Abandoned Rooms

These photos were posted by a colleague and friend, Ailene, on social media. As soon as I saw them, my heart was smashed to smithereens. 

These were my twice-a-week classrooms, where I bantered, joked, chatted, and learned with my students for years before the pandemic crushed everything that physical interactions stood for. 

I remember the last day I was in these rooms . . . 

Classes were abruptly suspended, until further notice, because of a government advisory that the coronavirus has entered our shores. We all didn’t realize that such ordinary and normal day would be the beginning of extraordinary and abnormal changes in all our lives. 

Had I known that it would be my last day with my students, I would have at least hugged each one or gave them my one-liner to which they would let out a huge guffaw, “Now, listen, don’t do anything I won’t do!” 

They would retort: 

“Miss, that’s like saying ‘Go into a coma!’” 

“Kill me with a knife, not with boredom, Miss.” 

“Then I might as well go back to my mother’s womb!” 

“Miss, don’t be cruel!” 

Those rascals! 

That was exactly one year ago, today. I don’t know how much longer until I could step into these classrooms again. I pray it would be soon—before my last batch of students would all have children of their own and will totally forget about these places of grace.  

Empty rooms are one thing—they could be filled up anytime. But abandoned rooms? They stay vacant till there is a safe reason for them to be occupied again. 

“Abandoned” must have been how the disciples initially felt when Jesus was about to ascend to heaven. 

But He promised them, “. . . you have sorrow now, but I will see you again, and your hearts will rejoice, and no one will take your joy from you.” (John 16:22 ESV)