A Heavy Heart.

I am not a morning person. I never have been, I doubt I ever will be.

It amazes me daily that I was made to be in a profession that requires me to get out of bed before the sun. Most days I say that I'm up before Jesus, just to make a joke out of it.

One thing that I am thankful for with this early morning job is the sunrise. Every day I see the world begin anew. The birds are waking up and singing praises; the trees dust off yesterday's dew and seek the warmth of the sun; the grass is thankful for the bright sphere rising above it to wipe away the cleansing dew and begin a new day.

On Tuesday, I led my kiddos through the "Word Olympics". We had so much fun. There was paint, food coloring, water, jump ropes, digging for treasures...I had a blast. I walked away covered in dirt, water, sweat, and paint, but my kids had a blast and they learned so much. I didn't care that I was gross, because my children learned something new on Tuesday. I could see it in their eyes.

At the end of the school day on Tuesday, my principal stepped into my room with news that broke my heart.

When I took this position, I knew that there was slight chance that it would be a temporary position. Everyone assured me to not worry about that, there was no way that it would be temporary; I would be here until June.

This is not the case.

I will be leaving my kiddos in January.

I will be leaving the school that raised me, the teachers that formed me, the principal who guided me.

The children who are the reason that I get out of bed every morning between 4:30 a.m. and 5:30 a.m. will no longer be in my life in January.

This is a crappy reality to comprehend.

I have to leave the teachers who are mentors, the teachers who are friends, the staff who have become guiding lights through this insane process of first-year teaching.

This. Sucks.

As soon as I heard the news, that "little voice in the back of my head" said, "I've got you. Remember that I've got you." I am deeply struggling to listen to that voice right now.

This morning, as I'm sitting at my desk, typing this blog entry, the sun is coming up over the practice football field. There's dense line of oak trees on the opposite side of the field.These trees are glowing with the promise of a new day. The grass seems to be dancing in the wind, waking up to face the heat and the children. My children are starting to straggle into their seats as the tardy bell approaches. I see on their face that they are sleepy, but I also see in their eyes that they know they are here for a purpose: to learn and be educated.

It's my job to teach them and to educate them.

So as the light blue sky is being caressed by whispy white clouds, and the bright green trees are simply a silhouette to a beautiful morning sunrise, I will remember that my purpose is greater than my pain.

I will not be giving in to the bitterness and the defeat. I will continue to stand in front of my 87 children and tell them every day that they are loved, that they are important, that they are smart, and that they are kind.

I only have until January to teach them everything important in life. But every day, I have sunrise to remind me that mercy is new every morning, and that this position was God-breathed and He has me in the palm of His hand.