This little man after my own heart

I love a good story. I love the way it twists and turns and slowly reveals the heart of the characters--their hopes, struggles, quirks, aches, loves. I love when an author perfectly brings everything together in the end, leaving me content to dream about what will become of this character that I've fallen in love with.

The great thing about this job is that I get to constantly experience the unfolding of incredible stories. I have watched--in awe--these children grow and change over the years. Some for just one year. Others for two, three, four years. I have cried with them and rejoiced with them. There have been days when we couldn't stand each other. And days when we've laughed until it hurt. For some reason inexplicable to me, I have been given the chance to be written into the chapters of these children's lives. I am entirely humbled by the experience. With one week left in our school year, I am curious to see how this chapter will end. I will be turning the pages as slowly as possible this week. But for now I will remain in denial that I have five days left with these children.

And the best way to remain in denial is to share about this little man after my own heart.

He is clever and witty, creative and hard-working, charming and considerate. 

He asks me to watch clips of Detroit Tigers baseball. He borrowed my jersey one Halloween and went as Miguel Cabrera (as if I needed a reason to love him more). 

He brings me my coffee after he notices that it needs a reheating. He comes in and asks me about my weekend. Or about my family. Or about the Jane Austen that I'm reading. 

He leaves me these kinds of notes: 

(swoon)

He has grown to love his work and take great pride in his accomplishments in the classroom. He is always looking for a challenge and will regularly say things like, "Miss Rachel, can we have a conference where you show me how to use more figurative language in my writing?" 

He makes me laugh all the time. One day he told me he needed to write on the porch, but that his ears were cold. My scarf was his proposed solution. I laughed all afternoon. 

He has charmed me completely. I have never known a child like my man here. He is intentional about wanting to know about my life (not in an intrusive way), and he takes times to have genuine conversation. He is 9, and has better people skills than many adults that I've encountered. 

Every fews days--as of recent--he will say, "I can't believe you are going. But I know God has big things for you in Michigan." or "I want you to stay, but I am excited for you to be close to your family." He is remarkable. 

I know that his story will undoubtedly be a page-turner. I have seen his quirks. I know his aches. I have watched him fall in love with learning. I have watched him dream. I oh-so-selfishly want to see him through fifth grade (since 2nd, 3rd, and 4th have not nearly been enough). But he is too wonderful to keep him for myself. I couldn't be more proud, and heartbroken, to hand him off. 

The Storyteller of all storytellers is telling a breathtaking one here. And I got to be loved by this little man in one of the chapters. How blessed I have been!