"If you are uncomfortable, you are probably learning," she says. It is so hard to see. All it feels like is darkness. Stumbling. Fear. A fear that I don't quite feel like I am embracing correctly or fully or appropriately. Fears that I shy away from, hope they will go away soon.
"Write down a personal earthquake," he says. Earthquakes. Where the ground rumbles and the earth opens, swallowing you whole. Taking you into its sludge. All that you feel is darkness.
It is spring and classes are coming to a close, last bits of teacher work samples, journal entries, and portfolios resolved. Lesson plans and presentations. "Come prepared with questions," she says.
I can't help but wonder if I've done well enough. For what could be the first time in my life, I wonder if I've begun to do average work-- I fall into the median and it scares me. Failure. I wonder what has happened to the self I used to know. I wonder who this new person is that has taken my place-- I wonder if I will like her. This timid, unfamiliar self. I don't know her well enough to trust her. Will she say something I wouldn't want her to say? Would it be okay if I just hid away for a while until we were reaquainted?
Sometimes I feel as though I am making good ground towards getting to know myself again-- but then all of the sudden, she aludes me again. I am a mystery even to myself. I want to know and be known, but I can't seem to catch me.
I look around at these people who used to by my peers and suddenly everyone seems young and unexperienced in their jeans and t-shirts. Shorts and tank tops that I've forgotten how to wear. The things I know now are slacks and closed-toe shoes. And yet, I feel younger at times than them all. It as if I'm straddling a river of sorts. One leg in one leg out, venturing out, but still sheltered. Quiet. Unable to sepak. Easily intimidated, quickly controlled. Those parts of me that I hate.
"What is your name," the question asks. I have to consider for myself-- what would I answer? What is my name? Can someone tell me? I feel as though the tag has been lost somewhere and I am remembering, like the 5-year-olds I'm asked to lead, how to write it again.
"You know your story is good if you are afriad," the novelist admonishes. Is the story good if you see the fears and can only stand still? Someone once said, "You are learning," and all I could think was I am falling down, over and over. What do you learn besides the feeling of sidewalk on your raw knees? You are learning. Is there something to be learned from our pains and fears? I think I read somewhere once that this is so, but even the idea of what that lesson could be alludes me. Can anything be learned outside of embrace?
I feel shaky again today. It feels like the earth beneath me has been rumbling for days, like a stomache starving for food. The land has opened and swallowed me whole. And I am waiting for the moment when I can feel the pain-- and know the embrace.
Tuesday, April 29
Monday, April 28
I've been climbing a lot of hills these days and it feels as though my breath is becoming very short. I went for a hike last week up a steep trail and couldn't help thinking about how tired I am of climbing in my regular life. I got to thinking about perseverance and how little I seem to have of that these days. When it nears the end of the semester, I always think about some advice I got years ago: finish well. Finish well. I often hope that I will be a person that finishes well, although it is always tempted when it comes to times like these when the weeks to the end of the semester are dwindling. I want to give up, to quit, to give myself an excuse to stop climbing before I reach the top. But last week, when I reached the top, sat on the flat of the rock that I've many times viewed on a drive home from the store or from work, there was this wonderful sense of peace and rest. A rest that I haven't felt for a while.
Sometimes I want to quit. Last night, we sat together in a circle talking about stories, about our stories, about what kind of stories our lives will tell. We asked each other questions about what happens when we want to give up? Is the story more interesting when there is a chance that we could actually loose our lives? We asked each other if there was anything we were afraid of-- a mark of whether or not our stories are good. Risk. Walking through new doors. And I began to wonder if there was grace for those days when I just don't have the strength to pick up another foot, walk through another new space. Or if perhaps I'm simply putting my energy towards things that don't quite matter enough. Could be.
The semester is over, although the promise of summer brings all kinds of fears and uncertainties. The adventure, the possibilities that lie ahead are totally unknown. I feel as though I am walking in the dark, plodding along with little evidence of success or failure. Just walking. It sometimes feels as though I am accomplishing little, growing none. Sometimes, when it is dark, we wonder if we are moving at all or if we are simply pacing in place. Sometimes I wonder that.
This semester has felt like a lot of failure. Perhaps I've mentioned that before. I imagine myself crawling, groveling, wondering if anything has been accomplished in me these past four months. I can't help but doubt. I see my hands going through motions, but has there been anything of substance? Any progress made? Does it matter? I feel this sense of failure and think that maybe if I just embraced it, then it would be okay. But I don't seem to have even the strength to raise my arms high enough for that.
Sometimes I want to quit. Last night, we sat together in a circle talking about stories, about our stories, about what kind of stories our lives will tell. We asked each other questions about what happens when we want to give up? Is the story more interesting when there is a chance that we could actually loose our lives? We asked each other if there was anything we were afraid of-- a mark of whether or not our stories are good. Risk. Walking through new doors. And I began to wonder if there was grace for those days when I just don't have the strength to pick up another foot, walk through another new space. Or if perhaps I'm simply putting my energy towards things that don't quite matter enough. Could be.
The semester is over, although the promise of summer brings all kinds of fears and uncertainties. The adventure, the possibilities that lie ahead are totally unknown. I feel as though I am walking in the dark, plodding along with little evidence of success or failure. Just walking. It sometimes feels as though I am accomplishing little, growing none. Sometimes, when it is dark, we wonder if we are moving at all or if we are simply pacing in place. Sometimes I wonder that.
This semester has felt like a lot of failure. Perhaps I've mentioned that before. I imagine myself crawling, groveling, wondering if anything has been accomplished in me these past four months. I can't help but doubt. I see my hands going through motions, but has there been anything of substance? Any progress made? Does it matter? I feel this sense of failure and think that maybe if I just embraced it, then it would be okay. But I don't seem to have even the strength to raise my arms high enough for that.
Wednesday, April 16
He knew all along.
He knew that we would need two closets.
He knew about the ants and the dishwasher
The neighbors and the rent
He wasn't surprised about the bills the electicity
He knew
He knew about the wind and the weather
The snow and the heat
He knew about the hill and the bike
He knew about her
About unlikely friends
People who quickly become family
When you take a few risks
Walk a few steps forward
He knows about the credits and the classes
He knows about the jobs
The coffeehouses and the grocery stores
He knew about the kindergarteners and resumes
He knows about other children
Other summer places
And somehow he still knows
About June and August
Rent and moving boxes
Basements and gas prices
Houses with garages
Apartments with double sinks
Sliding glass doors and balconies
He sees
He knows where we will be
His hand will lead
And nothing can release
He knows about eyes that don't stay open
Arms that are tired
Brains too tired to think anymore
He knows about dreams
He holds the desires of our hearts
My heart
Even when it feels heavy and dark
Impossible
Uncertain
In a day it could all change
One house for $975
Three bedrooms
One street
A house number and a welcome mat
Friends that quickly become family
He knew we would need to laugh
He knows the moments we need to cry
He knows what it is to worry
Days worrying about themselves
He knows
Somehow
He sees
He's waiting with the best
Open hand
Even when I'm too tired to attempt to think
In any different ways
He knows
That I need his faithfulness
His compassion
His mercy
His life in me
So I can get up and do it one more day.
He knows.
--Photo by phitar
Thursday, April 10
So, it's only been a few weeks since I wrote. It seems unreal (and impossible) that there are only four weeks left in the semester, although the bags under my eyes surely show it. It seems hard to believe that I am almost finished with Phase II (of four) of the education program and I only have two more semesters of classes before student teaching. It seems strange that I've effectively made it through three school years of studying the fine arts and I am almost ready to enter the wild world of Advanced painting where I finally get to choose what I paint (which may or may not be as fun as I think it should be).
I feel like I am waist-high in the "Professional Development School," and feel very lucky to have chosen a field in which they place a great deal of emphasis on what your life will actually look like when you get out of school. School for me right now looks a lot like the real world, which, unfortunately, seems often so rare in the school. I am used to wearing dress pants at least on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. I find that my primary wardrobe in comprised of a strange combination of professional attire and clothing that is accustomed to the saturation of oil paint and mineral spirits-- I find myself savoring the feeling of clean blue jeans and a shirt that can legitimately be called "casual." My Instruction and Management teacher calls these clothes "University Mode." I find myself wishing I could go back to the days of just being a student, but suddenly find myself carrying the weight of labels such as "role model," "Mentor," "Authority," and "adult" draped across my shoulders. It is heavy, but it fills you deeply and fully.
Teaching, I am beginning to understand, is not a calling for the weak. I am daily learning the meaning of the words, "tough love," and find myself growing a backbone in terms of boundaries and conflict management. I still get flustered when I need to settle an argument between two five year olds (which is often irrational, of course), but I hunger for the day that I figure it out. Each week, new speakers come in to my classes to tell us what it is like to be teachers. I think the most common reflection we receive is the reminder that you'll never know everything and you will be daily making mistakes. More and more I am beginning to see the importance of forgiveness because I can see how much teachers need it.
This feels strange to say outloud, but I am learning that I love kids. Last week I was speaking to someone about all that has happened to me this school year in terms of jobs and suddenly realized that all of those questions I was asking about where I was supposed to be and what I should be doing with my time instantly faded when I took this job working in this kindergarten class. I have never once questioned where I should be since I began there-- I don't think I can ever go back to working anywhere outside of some sort of school environment. This is all that I want to do. That is a beautiful, wonderful realization. I almost feel unworthy of it.
I've been thinking a lot in the last few weeks about what I've been called to. I have this sense that I've been made for something significant, that God has made me this leader-person for some very strange reason. I often feel as though I've been given a sword too great for me to wield-- I daily wonder at this thing I've been given. How did he come to choose me for this noble task of teaching? A few weeks back, I was sitting, listening to a speaker talk about people who would change the world someday and remember thinking to myself, I'm not sure I want to be in positions of leadership in my life-- it would be a lot easier (and cleaner) for me to just be a person behind the scenes, following. And I had this sense of a voice saying in reply, But this is the place that I've called you to and you must stand up under it. I feel as though I've been given a sword to great for me to weild.
I often wonder what all of this means? What will my life be? Where will I go when I am out of the bounds of the "PDS"-- when I am in a classroom full of kids all alone. They often speak to us about how most teachers quit after only three years of teaching, how in the first year it will be hard, and maybe by the third year we will begin to see things move and change. Veteran teachers say if you want to have an effect on education, you must stay in it for 30 years. I want to be in it for the long haul. It seems strange to write these things, to be looking down the barrel of your career, your life-- like for the last 21 years have been building up to this, this moment of breaking out into the freedom of all that you'v been made to do.
I mean, surely, things change and perhaps I'll end up doing something else all together, but there is this beautiful thing when you begin to see all the good you've been made to be begin to materialize. And maybe I'm being idealistic. Maybe not.
I feel like I am waist-high in the "Professional Development School," and feel very lucky to have chosen a field in which they place a great deal of emphasis on what your life will actually look like when you get out of school. School for me right now looks a lot like the real world, which, unfortunately, seems often so rare in the school. I am used to wearing dress pants at least on Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. I find that my primary wardrobe in comprised of a strange combination of professional attire and clothing that is accustomed to the saturation of oil paint and mineral spirits-- I find myself savoring the feeling of clean blue jeans and a shirt that can legitimately be called "casual." My Instruction and Management teacher calls these clothes "University Mode." I find myself wishing I could go back to the days of just being a student, but suddenly find myself carrying the weight of labels such as "role model," "Mentor," "Authority," and "adult" draped across my shoulders. It is heavy, but it fills you deeply and fully.
Teaching, I am beginning to understand, is not a calling for the weak. I am daily learning the meaning of the words, "tough love," and find myself growing a backbone in terms of boundaries and conflict management. I still get flustered when I need to settle an argument between two five year olds (which is often irrational, of course), but I hunger for the day that I figure it out. Each week, new speakers come in to my classes to tell us what it is like to be teachers. I think the most common reflection we receive is the reminder that you'll never know everything and you will be daily making mistakes. More and more I am beginning to see the importance of forgiveness because I can see how much teachers need it.
This feels strange to say outloud, but I am learning that I love kids. Last week I was speaking to someone about all that has happened to me this school year in terms of jobs and suddenly realized that all of those questions I was asking about where I was supposed to be and what I should be doing with my time instantly faded when I took this job working in this kindergarten class. I have never once questioned where I should be since I began there-- I don't think I can ever go back to working anywhere outside of some sort of school environment. This is all that I want to do. That is a beautiful, wonderful realization. I almost feel unworthy of it.
I've been thinking a lot in the last few weeks about what I've been called to. I have this sense that I've been made for something significant, that God has made me this leader-person for some very strange reason. I often feel as though I've been given a sword too great for me to wield-- I daily wonder at this thing I've been given. How did he come to choose me for this noble task of teaching? A few weeks back, I was sitting, listening to a speaker talk about people who would change the world someday and remember thinking to myself, I'm not sure I want to be in positions of leadership in my life-- it would be a lot easier (and cleaner) for me to just be a person behind the scenes, following. And I had this sense of a voice saying in reply, But this is the place that I've called you to and you must stand up under it. I feel as though I've been given a sword to great for me to weild.
I often wonder what all of this means? What will my life be? Where will I go when I am out of the bounds of the "PDS"-- when I am in a classroom full of kids all alone. They often speak to us about how most teachers quit after only three years of teaching, how in the first year it will be hard, and maybe by the third year we will begin to see things move and change. Veteran teachers say if you want to have an effect on education, you must stay in it for 30 years. I want to be in it for the long haul. It seems strange to write these things, to be looking down the barrel of your career, your life-- like for the last 21 years have been building up to this, this moment of breaking out into the freedom of all that you'v been made to do.
I mean, surely, things change and perhaps I'll end up doing something else all together, but there is this beautiful thing when you begin to see all the good you've been made to be begin to materialize. And maybe I'm being idealistic. Maybe not.
Hey everybody,
Due to the personal nature of what I write here and a growing need to focus on my quickly developing professional life as a "teacher candidate" (I just like to say that), I need to make some changes to this blog to make it a bit harder to find. As a result, in the next couple of days, I am going to be changing the URL of this blog to www.lessonsinfreefalling.blogspot.com, so please update your RSS feeds &/or bookmarks if you wish to continue following the innerworkings of my brain. The content should stay the same, but hopefully it will resolve some "over-googling" issues. Similarly, if you have been googling my full name to get to this site, stop it!
Thanks!
Due to the personal nature of what I write here and a growing need to focus on my quickly developing professional life as a "teacher candidate" (I just like to say that), I need to make some changes to this blog to make it a bit harder to find. As a result, in the next couple of days, I am going to be changing the URL of this blog to www.lessonsinfreefalling.blogspot.com, so please update your RSS feeds &/or bookmarks if you wish to continue following the innerworkings of my brain. The content should stay the same, but hopefully it will resolve some "over-googling" issues. Similarly, if you have been googling my full name to get to this site, stop it!
Thanks!
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