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Over the past week I have become obsessed with this song called "Are We There Yet?" by Ingrid Michaelson. Lyrics: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/ingridmichaelson/arewethereyet.html

This song has interesting lyrics and keeps popping up in my day-to-day adventures and outings. In it, she describes the hope, the confusion, the unsteady wondering of whether the place she is at right now is where she belongs. In the song, her evolution comes full circle and she changes from looking outward to inward. She asks herself, "do I make someone else feel like they're home? What am I doing?"

I think this song keeps popping up in my life for multiple reasons. In the past month I have wondered if DC and teaching here is where I belong. I have felt a little doubt; especially as I dive deeper into this transition into adulthood. I keep wondering how different my life would be if I were back on the west coast. I keep wondering how my family, my friends, my "home" are doing. I think of them and the roles they would play in my life, if I lived there. As I ponder these things and try to distract myself with work and with apple picking or Back to School Night or some fall activity, I realize, God has me here because He wants me to be here.

It isn't my job to ask if I am there yet...it's my job to ask if I am giving my gifts to the fullest or if I am helping someone else feel at home here.

As this song kept popping up, one of my students on Friday personified the song. My precious, little sweetheart of a Kindergarten girl who is a ward of the District and lives with her grandmother and little brother, put my life into perspective. On Friday, at around 2:30pm, she became very upset. Now, Debra* is usually upbeat, smiley, loving and giving to other classmates so this sudden attitude change alarmed me. Debra was crying and couldn't tell me why.

At around 3:30pm, the after-school-care people came to pick her, and a few other students of mine, up. Debra became frantic. I got down to her level, looked her in the eyes and said, "I need you you to tell me why you're crying. I don't like to see you cry and I want to help; it hurts me to not be able to help you."

She looked up and said, "I want my Grandma. I don't want to go home with my mom today." And she lost it. She lost every ounce of composure she was trying to maintain. In that second, my kids from Bridgeport came back to mind, the kids who were afraid to go home, the kids who would stall or run away from mom, dad, brother, uncle, grandma or auntie. I was reminded of the pure terror some of my kids felt at the mere sight of their guardians coming to pick them up and then looked at Debra, my bubbly, giggly, little girl.

I hugged her tightly, not wanting to let her go and I whispered to her, "You will be home tonight, with Grandma. She will be there. And remember that even when Grandma or I are not around, we are always thinking of you. I am always thinking of you, Debra. I am always here so if you need to cry, I will be right here, OK?"

And there I squatted and she collapsed into the crease of my neck and cried; we both cried. Are we there yet? I have no idea. I don't think I know what home looks like for me yet. But I know what it feels like and in those short moments that help remind me of those feelings, I know that I am right where I need to be.

*Names have been changed