Some people find their life purpose in religion, advocacy, environmental causes or humanitarian efforts--but not me. I found my calling in a dug-up septic system.
As a twenty-six year old elementary school teacher, I often had to take work home with me, but never so much as this particular year…
While supervising students at recess time at the country school where I was working, a young student ran into an-off limits area where work was being completed on a failing septic system. Mounds of dirt made the terrain a virtual obstacle course. The young boy bolted by me and I took chase, yelling after him to stop.
He ignored me. Completely. Despite my best effort at being authoritative and in control he continued on through the maze as if I didn’t exist.
I was mad; livid actually. The bell to end recess rang and I marched into the vice-principal’s office demanding that this student be brought down to the office immediately.
“Calm down,” she soothed.
What kind of administrative support was this? This boy needed to be reprimanded.
“He just came back from court. His parents gave him and his sisters up for adoption today. It’s been tough for him.”
My head swirled and so did my perspective. I didn’t know this boy had sisters or that he was in foster care and certainly didn’t know that these three children were in the market for a new family.
The moment was clear. The direction was certain and the decision was swift.
Six months later that boy was my son and his sisters my daughters.
I am an ordinary person. They are ordinary children. But it is extraordinary love. Second hand mother, second hand children—first hand living.
That was 18 years ago and I can’t imagine my life without them. They are now grown up and I am a grandmother. What if I hadn’t been scheduled to be on yard supervision that day or my son had decided not to run through the forbidden area? Small decisions, big impact. This I know for sure, that day was definitely on purpose.