For his anger lasts only a moment, but his favor lasts a lifetime; weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning—Psalm 30:5 (NIV)
It had been a hard year. The hits just kept coming. You know what I’m talking about; we’ve all been through seasons like this.
My daughter had been in a near-fatal car accident the week before Christmas, and I was given catastrophic leave from my teaching position to care for her. Weeks of inpatient rehab for traumatic brain injury followed by months of outpatient rehab. As the next Christmas approached, life was returning a new normal—or close enough to it I could breathe again. Then on Christmas day, my husband of twenty-two years announced he was leaving me; he wanted to live his “own” life, whatever that meant.
I would’ve stayed in bed for weeks and licked my wounds if not for the hundred-plus students who depended on me—and seeing I’d soon be single, a desperate need for a paycheck. I taught eighth-grade core (language and U.S. history), and I loved it. Most people think a person has to be certifiable to teach middle school, and maybe I was. But after my husband walked out, I desperately needed the distraction these energetic, hormonal teens offered. The classroom was my comfort zone where I could focus on something besides myself.
I had three classes of somewhere around thirty-five students each. Since they spent a total of two hours with me, I often saw them more than their parents. The afternoon class was always the most challenging. By 12:30, the little buggers had their second wind and were usually flying high off whatever sugar they’d consumed during lunch.
This particular year, my afternoon class consisted of what I referred to as the J-boys. Five boys (all friends) whose names started with the letter J. Jeff, Jason, Jake, John, and Josh. Talk about challenging! But they were good-natured (and highly energetic) young men who were respectful and often had me rolling my eyes or laughing out loud. Just what I needed at that time.
God is so good. Amen?
It was somewhere around February, and I was no longer wearing my wedding ring. It didn’t make sense to do so when my soon-to-be-ex was flaunting the fact that he’d moved on. My students were working on a group project, and I was walking around the room checking in, answering questions, and keeping them on task. I’d almost gotten used to the idea of going through a divorce. Almost. I couldn’t seem to shake the sense of shame and embarrassment that poked at me. The enemy’s attempt to keep me down.
Jeff was the ringleader of the J-boys. Intelligent, quick-witted, and popular. As I approached his group’s table, he said, “Hey, Mrs. Combs. Your wedding ring’s on the wrong finger.” Don’t tell me teenagers aren’t observant. Nor are they soft-spoken. I could literally feel thirty-five pairs of eyes on me.
I glanced at the ring on my right ring finger. “It’s not a wedding ring, Jeff. It’s just a ring.” Please, Lord, let him drop it.
“Did you lose your wedding ring?” What fourteen-year-old boy even thinks to ask his teacher such a question?
“No.” I moved past his table, hoping it would end there.
“So, you’ve been fooling us all this time? You’re not really married?” He was trying to tease a smile out of me. Maybe he sensed the heaviness that had been wearing on me the last couple of months and wanted to ease it.
Swallowing down the shame, I turned to him and said, “The truth is, I’m getting divorced.” It was the first my students had any inkling of what I’d been going through.
The two girls at Jeff’s table cried out in unison, “Jeff!” Then one continued, “You’re such a jerk. Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?”
His face turned beet red, and he stammered, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…I’m sorry.”
I felt worse for him than I did for me as I patted him on the shoulder. “It’s okay, Jeff. You couldn’t have known.”
By morning, every one of my students knew Mrs. Combs was going through a divorce, and they reacted with kindness and empathy. It was like I had a little army of protectors for the rest of the school year. It certainly made my job a lot easier and kept the work stress at a minimum.
On the last day of school, the J-boys approached me during our class party. They had a large, gift-wrapped box, which Jeff presented to me. “We think this is what you deserve, Mrs. Combs. At least until you can find a real one.”
“How sweet of you boys to give me a present.” I placed the box on my desk and tore the wrapping paper from it. Inside, was a 13” Talking Mr. Wonderful doll. I quirked a brow at the boys. “Seriously?” It was everything I could do to not laugh.
“Press his hand,” Jake said. He reached across my desk and pointed to where there was a hole in the plastic cover and a heart-shaped sticker on the doll’s left hand that said Press Me.
I did, and Mr. Wonderful said, “Sweetheart, you’ve worked hard today, let me cook dinner tonight.” I barked out a laugh. I pressed the hand again, and he said, “Aww. Can’t your mother stay for another week.” There were several other, equally hilarious, things Mr. Wonderful said, but it was the thoughtfulness of these five eighth-grade boys that I remember from that year. They taught me to continuously look for the silver lining around every cloud—for the joy that is sure to come after a dark season. God is always finding ways to bless us; we just have to keep our eyes and hearts open.
Little did they know the Lord did, in fact, bring me my own Mr. Wonderful, and we’ve been together now for nineteen years. If I hadn’t gone through the pain of loss, I never would have received the gift of God’s grace in my life.
