Just a heads-up: for the next two (or three) years, I will be incommunicado. Why, you ask so naïvely? Because I got accepted to grad school, that's why, my friend. And it's going to be nuts.
About four years ago, I sent a text message to two of my friends: "I want to teach deaf kids." Granted, this is not the most eloquent of all text messages, and looking back on it, I wish it would have been more beautifully worded. But this is what I got. It was the spring of 2009, and it was the beginning of a great passion.
In the fall of 2009, I started teaching myself sign language through youtube videos (praise God for youtube) and started inquiring about the Deaf/Hard of Hearing (DHH) program at the U. Since then I have taken ASL classes, I have observed an Early Childhood Special Education (ECSE) DHH classroom and a middle school DHH classroom, and I have been accepted to grad school.
Nearly four years of passion has been channeled to this moment. I could explode with happiness. I'm a happy crier (just ask my sister-in-law), and I will cry with happiness soon I'm sure. Yes, I do love my job, and no, I don't want to stop teaching English. But this is what God made me for. I feel a distinct calling to this position, this job.
I don't know what it will look like honestly. I don't know where I will end up teaching. I don't know how long it will take me to get through the program (though I have a projection). I don't know if God will say go to Ireland or India or China (with Hope Station??). I don't know a lot of things, but I know that I am excited and passionate and overwhelmed.
So for the next few years, as I go to school and teach English full-time, I probably won't be doing much blogging or texting or facebooking or tweeting. Maybe it won't change, but it probably will.
I don't like changes, but this is a change that I'm so excited about I can't breathe.
Friday, June 21, 2013
Saturday, June 8, 2013
Magical Balls of Fluff and the End of Another Year
I sat in front of my screen door this morning, looking out into the front yard. The cottonwood trees have been a constant pleasure for me in years past, and today was the first day they seemed to free their small seedlings. As I watched them gather on the road, floating downward with soft motion, the wind picked up some. Now, it's not like they were just blown down the road. No, these little miracles formed a body of cotton, swirling in the perpetual dance of life. With the wind as a propellent, these magical balls of fluff give life to the desires of my soul. Today is my first official day of summer, and the seedlings of the cottonwood trees depict a slow dance, the peace that I want for my summer. I'm not sure I can put into words the feeling I get while watching them, but I think it's truly something akin to peace.
This week marks the end of my first year of teaching, my 20th year in the educational system. I can honestly say that this year was the most stressful of them all. I think I can also say that it was also the most rewarding of them all. Many things did not go the way I wanted, but many things turned out better than I could have ever imagined. And most of these things were not lessons or activities (though I had some success there too). No, these successes were mostly in the amazing relationships I have with my students, some of now who are friends.
The end of this year brings happiness, but also some tears. Not only does this week end my first year of teaching, but it also brings the end of some amazingly impactful careers. Two of my most influential teachers retired this week, and though I know I will see them again, it will be weird for them not to be at Anoka anymore. One is my former Humanities teacher, who taught me about life and shared with me wisdom that, in my high school career, I had never gotten before. The other is my former College in Schools (CIS) teacher, who taught me so much I don't even know where to begin. Both were influential in my formative years, and they have been indispensable colleagues.
One story, then I'm done. In January, I posted about an unfortunate event that happened in my classroom. Now that it's been five months or so, I think I can share a little bit more about that.
I had a fight in my classroom. It was not a yelling and screaming fight. It was a boxing match. No words were exchanged; they just began fighting. I can sincerely claim it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that I would never wish on anyone. That day, I got by in a daze. A little later in my day, my former CIS teacher showed up at my door. I had gotten a lot of sympathy that day, but he just hugged me. I'm sure he asked me if I was okay, but I don't remember what I said, I just remember that hug. It was the first time I felt safe all day. Again, I can't truly describe how that felt, but those who have been through something like this will know, feeling safe again is a rarity. Now he is retired, and though I know I am safe in my building, his presence will be missed in my little world.
Okay, I have now ranted about seedlings and retirements and fights. They all seem interconnected to me in some way. This year I have learned more about myself and about the human condition than all of my years combined. I have also learned that God is essential in all of my wanderings, even though I am horrible at remembering to include him most of the time. I have been blessed by students, colleagues, my bosses, my friends (new and old), my parents, my cats, my siblings, my nephew. The list could go on and on, and I would never be able to share them all.
A few weeks ago I discovered this song, and I think it spells out the end of my year perfectly.
So in conclusion, I have had a fantastic year that has taught me a lot, and I'm sure it will continue to teach me as summer rolls on. As some of my girls would say to me,"You go girl."
All for his glory and fame.
This week marks the end of my first year of teaching, my 20th year in the educational system. I can honestly say that this year was the most stressful of them all. I think I can also say that it was also the most rewarding of them all. Many things did not go the way I wanted, but many things turned out better than I could have ever imagined. And most of these things were not lessons or activities (though I had some success there too). No, these successes were mostly in the amazing relationships I have with my students, some of now who are friends.
The end of this year brings happiness, but also some tears. Not only does this week end my first year of teaching, but it also brings the end of some amazingly impactful careers. Two of my most influential teachers retired this week, and though I know I will see them again, it will be weird for them not to be at Anoka anymore. One is my former Humanities teacher, who taught me about life and shared with me wisdom that, in my high school career, I had never gotten before. The other is my former College in Schools (CIS) teacher, who taught me so much I don't even know where to begin. Both were influential in my formative years, and they have been indispensable colleagues.
One story, then I'm done. In January, I posted about an unfortunate event that happened in my classroom. Now that it's been five months or so, I think I can share a little bit more about that.
I had a fight in my classroom. It was not a yelling and screaming fight. It was a boxing match. No words were exchanged; they just began fighting. I can sincerely claim it was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that I would never wish on anyone. That day, I got by in a daze. A little later in my day, my former CIS teacher showed up at my door. I had gotten a lot of sympathy that day, but he just hugged me. I'm sure he asked me if I was okay, but I don't remember what I said, I just remember that hug. It was the first time I felt safe all day. Again, I can't truly describe how that felt, but those who have been through something like this will know, feeling safe again is a rarity. Now he is retired, and though I know I am safe in my building, his presence will be missed in my little world.
Okay, I have now ranted about seedlings and retirements and fights. They all seem interconnected to me in some way. This year I have learned more about myself and about the human condition than all of my years combined. I have also learned that God is essential in all of my wanderings, even though I am horrible at remembering to include him most of the time. I have been blessed by students, colleagues, my bosses, my friends (new and old), my parents, my cats, my siblings, my nephew. The list could go on and on, and I would never be able to share them all.
A few weeks ago I discovered this song, and I think it spells out the end of my year perfectly.
So in conclusion, I have had a fantastic year that has taught me a lot, and I'm sure it will continue to teach me as summer rolls on. As some of my girls would say to me,"You go girl."
All for his glory and fame.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Looking East
In the silence of a Saturday morning, I'm reflecting on the week behind me. Actually, I don't imagine the past stretching out behind me, as if it were an ever growing timeline of moments and words that extends out behind me in some physical capacity. And since I don't feel this, I shouldn't say it that way. I tend to think of the past as perpetually extending east. It's not "back a few years ago" in my head or even "back in high school," but east. Therefore, since I am facing east in my morning chair, I guess I am facing the past, facing what God has taught me or will teach me in further reflection.
Sometimes I feel like I live for the weekend, always looking west (to the future) to when I will be able to sleep in or grade or read in peace. Rest. However, the weekends roll around, and they tend to be filled with about the same amount of stress as the weeks. Mostly because me, being over-ambitious, declare I am going to get a significant amount of grading done, and I complete half of it. Or none of it. Rarely do my weekends actually turn out the way I want them to.
But how can I complain? I still get weekends and don't have to hold a second job that fills my time on the weekends as well. Or have one job that I work 7 days a week. I am thankful.
But back to looking east, I realize that my week was successful in some ways, and in other ways, it fell flat. Conversations with students lacking patience might be what some of them needed to hear. Conversations filled with too much patience for students might do more hurt that good. Conversations with students containing too much caring for students well-being might color my view of students. Sometimes I feel like my classroom is a fish-bowl, and the student I see is all that matters. But other people have opinions of students and know more about their lives. I need to learn how to be more well-rounded with my students. But I will never agree that all students deserve the same treatment. What is fair is not always equal.
So looking west, I hope that my heart can be in the right place, that my love for my students can be Christ's love. And I can help them in my classroom, whether it be a fish-bowl or not.
Sometimes I feel like I live for the weekend, always looking west (to the future) to when I will be able to sleep in or grade or read in peace. Rest. However, the weekends roll around, and they tend to be filled with about the same amount of stress as the weeks. Mostly because me, being over-ambitious, declare I am going to get a significant amount of grading done, and I complete half of it. Or none of it. Rarely do my weekends actually turn out the way I want them to.
But how can I complain? I still get weekends and don't have to hold a second job that fills my time on the weekends as well. Or have one job that I work 7 days a week. I am thankful.
But back to looking east, I realize that my week was successful in some ways, and in other ways, it fell flat. Conversations with students lacking patience might be what some of them needed to hear. Conversations filled with too much patience for students might do more hurt that good. Conversations with students containing too much caring for students well-being might color my view of students. Sometimes I feel like my classroom is a fish-bowl, and the student I see is all that matters. But other people have opinions of students and know more about their lives. I need to learn how to be more well-rounded with my students. But I will never agree that all students deserve the same treatment. What is fair is not always equal.
So looking west, I hope that my heart can be in the right place, that my love for my students can be Christ's love. And I can help them in my classroom, whether it be a fish-bowl or not.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Coming Home
After a year, almost to the day, I have reentered the blogosphere with a curious calling on my heart. I don't know what it really means, but I know that I'm supposed to write, to share. I'm sorry for those of you who are faithful readers who have lost interest because of my absence, but I'm back now, with a different outlook on life.
Much has happened in a year. I have survived student teaching and graduated from college. I have learned I am going to be an aunt (literally within the next few days as yesterday baby was due). I have travelled to another country where part of my heart will always reside. I have read many books that have overwhelmed my soul. I have lost cats and gained others. I have been blessed with a part-time job which transitioned into a full-time job. I have students whom I adore and constantly challenge me.
But the biggest challenge and blessing came in this past week. I can't share details, nor do I really want to, but let's just say that I experienced something that will (Lord willing) only happen once in my teaching career. I know that's frustratingly vague, but to protect my students, I'm gonna keep it that way.
Because of this moment, this outpouring of emotion, my eyes have been opened to the pain of some of my students. And my heart aches. Instead of wanting to run away, I feel so much more anchored to the floor of my classroom. I have come home.
Some of you chuckle because I literally did come home. I am working at the school that I graduated from. But this is different. Because of this moment of utter pain and unguarded emotion, I don't think there is anywhere I would rather teach.
Yes, I probably will teach at another school at some point. Most teachers don't stay at the school they begin at. And especially with the Masters I plan on getting, my chances of staying at my school are little to none.
And yet. And yet I am overwhelmed. I feel a certain togetherness in my classroom that can only come from God. Instead of a splintering of souls, I feel like there is a coming together, a support system in a room of four cinder-block walls and posters.
Perhaps a little dumbly, I am going into this next week with high hopes. I know my students will not always be fantastic. I know that I will fail to teach them or be patient with them or plan something for them to learn. I know that the togetherness may not last, and maybe it's just an illusion that my soul wants to cling to, but I want to keep it.
I have hope. "'And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?'"(Esther 4:14).
Much has happened in a year. I have survived student teaching and graduated from college. I have learned I am going to be an aunt (literally within the next few days as yesterday baby was due). I have travelled to another country where part of my heart will always reside. I have read many books that have overwhelmed my soul. I have lost cats and gained others. I have been blessed with a part-time job which transitioned into a full-time job. I have students whom I adore and constantly challenge me.
But the biggest challenge and blessing came in this past week. I can't share details, nor do I really want to, but let's just say that I experienced something that will (Lord willing) only happen once in my teaching career. I know that's frustratingly vague, but to protect my students, I'm gonna keep it that way.
Because of this moment, this outpouring of emotion, my eyes have been opened to the pain of some of my students. And my heart aches. Instead of wanting to run away, I feel so much more anchored to the floor of my classroom. I have come home.
Some of you chuckle because I literally did come home. I am working at the school that I graduated from. But this is different. Because of this moment of utter pain and unguarded emotion, I don't think there is anywhere I would rather teach.
Yes, I probably will teach at another school at some point. Most teachers don't stay at the school they begin at. And especially with the Masters I plan on getting, my chances of staying at my school are little to none.
And yet. And yet I am overwhelmed. I feel a certain togetherness in my classroom that can only come from God. Instead of a splintering of souls, I feel like there is a coming together, a support system in a room of four cinder-block walls and posters.
Perhaps a little dumbly, I am going into this next week with high hopes. I know my students will not always be fantastic. I know that I will fail to teach them or be patient with them or plan something for them to learn. I know that the togetherness may not last, and maybe it's just an illusion that my soul wants to cling to, but I want to keep it.
I have hope. "'And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?'"(Esther 4:14).
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