At least once a day, I’ll see a student glaring at me.  The head down, the eye-rolls, and the crossed arms–it’s all part of the overall message that the student would rather lick dry ketchup off the cafeteria floor than hang out in my classroom.  The apparent disgust usually comes after I make the student move to a different seat or after I write a zero in the gradebook for missing homework.  That’s when the cold wall of ice forms, and no matter how much I try to melt it with humor or a smile, the icy attitude remains.

Now, I know what you’re thinking–it isn’t my job to make students like me.  And you’re right.  If that was my focus, I’d become a doormat.  But it’s also true that students who enjoy their teachers work harder.  And I’m human, so when I’ve clearly become a student’s enemy, or what my students would call an “opp”, it sucks the life out of me.

Last week, I found myself facing another one of those cold walls of ice.  What made that wall especially cold was that Emma was on the other side.  She’s every teacher’s dream student.  Her writing is phenomenal, and the insights she shares during class discussions always kick the conversation up a notch.

And that’s not all.  She used to walk into class every day carrying pennies.  My students and I talk about pennies being Annie Dillard’s reminder to appreciate the little things in life.  She knew that symbol meant a lot to me, so just about every day, she’d walk up to me without a word, smile, and then drop a few pennies in my hand.

That all stopped when I told her to move to her assigned seat.  All semester, her seat was at the middle table.  I put her there, a good thirty feet away from her nearest friend, to protect her from the all-alluring temptation to talk.

But I made a mistake.

One day, she sat next to her friends, and I didn’t notice.  Then, when I finally did notice, I let it go until the talking got way too distracting.

I needed to address it.

“Emma, you need to move to your assigned seat,” I said, pointing at the other table.

“But I want to stay here,” she said with puppy-dog eyes.

Her friends chimed in.

“Yeah, she’ll be good,” Katie said, wrapping her arms around Emma.

“No, Emma, you really need to move.”  I stood there waiting, but she wouldn’t budge.

 Are you kidding me? I thought.

The class followed our conversation like an annoying tennis match–back and forth.

But I had enough.

“Emma, I’m done asking!” My voice raised with my blood pressure.

Finally, she grabbed her backpack, dropped herself into her assigned seat, and the frozen wall was formed.

That continued into the next week.  Monday morning, I walked into class pushing my cart full of books, and when the bell rang, I greeted everyone.

“Good morning students!” I shouted with a smile.

There were a few tired “good mornings,” but Emma wouldn’t give me anything.  She just stared at the floor.

Class continued with a discussion about Fahrenheit 451 and a journal entry, but the young lady who once brought so much insight and inspiration just rolled her eyes and kept her mouth shut.

The bell rang to end class, and it stung a little remembering when Emma would find a moment to hand me a penny.  Those days were clearly over.

When I got home, Deb and I took a walk on the trail behind our house, and she asked about my day.

“It was okay,” I said.  I kept walking, thinking through what to say.  “But this girl Emma in my class has totally checked out.”

Deb was listening.  We walked through the shade of the Cottonwood trees, and I finished the thought.

“What’s really tough is we used to be buddies.  She’d even hand me pennies.”

Deb smiled at the pennies remark.

“Can I pray for you?” she asked.

I nodded, and the gravel crunched under our feet as we walked.

“Jesus,” she whispered, “I pray you’d turn Emma’s attitude around.”  She continued praying and walking, and when she said “Amen,” we turned around to head back home.

The next day, I walked into Emma’s class again, and honestly, I’d forgotten what Deb had prayed.  All I wanted to do was survive whatever grumpiness might ooze into my classroom.

I got there before the students and sat behind my desk, opening my computer and organizing handouts.

Then, Emma walked in with Katie.

I took a breath, bracing myself for the icy wall.  But instead of avoiding eye contact and walking directly to their desks, they were walking toward me!

When they got to my desk, there was a brightness in Emma’s eyes.

“I found a cardinal yesterday and thought of you. . .” she said, a smile growing.  She remembered my story at the beginning of the year about how cardinals reminded me of God’s love.  I had no words.

And then she finished.

“The problem is my cat ate it.”  We both laughed, and our laughter felt good, like a gentle rain on a hot day.

“But then I found another one.” Still giggling, she reached into her backpack and pulled out a little red cardinal, and it had a clip attached to it that held two perfect, copper pennies.

“Here,” she said, placing it in my hands,

“Thank you, Emma!” I said, staring at that bright little bird.  “You just made my day!”

After school, I couldn’t wait to tell Deb what happened.  She had prayed for me on that walk, and I kept thinking about it the whole drive home.

Sometimes I wonder if my prayers are heard.  We’re just weak humans, after all, fumbling with these prayers like two-year-olds trying to draw.  But my sister always says, “God bends close to listen” (Psalm 116:2), and that afternoon I knew she was right.  Like the pennies Emma gave me, every one of our prayers–no matter how small–matter to Him.  And His answers to those prayers?  The God who makes teenagers do a complete 180 likes surprises, so with Him, anything’s possible.

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