The Bible speaks of seasons of our lives. It is certainly true that we navigate through eras in which we have certain responsibilities. Sometimes we do better with some of our challenges than with others. We adapt and we grow as we face down the inevitable joys and difficulties that come with living. So it has always been with me. I learned how to deal with aspects of my story that I was unable to change. Instead I adjusted my own thinking and ways of doing things. I became rather good at being flexible even as I more often than not initially grinched when yet another trouble came my way. Like anyone I preferred the times when life moved slowly and according to a comfortable routine while understanding that such sojourns are often short lived. 

By the mid nineteen eighties I had experienced multiple traumas and found myself still standing. I suppose that the crises I had endured had scarred me while also making me a stronger and more compassionate person. I became far less judgmental than I might otherwise have been. I realized that behind every person was a private story that sometimes weighed so heavily that it was difficult to make it from one day to the next. I saw that most questionable behavior in students, and adults for that matter, is born from pain and suffering of some kind. I realized that the grouchy parent who screamed at me might be carrying a heavy load of despair. I had learned to approach people gently and without prejudice because of the many times when I myself had feigned smiles and energy attempting to cover my pain. 

I had also learned that tragedies come at us from out of nowhere. We can certainly make plans for a day or a week or a month or years into the future, but it’s always best to think about what we will do if things fall apart. It’s okay if our first reaction is to rant and complain, but at some point we have to learn how to pull ourselves together. Sometimes this requires first being gentle on ourselves by letting some of our duties go. 

I reached a point in which working, caring for my family, and watching over my mother had become firmly entrenched in my routines. I was not yet forty years old and I had already lived a lifetime of unexpected surprises that had rocked my world. Things settled down for a time when my eldest daughter, Maryellen, was in high school and Catherine was heading for intermediate school. I was working at St. Anne’s School teaching six different mathematics classes and serving as Chairperson of the Mathematics Department. It was a glorious time when my whole world felt calmer than it had for most of my life. 

The school was housed in a beautiful historic building that one of my grandsons would later describe as resembling Hogwarts in the Harry Potter stories. My classroom was massive with a bank of large windows that provided me with a view of the city of Houston that was both serene and bustling. The wooden floors creaked when I walked over them and the cabinets and shelves seemed to be living things that might have told many tales if they had only had voices. I loved it there and found so much joy in the quieter interim of my life. 

My students came from miles around. Some commuted from as far as forty miles away. Others lived in the nearby neighborhood. Some were enormously wealthy, others were scholarship students who lived in some of the most economically stressed neighborhoods in the city. Uniforms made it difficult to differentiate the rich from the poor. All of them were delightful, but as with any group I soon enough found those whose lives were complex and challenging. Those with money were not immune to sad situations. Life tends to dole out horrors without discrimination.

In the very first month of my sojourn at St. Anne’s we came back to school from the Labor Day holiday to learn that one of our students had endured a deadly car accident while traveling to celebrate the occasion with relatives. Not only was his mother killed in the wreck, but he was severely injured as well. It would be many weeks before he returned, broken and much changed from the happy go lucky individual he had once been. 

I witnessed an outpouring of love from the faculty and the students unlike anything I have ever seen before or since. We began the day by gathering the entire student body inside the church where we cheered the young man to express our joy that he had returned. Then we prayed for him and for his family, admitting that while our words were not sufficient to counter his loss, we promised to help him to regain his footing and hopefully to eventually find his joy. The sense of community and caring wrapped all of us in its warmth and I knew that both that young man and I were in a very good place. 

I suppose that my story became rather mundane for a time, but it certainly felt good not to have to look over my shoulder wondering when the next shoe would drop. I felt like a member of a great big diverse family where hope and joy reigned supreme. I worked with the energy of a continuous motion machine, but I didn’t seem to get tired. I had learned how to concentrate on the moment and give my full attention to whomever needed me and to myself as well. I had become expert at juggling, balancing on a barrel, and spinning plates on my head all at the same time and having fun while doing it. Multitasking had somehow become a breeze. I savored this good time with family and friends. These were indeed the golden years.