Strong and Courageous

Be strong and courageous. Be strong and very courageous. Love God's law. Meditate on God's law day and night. Do not be terrified. Do not be discouraged. Be strong and courageous.

I'm reading Joshua right now. When the spies hid at Rahab's home, she told them that when her city heard about the Hebrews' escape from Egypt and their victories since, their courage failed because they knew that the Lord, the maker of the heavens and the earth, was with the Hebrews as their Lord, their God. The Cannanites knew enough that their courage failed when they saw the Lord against them. Why was it that the Israelites could not muster enough courage even though they knew the Lord was with them? The Lord is with me. Why is it that my courage fails? The Lord is not against me - if so, then I should be afraid. But, no, the Lord is not against me; He is with me. I should be strong and courageous.

I'm nervous about the fall. I have resigned from my job as a teacher. I have gone back into school a couple of times since the summer began to clear the last few things out of my room and to gather what I needed from the computer. Walking into that building has hurt. I walk back into the cave where my and Jane's rooms are, and I think of how wonderful it was to teach with Jane just across the hall. I think of how wonderful it was to be part of a team of individuals who were dedicated to provided the best opportunities for the students. I wonder why I have given up a noble profession and an ideal environment in which to carry out that profession.

I need to hold on to what I believe was God's communication to me that although what I'm doing is good, it is not best in terms of where He wants me. I need to have courage that moving, new faces, and new challenges will not overwhelm me. I need to have faith that God will provide where I cannot manage, and the fact that God is with me is the source of my courage, my strength.

Be strong and very courageous.

Moving on

Wednesday was my last school day with students, and Friday was my last day of work overall. I've been so busy, or at least distracted, since then that I haven't missed it at all. People have asked me how it feels to be done, and I haven't been able to give them a precise answer. There have been moments in which I have felt sad, yet there have been moments when I have felt giddy excitement. I was expecting more of a climactic moment of at least one of the two though. I was sure I would cry at some point during my last week, but I haven't. Yet, excitement of what's coming hasn't blanketed my emotions either.

Things hit me with a little more force today though. The English Dept. was hired to format and type some reading modules for next year, so I went to work today to do that. Walking in the building, knowing that I really don't work there anymore, pricked something inside of me. I have developed such a sense of ownership for that building, for those walls, for those floors and doors. Then, later, the custodians called me into the lounge and gave me a gift. The custodians gave me a gift. I have received some beautiful, thoughtful gifts in the past week. Jane gave me a beautiful commentary set that I am sure I will use again and again during seminary. The English dept. girls got me a certificate to a beauty salon. Students gave me plants, candles, and even Dr. Pepper and Little Nutty Bars. But, a gift from the custodians... I wasn't expecting that at all. And then came a real moment of doubt as to whether I had done the right thing... with people around me who love me and care for me like this - am I really supposed to leave. I am part of a community here. The teachers, the staff, the administration, the parents, and, oh yes, the kids... I am part of the fabric of the school. Am I really supposed to give that up?

Yes, I think I am supposed to give all of this up. It's another milestone in my life at which I am looking back, seeing the trials vividly, but also clearly seeing that God was faithful through every day. He once again provided me with a community that I cannot imagine can be surpassed anywhere ever again. But I assume He will work beyond my imagination. I'm counting on it.

Perfect

As I was journaling tonight, I wrote the word perfect in relation to a prayer for a friend, and my pen lingered at the end. I wrote it again. Perfect. Perfect. God’s ways are perfect. God’s wisdom is perfect. God’s hand over my life is perfect. God’s faithfulness is perfect. God’s love is perfect. God’s plan is perfect.

My ways are not perfect. I leaf backwards through my journal and see expressions of gratitude and praise at God’s work in my life. Prayers that I had prayed for so long had been answered in ways more amazing than I even hoped for. The way things turned out were practically...perfect. Those times of such visibly answered prayer were followed by my grandiose expressions of surrender, trust, and faith. Yet, as the days and weeks wear on, I become less confident in God’s hand over the details of my life. I start maneuvering to make sure things happen the way I think they should. I think about what I want and what games I need to play in order to get it. I forget that God’s plan is perfect. I forget that I don’t have to claw and fight to survive. I forget that God’s faithfulness is perfect. I forget that God’s provision is perfect.

God is perfect. And His will will be done. Why do I forget? To forget God's faithfulness is to fight it. I don't want to fight God. I don't want to fight the perfect. I want to see His perfect will unfold. And I want to enjoy it. And I want to be part of it.

I'll never be perfect. I'll never be anything if not sustained by His love. But I get to participate in it. The flawed brought in by the Unblemished, the unsteady brought in by the Absolute, the wayward brought in by the Constant. The rebellious and selfish brought in by Perfect Love. I forever created. God forever Creator. Mysterious. Dumbfounding. Perfect. And do I dare tread so lightly? Do I dare tweak what is not flawed. Do I dare insert my ambition into perfection? I hope not. Oh, I hope not.

Sheesh

I think I've about had it. I almost starting crying tonight when I couldn't find iron-on hem fixer stuff at Walmart tonight. Then I felt like crying because I don't know how to sew and when I was in junior high in home economics I had to stay after school for sewing because I always messed everything up. My seam-ripper got more use than any other seam-ripper in the class, and even after staying after school and having to do it over and over again the stitches on my home-made locker organizer were still crooked. I can't sew a button on and I can't iron a shirt very well. I'm scared of 100% cotton. And I have a headache and a kid left a roach on my desk this morning. I wish I could be one of those teachers who stay steady and calm and remove insects, rodents, and all things disgusting without reaction or disruption. I, on the other hand, scream and according to one kid, "totally trip out." I went to Arby's drive through today and drove off forgetting to wait for my $15.00 in change. I'm a high-strung, domestically impaired, spacey twenty-something who is quitting her steady job. Sheesh. I'm going to bed.

My mom makes me laugh

My mom is a school librarian. I love her emails...

May 5, 1:27 PM
"Well, I hope you are all having perfectly peaceful afternoons! As for me, I was just getting started on the ageold story of the Blind Men and the Elephant with kindergarteners when Dylan jumps up screaming at the top of his lungs, "I lost my tooth. I lost my tooth."

Normally when this happens, I just tape the tooth to an index card so it does not get lost and have them stick it in a pocket. But not Dylan. No, Dylan keeps screaming at me to "Put it back in. Put it back in. I don't want to lose my teeth. I don't want to lose my teeth. My mom will be mad if I come home without a tooth!" Now he is sobbing uncontrollably

Being a very empathetic group of kindergarteners, two or three also start sobbing because Dylan is sobbing. Then two others become somewhat distraught because they are scared their teeth might start falling out in some sort of twisted oral pandemic affecting LeRoy six year olds.

I go to get a kleenex for Dylan and the entire class follows me across the room alternately crying, yelling, some begging to see the empty spot in Dylan's mouth - which further heightens Dylan's terror -etc.

Luckily Tricia appeared, a miracle to be sure, and whisked the tooth out of the room seconds before total anarchy broke out.

Hope you all are having a lovely afternoon!"

For Karen

I had never heard of a vole until a few days ago when my friend Tammy exclaimed, "Maybe it was a vole!" My other friend Carrie and I looked at her incredulously as Carrie remarked, "And now you're just making up creatures." But, sure enough, voles are real. Why hasn't anyone taught me about voles before? Apparently they're everywhere.

According to that bastion of unfallible knowledge, Wikipedia, the meadow vole (microtus pennsylvanicus) is a small rodent that creates pathways in soft brush or burrows just beneath the ground's surface. They are commonly called field mice, although they are not mice. They have more fur, have smaller ears, and are the only rodent whose molars never stop growing throughout their lifetime. (However, it being that it is rare for them to live over one year, I don't see what's so special about their molars never reaching maturity).

The meadow vole is not the only species of vole out there; several different types of voles exist throughout the world. Although the meadow vole is not indiginous to Florida, the Florida salt marsh vole has its home there and is considered an endangered species. So, JP, if you ever rescue a Florida salt marsh vole, don't throw it out a window.

Vole

Opening up my blog to that spider was just unpleasant, so I'm posting something more soothing. No spider bite so far, and I, and any other spider in my house, survived the night last night without incident.

However, my week this week contains not just one, but two wild nature adventures. Two days ago an ashen-faced girl approached me in the hallway and said a mouse had just crawled over her feet in the girls' bathroom. This disturbed me greatly, mostly because it was my planning period and I really needed to use the restroom. My first instinct was to find a custodian to kill it, but there were no custodians around. I could have gone to another restroom, but the idea of using another bathroom while a panic-stricken rodent was zig-zagging across the floor in the first one seemed irresponsible, not to mention dangerous.

Then I thought of Nina. Nina is the German teacher with whom I went to Germany last summer. This woman rocks my world. She loves animals - all animals; the woman adores slugs, rescues mice, and clasps wasps in her bare hands and sets them free. I don't understand her love for filthy little vermon, but I respect her for it, and I know I can count on her to rid my space of disgusting and dangerous creatures. I stepped into her classroom and told her I would watch her students if she wanted to go rescue the mouse. She took off without looking back and seconds later came back with this tiny creature wrapped in a dishcloth. It wasn't a mouse after all - it was a baby vole, a creature I had never even heard of until two days ago. We ooo'd and awe'd over it, and then, as gracefully as she came in, Frau threw the vole out of a second story window. She threw it out the window! We all gasped, a girl yelled, "You totally just killed the thing," and Frau ran to the window, saying, "No, that couldn't have killed it!" I'm pretty sure it died. I'm pretty sure Frau saved it from the girls bathroom only to throw it out the window.

Though I think it died, I told a heart-broken Frau today that it was probably alright. They don't weigh very much, so maybe the impact of a fall isn't very great. Maybe it stopped moving because it was just taking a nap. Maybe it was taking time to appreciate life after two near-death experiences.

Oh my goodness, I know this sounds sordid, but I was laughing so hard yesterday I was doubled-over. And I can't tease Frau about it, because she is upset about it. Oh, but I was crying I was laughing so hard.

Brown Recluse

This morning I found a brown recluse spider - in my bed. It was dead, squashed, I'm assuming victim to the weight of my own body. The question is: did it bite me before I unknowingly yet mercilessly ended its life? If it had bitten me, would I know by now? Let's say the bite is in the middle of my back where I can't see it. Would it itch or burn or anything like that? I have a student who was out for two days last week recovering from a nasty recluse bite on his leg. I saw it. Any experts out there?

I'm not going to miss this

Tonight I think I can alter careers in good conscience. Standardized testing of aptitude in writing. Need I say more? As of right now, one standardized test requires a five-paragraph persuasive essay with no concession point. Another standardized test requires a concession point. Put a concession in one and get marked down. Fail to put a concession in the other one and lose a ranking. And it's not like the criteria for such tests are given to the students ahead of time for them to process, plan, and organize. It's just that one group of people decided that concession points are effective, and therefore all students should realize that too. Another group of people decided that concession points are not effective, and therefore students should be smarter than the other test designers and not put in a concession point.

We teachers can teach both. Of course we can. We teach several styles and purposes for writing, and we engage students in discussion of what techniques are most appropriate for different audiences and situations. Yet, to tell a student to write an essay on a standardized test and then evaluate them according to arbitrary formats instead of their skill in effective communication is ludicrous. Put in a summary sentence. Don't put in a summary sentence. Preview the main points. Don't preview the main points. This is so ridiculous. Evaluate someone's ability to communicate through the written word. If the essay grabbed a reader's attention, kept her interested, and presented facts in a clear, thought-provoking manner, why does it matter if there was a summary sentence or not? The workforce doesn't care. Higher academics doesn't care. But the state cares because it is something clear that can be quickly identified and scored on a rubric. Test. Evaluate. Rate me as a teacher. But please, evaluate what matters.

I am not going to miss those guidelines - they are lead balloons on a teacher's perspective. I know that no matter where I go or what I do I will have to jump through hoops, but, I'm enjoying a moment of relief knowing at least I won't have to jump through the standardized testing hoop next year.

In our own backyard

Teaching turns your perspective upside down. You don't need to go to a famine-stricken country to realize how lucky you are; you just need to go to your local public schools. I teach in an affluent white-collar community. Yet, I know I teach homeless students. Well, I don't know for certain, and I couldn't tell you who exactly was homeless, but I know not every kid is welcome in his or her parents' home. They may have an address, but they don't always go home at night. They go from one friend's house to another, and if they are lucky, they land with a family who actually cares about them, and, if they make the right choices, they'll stay with that family, stay out of trouble, and finish high school. Have you ever driven by an outdoor high school hangout in the winter's cold and observed some sordid-looking 13 -17 year-olds? Have you ever wondered why they would stay outside smoking in the freezing cold instead of go somewhere warm? Have you ever wondered why they would rather be there instead of home? Do you really want to know the answers? Some of the kids are there because they've chosen to reject the guidance and wisdom that their parents have tried so hard to give them. Some of the kids are there because they are emotionally and physically safer there than any other place they've ever known. I live in an affluent community where everyone is supposed to be happy, where it is supposedly safe to walk at night, where lawns are neatly trimmed, where brick banks offering 10K CD's pop up on corners. Yet I still have students who have parents in prison. I still have students who are trying to get reacquainted with their mothers or fathers after years of absence. I still have students who are raising their younger siblings because there is nobody else to do it. I still have students who know they shouldn't ride with a drunk driver but don't know what to do when it is their very own parents who are drunk. Pain is everywhere. It's down the street from you. Literally.

Monday, May 1

1. 5:30 wake-up call from Kristen Browning. I really don't want to start my day.

2. Turn all lights on in the house. Make hot caffeinated beverage. Sit down with Upmost for His Highest. Read about daily, unremarkable servanthood in comparison with fleeting mountain-top emotional highs. I am comforted. 5:30 in the morning feels a lot like servanthood and not anything like mountain-top emotional highs.

3. Think back to an argument that I had with a friend yesterday. I begin to think that the argument is more my fault than I at first realized.

4. Grade a couple essays.

5. Get dressed, make-up, hair, jewelry, yada yada...

6. Get to work on time, even a couple minutes early.

7. Make copies for the day.

8. Go to get a Dr. Pepper from the soda machine and hear a teacher complaining about how students standing in front of the entry doors don't even step aside for her when she walks in. I go outside and give a short lesson on how to hold doors open for people. They don't take me seriously, but they are amused. One boy opens the door for me as I go back in. I tell him he's my favorite student.

9. Discuss emotional problems of student with special ed teacher.

10. 7:50, time to start class. Explain why a writer should not use all caps in formal writing. Explain why three exclamation points after a sentence is not a professional move. Threaten students that if they don't have their essay done on Friday their grades are in danger of dropping two letter grades. Trust me - it's not an empty threat.

11. - 152. Pass out ballots for class elections, collect ballots for class elections, go upstairs to teach class there, come back downstairs to teach class there, act out Brutus' death scene, deal with angry student failing because of plaigarism, tape a student's paper to his desk because he can't stop rolling it up long enough to write down any answers, lunch duty, track down drama president, make drama president mad, counsel a girl that it's okay if she is not sure what she wants to be when she grows up, tell Jane it'll be okay, eat lunch, substitute teach for home ec. teacher, lose class election ballots, find election ballots, check email, go to visitation, come back, drama banquet, get sound system to work, make drama president mad again, eat food at banquet, help clean up banquet, organize papers, write emails, come home.

153. There was a spectacular lightning show as I was driving home tonight. Shards of light jumped from one cloud to another around the entire sky's rim. When I walked into the house dancing light was pouring in on all sides. I've heard several friends talk about electricity in their romantic relationships lately. I smiled as I watched the flashing light reflect over my pictures, books, and dirty dishes. Electricity on top of material blessings on top of relationships on top of God's presence with me throughout the day. Perhaps a mountaintop moment was in store after all.