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| If you have spoken with me at all in the past year (yes, it has been over an entire year now), then you know that my life has been almost completely consumed with teaching. If you are close to me in any way, you have probably also discovered that I have truly struggled to accept my calling as a teacher, and I have complained numerous times about numerous aspects of the job. Tonight, however, I would like to let the world know that there ARE things I love about teaching. There are even things I love about the things I hate about teaching.
Top 5 Things I Love:
5- My co-workers. Starting out the year at a school really makes a difference in the relationships one makes with his or her fellow teachers. I am blessed to work with some amazing people who have beautiful stories when I need inspiration and funny stories when I just need to make it through the day. I learn a lot from these people and they seem to really care about me.
4- The reading. Thank goodness I switched to English and thank goodness I love to read. Even when I'm reading a book I have to teach, I still feel as though I am getting something out of it. Writing is an art and I am a proud consumer of the culture, imagination, craft, and lives that created the stories I read. I also enjoy that this is something that caters to my need for introverted time.
3- The love of learning. When you are a teacher, you are expected to constantly be learning. Even though you spend hours grading papers where you already know every answer, you can't help but discover something new in that poem you memorized when you were in high school. Your superiors not only encourage you to continue your education formally, but also provide opportunities for you to learn even within the school. Maybe it is because I'm just lateral entry, but I'm glad to have so many people cheering for me as I plan to continue my education.
2- The creativity. As tiring and frustrating as it can be, at least teaching is no ordinary office job. I was not designed to find fulfillment in a cubicle. I was given too much an imagination for that. As a teacher, I am allowed to think outside of the box and to experiment with teaching methods, design games, watch movies, do research, write silly songs, come up with ridiculous analogies, and various other things to help my students learn. Because of my experiences at camp and in college, and my God-given personality, I have a lot of ideas and truly enjoy coming up with things that actually get my students excited about learning.
1-My students. If it wasn't for the fact that I have the ability to love and positively influence the lives of my students every day, I would not have lasted even this long. I have learned far more from them than they have probably learned from me and I appreciate their presence in my life. To encourage even one of them makes the whole thing worth it.
OK, now for the funny part.
Things I Love About the Things I Hate About Teaching: (Luckily, there are really only two things I actually hate about teaching)
1- HATE: Grading Papers. Grading Papers is truly a paradox. It is unfortunately necessary and important in order to determine a student's grade, however it is the most meaningless thing a teacher can possibly do with his or her time. I know the vocabulary. It is not edifying to me in any way whatsoever to read the definition of "sinuous" 69 times. It is a necessary evil. LOVE: Though I hate the process of grading papers and the time it takes to grade papers, I love to have the opportunity to laugh out loud at the utterly ridiculous things students sometimes write about. A couple of examples: Last year on a vocabulary quiz, one of my students defined "espouse" as "an e-mail order bride." Really? Too bad I can't give points for cleverness on an accuracy test. Also, in one essay on the effects of technology, a student wrote a paragraph long run-on sentence about how TV can be bad because it makes you too lazy to get up off your butt and get your own beer. Wow. That was one to share with the other English teachers... just to brighten their days.
2- HATE: Calling Parents. One of the requirements of being a teacher is that you call all the parents of students with Ds or Fs every time you send out an interim. Great. I have to call about 20 parents to tell them their kids are on the verge of failing. What I want to say is, "If your child would stop being stupid, he/she would probably be passing my class... maybe" What I actually say is, "Your child has the ability to do well, he/she is just not being responsible for the work we are doing. Do you have any ideas for how I can help encourage him/her to do better?" (Like I could actually do anything else.) LOVE: I have to be honest. I get some sort of sick pleasure out of getting children into trouble with their parents. When I call momma and tell her that her baby isn't living up to his/her potential in English, I love when she says, "Well, she has a computer in her room. I mean, she had a computer in her room." Or, "You know, he just started dating this little girl from school and I caught him on the phone with her at 2 in the morning last night. Guess the cell phone has become a distraction." Or, "Sleeping in class? Really? X-Box must not matter that much to him." Or even, "We just got a puppy on her promise that she'd have good grades this quarter. You know, it would take only a couple of phone calls to find a new home for little Fido." Tonight I called about 15 parents and all of these scenarios are taken from real-life conversations I had less than 2 hours ago. Some of them happened more than once. I really ought to make an excel spreadsheet and graph of all the punishments I find out are inflicted on students because of my little phone call check ups. I mean, think about it. Depending on how long God keeps me in this career, it could become a pretty interesting little research study.
So yeah, despite all the work I guess teaching is not all that bad. I still have a lot to learn, but I am thankful to have a job where I get to love people (and where I can get a little laughter every now and then).
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| Once again I've let silent months go by. This time, though, it has not been because of a creative dry spell, but simply because I've not taken the time to post anything. I have a lot to say, and I want to make this a regular part of my life again... not really for anyone's benefit except my own. I've realized that if God is going to speak to me through myself, He usually uses my old writings. So if you're subscribed to this and don't care to read it or get those silly emails in your account every time I post something, you may want to go ahead and unsubscribe, because I think I'm going to make yet another attempt to say something meaningful.
So here's what I have been thinking recently.
For a long time now I have been a victim of ridiculous and severe mood swings. One minute I can be laughing and having a good time and the very next minute I can be on the verge of tears. I don't really know what causes it, or how to go about fixing it. But sometimes, I realize that if I could fix it, my realizations about my life might not be as striking. For example, last week (well, probably for the last week and a half at least) I've been in one of my depressive moods. Everything is a big deal when I'm like that. If you don't smile at me at the right moment, I take it personally. So naturally, the things that do kind of matter, matter far too much at times like these and I become slightly obsessive. For the past week, I've been obsessive about money.
Now, money is one of those things that I hate. It has always been an issue in my family and I decided a long time ago that I wanted to be happy no matter how much money I had. I didn't want to be poor, but I didn't want to be rich either. I wanted to have exactly what I needed. I wanted to trust that God would take care of me no matter how much I made or had in my bank account. Of course, I've always known that I hold quite a bit of responsibility when it comes to what I do with my money, but that's never been too much of a problem for me, luckily. So anyway, this week I have done what I never wanted to do. I have been stressed over money. I have pondered finding a part time job to make ends meet. I have wondered if I ought to withdraw my application to graduate school because I can't imagine how we're going to be able to pay for it. I have fretted, and planned, and backtracked, and planned some more. Saturday, I sat down and made a fairly extensive budget. It has all our expenses mapped out and shows exactly how much we can expect to spend where. After debating in my mind over such things as an appropriate "eating out" sum, and how much we should spend on entertainment, I figured that we could save approximately $17 a month. At first, this stressed me out even more. $17 a month is not exactly the kind of cushion I would like to have.
However, over the past couple of days, as my mood has swung back to normal, I have realized something amazing. SETH AND I CAN SAVE $17 A MONTH! That means that we can live fairly comfortably (peanut butter sandwiches and ramen are actually pretty good) and still spend less that I make. Yeah, I still don't know where money for grad school will come from, nor do I know how we can save enough to make it during the summer when I'm not working, but the point is, God has given us exactly what I've always wanted. We're not poor, but we're not rich. We have everything we need. We have a great apartment, plenty of nice clothes, food to eat every day, AND all our bills are paid. Not to mention the non-material riches. I have a husband who cherishes me and helps me to seek God on a daily basis; I have a family that lives nearby and that plays an active role in my life; I have a secure job that, despite my protesting, I'm actually pretty good at and I'm learning to love; and I have joy that extends far beyond a budget. I'm not money rich, but I am rich in every other way.
Part of that realization came from a sermon Seth and I heard a couple Sunday's ago that talked about looking "inside your box" (or inside your realm of influence) to discover answers to dealing with money issues in your life, among other things. That message, in conjuction with my epiphany I've already described, and thinking about the quickly approaching holiday season has caused me to think of something else that I really want. This Christmas I really want my friends and family to NOT get me any presents. I have been blessed this year in every way, but specifically, what with the wedding and all, with money and gifts. I have everything I could possibly want or need for my apartment. I don't need any new clothes or anything else to set on a shelf in my home. I don't need for people to spend money on me to make me feel loved. In fact, I think I'm going to compose a letter to my family telling them this: If you feel you MUST get a gift, please make it yourself from things you already have around your house OR buy a gift for someone who needs something, or someone who won't have a Christmas, and give it to them anonymously, as a gift to me. This would make me happier than anything else. This would be reflective of the love that defines Christmas. This would be a responsible and God-honoring way to use our time and our money this season. This is really what I want for Christmas.
They're jumbled and not necessarily well written, but they're my thoughts, and I'm glad to be blessed with the realization of how truly blessed I am.
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| Self Re- Discovery I feel as though If I were neat A street - a beat - poet I might know Or at least I could grow To discover Who I truly am. The woman I have become. Anyone on the outside Looking in Would know where to begin To define me, But I feel ambiguous, Indefinable, Shapeless and lost. I yearn to rediscover the basics of myself. So here I go Through rhythm, Rhyme, Impromptu inspiration- The story of Myself. (I am my own audience.) Teacher by day: Little pay But I do love parts of it Anyway. I read Steinbeck – as a job - And quote Twain, Secretly wishing their genius To be ingrained As a part of My Own Mind. After all has been said, Simply, I talk too much. In the evenings I am a Daughter, Sister, Fiancé, Friend. A journalist, Scholar, Yeah, and at times A musician. I play the guitar – One of two acoustics or my Hot pink, Floyd Rose, Electric and no I’m not kidding. If I feel classy, I pull up to my Perfect pitch ruining, Black and ivory Playground. My music is my haven, My worship. Alone I am More than anything A capturer of ideas. An artist. A poet, who Though she had lost Her voice And thought she had no choice, But to become what her titles Defined for her being, Has, in verse Come to realize- I am just as much me now, It’s true, As when I thought I knew Myself. | | |
| i wish to name myself Poet. (It is enough in itself)
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| It was a crystal ball really, though it was not filled with incandescent, swirling, purple mists. After all, mists are not required for clairvoyance. Sparkles, however, always seem to add magic and so this ball was appropriately filled with glitter. As she stared into it, watching the confetti settle to the bottom, humming the tune that clinked from turning gears inside the base, she saw herself. Not as a cinematic vision of the future as in other crystal balls, but as a memory. She was dancing. Smiling up at the falling snow without a care in the world, she felt like she was the main character in a beautiful movie. Maybe it was the way the ice stuck and melted slowly in her boyish auburn hair, and in the fact that it actually did get caught in her long eyelashes. Perhaps it was in how she could see the ends of her scarf swirling around her body as she twirled happily on the sidewalk, oblivious to the stares of passersby. It could have been the far from harsh reality of the frigid cold that forced her to know, and more importantly, to believe she was truly alive. But whatever it was that caused her to dance, she danced with a vivacity that mimicked the pirouetting crystals. "I don't dance much anymore," she said aloud in spite of herself as she delicately inverted the globe to watch again. She was sitting. At some now-indeterminable point in the last few moments, she had let the novel she had been reading fall to her lap and had taken to gazing at nothing in particular. Her thoughts drifted lazily in and out of conversations of those who walked closely by her, picking up broken phrases that, without effort to comprehend or analyze, sounded quite like abstract poetry. She had nowhere to be and nothing pressing to do but sit. The sun crept slowly from behind the building that had given her shade and as light poured across her face, warmth coursed through her relaxed body. She was perfectly content just sitting. And so she sat for an hour or more, statuesque in appearance, settled in mind, but thriving in spirit. Unsettled by the memory of the contentment she so missed, she again disturbed the particles, this time shaking the ball so that a glittering tornado enveloped the scene. She was singing. Surrounded by her closest friends, she closed her eyes and focused herself entirely in the moment of worship. Responsibilities, stresses, and worries vanished as her heart was filled with love and music. There was something divine, she noted, about the way the melodies danced through the chords of the accompaniment; the way the many voices and the purposes behind them blended into one. Inspiration came to her through the lyrics and as the song finished she stepped forward to speak and everyone stopped what they were doing to listen. Not only was she respected as the leader, but she had a reputation of being wise and well-spoken for someone so young and inexperienced. She noticed that the music box had stopped and her humming had automatically begun following the tune of memory's song. Wiping the moisture from her eyes, she smiled to herself, thanked God for such beautiful experiences, and set the globe on the shelf. She knew it was a good memory on which to end her reminiscing, but she could not yet walk away. Though all the particles had settled she glanced once more into the keepsake. She was walking. Into the massive stadium, dressed in sky blue, she marched taking care to step carefully through the bleachers. She had chosen to forget it at the time, but this walk, while one of the most important she had ever taken, was a walk away from the home she had grown to love. She vowed not to cry. Her vision blurred with tears and her gaze into the globe was broken. Now it seemed as though that walk was not only a walk away from her home, but also from the liberated version of herself she had discovered and grown to love. Though contained inside the ball, the memories she saw were much freer than the way she felt now that she had to be an adult. Each time she paused to be mesmerized by the sparkling, familiar scene inside the glass sphere, she felt the same pain and promised herself she would not look again. Yet a few days later, she would again find herself drawn to the memories and she would carefully take the globe from the shelf. One day, as she reached to take hold of her precious memories, the ball slipped from her hands. As she fumbled to catch it, the globe smashed against another shelf in its descent, and though it did not shatter completely, the magic poured from a large crack in the glass. Water and glitter twinkled on her carpet even as fresh sadness twinkled on her cheeks. Her crystal ball, which she counted on to help her to remember herself, was useless now. The scene was the same, but without the sparkles there was nothing on which to focus; nothing that induced meditation. She turned away from her spilled memories and made for the door, grabbing her scarf on her way out and wrapping it snugly around her neck. She had to get away from the depressing mess in her trap of a room. She did not know how long she wandered aimlessly and alone before the cold of the winter began to nip through her jeans. It felt as though the temperature was dropping quickly, though she knew it really wasn't. She took a deep breath of the icy air and felt something that was simultaneously familiar and foreign. It was an emotion she had forgotten how to experience and it swept over her in waves with each chill. She turned intently to walk back to her house and stopped motionless as, all of a sudden, she watched a single snowflake drift onto the fringe of her scarf. Her heart leapt and before she knew what was happening she was dancing; twirling along the sidewalk, oblivious to the stares of passersby. Though the scenery had changed and no longer resembled that of her memories or her globe, the more lively her dance, the more magnificent the swirling, sparkling snow. | | |
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