John Denver was right. Talking to God and hearing His “casual reply” comes easy in the mountains, surrounded by yellow Aspens and fresh air.

Church is a pretty good place for that too. A well-timed verse in a sermon or a song in worship will move us, and by the time we leave our seats, we know God was speaking.

Those “sacred” places seem perfect for hearing from God, but He also has a fondness for the imperfect. His big entrance was in a smelly manger. He speaks through donkeys and men that eat locusts. He enjoys showing up in the messy, secular places. So it might even be possible–despite a rattling air conditioner, intercom announcements and shouting teenagers–to hear His voice in a public-school classroom.

Room 212 definitely felt messy last week. Thursday was our day to read for 20 minutes.

“Good afternoon students”, I yelled above the noise. “Okay everyone, grab your books.” Those twenty minutes are golden.  All I wanted was a few minutes of quiet. . . but then, reality gave me a big smack upside the head.

“Mr. Ahnfeldt, can I sit in one of those chairs.” Tanner was pointing to the comfy chairs by the whiteboard.

I admired his initiative, so I nodded. When he was comfortable, instead of reading, he decided to help people find him on Snapchat, so he wrote in blue marker on the whiteboard, and Jenny got up to join him. People were starting to quiet down, and just as I was turning around to redirect the blue marker vandals, Jenny slipped back into her seat.

That’s when Tanner erased what she wrote.

“We don’t need your attention-getting, depressing crap,” he told her, definitely not whispering. He said it so aggressively, I thought he was joking. The rest of the class froze, moving their eyes from Tanner to me.

Before I could say anything, Jenny was out of her seat headed back to the whiteboard.

“We don’t need your snapchat crap either,” she yelled, erasing Tanner’s address. She retreated back to her desk, barking at him with words meant to sting.

“Nobody’s gonna disrespect me like that!” Tanner’s voice was filled with shaking tension, but Jenny just stared at her desk, mocking him with her smile and muttering obscenities.

“Whoa, whoa!” I yelled, my arms extended toward the two barking students. “In this classroom, neither of you will disrespect each other like that.”

“I’ll respect her soon as she respects me,” Tanner shouted. Jenny kept staring at her desk, a scowl replacing her smile. They eventually quieted down, and we got to read, but when the bell rang, I kept Tanner.

Jenny shared some of her struggles with the class earlier in the year, so I reminded him.

“Tanner, you have no idea what she’s been through. Sometimes, people act in broken ways because of their broken past.”

“I aint gonna respect her less she respects me,” he repeated.

I asked him what would happen if I lived by that philosophy as a teacher, and he smiled.

“Yeah, but you’re a teacher,” he whispered, sliding his backpack over his shoulder. He was softening, the adrenaline wearing off, but traces of anger were still there as he strutted away.

The next day when that same class walked into the room, my eyes were on Jenny and Tanner.  The class started working on a journal entry, and for the moment at least, the glares and cussing had been put away.

Then, C.J. and Trey walked in the door.  They were former students of mine, and they wanted desperately for me to listen to a song.  They’d been asking for weeks, but I still hadn’t listened to it.

Their entrance started a chain reaction. Like popcorn, the class started bouncing. Some started watching our conversation, and others saw their entrance as a license to talk.

“Please, Mr. Ahnfeldt, you gotta listen to it.” Trey was smiling, and I was trying to get the class focused.

“I will, Trey,” I whispered, hoping he’d let it go.

That’s when C.J. brought his computer and earbuds over to the podium. The song was pulled up, so I could see the title on the screen: The Boy in the Bubble.

“What if you listen to it right now?” C.J. asked, handing me his computer. The class was finally writing, and with my last ounce of patience, I put the earbuds in and listened. And the more I listened, the more I couldn’t believe the timing of the song. God was with us!

With 5 minutes left, I played the end of the song for the class:

                        He was walking home

                        With the blood on his hand from my broken nose

                        But like every other day, he was scared to go. . .

                       Well, there’s no excuse for the things he did

                       But there’s a lot at home that he’s dealing with

                       Because his dad’s been drunk since he was a kid.

The music faded out with two minutes left in class. I made sure the class understood that nobody saw what the bully in the song faced at home.  Nobody sees what any of us face, even though being seen is something all of us want.  Alec Benjamin’s point was hard to miss, but so was the timing of Trey and C.J. making me listen to that song in that particular class.

The two boys who interrupted didn’t hear the shouting the day before, and they weren’t there when I tried talking to Tanner.  Nobody sees our troubles. . . nobody except the Author of our stories. He sees the scars and the beauty of every life in room 212, and He loved us enough to do more than just see us. He had C.J. and Trey pay us a visit, bringing a song with a message we needed to hear–if we can’t see each other like He does, maybe our first response should be to extend some grace.

Every day as I stand in front of that classroom filled with teenagers, whether they know it or not, it’s nice to know my voice is not the only one they’ll hear. No matter how loud it may get, God speaks, and it’s His voice speaking into the mess that makes all the difference.

---

That’s all for today! Thanks for reading.  Do you like these stories? A great way you could show your appreciation is by forwarding this email to someone else who might enjoy them. Or did someone forward this to you? Sign up here to get a story like this twice a month. Thanks for your support!