It was a busy road and it was the busiest time of the day; morning rush hour. But it was my regular route to work and, despite cars being parked on both sides of the road, I was used to it, and vehicles of all shapes and sizes travelling in both directions were just about able to pass each other safely.

Occasionally however, a big bus came along.

Even though I was safely tucked in between two parked cars, the impatient idiot inside me stupidly asked:  ‘Do I sit here and wait for the X-62 to pass or do I take my chances and go for it?’ After deciding on the latter, and quickly realising it was the wrong choice and that I’d horribly misjudged the size of the gap, there was really only one thing left to do: to get out of the way of the bus, even if it meant smashing the wing mirror off an inconveniently parked Vauxhall Vectra.

And that’s exactly what happened.

The noise was worse than if a fridge had been pushed off a cliff and landed on concrete – but with added pop – and the mirror, or bits of mirror, landed a long way from the car it was no longer attached to. It flew through the ice cold Northumberland air – in truth, I was fortunate it hadn’t flown into a sleepy school-goer or crazy masochistic morning jogger.

Of course, I pulled over and left a note for the owner of the Vectra, dusted myself off, felt incredibly angry with myself for making such an awful decision, kept telling myself ‘if only I’d waited six more seconds …’ and carried on to work feeling incredibly grumpy.

More than a few teachers that I work with noticed that I wasn’t my ‘chirpy self’ and when I told them why, I was astounded as to how shocked they were that I didn’t simply drive on, inviting the opportunity to ask them ‘well, what would Jesus do, eh?’ and opening up a few interesting conversations leaving more than a few work colleagues with little doubt as to what I believed in and how I try to live by it day in, day out.

I received a call from the Vectra-minus-a-mirror man later that day, and the damage was far worse than I had anticipated money wise.

It made me think though – well, if it cost over £200 to fix some bloke’s car, who cares? I got to name check Jesus to a bunch of work colleagues today. Although that had been a huge positive to coincide with a most unfortunate and pricey incident, I had to quickly remind myself – no, wait a minute here – this didn’t need to happen in order for me to open up about my faith – we can share the gospel for free.

‘…you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you. And you will be my witnesses, telling people about me everywhere – in Jerusalem, throughout Judea, in Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.’ Acts 1:8

As it doesn’t cost a penny, and it’s the best news you could ever give to anybody, I should really start sharing it more often.

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There’s always a scrap or two taking place at break-time; I’m sure it’s one of hundreds if not thousands of schools where little fights between nine and ten-year olds break out amongst classmates. Sometimes it’s tough to keep up with the latest ongoing kerfuffle; are they playfighting or do I need to get myself over there sharpish and break it up…? The latter, obviously, must be done, if in any doubt whatsoever.

On this particularly chilly Wednesday morning though, there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt; the big lad (who we’ll call Kyle) was raging, blood boiling. The significantly smaller fella he was chasing, Max, let’s say, literally looked as though he was running for his life: fear, dread, a genuine ‘will-somebody-please-save-my-neck-here’ look. No other teachers were around, I had to step in.

No sooner had I stood in front of a vengeful looking Kyle, attempting to calm him down verbally before being forced to do so physically, had his encouraging mate, his anchor man, the Crabbe or Goyle to Kyle’s Draco Malfoy, valiantly (or maybe that should read stupidly, or disrespectfully) stepped in front of him to face me. Then, the words that would stick in my over-sensitive soul for way too long came out of his mouth forcefully, and with spite.

“You’re not even a real teacher – get away!”

For much of the remainder of the day, I imagined a scenario involving the lad who aimed the deadly dialogue right in my face to be in Max’s ‘save-my-soul’ position the very next day, begging me for help, only for me to shrug my shoulders nonchalantly and arrogantly, and to remind him that ‘I’m not a real teacher, I can’t help you.’

Just one of many, many occasions when I need to ask myself ‘What Would Jesus Do?’, realise that he’d laugh off a comment from a boy who probably forgot what he had even said to me five minutes after doing so, even if I couldn’t, forgive him, do my very best to get along with him, love him and do the very best I could for him whilst working in that school.

The same way God forgives me when I don’t deserve it.

Hebrews 12:15 says: ‘See to it that no-one fails to obtain the grace of God; that no “root of bitterness” springs up and causes trouble, and by it many become defiled.’

What a wonderful, incomprehensible, unfathomable, beautiful, undeserving but eternal and overwhelmingly quality of our Great God. Amazing grace indeed.

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It was only for an hour or so, and I was adamant that it would be productive. I really didn’t see a problem. I didn’t really need to be anywhere else.

I get paid very little for what I do; nowhere near enough, frankly. The teachers look down on us teaching assistants if I’m being honest – even the kids know we’re not teachers. Not really. But we work hard, and we get very little credit despite the fact that it’s often our job to take the tougher, more disruptive, academically challenged pupils out of the classroom. I was owed a free hour. To do what I wanted. No-one would know; no-one would care.

The Year 8 lad I usually supported at this time on a Wednesday had been sent home for swearing at a teacher. I could have wandered into a handful of other lessons to assist; there was even a display in the English department that required completion, but I couldn’t be bothered. The staff room was deserted and the computers were free.

I began by checking my e-mails; the usual stuff that went out to all members of staff and wasn’t of any particular relevance to me but, inevitably, I began browsing websites to quench my thirst for film and footy gossip. But a dozen or so minutes into reading about the latest transfer rumours and a review of the latest mediocre Marvel comic movie, I began to feel guilty. I was blatantly and undeniably breaking a commandment; I was stealing. A sneaky, no-need-to-justify type of stealing which I imagine most of us are guilty of now and again. I may not have stolen an old lady’s purse or a packet of skittles, but I was stealing time from work. Time that I was getting paid for.

I lacked a huge chunk of something I try to live by daily: integrity. The four months I’d been working in this school, as I gain the experience that will hopefully result in my landing a place on the PGCE teaching course next year, I’ve made a good impression; been a good role model. I engage with the kids, they seem to respond to me – the Senior Vice Principle is even trying to create a support position in order to keep me on in September.

Ephesians 6:7 reads: ‘Serve wholeheartedly, as if you were serving the Lord, not men.’ God is always watching, even when I almost convince myself that there must be a million and six bigger sins taking place.

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The Goonies, The Shawshank Redemption, Stand By Me, Forrest Gump…these classics were just a few of the movie locations we researched ahead of our epic three month jaunt across the United States. My wife and I had specific instructions and detailed maps regarding exactly how to find the square in Georgia where Tom Hanks sat on that bench with his box of chocolates and the exact spot in Oregon where Chunk performed the famous truffle shuffle. (I admit, I did it too, and the wife filmed it – it had to be done!) It was a blessed time; a dream come true for a couple of film fans. You think we might have had enough following our movie themed wedding, but no!

We also faced challenges along the way; scary moments that would result in us relying on, trusting in and counting on God more than ever before. Like inadvertently driving eight miles down the wrong road late one night in the middle of New Mexico and getting stuck. We had pretty much reached a dead end and it was too dark to attempt driving back up. It was a dirt road and we weren’t even sure our little camper van could handle the climb. Stranded and alone, scared and anxious – the headlights that were shining in our direction for the majority of the night from a hill ahead of us in otherwise total darkness made it impossible not to think about all those horribly unpleasant, desert set horror films. We felt as though we were in one.

Another night, on failing to find a campground, we were forced to pull over in a cowboy-esque saloon bar car park in Arizona, as drunks filtered out well into the early hours. The ‘rent me’ text on the side of our van made us look and feel way beyond vulnerable, as we lay there silently in our thermals, occasionally peeping through the curtains praying no-one would be too bothered by our being there. I was often aware of my expectation as a husband in such circumstances – to comfort and protect. We didn’t have an awful lot in the van that would have been useful in a situation that required self defence. My dirty boxers? A road map of the USA? Jason Bourne could maybe have used the latter to good effect, whereas for me it would probably result in nothing more than a few self inflicted paper cuts.

We also had a Bible, which we read every day. It spoke of how we can grow closer to God in the tough times; the testing times. If everything went swimmingly all the time, what good would having a God even be? We discovered that the word ‘faith is called that for a reason. Reading God’s word enabled my wife and I to realise that He never puts us in a situation we can’t handle. It also makes it clear that life is never going to be an easy ride. We went on to encounter feisty alligators in the Everglades and Bruce Willis and his bald head in New Orleans. As Christans, we take the rough with the smooth.

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The queue was huge and it didn’t seem to be going down at all. I knew I should have left five or even ten minutes earlier, I could have done without this.

There were shelf stackers but there was only one person on the tills. That’s the problem with these express supermarkets – you know, the ones that are just about two or three times the size of corner shops. There’s always some old lady with an overflowing basket, and three people behind wanting to pay for four items between them. It’s SO frustrating.

I go along to a film night with friends from church every Monday (‘man night’, as one of the lad’s girlfriends calls it – it’s strictly an evening for the fellas). We always have a bit of pre-movie banter, before we reveal our contenders for the weekly viewing, ahead of the eagerly awaited vote. I hate turning up late for it but it was looking inevitable on this ocassion.

When I’d finally paid for my microwavable popcorn, after much tutting and groaning as I made my way to the front of the queue, I was out of there. I drove nearer 40mph through the sleepy 30mph Northumberland village but I noticed cars up ahead were turning around. There was a police car with lights flashing and a cop standing, arms folded, blocking the road. Closed. Great.

It added another ten minutes onto my journey and they were all 30mph zones; although apparently a two mile stretch was a 22mph section, if the speed of the old chap in front of me was anything to go by. I cheekily attempted to look beyond his ugly lime green Micra, seeking a chance to take him, but it was a curvy road and pedestrian crossings were preventing me from going for it. If I was gonna even make the start of the film let alone the pre-movie cuppa and chat, I’d have to get lucky at the level crossing that I knew was just around the corner.

But no. Another three minute wait, which I’m sure I would have avoided had the old timer in front gone a tad faster or been good enough to pull over and let me get on with my life.

I arrived at my friends feeling infuriated and angry. As I knocked on the door of his first floor flat, shook his hands and climbed the stairs, I was alarmed to find that no-one else had even arrived yet.

I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror as the vein in my temple began to settle. I was wondering how many crosses God would have given me on the old ‘would others know you’re a Christian?’ chart. Deliberately showing my frustration to staff and shoppers in a supermarket queue? Driving like an idiot and breaking the law? Intimidating an old man in his car? Thinking of myself when there had most likely been an accident leading to a road closure?

Patience is a virtue. After God instructed Noah to build the ark, he waited 120 years before he heard from God again, but he treated others fairly, took years of mocking and abuse, loved the Lord and conitnued to obey Him – and he built one heck of a huge boat, during a major drought! I can learn a lot from that guy.

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