It came out during our dinner conversation. It’s why I like that we’ve maintained the ritual of a family dinner every night. Around our table, our children’s days spill out, and we learn more about their struggles and triumphs. Two nights ago, this came up:
“When my teacher talks on the cell phone,” Julia began, “she–”
“What?” Patrick said. “Your teacher talks on her phone–during class?”
“Yes,” Julia said. “All the time.”
Aidan joined the conversation. “Mine too. Sometimes she leaves the classroom. Most of the time she stays at her desk. One time she talked to her cousin for a half hour while we were there doing our homework.”
Sometimes I feel held hostage here in France, with little ability to change what I see as injustices. My French isn’t good enough to lobby a complaint, nor do I want to embitter the teachers against my children. I am learning the art of patience and prayer. Patience because I can’t rely on my wits here. Prayer because I can’t rely on my wits here. I need Jesus. My kids need Jesus.
And the cell-phone teachers need Jesus.