Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9

After four wonderful weeks at home for Christmas vacation, I had trouble settling back into second-grade life at Kent Academy. Especially in the dining room.

At breakfast, I usually ate just a single scoop of porridge, and every morning during classes, my stomach growled loudly

One day, as I skipped across the playground to lunch, I caught a whiff of fried something from the kitchen. I grinned.

Mmmm. That smells good!

But that hopeful smile faded as I remembered the food at school tasted different than Mommy’s cooking. I frowned as I neared the doors of the dining hall, and my steps slowed. Will there be anything to eat today that I will like?

The final bell rang. A dorm uncle opened the double doors, and about a hundred kids pushed their way to their assigned seats. Four kids sat at each small table, and four tables in a group made up a Section filled with a rotating mix of kids from different grades. 

Large pots of hot food sat in the middle of the junior high table. A big girl filled my plate with roast beef, mashed potatoes, and peas, and set it down in front of me.

Then I reached for my glass of milk but goofed and bumped it with my fist.

A Big, Milky Lake

The full glass wobbled then tipped over. “Oh no!” I said.

White liquid poured across the table, over the edge, straight toward the lap of the boy on my right. Quick as a flash, he lifted the bottom end of the plastic tablecloth, and a lake of milk collected in the fold. Not a drop spilled on him.

He continued making a channel that turned the milk around the corner toward my side of the table. Suddenly the stream flowed through the trench, into my lap and puddled onto the cement floor.

I jumped up and my red-hot face crumpled as tears sprung into my eyes. “Now my napkin and dress are soaking wet!”

At the tables surrounding us, the kids immediately turned, and a dozen pairs of eyes stared at me.

Hanging my head, I sat and let the tears drop onto my plate. I promised myself I wouldn’t be a baby, but now everyone in the whole dining room can see me cry.

The feisty, red-haired girl across from me, the other Debbie, shook her finger at my tormentor. “Why did you do that to her?”

“She deserved it. She shouldn’t have spilled her milk.”

I stared into my mashed potatoes. I’m so clumsy. Now I’m wet, and I’m going to get into trouble.

After a few moments, I lifted my head, and Debbie gave me a wide, toothy grin. “You’ll be all right. Don’t cry!”

Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I replied in a wobbly voice, “Boys are mean. I wish we only had girls at our table.” During the rest of the meal, I struggled to swallow each forkful of food, because my throat felt tight and my nose was stuffed up.

All’s Well that Ends Well?

For the whole week, my napkin smelled sour from the dried milk. When I wiped crumbs from my mouth with the stiff cloth, I remembered how clumsy I was and how tricky boys could be.

And every time I walked through the dining room doors for a meal, my tummy summersaulted with worry. I’m afraid this whole year is going to be bad.

Finally, Saturday morning came. I pulled my chair up to the table and clapped my hands with glee. A clean, folded rectangle sat next to each place setting.

Burying my face in the soft cloth, I took a long, deep sniff. A fresh napkin!

My shoulders relaxed and I smiled. The best thing is, the staff didn’t notice, so I didn’t get into trouble this week. I hope I stay lucky next week too.

Looking Back at That Time

Every single day, life in the big dining hall, or dining room as we called it, was a challenge for me. Each “section” consisted of a head table with grades 7-9; another table of grades 1-2; another of grades 3-4; and a fourth table of 5-6.

Each meal was stressful for me, because I sat with strangers, not with my siblings. It was torturous having to eat in front of kids from other grades whom I barely knew, especially seated at a small, intimate table with two boys.

In the dining room we changed tables every couple weeks, so just when I got accustomed to my table mates, we were mixed up again. That was hugely unsettling, and soon I’ll write about Change Table Day.

My entire second-grade year was particularly difficult, regarding relationships with school staff, dorm parents, and so many kids. I felt completely out of place.

What I Know Now

Being small, frail, and easily reduced to tears, I was an amusing target for little boys, who themselves were targets for bigger bullies.

I also know I was mean to other kids, and I’ll share more about that in future stories. Because we had very little control over our lives, I think we felt some sense of power or security when we dominated other kids.

At the time, everyone was simply trying to survive, with little guidance or support. Because I have that perspective now, I’m careful not to name anyone, students or staff, in my stories unless I receive their permission.

As I struggled through, I developed valuable coping mechanisms, such as shutting off my emotions or even bullying others in a fight for my needs. At the time, these strategies served me well. However, now I can change them. I’m learning that God wants to help me heal, and he’s able to transform me so I can walk with courage and joy today.

Link It to Your Life

How was mealtime handled in your growing up years? Was that a comfortable or stressful time of day for you?

Where did you find courage to get through tough times? How did you respond to bullying?

Father, thank you that you were always with me. Even though at the time I didn’t know you were there, you gave me strength and courage right when I needed it,