A stick, some line, and a hook...

A stick, some line, and a hook... that's all I have. They don't even recognize my bait. But I live in an ocean of the most desperately hungry fish I've ever laid eyes on... if only I had a net.

She was the most troubled student in the whole class... she was also the most talented. Her face in class was as black as death, her participation was finessed by the most smart alack tone of voice she could muster, she searched to find ways to make the fact that she was clipping her turquoise painted fingernails the main attraction. Her eyes rolled so many times there was a real fear they might become stuck that way.

I sent her a text message: do you have free time? I want to have tea with only you.
It was the most ridiculous text message I'd ever sent. I nearly gave myself a bruise for doing it, because she was in fact free.

She was chatting on the phone, twirling her curled and dyed hair on her finger, and nonchalantly leaning on the wall near the school gate where I was supposed to meet her. Other students milled around, asked mild questions, parted, bought potatoes. The sun boiled. Prying herself from her cell phone she asked where I wanted to go. On a whim, I pointed to the bus trundling down the street.

We ended up at some random little tea house where you could blessedly buy tea by the cup and not the thermos. Thus my getaway plan if things got nasty: one cup and split.

As the tea arrived, I glanced at her face which was as deceptively calm as the eye of the hurricane. Before I could muster my courage to turn the talk away from the inane comments about weather which had populated our conversation thus far, the storm broke. Her hard as nails expression melted and she said: I know why you wanted to have tea with me.
Stunned. Really?
I know this term I have been a bad student. I missed your class. I don't study. I know my English has become worse. She looked down... and the rest of what issued forth was a story of friendships crushed, tensions high, hopes and confidence floating away like balloons from a clumsy child's grasp. I rushed to gather all the pieces I could as they scattered from her mouth to the table between us. Nearly an hour and a half later we got up to leave.

Ms. Kelly, do you have time? Come to my house. Now? Yes, it is very close.

And literally a block away from the random teahouse of my choosing was the small four bedroom first floor flat that her family shared. We spent the afternoon looking at all of her family's photo albums together, listening to her mother ramble about what Lhasa used to be like, looking at all of the idols in their household temple, eating rice mixed with fresh yogurt, and dashing to catch the next bus back to the school so that she wouldn't be late for the evening class.

What can I do but marvel at timing of such wonder that against all of my habits and desires would place me at a tea house with a troublesome girl turned dear student over two cups of tea less than a block from her house? What can I do but gasp knowing that there are one hundred and thirty one students in my classes combined, plus those whom I've formerly taught, who also have needs to be heard, valued, affirmed? What can I do but read and answer in some minute way the letters they write and hand discretely to me during the break with heartache? What can I do but correct their homework in which they share that all their hopes are in vain and make simple notes of encouragement vowing to find a time to speak to them later? What can I do but trust in One who is far more powerful and gracious than I to rise up in this rickety boat and throw out a net on behalf of such need?

He is the fisher of men. If all he's given me are simple tools and the most precious bait in the world then I know it's sufficient for this ocean squirming with fish.

Today I was hug jumped from behind as I walked down the hall. One look at the turquoise fingernails and I knew exactly who it was.