An uneasiness stirred among the first two rows of my brand-new ESL class. These were not fidgety children; most were much older than me. One woman in the front row spoke up. My brain had no ability to decipher her words, but her tone was clear and universally understood. She was not happy. She talked louder than was appropriate. Others responded to her but nothing was being resolved. Instead, a sharply argumentative debate set in. I had no way of addressing my student’s dilemma with the language barrier. Heat began creeping up my neck, flushing my cheeks. The situation spun out of control while I stood up front, lamenting the fact that not one soul in the room was able to translate. In a room full of people, I felt alone and embarrassed. I wished I could dig a hole right there and burrow myself away from these people I had only recently come to live among. 

Just then, a man sitting near the irate lady stood to his feet. He rose silently, visibly defying the raucous, supporting his new failing teacher. He looked decidedly and calmly at me, a willing vote that I continue with the lesson. Blood that had risen to my forehead drained just a tad. Tears threatened to fill my eyes. 

For about two seconds, nothing else mattered. Someone believed in me. Someone understood the madness wasn’t about me or my lack of ability. Hope sprung, reminding me that I had the potential to overcome. I observed the solo participant with admiration. Thank you! My eyes spoke into his.   

Sometimes along our journey we may find ourselves caught in swirls of unexpected drama. Forces arise, pointing an accusing finger in our faces. We feel the stinging doubt as to our calling and our place in this world we thought we had settled on. Jesus rose to defend His own, and He does so at the right hand of the Father. The question is, will we acknowledge His very real presence in our lives, turning to Him for grace and strength to not simply carry on, but to overcome?