Damn you, clock.

It has been a beautiful season for us in the classroom. At the beginning of Lent I taught the kiddos about some of the spiritual disciplines--ways that men and women have grown in faith throughout the history of the church. We discussed fasting, prayer, solitude, silence, study. We prayed about ways to incorporate these into our everyday life in the classroom. My brilliant, holy little monkeys decided they wanted to commit to ten minutes of complete silence every day.

 And so a new tradition began. Every day after writing, we put away our things, find a quiet spot in the classroom, take a few deep breaths, and just sit. We think and pray and rest. Some kiddos choose to read scripture--and have even developed the habit of sharing passages with one another after the silence. It is inspiring, really. At the end of the ten minutes, a volunteer closes our prayer, and thanks God for time with him, and time to be still. We are thankful. Thankful for time.

But in these silent moments that punctuate our day, I have been listening to the clock. It has been getting louder and louder as the days pass. So loud that it makes me want to plug my ears and forget that it is ticking. Forget that it has ticked into April. And that it will tick into May.

I always hate the end of the year. It comes so fast and I can't believe that another year has come and gone. But this year, I hate the end of the year more than ever before. My time at Little Way is coming to an end. Through much prayer, I have decided that it is time to go home--to return to Michigan for the next chapter of this story that he is writing. This is, by far, the most bittersweet part of the story. I am elated for what is in store--and undeniably confident that it is the right choice--but never has my heart ached as it does as I write this.

There will be more words to come, but this is all for now. This ticking clock has made me ponder time--and hate it for its cruelty. I will soon move towards loving it, and thanking it, for four years of breathtaking joy. But right now I hate it for only giving me six weeks more. Six more measly weeks.

Damn you, clock.