Doing Battle

It is the subtle stuff, which has done the most damage over the years. As a teacher I have never been intimidated at the idea of voicing my concerns about children’s safety and education. I mean I made plenty of mistakes as a teacher. I have tried to help out where I can over the years. I know how hard it is to meet the needs of every child. At one point there were 42 children in my class.

I was virtually exiled by many of the parents for daring to speak my mind, yet they had all benefitted. I had never just spoken up for my own child.

I am a stickler for child safety. I have known several children, who have died. I have sat sobbing in church, as a beautiful little girl, who had begged me to watch her swim the previous week, was carried through in a little, white coffin, having stepped out into the road without looking, just one time. They had been playing her favourite song in church. One that I had taught her.

I swore then that I would do everything in my power, to spare other parent’s the heartache, her parents had experienced. Not that her death had been anybody’s fault. Speaking up has got me into trouble over and over again but I still do it. I always will, with the picture of that little white coffin burned into my soul.

My dear friend once warned me that I would continually have to fight. I know that God put a little warrior in my soul for a reason. I might start the battle but it is usually God, who has finished them for me, when I have finally given up and walked away, tired and battle-scarred.

“There is no greater warrior, than a mother protecting her child.”


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