Teaching in Rome

     Ron and I have been through a whirlwind in the past two weeks.  Mainly, we have been discerning how to respond to the dean’s strong suggestion that I offer to teach in Rome for a year or two–that would make the package of sending our whole family over there better for the university.  Secondly, Ron is proposing another summer program, and had suggested that I teach a class as well–maybe a class on medieval spirituality or philosophy of the human person.
     I do not know if we will ever go–either for an academic year or two, or for a summer.  But I have come to the opinion that if such an option arises, that I should not teach.
     I like the idea of teaching those classes.  I would love to be in the classroom, and get to read those marvelous texts.  I would like to use the skill I worked so hard to cultivate.
     But it appears clear to me that I have already selected my job.  It is really demanding.  It is really important.  It requires daily preparation of the heart and mind, honing of virtue, a constant increase in discipline, and it brings out the best that is in me.  It requires all my attention in order to be excellent at it.  As soon as I get distracted, I am disappointed in how I perform at my job.  It is also satisfying: when I have lived my life, having done well at this job will, I believe, bring peace and joy.  More than being excellent in the classroom or excellent at writing a book, my job is worth all that I have to give it.
     It is motherhood.