The Wind Beneath My Wings

When I was 21 I opened a little preschool in Provo. Not needing to work full time, but wanting a project, I designed a program blending early literacy with lots of playful exploration and recruited my husband to build a school. Since we had a detached garage and lived on a charming street in a quiet neighborhood, we decided to make the garage into a school house. For three years I welcomed about a dozen precious little children into my school for classes twice a day, made a little money, and gave their mothers a few hours of relief. I quit a few months after Seth was born; parenthood was my new fascination.

One of my favorite books in our classroom was a poetic story about the seasons. On the pages about Spring, I read that the wind blows in March to dry the earth from Winter's storms. I had never thought much about the purpose of wind; certainly blustery spring days had seemed more annoying than useful in my world. After that, though, in class we danced the wind, sang the wind, listened to the whisper of the wind. And I suppose I remembered about trade winds and sailing explorers, and the need for pollination and rain, fresh air and kites, and wind became, after all, very useful.

I've been thinking lately about adversity and how much it is like the wind. A little breeze of it barely stirs a leaf; a shrieking gale can shred everything in sight. But in between these two edges, wind is a constant, steady agent of change. So is adversity. Looking back, I am amazed and grateful for its effects.

Ten years ago, I became responsible for the financial needs of my family, and I wasn't at all prepared. Even during my BYU years, financial needs were largely provided for me, and I went from college to a husband who paid most of the bills. My university degree suddenly was the most valuable paper I owned, though my teaching certificate had long before expired. I had no idea of what to do. Inspiration came from a church employment seminar; I learned there about financial aid and nearby college programs, and I was encouraged by stories of other parents who survived unexpected financial turmoil. Within a few weeks I was enrolled in a master's program, completed the necessary recertification tests, obtained a temporary teaching license, and interviewed with local school districts to substitute teach. Oregon requires a current teaching certificate to be a substitute teacher, so at the beginning I was only qualified for a limited kind of job.

My first substitute assignment changed my teaching perspective forever. I walked into a classroom lit with flashing Christmas lights and met a radiant teacher whose sole focus during daytime hours was to provide stimulation and enrichment to a half dozen children with severe mental and physical impairments. Most of them could not even sit, so with the assistance of her aides, she rotated the children between several therapeutic chairs and beds to keep them comfortable. Regular ed children visited often to read stories or sing. My assignment was to assist a ten-year-old boy who was both blind and mentally challenged. For hours I walked him around the playground, singing "Zippity Doo Dah." I spent four days in that environment, amazed that for ten years their teacher had greeted every day with passionate love for her children, never bored or cynical about their limitations. I wanted to be like her.

That first year I supported my family on $9500, some leftover student loan money, and the sweetness of good neighbors. I worked as a sub about 3 1/2 days a week and went to school at night. My children ranged from kindergarten to tenth grade, and even though our lives were stressful, we laughed together more than ever before. Often we would find a sack of fun groceries on our porch--sugar cereal and brownie mixes, dropped off anonymously by kind friends. One day I was called in to our bishop's office; someone had given him an envelope filled with cash for us. It held $600. When my car broke down, a mechanic from a reputable shop called me with news that someone was covering all the repairs I needed. There were angels all around us.

After a year at school, though, I was more broke than ever. I'd sold the grand piano and taken out $16,000 in student loans. More than anything, I wanted to keep my home--for the sake of my children. Then one night I had a dream. In it, I'd been designing a kitchen remodel, but to my horror, I looked out the kitchen window to see a bull dozer driving straight into my kitchen wall, demolishing everything. I only had time to run in and save some glass dishes belonging to a friend who had brought us dinner, and watch my house crash down in ruins. I woke up knowing my divorce was far more than a remodel to my family, that we would have to completely start over.

A month later we moved to Utah. That was nine years ago. Adversity pushed us out and on, and in spite of the devastation it created, our lives are better and stronger for it. Each day I learn something new, and some days I actually make a difference in a the life of a child. I now have a resume that can sustain me as long as I am healthy and able to work. I am pleased with my accomplishments and the possibilities ahead. All this because of adversity.

In between my divorce and my remarriage I dated a wealthy man for a couple of months. He watched the financial crumbling of my life, promising that he would buy me more and better, when we married. When that relationship ended, I realized there was no knight on a white horse, racing in to save me. (Actually he was a pilot, owned his own plane, and he kept promising he would fly me to exotic lands.) But that's okay. With the love of good people around me, I can fly my own plane, thanks to adversity. It has been the wind beneath my wings.