People would describe me as introspective. Or, at least, they have. I have been claimed in other phrases as well: passionate, soulful, whimsical, perfectionist, worrier, detail-oriented, not detail-oriented, bad at math, bad at spelling, good at writing, better at broadcast journalism than print, an excellent poet, a horrible cook, the best of cooks, a runner, athletic, about as far from athletic as anyone can be, funny, weird, dull, perky, deep, shallow, depressive, giddy, loving, sweet, shy, loud, purposeful, strange, exhausting, inspiring, encouraging, dramatic. The list could go on, and as you can see, the list is one exhaustive paradox. But the list is not me.

I sit and read literature infused with educational injustice. The author tells me about Bobby (who's name is probably not, and never even will be Bobby), and how Bobby goes to school every day without breakfast. He qualifies for free lunch, but the bus he takes is perpetually late. His free breakfast is perpetually missed. Bobby lives in a shanty of a house with a mom -- no dad -- several siblings, and a less than clean environment, with a toilet that they can't even afford to repair. It's the story of his mother working two jobs to survive, and Bobby left with no supervision. It's the story I've read time again. The only difference is the name.

Teachers have power, more power than you might think. They can motivate and inspire, but they can also reduce and belittle. Perhaps a glace at the, er, timeless (?) statement, "with great power comes great responsibility" sums up the power of a teacher. The power to form and help, not only students like Bobby, but every student. After all, these kids will be the kids who are our doctors and nurses when we're old and in the hospital. They are the future politicians and businessmen. But is it fair that some kids don't have the privileges at home for enough food or a quiet place to sleep (if those can even be considered privileges rather than rights). These kids who are oftentimes parent-less because their parents have to choose work over them -- not because they want to -- but because they don't have a choice. Is it fair that these kids are often labeled at school as not AP-level, always tired, rude, disruptive, little potential. Is it even a teacher's job to label?

Clearly, it's not only these kids who come to the classroom covered with labels that coat their identity. We all cover ourselves with labels. And though it's good to have a definition of self, to know your strengths and weaknesses, it is equally essential that we recognize these labels don't have to be stagnant. Anyone can learn -- anyone can improve.

As for me, I'd rather be label-free. No strings attached to always being good at something, no pressure to not fail, no embarrassment for being seen as bad at something, no opinion before I have a chance to prove myself. My identity, my hope, lies in Christ. And though that may give fruit to attributes akin to kindness, love, and encouragement. Though my humanity may give way to flaws of pride, anger, and bitterness. None of those things can consume me. They are not my anchor.

Should Bobby's victimization of circumstance spiral him into a position that makes him believe he is less than? How can I, as a teacher, let students know that God does not see us as labels, he does not give us worth and merit from what we do? How can I let them know that he chooses us? And he is our identity.