Witnessing and the Go-to-work-Mom

The papers shuffled softly. Sunlight poured in dusty windows and pencils scratched on pages. Some women whispered and likely not about the lesson. They were supposed to be writing two to three sentences, but as soon as I mentioned taking it home for homework if they needed to — all the books closed and effort tanked.

I walked softly between rows of tired adults who had just spent the day trying to understand my language in their second, third, or fourth language. They had done well, and I would find out soon enough, so had I. My mentor teacher had given me a tricky grammar point to cover, knowing that the class was still struggling to understand it. Even I underestimated how difficult it would be to steer the class away from forming tenses they hadn’t learned yet and focus on the one at hand. But thankfully, I passed.

It was an intermediate class. They had been there for a year, and no one was moving on to the next level. Too many fine grammar points that were just a hair beyond their fluent use. Too many jumbled sentences in scrawly handwriting accustomed to the flowing free script of Arabic or Farsi. Brilliant dentists, friendly hair stylists, a business owner in the back. From all over the world, they have come to Canada to make a life for themselves, most of them fleeing war and holding more pain and fear than I could ever imagine.

But strong, so strong. Sometimes, that strength meant arguing with the teacher about whether or not women could hold construction jobs. I did not change their minds, by the way. They eventually deferred. After all, I was the teacher. But I have so much respect for these people.

“Teache?” asked one of my students softly, the “r” at the end of the sentence softly sheered off in her accent, “I am finished.”

I checked her work and offered corrections. Today was a boring day. But in the afternoon, I had a game for them to practice their newly learned structure — “Have you ever…” — which was sure to get them moving and laughing. (It did.)

This was in my student teaching practicum at a government-funded language school. Brief but intense, I savored every minute of it. I miss this — I love teaching.

But the moment that stopped me in my tracks was when two Afghani students realized it was my last day. They were genuinely sad and wanted to explain why. “You are so professional. So smart. And you are a woman.” Their eyes were shining. I understood it was no derisive comment, just a realization that this could be their future. They had escaped the collapse of their country and their lives, had come to Canada with no education (or literacy) in Arabic, and somehow gotten to an intermediate level in English in only two years.

There are many, many people in this world that have no time for Christ. It’s a fact. But here is another fact: there are many people that do. They meet us, and they don’t understand how we are so kind or peaceful or strong. Or maybe they see us suffer and come out whole because we cling to eternal truths when our lives fall apart. Or maybe, we just take time to listen. And they want to know why. We know why, don’t we?

For my entire mothering journey, I’ve been a stay-at-home mom of little kids. Here in Toronto, I am a go-to-work mom of medium kids. It’s a big change. But I find that I bring all my skills and mothering out into the world and into my work. I find people need to be remembered and listened to. I find that teaching is a task that we do wherever we are - even if we aren’t talking. I find that people are lonely and ignored and it shows on their faces and in their slumped posture, jus like my kids I find that in all my years at home, I was being prepared for this.

Because there are women, so many women, who may never listen to a man. But they will listen to me. Why? Because I am a woman. A mom. Just like them. And just like you.

Did you know you can go places, reach people, that your husband could never reach? Just through being a woman.

We talk about kids and childbirth and grocery prices and balancing all the crazy of school, home, and work. We gain trust through play dates or work coffee outings or shared time volunteering. And our cultural differences don’t matter. Some things — like loving our kids — are universal. They are the basis of lasting friendships. And hopefully, a bridge to bring the message of Christ to them. Because they will ask eventually, if they trust you first.

It’s a choice. Because frankly, we’re all tired and it's easier to just not! I know how it is. I have crazy high standards for myself and find the narrative running through my mind constantly, “I don't have energy/time/ability for that today.” But remember that this is not about our abilities. Just bring that fraying attention span and set it at His feet. If He can multiply fish, He can multiply your last bits of of energy into a quiet conversation that ripples in eternity.

I’d encourage you today, to pray and ask the Holy Spirit which woman in your life (work, neighborhood, school, anywhere) to befriend. The first person that comes to mind, reach out to today. Spend time, listen, be a friend. Try to be humble and vulnerable about your struggles. People long for connection — and that is a two-way street. Pray for a chance (and the trustworthiness) to speak of the Lord you love. It may not be the first time, or the 10th time, but the chance will come.

And you know what? You won’t know what to say! And that’s ok. Just tell them you don’t know and you’ll get back to them. It’s not a race. Or a contest. Or a conquest. It’s just telling. Literally being a witness to the One who’s changed your life. And it's over and over and over, as many times as God gives you, with your life, your heart and finally, your words.

But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscience… (1 Peter 3:15-16).