You will be ever hearing but never understanding,

you will be ever seeing but never perceiving.

For this people's heart has become calloused;

they hardly hear with their ears,

and they have closed their eyes.

Matthew 13: 14-15a

It's progress report day. The first tangible evidence of the new year's efforts, anticipated and feared, the promise of a new beginning and the hope of change. The very air feels frozen with tension as I begin to lay out the pages near hands suddenly uninterested in the day's notebook quiz.

The are muffled giggles of delight and gasps of horror. There are frantically raised hands and rustling papers determined to prove that every assignment had been completed after all.

The most desparate, the most shocked, are those students who certain they already know all I have to teach. The question comes daily, from one student or another, the words slightly different, yet so much the same. "We learned this last year." "Why do we have to do this again." I don't do it like that, can't I do it my way?" Ears stopped, eyes closed, beyond learning because they all ready know it all. Sometimes that first report is shock enough to bring a child back to focus, sometimes nothing ever is.

How often am I that stubborn child? Closed to God's leading, sure I know the way, appearing to listen, but silently charting my own divergent path? Open eyes, soft heart, and ever listening ears, the only hope to live the truth.