I started Crossfit two and a half months ago. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It’s one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done. There are times I have to force myself to go to “the box”, and once there force myself to keep moving, when every muscle in my body is screaming at me to stop. There are moves that greatly scare me because they are so counter-intuitive to any way I’ve ever moved my body before. There are times it’s tough because I get asked more often than I’d like, “Is this your first time?”

By English: Cpl. Jennifer B. Poole [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

Every one of us have had things we’ve tried or seasons in our lives which required staying power. We all have stories of perseverance thru trials which made us stronger, and that taught us lessons which could only be learned by walking thru difficult times. Crossfit is like that.

My first year of teaching was like that. I was teaching at a school in the South Bronx, in a neighborhood which Jonathan Kozol, documents in his book, Amazing Grace, as being “the poorest congressional district in the country,” and the police precinct having the highest homicidal and rape rate in the country.

I had 27 second graders, and my most difficult ones, eventually ended up in classes with small class sizes to go with their high needs. One, whom I’ll call Jontae, had to be entreated to come in on the first day. Administrators spent 45 minutes coaxing him in. I quickly learned not to get too physically close to Jontae, unless I wanted to be called Motherfucker and Bitch. I also learned he had no intention of ever doing what I asked.

One of my little girls was a crack baby. Tasha was skinny skinny, had a wonderful grandma who did the best she could, but due to the drugs in Tasha’s system when she was born, Tasha had physical as well as emotional challenges. She was prone to teasing, because of the continual thick green congestion in her nose. She left piles of torn paper wherever she had been. But, she was a fiery little girl, who didn’t take anything from anyone and kids learned to leave her alone or face her wrath.

Andina made her entrance to second grade an hour late, coming in, flinging her backpack across the room, shouting, “I don’t wanna be in this stupid class.” It was one of those moments when you stop and ask yourself, “How exactly did I get here?”

The year ended up holding nearly every experience a typical teacher might have in the course of their careers including events such as: watching a colleague being hauled off to jail on false abuse accusations, being told by a fellow (adult) teacher to move because I was sitting in her seat in the teacher’s lounge, having mice in the classroom, having to turn a class around in the stairwell because someone had defecated in ours—again, placing second grade students as guards watching our outside bulletin board because bands of older students kicked out of their classrooms would rip them down. The entire school board was forced to resign due to corruption, I had to report the physical abuse of a child and his siblings and then wait 8 hours in a courthouse 300 feet away from the man I was testifying against, only to be told to come back the next day. There are more stories in that first year than I can tell here, and some belong only to late night conversations after hours of honesty, laughter, and self- disclosure.

If ever it has been true in my life, it was true that first year of teaching: I needed staying power. I remember sitting in my pastor’s office, wanting to quit, wanting to go home. It was too hard, I told him. He and his wife did their best to pour courage into me that evening, but ultimately I returned to the classroom because there was no safety net if I failed. I had dreamed of NYC and destiny for years. I could not fail. It would be giving up everything God had called me to, and the loss of purpose was a cost too great to bear.

So, I drafted a letter to my boss, asking for help, and received it in small measure. The rest of my year was no easier, and in fact, near the end I fled the classroom one afternoon crying, and our librarian had to watch my group while I recovered. But I didn’t quit. I spent 3 more years in the Bronx, and quickly learned classroom management skills which have served me my entire career. The next year at the same school, I was given one of the toughest boys coming up. I determined I was going to like him, and he was going to like me. I learned that the secret of really good teaching (like everything else) is being intentional about cultivating good relationships with students, and the harder, the sooner. Giovanni and I had a great year together, and the Christmas card he gave me is still one of my favorite mementos of teaching. I learned staying power.

In Biblical Greek, the word for patience is HUPOMONE. It means “to stay under,” and applied carries the idea of not moving out from under a trial, a circumstance, a season. Hupomone is staying power.

I’m at a time in my life today and for the past 6 months really, once again in need of Hupomone. It’s not a story I can share, but it is a culminating battle of life, the kind which calls to arms every skill and victory from the past. It’s a battle begun in childhood, and one I’ve been expecting for a long time. It demands every ounce of spiritual strength, mental strength, and emotional strength I possess. In some ways it’s the toughest battle I ever remember fighting, and it’s made tougher because it’s a fight I must fight alone. I bear huge battle scars already, and it’s difficult to see from my vantage point what ground has been gained, or how much longer the battle must rage on.

Today, I’m thankful for the battles of the past, because without the strength and faith gained in those scuffles, I surely would have given up on the battlefield already, or just plain walked away and refused to be a warrior any longer, allowing the enemy of our souls to turn me into a bitter one, devoid of hope.

Maybe you are in a similar place. Lately, I’ve heard of a lot of stories which sound familiar to mine; defining, catastrophic battles that can change a destiny. Maybe you are in a battle which cannot be shared, maybe you are in an alone season too. Have hope. We’ve been training for this all our Christian lives. We can do this.

Maybe you can’t relate to a word I’ve written, and are questioning my theology. Be nice anyway, and try not to judge. Your battle will come, as sure as your Father in heaven loves you.

One way I endure particularly tough Crossfit WOD’s, is to find the parts of the workout I like and look forward to those parts during the parts I don’t like. Today the sun is out, and I have dinner plans with some friends. The battle rages on, but I choose to rejoice. And I choose to Hupomone.

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