Leaning into the "He Is": A New Year’s Journey in Faith

For the last twelve months, the new year was a distant silhouette on the horizon. Throughout 2025, I lived in a state of becoming. I returned to Ole Miss, diving deep into the evolution of the library learning commons and the modern nuances of special education. I took a rigorous professional inventory of more than twenty years in the classroom, dusting off old skills and replacing them with the fresh trends of today’s public education. I spent a year studying, preparing, and waiting.

Now, the calendar has turned. 2026 is no longer a goal; it is my reality. I am recertified, re-energized, and ready. Yet as I stand on the threshold of this new year, ready feels a lot like terrified. It is a fear that sits heavy in the chest, a mix of anticipation and the weight of the unknown. The safety of the textbook is over, and the unpredictability of the real world is about to begin.

Why do I love the start of this year? Because it is the end of the waiting room. But why does it scare me? Because the Now requires me actually to step back into the field. The What Ifs have started their rhythmic drumming. At fifty-three, returning to the job market feels like stepping onto a different planet. I worry about logistics. Will Mississippi recognize the decades of service I gave to Georgia, or will my years of service evaporate with the move? I worry about optics. Will hiring committees see my experience as an asset, or will they see an old lady out of touch with a digital native generation?

The most daunting What If is the shape my new role will take. While my heart and training are set on being a teacher-librarian, curating spaces of discovery and fostering a love for literacy, the reality of the job market means I may have to pivot back to a traditional classroom. This possibility brings its own anxieties. In the library, I am a curator of wonder. At the school, I am the navigator of a structured storm. The thought of balancing lesson plans, grading, and classroom management after time away is a staggering contrast to the role I have been envisioning.

Then there are the students. Whether I am behind a library desk or a classroom podium, I wonder if children have changed as much as technology has. I worry about the balance between being too strict and too relaxed. I imagine that first day, standing before a sea of Gen Alpha faces, my big gaudy earrings catching the fluorescent light. I can almost hear the silent judgment. Who is the old lady at the front of the room? I worry my vocabulary will betray my vintage. Things are still totally awesome, and I might still dig a great book. To a middle schooler in 2026, I fear I might as well be speaking a dead language.

But this is precisely why I love the start of this year. It forces me to move past the What Ifs and lean into the He Is. The transition from the safety of study to the vulnerability of the job hunt is a spiritual exercise in trust.

When anxiety swells, and I feel like an outdated book on a dusty shelf, I am reminded of words that have sustained educators for generations. Isaiah 41:10 says, So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

The start of this year reminds me that I do not need cool lingo to have an impact. I do not need to hide my age to offer wisdom. The Lord did not lead me through recertification and reflection to abandon me at the finish line. He has the job search. He has the salary negotiations.

I tell myself, Anne, calm down. The Now is here, and it is where I truly am supposed to be. I am a teacher-librarian and a teacher at heart. He is in control, and I am ready to walk forward with confidence.