A Prayer for My Third-Grade Teacher, Mrs. Sytsema

Have you ever heard/seen/received bad news and felt it cut you to your very core? You see the words and it's as if someone just punched you in the stomach. You feel a hurt so deep that you can't even properly locate it.

I have that right now. I logged onto Facebook this morning and saw that my 3rd grade teacher, Mrs. Sytsema, had posted a link to a carepage for her husband. He was rushed to the hospital last night with a scattered pulmonary embolism. As of the last update, he was in critical condition but had survived the night. I  closed my laptop and left for school, saying a quick prayer for peace and understanding. The Sytsema family was on my mind throughout the day. Paul works at Calvin on the same floor as the Education Department, and I walk past his office every Tuesday and Thursday on the way to class. Today, the door was closed and the lights were off and I just stopped walking as I was passing it. It was as if I had stepped into wet concrete that began to solidify around my ankles. I felt a heaviness in my soul looking at his dark empty office.
When I got home this evening, I immediately got on Facebook and checked Mrs. Sytsema's page for updates.

"Steph, we are all praying for you and the girls."
"We are covering you and your family with prayer and asking Him to provide the strength and comfort you need during this very difficult time."
"My heart aches for you Stephanie, and for your beautiful darling girls."

My heart plummeted. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. I could not believe it. 

He didn't make it. 

How do you come to terms with that? How do you even begin to process that? How does a mom explain to her 10-year-old and 7-year-old daughters that they have to say goodbye to dad now, forever? How do you hold yourself together? How do you hold your daughters together? How do you adjust to an empty bed? How do you get used to being a single mom? How do you begin to rebuild?

Mrs. Sytsema has continued to be a teacher to me, long after I left 3rd grade. I've returned to Grandville Christian to visit her and tell her what I've been doing with my life, what classes I've been taking, what majors and minors I've swapped in and out of my college career, how I've been feeling, what new antidepressants I've been trying...so many things.

About two weeks into my semester of student teaching, I stopped in to see her after school. After all of her 2nd-graders were gone, she sat with me and listened while I cried and choked and sobbed through the story of how my first two weeks were going. That time with her meant so much to me. It drew us closer together, closer than simply teacher and former student. And for that reason, I ache for her. My heart is heavy for her. My very soul is shattered.

And if I'm hurting this bad, how much more crippling is this pain for them?

If you're reading this, please be a prayer warrior for my beloved 3rd grade teacher and her girls. This is one of those times in which words are simply not enough. How do you put words to something you can't even understand? In times like these, I have to just close my eyes, visualize the person I'm praying for, and pour out my heart for them. No words pass through my mind because there are none. But that is where the miracle of intercession happens. Jesus understands our silent tears, silent sobs, silent wordless prayers, and I firmly believe that in those moments, He does His best work.

Mrs. Sytsema, this is my prayer of lament for you; that God will draw you in and plant in you His wisdom and understanding for why He took Paul away from you today. I pray that He will send people to you to hold you tight when you feel like you're falling apart. And most of all, I pray that you will be able to keep your eyes open and fixed on God as you wait for the sun to rise again. I love you.