A Season Ends

More than a year ago, at the height of the pandemic, I was asked by the editorial staff of our university  paper to write about my experience at SISFU. 

It was a cinch. The short reflection wrote itself. In minutes, I sent this via email: 

What I am Most Grateful for at SISFU

Everything. 

And that is an understatement. I am grateful for all that SISFU has stood for through the years. Its vision dovetails with my values, and the nurturing environment it offers its students has been consistent. 

Then beyond all that, I am deeply grateful for my students from that day years ago when I first I stepped into a SISFU classroom—up until today, even if the classroom has moved to my computer monitor.   

My students have taught me things I would never have learned elsewhere: to dream again and to be fearless again. For them, I learned to have patience and self-restraint; to give back and be tactful. I have never taken “role modeling” as seriously as when I am on campus (a virtual one today).  

Most of our graduates are now leaders in their chosen fields here and abroad, and although I won’t take any credit for their successes, I receive “thank-you notes” that make me feel forever grateful for having been a part of their life at SISFU.  

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Little did I know that it would be my farewell letter.

The virus brought the classroom to cyberspace, which was unwieldy for someone who is not lettered in technology. But as soon as face-to-face was declared safe by the authorities, classes went back to normal. 

Alas, normal had morphed into something abnormal or, to my mind, paranormal.  

I could not get my bearings (from all of 22 years) back. Policies, procedures, people, and programs have radically changed. Even the students (locked up for 36 months at home) have become aliens. The present tense in the essay above now needed to be changed to past tense. 

It had to end my teaching season.  

Before I left the classroom after my last class last term, my students did something that made me tear up. They surprised me with a cake with a most heartwarming message. 

While having all sorts of groufies, I got hugs of appreciation from all of them.  

Then when I read each of their handwritten notes inside the car, I broke down. The sincere love notes—for the short 36 hours we were together—made up for all my frustrations with the truncated teaching hours. 

“See you next term!” they wrote. 

They won't.  

The second term has begun and I am at home writing reflections on grace. 

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven . . . a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing . . .” (Ecclesiastes 3:1; 5b)