Ms. Rodriguez, a dedicated math teacher at Horizon International School, is reassigned to teach "Readings in History," a subject far outside her expertise, during the upcoming semester. Despite her success in previously teaching unfamiliar subjects like ethics and science, she feels increasingly inadequate and frustrated, unsure if she can provide the depth of knowledge her students deserve. Guided by her faith and strong commitment to her students, she adapts, but the stress grows as she struggles to stay ahead of the material. When she requests a return to teaching math, her department head praises her versatility and denies her request, leaving Ms. Rodriguez to wrestle with the tension between serving her students and staying true to her professional strengths.
It was the first week of December when Ms. Rodriguez, a seasoned math teacher at the prestigious Horizon International School, received an unexpected email. Sitting with her family over dinner, she opened the message from the school’s administrator. “You’ve been reassigned,” it read. For the upcoming semester, she would not be teaching her usual calculus and algebra classes. Instead, she was slated to lead “Readings in History,” a course entirely outside her comfort zone.
Her heart sank. History? She had spent her entire career helping students master equations, not historical analysis. As she put down her phone, the weight of the news washed over her. She loved teaching, but this felt like a step too far from her strengths. A quote from her favorite poem echoed in her mind: “I have to march into hell for a heavenly cause.” She often recited it to herself when school pressures mounted, drawing strength from both her faith and her sense of duty to her students. This was no different. Or was it?
It wasn’t the first time she’d been asked to step outside her expertise. Last year, she was assigned to teach “Ethics and Society,” and before that, an environmental science course. Each time, she had prayed for guidance, researching furiously to prepare and leaning on her faith to remind her of the bigger picture: the students. She found creative ways to connect the content to real-world issues, often incorporating discussions about fairness, justice, and responsibility—concepts close to her heart. Her students had appreciated her efforts, and some had even flourished in these classes. But with each new success came more classes far removed from her passion for mathematics.
Christmas break turned into a marathon of preparation as she poured over history textbooks, trying to familiarize herself with the subject. But the anxiety gnawed at her. Was she really equipped to lead thoughtful discussions on the American Revolution or explain the finer points of the Treaty of Versailles? More importantly, could she offer her students the rich, deep understanding they deserved?
January arrived, and as Ms. Rodriguez stood in front of her new history class, she masked her nervousness with a calm, confident smile. Her students seemed engaged, and she threw herself into teaching with her usual energy. But as the weeks wore on, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was constantly on the defensive, scrambling to keep up with the material. Then came the day that Ethan, one of her most inquisitive students, raised his hand during a discussion on the French Revolution. “Ms. Rodriguez,” he asked earnestly, “how did the social contract theory influence the revolutions in South America?”
Ms. Rodriguez froze. She hadn’t prepared for that, and the flood of inadequacy she’d been holding back hit her full force. “That’s a great question, Ethan,” she responded, trying to mask her unease. “I’ll look into that and get back to you.” But as the class moved on, a voice in her head nagged: was it fair to her students to be constantly catching up? Was she doing them justice, or simply muddling through?
As the term neared its end, Ms. Rodriguez told herself she had to decide whether she wanted to speak up about her growing discomfort with these assignments. Her commitment to her students was unshakeable, and her faith told her she was here for a reason, even if that reason wasn’t entirely clear. But she also felt a growing sense of frustration. Was this truly her calling, or was she being stretched too thin?
Finally, she met with Mr. Cohen, the head of the department. With her heart racing, she explained how much she longed to return to teaching math full-time, where she could fully draw on her skills and knowledge. She spoke candidly about the difficulties of teaching subjects she wasn’t deeply familiar with, and how it left her feeling like she wasn’t serving her students as well as she could. “I want to give them the best,” she said softly, “and I’m not sure I can do that when I’m not in my element.”
But Mr. Cohen’s response was firm. “Ms. Rodriguez, you’ve shown incredible adaptability. Not every teacher can pivot like you have, and the students benefit from your wide range of abilities. We need that here.”
Feeling deflated, Ms. Rodriguez left the meeting. Once again, her request had been denied. The familiar weight of the responsibility she felt for her students hung heavy on her shoulders, but she also felt the sting of her own needs being overlooked. That night, she knelt in prayer, asking for the strength to continue serving her students with love and dedication, even when the path felt uncertain.
In the weeks that followed, she found solace in organizing a “Pi Day” event with her math colleagues, a brief return to her beloved subject. She also led a gender studies panel, incorporating the themes of justice and fairness that had always resonated with her. Yet, deep down, she kept asking herself: how long could she continue to march into assignments far from her passion, even for a cause she held dear?