the cross.
When I lay it out like that, I know I've got nothing to complain about.
But, darn it. I'm a weak human. I know what Jesus went through for me, and the mark it should make on my life and my thankfulness for my job, and the ever-warming weather, and a week's break. But those happy thoughts feel awfully useless when I'm staring down a room full of thirty-three 7th graders who're losing their minds.
The three days left this week are going to be the longest of the whole year. And the struggle is going to be remembering that I shouldn't complain about ANYTHING that happens during them, because no matter how many last-minute grades I have to put in, disciplinary actions I have to take, or meetings I have to attend... the end of my Passover week is going to be a heck of a lot easier than Jesus' was.
A while ago I wrote a short story in Cut and Dry, my creative blog, from the point of view of the Apostle Peter, set on Good Friday. If you have a moment, check out "Upon This Rock".
