“No man is an island,
Entire of itself,
Every man is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.”—John Donne
I first read this poem in high school. As an extrovert, a Christian, and someone who loves community, it really spoke to me. No one is meant to live life alone, I thought. We all need friends and family, and the wider Body of Christ to keep us accountable, encourage us, challenge us. And I craved that community.
At least, I thought I did.
But if I’ve come to realize anything over the past few months, it’s that I didn’t really want to NEED anyone.
Oh, I THEORETICALLY loved the idea of having people to lean on. But I’ve realized that when you lean on people, it comes with an important caveat:
You have to admit you’re weak.
And oh, did I never want to do that.
My aunt tells the story of the time I came running to her as a toddler, hands in the air, crying “It’s just a little too much!” Turns out, I had tried to pour myself a bowl of cereal while my parents were busy doing yard work. I had emptied the entire box on the counter.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved the idea of being independent. Doing things on my own, being strong and capable and competent.
I’ve always wanted to help people. But needing help just felt…bad. Like it was dirty or shameful. Like I couldn’t hold it together on my own, so I had to go crying to someone else.
And teaching has been no different.
From the time I arrived, I learned that one of my classes contained some of the roughest kids in the school. And they are. I’ve had to go back to the drawing board more times than I can count. I’ve revised everything I thought I could do.
And now, I’ve had teachers offering or giving assistance. I’ve had to ask for outside help with discipline.
And my pride hates it. LOATHES IT.
It hurts to admit you can’t handle something without help. Especially when you want to be strong.
I wish I could tell you that feeling weak isn’t so bad. That it feels nice to come to the end of yourself. That I’ve “found Jesus at the end of myself” and it’s all warm fuzzies.
It’s not. It sucks. It’s hard.
Right now, I don’t have heaven opening and angels descending on a cloud to give me bread from heaven.
(I don’t even have any bread in my fridge.)
I don’t even necessarily feel like laying down the law tomorrow. But I will.
I have left my home, my family, my friends, my country…everything. Somedays, I think God surely must have picked the wrong teacher for these kids. They need someone tougher. Someone with more experience. Someone not-me.
But I’m here. Somehow, I’m here. I don’t know why.
I’m reading John right now. One thing that sticks out is how Jesus is continually obsessed with doing “the will of God who sent [Him].”
That’s been my question lately. What is the will of God who has sent me here? To this foreign country with kids who talk, and talk, and TALK, and play and seemingly have no remorse for anything.
What do I do? How do I love?
And once again, I find that I need someone. Namely, God.
So what has Thailand taught me? I cannot be an island. I also can’t pretend to be part of the continent but keep bushes around my problems.
And it’s hard. And it’s annoying. And yeah, I still wish I didn’t need help.
But that’s not how we were made to be.
If you’re reading this, I don’t know where you are in your life right now. Maybe you’re like me. I’m willing to bet you are. Most people want to be strong.
Well, take it from someone diagnosed with self-sufficiency: you need people. I need people. We all need people.
C.S. Lewis calls pride a “spiritual cancer.” If that is the case, then may this be the start of my “spiritual chemo”.
Teach; Think; Write. 