Author: Leah Royster

Grief’s Hand Revisited

| Leah Royster
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Today would have been my grandmother’s 95th birthday. I’m not sure if my mom knows the coincidence of traveling down to my grandma’s house this Wednesday. There’s still so much left to clean at the house; my mom has already invested in a new air conditioning unit, brand new floors and got rid of a nasty mold issue. She still says “I’m need to go to mom’s house” even though my mother and I co-own the house now.

It’s odd to travel down to The Villages, to grandma’s tiny yellow house without the anticipation of her small frame greeting us at the door. Asking us if we want something to eat. Her gentle hint that she wants to go to Walmart or the flea market. Her fluttering to and fro each room during the early morning hours, humming old spirituals. I mentally slap myself for all the times I woke up; groggy and annoyed at hearing all her sounds at 6 AM.

If only I could hear her hum one more time.

I wondered why I was so cranky today. I woke up with a hammering migraine Sunday morning which has persisted into this evening. I’m teaching at a new school this year, trading in a 20 minute commute for an hour and fifteen minute hail Mary to save my spark for teaching. This morning, I dragged myself out of bed and the only thought that kept shuffling in my head is five long five day weeks until Thanksgiving break. I snapped at my 6th period class today, lamenting over their atrocious behavior and when my 7th period class came in, I completely gave up on any semblance of instruction or order.

Grief has a way of not making you sweat the small stuff.

February will mark two years since my grandmother’s passing. I remember the last time I called her for her birthday; her voice strained and weak as she answered the phone. She told me it was quiet day, her lovely caretaker made her a Banana birthday cake, but she mainly rested. Our conversation was less than 10 minutes (which in hindsight was an indication of her rapid decline).  

To celebrate (impromptu and not originally a part of my slothful Monday) I am having a cup of coffee in a quaint café. Grandma loved coffee, but never went to cafes. She always made her coffee in house. And she scoffed at the idea of going to breakfast. “Why would I spend all that money on bacon and eggs when I can make it at home?”

Maybe I’ll make bacon and eggs this week and save some for her (even though her portion would be half a piece of bacon and a tiny amount of eggs. She’s “save some for later”).

It’s difficult not to fill cheated or robbed of time. Even though my grandmother lived to be 93, I often hoped we would celebrate her 100th birthday, that she would tease my future (at this point imaginary) husband and meet my kids.

So I try to remain in gratitude. Grateful I had her in my life for 32 years. Grateful for the summers spent reading in her hot, muggy sunroom. Grateful for the stories she told of how she was a part of the Great Migration. Grateful for her sassiness and playful threats of spankings. Grateful she was able to spend time with a great great grandchild. Grateful that when she passed, she passed away in her home state in North Carolina, surrounded of pictures of all her grands as babies, in a warm cozy bed. That when she was ready to transition, she went on her own terms.

Happy 95th birthday Grandma Montie.

With Love,

Leah

Oh, The People You’ll Meet!

| Leah Royster

“I Like your style”, Armando, our tour guide smiled as our group began to disperse. 

I laughed and said, “ Thanks, my mom says I dress like a grandma”. 

Earlier in the day, I met Armando, who is from Central America,  at a snug corner street in the Gothic Quarter of Barcelona. After a delicious tapas meal of Chorizo in wine sauce and a Spanish omelet,  I found him and a group of 3 other tourists. All of us signed up for a walking tour where we would view the architecture of Antoni Gaudi. 

As we walked down the bustling streets of Barcelona, Armando, with a proud pep in his step explained Gaudi’s fascination with nature and marine life. As we walked, we came across various buildings that were crafted with colorful mosaic pieces, and religious figures (St George and the Dragon is a particularly Gaudi-esque motif), and biblical heroes. Armando described Gaudi as a “super Catholic” which is why biblical symbolism is etched in each of his buildings. 

While I marveled at the nautical and religious craftsmanship of Gaudi’s style, what struck me the most was Armando’s chipper demeanor. He beamed as he told us the tale of St. George and how the patron saint saved a princess from a Dragon. According to the legend, the blood of the dragon transformed into a Rose; each year on April 23rd, St George is celebrated (Armando explained this is Barcelona’s version of Valentine’s Day) and the city is decorated with thousands of roses. 

I was grateful to learn from Armando and his energy left me with a pep in my step. He created a connection amongst our tour group that was organic. 

As I continued to explore Barcelona, I met people from all walks of life. A middle-aged couple who met while studying abroad in Australia, a woman from Toronto, and couples from Paris, LA and Chicago. On my last day in Spain, I met this delightful young woman named Mariam from Morroco. 

Now I’m normally a wallflower type. I make an effort not to make eye contact or engage in conversation, but Barcelona’s breezy countenance loosed the reigns of my social apprehensiveness. With one day left of my trip, I booked a guided tour of Barcelona’s famed Sagrada Familia Church. Sagrada was Gaudi’s final work before he was tragically killed in a traffic accident. Miriam came up to me after the tour and asked if I was staying to explore more of the church. I said yes and we partnered up to learn more about the history of Sagrada. Mariam was peppy and easygoing. And she loved taking pictures. Lots of em. 

I honestly felt like I stumbled into an impromptu photoshoot. Mariam stopped me at various points of our exploration to pose in front of bright red, blue, and green stained glass. We ventured outside to a lush green park with a massive pond; according to Miriam, there was a spot that Instagram influencers flocked to for a perfect picture of the Sagrada. Mariam, with her bright smile, encouraged me with “One more photo”?  

“You sure love taking pictures” I commented as we made our way to the bus stop. 

“I do” she replied with a sunny smile. “It helps me capture the moment perfectly so I can look back on the memories”. 

“I hear that” I replied. 

Without Mariam, I would have breezed by the Sagrada (or left immediately after the tour guide finished the tour) and missed the way the stained glass illuminated the church with a rainbow of color. I wouldn’t have sat down next to her and listened to the chimes or church organ. I probably wouldn’t of met Mariam had I rushed the experience. 

What God showed me on my trip to Barcelona was the beauty of people. A tour guide who made sure you were accounted for on the bus. A gentleman who helped me order a pastry at a shop in Montserrat. A couple from Chicago whom I sat down and chatted with over a glass of wine from a centuries-old vineyard. A group of young women who invited me to dance at an underground club when they saw I was by myself. My Airbnb host who greeted me every day and made sure I was comfortable during my stay.  I met so many people who shaped my experience in Barcelona. What would have happened if I kept myself closed off? Kept my head down, silent and rushed on by? 

I booked my trip to Barcelona on a whim and I can say that my decision was one of the best I’ve made. The warmth and openness of the people encourage me to be more open with others. To share pieces of myself and be kind. And, of course, take lots of pictures. 

Leviticus 19:34

“You shall treat the stranger who sojourns with you as the native among you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.

With love, 

Leah

“Would You Like to Join us for Lunch?”- Reflections from the Poetry Foundation Teacher’s Conference PArt I

| Leah Royster

All it took was the eight words “Would you like to join us for lunch?” to cement a new sense of belonging that I starved for but found the need malnourished over the past few months.

I usually ignore Facebook advertisements; lately, I see more ads about “Make six figures copywriting” than I see posts from friends and family. One particular post stood out from the Poetry Foundation; the literary organization was promoting a conference for teachers at the University of Miami. At first I thought, like all conferences, the Teacher Institute conference would set me back at a few hundred dollars. I clicked on the link and was taken to an application. I kept looking for hidden costs, yet I needed to budget for was airfare!

Semi-Free conference in MIAMI! You bet I hopped on that deal.

Thus began what Pixar’s Inside Out calls a “core memory”. I went to the conference and came back with a renewed confidence I didn’t know I could cultivate. To unpack the impact of the conference needs to be handled gently and microscopically. Today’s post is first of multiple where my experience can grow organically. A special thank you to the Poetry Foundation and O Miami for an incredible experience!

Janet Wong was one of the first presenters at the conference (I’ll speak more about this incredible poet in the next post). This poem is for you Janet.

Poem Title: Today I a Someone Who

Today I am someone who sheds her shy

and to a new face I say “hi”

Today I am someone who shooes away the voices who say you don’t belong here, you’re an imposter”

Instead, I someone who seeks new friendships to foster

“

Today I am someone who was asked to lunch

by the living legend, Janet Wong

Today I stumbled into belonging and acceptance I craved for so long

Today I sit at a table the University of Miami’s bustling dining hall

Surrounded by word wizards having a ball

I am finally seated at the cool kids table

I’m wrapped in giddy awe, like I’m in a fantastical fable

Today I am someone who always remembers to smile and say hello

Someone who more and more unglues her eyes from the sidewalk below

Someone one with melody in each step

And a voice filled with courage, encouragement and pep”

Thanks Janet!

Haiku Poetry

| Leah Royster

One of my favorite forms of poetry is the haiku, a 3 line Japanese poetic form with a total of seventeen syllables, (follows a 5-7-5 syllable pattern). I write Haikus when I’m feeling stressed and need to pour out an intense emotion using metaphorical nature imagery.

Haikus By Leah

Monday Mourning

Monday Mornings rise

up to reluctant commutes

to a dull duty

New Soil

A stagnant seedling

sits unwatered, neglected.

Time for a new soil

Poetry Prompt: “I Remember”

| Leah Royster

One part I appreciate about living in New York City is the libraries. NYPL hosts diverse programming for dozens of interests. Today I attended a poetry workshop hosted by a poet and editor from Argentina. The facilitator introduced the attendees to two poets; Marosa di Giorgio and Susana Thenon. The poem I came up with is based on the theme of remembrance which id Giorgio heavily incorporates into her poems.

Title: 14 Years Later

I remember when you told me I was your best friend but you could never love me,

I remember your heated voice scalding

my ears for hours because another “she”

rejected your declarations of love misplaced

on a pretty face and empty intimacy

I remember the time I spent twenty dollars at Hot Topic for your Christmas present

It was a T-shirt with your favorite band AC/DC

I remember your half smile when you opened your gift and your eyes

expressing gratitude that you reserved

for me

I remember you in the words, ink and x-ed out declarations of admiration

between the lines of the diaries of my teen years that

I knew I’d never share out loud but baby

these long ago words managed to leap off the pages and sneak into your

half closed consciousness

So now here we sit at adjacent tables at a coffee shop

Fourteen years later

and you ask me “If I remember”

baby

I always remembered

Happy National Poetry Month!

| Leah Royster

Good evening readers! Hmm, it’s dusty up in this blog! Please forgive me if I’m rusty(did ya catch that in rhyme? ). Happy National Poetry Month! I originally committed to writing and posting a poem every day in April, but of course procrastinated until the last week of April. For this week, I’ll be posting 1-2 poems a day to celebrate a writing form that fascinates and frustrates me as a writer. Most of the poems will be free form with a sprinkles of haikus, cinquains, villanelles and a Sestina (no sonnets, iambic pentameter and I are not friends). I hope you enjoy!

Title: “Where Are You Sis?”

“Where are you sis?” 

In the crevices of half-hearted hugs and obligatory smiles 

The “HI SIS!’s” that hang hollow off the so called sisterhood 

“Where are you sis?” 

Standing aside as I watch a family I barely know and I am not sure that’s meant for me

embrace , bellow and belly laugh 

Because they’re fully braided within the bushel of coils, never questioning 

If their strand belongs 

“Where are you sis?” 

Back and forth, scouting for empty seats for visitors and “family” 

Desperately trying to be a steadfast servant, reporting for my duty 

Diligently serving in God’s Kingdom and 

Just maybe 

Just maybe prove that I fit into an 

Infinitely impossible standard of prime faithfulness 

“Where are you sis?” 

On the 1 train, eyes closed , lulled by the rock a’ by 

Of the train. I can finally fling off the mask thats been a suffocating 

Compliance and end expectation for the last four hours of this show. 

Free from claustrophobia of fruitless “amens”. 

“Where are you sis”? 

33

| Leah Royster

This time last year, I wasn’t looking forward to my birthday. The “birthday blues” were at an all-time high and I wanted the day to be over as fast as the day come.

This year, I spent half my birthday locked up in my apartment; I almost went to work, but the thought of interacting with 95-plus hyperactive 9th graders wasn’t appealing (and Mondays are professional development which extends the day to an excruciating hour and a half).

32 came like a blur. I was in the middle of an intense spiritual battle, desperately trying to hear God’s voice to my numerous questions: Which church congregation should I move on to? Should I resign from my job? Did I make a mistake in leaving my current church? Should I go back? Should I stay? God, what do I do?

Turns out 33 yields similar questions. I am grateful that God has gently persuaded me to “be still and know that I am God” as far as the church situation goes. Too often I let my own insecurities and doubts creep into my relationship with God instead of trusting His process and plan. Right now He’s refining me in ways that I never fathomed.

32 was the year I lost my grandmother. At 93, she saw 5 generations and was ready to transition. I foolishly thought she’d live forever; when someone is a part of your life for so long, their inevitable passing is jarring in surreal. There are moments I still expect to see her number pop up on my phone; when the family traveled to Florida after she passed, I still expected her to be fluttering around in the kitchen or sitting on her bed while the news blared in the background. I miss her.

32 was the year I went to 3 different countries. Grenada, Canada, and France. I learned that travel can be both invigorating and frustrating, magical and disappointing. There was a zest I experienced scurrying around my apartment looking for travel-sized toiletries, checking my phone for flight updates, and zipping/unzipping my backpack a dozen times to make sure I had my passport.

32 was the year I inched closer to the realization that I desire to be a storyteller. That God gifted me with a fire to share words of encouragement and wonder. Unfortunately, the aforementioned doubt is a present enemy, ready to snuff out the flame of creativity and faith that God writes through me.

32 was the year that my resilience and faith were tested. In these last few weeks, I’m facing seemingly insurmountable decisions. Decisions that I have to count the cost of the choices being made. Yet I know that my current position is triggering unprecedented anxiety and weariness. I spend most of my days dreading the next; waiting with restrained tension for the day to be over and I can breathe easy.

33 is the year I need to let go. Let go of the hesitation when sharing about the Lord. Letting go of a career that sparks adulations from family and strangers, but drains all facets of my being. Letting go of the stories, both fictional and factual, that I bound because I didn’t think I had anything of value to say. Letting go of the fear of starting over and taking unseen steps toward a future where I wake each day eager to see what God has in store.

33 is the year I embrace the words said in Luke 1:37 “With God nothing is Impossible”.

33. The year of Impossible.

I think I like the sound of that.

God is able to do far more than we could ever ask for or imagine. He does everything by his power that is working in us. Ephesians 3:20-21.

A Prayer for Year 6 of Teacher

| Leah Royster

A Prayer for Year 6 of Teaching

“ Now may the God of peace, who through the blood of the eternal covenant brought back from the dead our Lord Jesus, that great Shepherd of the sheep, 21 equip you with everything good for doing his will, and may he work in us what is pleasing to him, through Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen. -Hebrews 13:21

I begin my 6th year of teaching in less than 4 hours 

In between these hours, I wonder if I should have left teaching along with the 300,000 teachers who have left the profession since May 2020*. 

Between these hours nagging, insidious thoughts creep into my mind “You’re not ready”. “You should have resigned in June”. “Five years in and you still don’t know what you’re doing. 

To be blunt, I’m terrified. Terrified of my alarm going off. Terrified of stepping outside onto a city bus and entering the school building. Terrified of those pounding steps up the stairwell and waiting with bated breath for the arrival of the class of 2026. 

What was I thinking? These last two days before students arrive leave me wondering what am I going to do. I may have been overly ambitious in overhauling the curriculum I’ve used for the past three years. The yearn to try something new, but the procrastination of planning this “new” has cost me peace of mind. 

I’m afraid of looking unprepared or underqualified in front of my new co-teachers. Both possess a vivaciousness and preparedness that I am nowhere near matching. They ask questions about strategy, classroom expectations, norms, and class routines that cause my mind to draw a blank. 

How do I admit that I have no idea how I’m going to get through this school year? 

The same way I preserved through the past 5 years. Through God’s grace. With the Mind of Christ. With the Armor of God. With faith that He has equipped me to do good works. Trust in the plans that He has for me. Humbly asking for Him to order my steps. Understanding the work of teaching is not about me, but glorifying Him.  

A Prayer for Year 6 (and all teachers and students) 

Dear Heavenly Father. Praise be to you the Great teacher. Thank you for the Word of the Lord which is breathed out by You. Thank you for your word which teaches, corrects, reproofs and trains us in righteousness (2 Timothy 3:16-17). Thank you for calling me to be a teacher to today’s youth. May your light shine Lord. May I work as if I work for You and you alone. I thank you Lord that you use me to show Your love to my students. May I be used to encourage the 9th graders to do their best, to teach them the reading and writing skills they need to be successful citizens. I come against any spirits of discouragement, learning disability, emotional trauma, and behavorial issues. May I imitate your grace and love so that my students are in an environment where they feel safe to express their ideas, struggles and goals. 

Lord I lift up my colleagues. I pray for a positive start to the school year for our school community. Whatever burdens they are carrying outside of their classroom, I pray they are comforted, supported and at peace. Thank you Lord for open and honest communication between co-teachers, teachers and administrators, teachers and students, and teachers and parents. I thank you for a spirit of unity between all stakeholders in our students education. 

Finally Lord, thank you for trusting me with this task of teaching. Forgive me for my sinful attitudes, laziness, apathy, and lack of effort in the past. Forgive for not doing my best work and neglecting responsibilities. Create in me a strong work ethic, a sound mind and a loving heart. Thank you for your heart Lord. 

In Jesus name I pray. Amen. 

Notes: 

Scripture comes from the following sources 

2 Timothy 3: 16-17 English Standard Version: https://www.openbible.info/topics/teaching 

Hebrews 13:21: New International Verson. Bible Gateway. https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Hebrews+13&version=NIV

Statistic come from: Grider, W. (2022, June 20). School’s Out for summer and many teachers are calling it quits. The Wall Street Journal. Retrieved September 8, 2022, from https://www.wsj.com/articles/schools-out-for-summer-and-many-teachers-are-calling-it-quits-11655732689