Just be here now

Today was parent-teacher conference day. I usually don't mind these days, because the parents who come talk to me all have students who are doing fairly well in my classes. Truth be told, aside from the evil 11th graders my first year and the psychotic chair-thrower last year, most of my kidlings are great.

I arrived in my pre-assigned room prepared--I had my gradebook, my bag contained things to grade, and I was armed with a travel mug of hot coffee and my official school blazer to protect me from the room's notoriously Arctic air conditioner.

What I wasn't prepared for was parents asking why we're leaving at the end of the year.

Oy.

The parents who asked me were all very kind and said they wished I'd stay. They asked why we'd decided to go and I found myself telling them that we were just ready to be closer to family and friends.

As I said that, I remembered that it's true. That's the honest-to-goodness reason why we're leaving. The minor inconveniences I've been letting grow into major irritations are things that can be overlooked and probably happen in most schools around the world. We're not leaving because we don't love Indonesia. We're not leaving because we don't love the school. We love both of those things--we've just kind of forgotten.

One mother asked me if I'd told her son's class yet, my 8th grade English class. I sat for a minute and gave her my honest answer.

"No. I haven't yet because I'm afraid when I do I'll cry."

She smiled and patted my hand.

"I think they will be sad, too."

The other night I was listening to my iPod while Ibu Neni, the wonderful masseuse who comes to our house once a week, attacked my tense back muscles with her bony little elbows. I had a relaxing playlist on shuffle, and my absolute favorite song in the entire world came on--Colin Hay's "Waiting For My Real Life to Begin." The song's lyrics are beautiful, and so is the accompanying acoustic guitar.

As I listened to the words I'd heard so many times, I was struck by the fact that we really are coming home soon. But this is home, too, and we don't have that much time left.

I can't spend much more time being irritated and frustrated. I can't devote hours on end to worrying about what life will be like when we get back, what we'll do with ourselves--I know we'll be OK. God hasn't left us high and dry yet.

Be still, my love
Open up your heart
Let the light shine in
Don't you understand,
I already have a plan

The song doesn't have religious undertones, but that verse reminds me of my friend Kristin's favorite Bible verse, Psalm 46:10--"Be still and know that I am God." It's going to be OK.

I have five months left to have sunsets behind volcanoes out of my front window and banana trees in my backyard. I have five months to enjoy 90-minute, $10 massages in my own home. I have five months left of the fabulous Jakarta lifestyle, good friends and fellow teachers, and an incredibly rewarding job.

I have five months left to enjoy each minute I get with some of the greatest kids on the planet, because once June gets here, I have to say goodbye to them. They make me laugh, they make every day interesting and they teach me as much as I teach them. I cannot waste any more of the time I have with them.

Just be here now, the song says.

OK. I get it. Here I am. I am here.