All of everything, erased

Time to try breathing again.

On Monday I directed my middle school band in a concert for the first time. Was it perfect? Far from it, but that did a really fantastic job, despite me.

On Tuesday my classes had their reading parties, and I was reminded that rated PG movies from the nineties are a little dicier than rated PG movies from now.

On Wednesday we had our Christmas party, and we played games with our room moms in the gym. I learned my fifth graders need to work on their sportsmanship... a lot. We also celebrated our library finally being finished, giving well-deserved credit to the teacher who is in charge of the library.

And now it’s Thursday. I can hardly believe it. One semester is behind me, and I still feel like kid with new shoes and new backpack showing up for my first day of school. At the same time, I don’t know, teaching has started to feel natural. I feel at home in my classroom. I walk through it, picking up trash and putting in chairs without even thinking. And I’ve read what second year teachers in Magis have written on their blogs... that is gets easier. But I can feel it getting easier right now. Not to say it’s easy... haha. It’s hard work every single day, but that word is routine, there are things I find myself completely in the dark about. I’m just sometimes in a shadow.

Now... Now it’s the perfect time for a break, a break meant for celebrating and praying and loving. I’m so excited to see my family, to cause rascally trouble at home, to enjoy friendships.

We either need a new plan or some disguises

Christmas abounds at Magis York. Today I received my first ever Christmas gift from a student. Granted, it was a butterfly. As the fifth and sixth graders found out at our late October visit to the zoo, I'm terrified of butterflies. Cowering in fear in the butterfly pavilion terrified. Did this seventh grader know that? It's possible she didn't, but I'm not convinced.

I just bought things to spruce up the Christmas spirit in my classroom. I tend to overdo. I've probably overdone it. I don't really care, though. I love Christmas. I love the small spark in the blackness of winter that erupts into a torrent of light. I love the carols. I love the family. I love the feeling the love that takes a physical form in almost every room you enter. I want to share that feeling and excitement with my students. I almost relate to them better through things like Christmas. A lot of me is still a fifth grade girl not being able to sneak a peek in her stocking before Mom takes the annual Christmas morning photo. I'll probably still put cookies out this year for Santa. Maybe it's silly. It just feels right.

In many ways, I need the Christmas season during this time of year. On rare nights, when the air is still and the burgundy, winter sky gives a warm glow to everything shivering the cold, I can appreciate winter for what it is. But most of the time all I feel is the wind, and how it seems much angrier now that the days are shorter and the night longer. And the silence, though beautiful, gives the night a sense of loneliness I've only felt in at nursing homes and bus stops.

This season of love transforms everything into incredible, breath-stealing moments, separate from temperature or daylight. To be able to share such a special time with my students... I don't know, I just feel lucky.

Not your average potatoes

Roots. We were talking about root words... The 7th and 8th graders... not amused.

The fifth graders have individual whiteboards in their desks. Honestly, it comes in pretty handy when we do examples in class. It does not, however, come in handy all of the other moments during the day when they feel it's appropriate to be doodling on their boards. During this year some time they picked up on the practice of writing their "moods" on the board. For example, "Mood: sick." That's maybe one of my favorite moods to read. Lately, though, they've been telling much, much more. Yesterday I read a board that said this:

Mood: Peaceful
Animal: Garlic cheese boat (I don't know what this is.)
Food: Everyone of them
Color: Lime green, lime blue (Lime blue is also my favorite color.)
Quote: "A person is a person no matter how big or small." ~ Dr. Suess.

Another said this:

Sport: football
Colors: red, black
Animals: tigers, snakes
Mood: sad (this was accompanied by a crying face)

Another board simply said:

Joey (I'm pretty sure this is the board's name... My students are naming their whiteboards, people.)

Ahhh.... life is sweet.

The gospel in your belly

I don’t think I expected every day of teaching to be so tumultuous. It’s a constant game of Chutes and Ladders, and usually, usually I’m winning. When I’m losing, I’m losing hard, and it takes a strong dose of deep breaths and steady footsteps to let the game go, to remember how great this is. And ya’ll this is the time. This is the only time that matters.

During morning recess, if I don’t have recess duty, I usually take some time to relax. Not today, though. Today three of my students came in to prepare a birthday present for the twins in the fifth grade. The fifth graders are so strange. They brought two, small black bricks over to my desk.
“Ms. Davis, will you hide these for us for a while?”

Slowly all of the fifth graders filtered in and out of my classroom, signing the bricks. We ate ice cream fluff, we listened to music, we gave bricks out... a pretty good birthday.

If you would have asked me a year ago if I would be teaching fifth grade (or sixth through eighth grade) this year. My answer would have been no. Absolutely not. In fact, I probably would have told you I wouldn’t have been interested in Magis if it meant I had to teach middle school. I was so stupid. I get a little weepy when I think about it, and the tears come a little spattered at the edge of my eyelids as I work to hold them back. This is a silly thing for tears. But, honestly, I could spend all day, every day with the those squirrely fifth graders.

I couldn’t do this every day if I didn’t love it. I’m not one for working this hard. I like these that come easy for me. I mean, who doesn’t. I like a challenge, but I like that challenge not to get in the way of anything else I might want to do. But this... this is perfect. This is what I want to be doing. And I’m loving every minute of it. Even the minutes I hate, even the minutes that feel like nothing should be this hard, I love. If that makes any sense.

Ave Maria

I have a classroom of entrepreneurs. I should probably be teaching the fifth graders business. They'd thank me in the long run. Some day Ella's clay meal business will become a world-renowned toy company. Perhaps, David's free swing tickets will become the Ticketmaster. Mayhaps. Mayhaps not. I don't know when they work no these projects. It's certainly not while I'm teaching. Many of them I had not even noticed, but this weekend I decided to read the little pieces of paper they have taped to their desks. Each paper offered a different ware or service to anyone who was interested. Most were free, but a few came with a penny or nickel price tag. These fifth graders drive a hard bargain.

Unfortunately for them, I do not have a heart or mind for business. If it were up to my teaching, they would all become hopeless, dreaming artists with nothing to live off but their love of everything. Beautiful, but useless.

Most of them don't love learning. At least, they act as though it's the book stuff they don't enjoy learning. That's fair, I suppose. I don't think I'd want to spend my days reciting and practicing using intensive and reflexive pronouns, either. So I don't really mind that they're not that interested in my rants about the parts of speech. If only there were some way to channel their passion for learning about life, people, friendships and nature into a passion for learning in general. And I'm not talking about learning pronouns. Forget the pronouns. I'm talking about asking big questions. To plowing deeper into the chasms of things that I probably don't know. I'd love that. But now were stuck on how boring those pronouns are and how much we want to go to recess. And, for now, that's what I expect, but I'll keep hoping and trying for more.

Rusty Steve and the couples skate

Almost every morning when I walk into school someone asks me to do something. Usually it's simple like, "Could you get me a sample of some student work?" or "Could you grab the label maker for me?" Sure, no problem. Today, MFP and I were asked to chaperon the 3-8 grade skate party for students who made their magazine sale goals.

As we pulled up to the decrepit building labeled "Roller Skating," in what the mom I was riding with called the "not as nice" part of town, I started to regret the fact that I didn't wear shoes with socks today, but only a little. I laced skates and clipped roller blades as tight as I could. Then I watched (read: cringed) as my students haphazardly made their way around the rink. Just as they started to improve, another mom walked through the door. Socks. She had gone and bought socks for MFP and me. I knew then that there was no getting out of putting on my uncoordinated show. After showing off my sick rollerblading skills for a while, a couples skate started. At first I questioned it, wondering if a couples skate was entirely appropriate for mainly elementary school students, but a quick glance across the rink assured me it wouldn't be a problem. Friends paired up with friends. A few older boys were helping younger students skate across the floor. Everything was platonic, except for two pairs. Two sixth grade boys had paired up with two sixth grade girls. Now, I only had two options. Get in a huff about it, or enjoy the show... and what a show it was.

They skated around until the song ended and lights came back up, then quickly parted. It was, in short, hilarious. Later, as I stood watching students request songs, one of those boys came up to the music booth. "Can I request another couples skate?" Bingo. All of my questions were answered. Of course they wouldn't have simply done a couples skate for a bunch of young kids. It was requested. The man running the music looked at the students and said, "Sorry, I don't think we have time for another couples skate." The young boy turned to leave, crestfallen. Then the worker called him back, "If you want to skate with her that bad, just go grab her hand. No one will notice. Well, hopefully she will, but no one else."

Romance at the skating rink.

In other news, my fifth graders are creating characters for a novel assessment. The winners so far in my book are Rusty Steve, a rusted knight stuck in his armor, and Crotchety the Elf, an angry old elf who eats children. Perfect.

Flow river flow, flow over me

When the fifth graders enter their classroom tomorrow, it will be pandemonium - all the excitement of a panda without the rarity. I moved their desks today. Granted, they’ve been asking me for a new seating arrangement for weeks. They shouldn’t be too surprised, but I’m certain it will be an ordeal.

Our first quarter just ended. As I sit here, I can’t decide if I want to say it went quickly or slowly. I guess it just went. It went at a pace of its own, absent of time, absent of anything, really. Time is strange for me here. It doesn’t seem like one day passing to next, rather, one endless day that goes on like winter. And that’s not a bad thing. It’s just... this is all I have. The completeness of one goal makes everything meld together, and leaving becomes jarring, almost. I feel like I’m not explaining myself very well. Have you ever been so immersed in a book that you’ve read for hours? Not knowing the time? Not really caring to know? Then perhaps the soft buzz of your phone calls you back to reality, or the light becomes so faint that you can hardly read the page. You’ve forgotten phones or light or life even existed. For that period of time, time didn’t exist. It was just you and your book. Being here, doing this, is like being settling down with a good book. While I’m reading, nothing else matters.

I’ve been praying for patience lately, patience in many aspects of my life. But, today, I’m praying for patience at school. I take it too personally when students don’t listen or forget a book or forget an assignment or forget their heads. It’s not that I take those things as personal attacks upon myself. I don’t. Instead, my reaction is personal to myself. It affects my mood. It affects how I respond to other stresses throughout the day. I don’t think I overreact, but the fact that I react at all bothers me, probably more than it should.

Thankfully, tomorrow is Monday, and Mondays are meant for the soul.

St. Monica pray for me.

Fluorescent Orange Toe Nails

The woman sitting across from me at the coffee shop has them, and they’re terrifying.

As I sat in Mass during our diocesan teachers institute, I noticed all of the familiar faces that had helped me grow both intellectually and spiritually during my time in school. It was both comforting and surreal to realize that I was not one of them. I still don’t really feel like I am. It’s strange to lump yourself into a group of people who you’ve always seen as something distinct and separate from yourself. It’s hard to let yourself be something new.

I feel new, though. I feel more and more every day that I’m supposed to be teaching. I guess it’s hard to explain. They just seem of a different place and time.

I started thinking about them more. What had they meant to me during those formative years? How did they rest in my memory. Not all of them made it into my list of “life changers,” but they all had belonged in a similar place in my history. They were all in some way important.

When I decided I wanted to teach, I thought a lot about the lasting memory I might have on students. Since August, though, that’s something that has hardly crossed by mind. And I’m thankful for that. That’s too much pressure to think about day in and day out. I can only focus on what I can do, right now, every day for my students. I can only hope that they’re understanding something. Anything.

Hopefully some of that pressure with ease with time. But for now, it’s necessary, and heavy like friendship. And I need it, because it keeps my head where I need it.

Even if my students don’t revere me as the one that brought them a love of language, they will remember me.

Take me to the river, and let me see again.

"Fifth grade! Let's get one thing straight before we start our day together. Yes, Miss Davis has a giant sunburn across her forehead. Yes, you can see a clear outline of her headband she wore yesterday in white in the middle of her forehead. It's funny. It's okay to laugh a little bit. She should probably be a little more responsible next time. That being said, we can't talk about it all day. We have way too much to do."

I walked down the rows of experimental corn with a mesh bag hooked to my belt, work sunglasses strapped to my head and dirt softly pelting my face as the wind groaned every few minutes. I thought early in the day about the sun, about what its effects would probably be, but I quickly forgot.

The fifth through eighth graders picked corn all day on Wednesday as a fundraiser for the year. It was fun. It was a lot more work than I expected it to be. And when a fellow teacher showed up to give rides back to school, I could tell by the look in her eyes when she saw me that my prediction about the sun had been right.

Thank God parent-teacher conferences aren't this week. Thank. God.

If there were a prize for looking the most insane at a job, I think I would have won for the remainder of last week. You can even see the faint, white silhouette of where the feather my student stuck in my headband rested against my hair line.

Don't worry though. I've been aloe-ing like a champ. It was worth it. Standing in that field with miles of indigo sky unfolding around me like Muddy Water's guitar seemed like the only thing we should be doing on that warm and windswept day.

I addressed all of my classes like that on Thursday. Immediately after that a student walked into my classroom late.

"Miss Davis, you are so sunburn. Your forehead looks hilarious."

Sigh... "You're right."

The dog days are over...

I could see the eyes of the seventh and eighth graders glaze over somewhere between Alcott's mother, Abigail, and her sister Elizabeth.

"Listen. I'm not going to try to fool you into thinking appositives are the most exciting thing you'll ever learn about, but it's not an open invitation to sleep."

No, I'll save fooling them into excitement with superlative adjectives. They'll be the excitedest... er... the most excited.

In a recent news article I was quoted as saying, "We're thrown in the water and asked to sink or swim."

I've always been a good swimmer. I can swim for miles. I can tread water for hours. I learned the butterfly when I was eight and the other strokes much earlier. Sinking has never been an option.

So when it seemed like the option was sink or swim, I have to say, I was relieved. But you see, I haven't done too much swimming in the last few years. In fact, I'm a little out of practice. And this is the part where my metaphors get confused with reality and what I'm actually talking about.

This teaching thing is just as hard as I though it would be. Granted, I made myself think it would be much harder than I actually hoped it would be... so I would be pleasantly surprised. Nope. Just as hard. But it's hard in a way that I've seldom experienced, where I feel challenged to do better every day, where even a good day is a day that could use a lot of improvement. That's a type of pressure that seems foreign and uncomfortable and, in a way, perfect.

"We were not made for comfort. We were made for greatness." - Father Hudgins

So here I am, with my teacher floaties, just beyond the shallow, simply remembering to breathe.

Heaven Bound and Glory Be

Three times a week I walk over wood chips, pine needles and asphalt as wind whips fiercely past me and several dozen students.

Recess.

I love recess. I find everything about it wonderful. Being outside. Being in the gym. Observing... mostly the observing. Everything.

Usually ball tag takes the jungle gym, kickball the pavement, football the grass. Some students stand on the teeter totter until I notice and remind them that seats aren't for feet(s). The seventh and eighth graders usually play tether ball.

But not the fifth grade girls. No. They farm.

Every day six or seven on them gather under the pine trees with two rakes and a hoe. And they farm the dirt. They move pine needles from side to side. They rake the sand. They dig surreptitiously. Surreptitious, because no one seems to notice or think it strange that a handful of 11-year-old girls choose their fleeting seconds of freedom to be used in thankless and baffling labor. Surreptitious, because I'm starting to find it normal as well. 

Sometimes I wonder how much we could accomplish if their steady, earnest farming were translated into reading or writing or thinking or learning. But such raw dedication can't be manufactured or stolen or simply created. It has to grow, like the fifth grade girls' dirt garden.

I guess what I'm saying is: I'm working on growing a dirt garden.

School is Dino-mite!

At least, that's what the poster on the door of the fifth grade classroom says. Sure, the spelling leaves something to be desired, but that's why I have a spelling bulletin board in the room. "Proper Spelling is the Bee's Knees." Oh man, this is bad news. I did it again. (James, I hope you're eating this up.)

I should probably be sleeping right now. Don't worry. I will be soon. It's just that... the last two weeks have been a typhoon of lesson planning, bulletin boards, book labeling, rearranging, question asking... everything. And I feel like I should be more prepared. I feel like I'm already behind.

Don't get me wrong. I'm ready. I'm SO ready. Ready like minute rice. Ready like my Guatemalan coffee once I stop being able to hear the boiling. Ready like Miss Everlasting. "Thank you. I like it!" (That's my Winnebago kids shout out - Holla!)

But I've also never been more unprepared for anything in my life. I'm not talking about lesson plans. I'm not talking about supervising recess like it's my job. (It is kind of my job, though.) I'm talking about holding little brains in my hands and pinching their coils to see how they work. (That metaphor is a little graphic, but that's how real tomorrow is.) I'm going to be a teacher.

Its the day before class starts, and soon at the school I'll be challenging students to identify my broken grammar rule. (Did you catch it?) The name tags are hung on each desk with care. I just noticed today I had the wrong side of a desk facing a chair.

I wish I had the patience to finish this rhyme. Instead, I'll keep you waiting for, perhaps, another time.

Cause I gotta have faith, faith, faith.

"We live by faith, not by sight." - 2 Corinthians 5:7

In Mass on Sunday, I sat and eyed the deep blue paint peeling off the wall behind the pulpit. It wasn't doing that five years ago. The priest started his homily. Something about cars. Something about Detroit. I wasn't quite there, yet. Oh... impalas. Something about impalas. The animal, not the car. Did you know they can jump as high as 3 meters and as far at 10 meters? They can. It's pretty cool. To keep impalas enclosed, farmers only have to build a fence about 5 feet tall. You see, impalas will only jump somewhere if they can see where they're going to land. They won't jump over a 5 foot tall fence.

We are not impalas. 

A family's house was burning down. The father made sure his wife and two children were out of the house and safe, but he did not have time to help his youngest son out of the house. The five-year-old boy, who had been playing with his trucks in the attic, managed to open the attic window. The father stood below the window and shouted to his son, "Jump. I'll catch you." The son responded through a cloud of smoke, "But I can't see you." The father said, "It's okay. I can see you."

Our Father is asking us to jump without seeing where we're going to land, without knowing what comes next, without understanding quite yet what we're meant for. And I'm afraid like there's fire behind me and possible broken legs before me. And God's like, "Jump. Jump! Those broken legs are your head, not mine."

As we look to our first days of teaching, pray for faith. Maybe I shouldn't speak for all of my colleagues, but I feel as though I can. I feel as though we're, in a lot of ways, one. And only faith will bring us through.

The living is easy...

Soon. Soon the living will be easy. But not yet.

And when I say "easy," that's not really what I mean either...

I'll explain more later.

A prayer for love...

Nothing is more practical

than finding God, that is, 

than falling in love in a 

quite absolute, final way. 

What you are in love with, 

what seizes your 

imagination, will affect

everything.

It will decide what will get 

you out of bed in the 

morning, what you do with

your evening, how you

spend your weekend, what

you read, who you know, 

what breaks your heart, and 

what amazes you with joy

and 

gratitude. 

Fall in love, 

Stay in love, 

and it will decide everything. 

~ Attributed to

Pedro Arrupe, S.J.

Teach With Your Strengths

In the fall of 2007 I took the Strengths Finder test to see my top five strengths. They were Positivity, Includer, Input, Developer and Relator. This test was to relate to my coworkers my first year as a resident assistant. I just took the test today, and the results are going to be used with my colleagues in my graduate program. Only one changed. I'm not surprised.

The following is from http://www.StrengthsFinder.com.

Input

You are inquisitive. You collect things. You might collect information—words, facts, books, and quotations—or you might collect tangible objects such as butterflies, baseball cards, porcelain dolls, or sepia photographs. Whatever you collect, you collect it because it interests you. And yours is the kind of mind that finds so many things interesting. The world is exciting precisely because of its infinite variety and complexity. If you read a great deal, it is not necessarily to refine your theories but, rather, to add more information to your archives. If you like to travel, it is because each new location offers novel artifacts and facts. These can be acquired and then stored away. Why are they worth storing? At the time of storing it is often hard to say exactly when or why you might need them, but who knows when they might become useful? With all those possible uses in mind, you really don’t feel comfortable throwing anything away. So you keep acquiring and compiling and filing stuff away. It’s interesting. It keeps your mind fresh. And perhaps one day some of it will prove valuable.

Connectedness

Things happen for a reason. You are sure of it. You are sure of it because in your soul you know that we are all connected. Yes, we are individuals, responsible for our own judgments and in possession of our own free will, but nonetheless we are part of something larger. Some may call it the collective unconscious. Others may label it spirit or life force. But whatever your word of choice, you gain confidence from knowing that we are not isolated from one another or from the earth and the life on it. This feeling of Connectedness implies certain responsibilities. If we are all part of a larger picture, then we must not harm others because we will be harming ourselves. We must not exploit because we will be exploiting ourselves. Your awareness of these responsibilities creates your value system. You are considerate, caring, and accepting. Certain of the unity of humankind, you are a bridge builder for people of different cultures. Sensitive to the invisible hand, you can give others comfort that there is a purpose beyond our humdrum lives. The exact articles of your faith will depend on your upbringing and your culture, but your faith is strong. It sustains you and your close friends in the face of life’s mysteries.

Developer

You see the potential in others. Very often, in fact, potential is all you see. In your view no individual is fully formed. On the contrary, each individual is a work in progress, alive with possibilities. And you are drawn toward people for this very reason. When you interact with others, your goal is to help them experience success. You look for ways to challenge them. You devise interesting experiences that can stretch them and help them grow. And all the while you are on the lookout for the signs of growth—a new behavior learned or modified, a slight improvement in a skill, a glimpse of excellence or of “flow” where previously there were only halting steps. For you these small increments—invisible to some—are clear signs of potential being realized. These signs of growth in others are your fuel. They bring you strength and satisfaction. Over time many will seek you out for help and encouragement because on some level they know that your helpfulness is both genuine and fulfilling to you.

Includer

“Stretch the circle wider.” This is the philosophy around which you orient your life. You want to include people and make them feel part of the group. In direct contrast to those who are drawn only to exclusive groups, you actively avoid those groups that exclude others. You want to expand the group so that as many people as possible can benefit from its support. You hate the sight of someone on the outside looking in. You want to draw them in so that they can feel the warmth of the group. You are an instinctively accepting person. Regardless of race or sex or nationality or personality or faith, you cast few judgments. Judgments can hurt a person’s feelings. Why do that if you don’t have to? Your accepting nature does not necessarily rest on a belief that each of us is different and that one should respect these differences. Rather, it rests on your conviction that fundamentally we are all the same. We are all equally important. Thus, no one should be ignored. Each of us should be included. It is the least we all deserve.

Positivity

You are generous with praise, quick to smile, and always on the lookout for the positive in the situation. Some call you lighthearted. Others just wish that their glass were as full as yours seems to be. But either way, people want to be around you. Their world looks better around you because your enthusiasm is contagious. Lacking your energy and optimism, some find their world drab with repetition or, worse, heavy with pressure. You seem to find a way to lighten their spirit. You inject drama into every project. You celebrate every achievement. You find ways to make everything more exciting and more vital. Some cynics may reject your energy, but you are rarely dragged down. Your Positivity won’t allow it. Somehow you can’t quite escape your conviction that it is good to be alive, that work can be fun, and that no matter what the setbacks, one must never lose one’s sense of humor.

What's the difference between a Jedi and Jesuit?

Nothing.

I can't believe I'm almost halfway done with my summer classes. In a week I'll be finished with half of my classes. Unfortunately, I'll be done with the easy half. The tough stuff starts in July.

This is my last week at the Jesuit middle school. That's been a really interesting experience. I've learned a lot about working with middle school students - the group I'll be working with next year. I've learned what to do and even some things not to do.

My childhood development class has been incredibly interesting. I've seen way more births on tape that I've ever wanted to. I've had never-ending discussions about, well, everything. On Friday we went to a center in town for children who have been abused. The center combines child protective services, police and medical interviews into one interview, reducing the amount of stress on the child. The speaker told us about addressing the issue of child abuse and the possibilities of child abuse in our classrooms in the future. And it was scary. Scary to hear about the very real problems facing children and scary to realize that I will likely deal with such issues sometime in the future.

Tonight we had Mass with Fr. Tom. Fr. Tom was ordained a priest 8 days ago. How cool is that? This was his second Sunday Mass ever, and he'll be saying Mass for us the next couple of weeks. His nephew asked him the question I posed in my title. His answer: Nothing. I think I like this guy already.

This week I'll write my second paper in graduate school. I'll finish my second class. I'll cook a delicious Middle Eastern meal of hummus and falafel and pita. Mmmmm.... hummus. Then I'll go visit a wonderful friend over the weekend. Then one glorious, glorious week at camp. You see, I have a week off of school, and I'm determined to make the most of it. I'll cap it all off by camping out over July 4th weekend. Does it get any better, people? Does it get any better?

Super Iggy Warrior King

I'm making friends.

For a long time, I thought that was going to be the hardest part. It was hard. It's still a little hard. But there are going to be a lot of hard parts. And I haven't even started teaching yet. I still don't even know how to make a lesson plan.

Every week we have faith sharing in small groups. Basically, we all go around and just talk about how we are. It's a strange thing to get used to if you haven't done anything like it before. And for the most part, I haven't. But, I feel like I have people holding me accountable for the things I'm struggling with, for the things that are going to be hard. Over the week I felt like I got over the initial fear I had of getting to know people. But there are so many other things I need to work on.

I think what helped the most was the realization of the true spectrum of spirituality that is in our group. There are people who go to Mass daily and have an extremely strict adherence to the Catholic moral code. And there are people who aren't that comfortable at mass, who have a lot of unanswered questions when it comes to God and Catholicism and life. And there are people everywhere in between. What unites us is our desire to teach children and our desire to learn more about ourselves spiritually. And that's really cool. The first two weeks, that spectrum was hidden below people walking on eggshells (myself included): Who do these people expect me to be? Who do I want to be? But the answer is - myself. And that is freeing. That is making everything so much easier, and I don't know why it took me two weeks to figure it out.

To foster this spiritual growth, we've been talking about prayer. To be honest, I don't know if I know how to pray. I sometimes get uncomfortable in church. I have a hard time focusing long enough to pray. My mind goes everywhere. I mentioned this to someone, and the response I got was really wonderful. Praying isn't really about taking a ton of time out of my day to reflect or worship God. Life is a prayer. By opening my door, by getting to know people here, by learning more every day about my vocation to teaching, I'm creating a new and stronger relationship with God.

Finding God in all things - It's another one of those Jesuit charisms. And it's what I'm really depending on/thinking about right now. Because if going to class, sharing time with new friends and sharing this experience with all of you can fall into that category of prayer, it makes the whole concept a lot less scary.

For the first two weeks, I was just wasting a lot of time. I was wasting time moping, worrying, avoiding people, being afraid. And I don't know if I can blame myself - the realization that I'll be a teacher in two months, with little to no training is a terrifying thing. But now I need to work past that. I need to embrace the support group that has been handed to me in a neatly wrapped package. Instead of simply wasting time, I need to do what I do best. I need to start wasting time gracefully - by going to wing night at the moon, by 1 a.m. visits to Village Inn, by walks downtown in the humid and wonderful afternoon. Wasting time gracefully (isn't that an awesome phrase, I had never heard it put that way) is what I've always been good at.

A prayer for serenity...

(I started breathing again today. Everything is as it should be.) 

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

--Reinhold Niebuhr

Enneagram

Today we had our retreat. I scraped myself out of my bed this morning to go to Mass at the crack of 10:30, the burden of my first graduate school paper looming over my head. We spent the most of the rest of the day in the warm shade of the Jesuit gardens behind the chapel. The seminarians sat on the skirts of the grass in silent retreat as we discussed our enneagram types. Enneagram is similar to Myer's Briggs or Strengths finder. I'm a two - the helper (although I feel like I have a strong inclination toward seven - the enthusiast.)

At first, I didn't want to be a two. Twos sounded so needy; they sounded like pushovers. But then I read about "healthy" twos. An unhealthy two was the kind I didn't like, and I think I didn't like it because of how many negative aspects of my past self I saw in it. But it was accurate. I've worked for years to get rid of my unhealthy two inclinations. But a healthy two really has it going on. Mother Teresa was a two. Now, I'm no Mother Teresa, but to be linked by how our personalities work is pretty cool. Things that make me know I'm a two - I value my relationships with people above most other things; I forgive easily; I believe love is not give and take... love is give; I am at my best when I am serving others. And even the negative things, they're a part of me too.

I'm not a huge fan of personality tests. I think they tend to box people into these nice little categories, and I don't think people fit in nice little categories. People are messy. But I appreciated how our director explained this one. Enneagram has nine categories, and each person has some of each number. She said that understanding our most pronounced number helps us understand our shortcomings with that, helps us take a deeper look at our motives behind doing what we do. I still want to read more about it, but it was interesting. Here is a link to the test that I took.

Tomorrow I start aiding at the Jesuit middle school, and I also start a new class. Wish me luck.

Also, I can't even begin to explain to you how good the food is here. I know that shouldn't be a big deal, but I've never eaten healthier in my life. We cook community meals, and everything is organic and fresh and healthy. For example, today for lunch we had a salad bar with greens from the farmer's market and tons of vegetables. For dinner we had traditional Nepali food (all vegan). It was so delicious. Honestly, invite me over, I'll cook it for you.

P.S. - I finished my paper. Now time for bed.

My own little corner...

I told myself I'd turn over a new leaf once I started grad school. I'd read all of my assignments fully. I'd do the homework ahead of class. I wouldn't procrastinate on my papers. So far, I'm doing pretty well, except for the paper part. I'd rather not worry about that part. It's not even a difficult paper... I guess I just have this mental block about it. I worried that my work won't be good enough. I worried that once I write it, I'm officially in this thing. I'm officially accepting that I'm going to miss out on the other things. But I am missing out on those things. It's a reality. So I must write the paper. (Don't worry, I haven't procrastinated that much yet. Tomorrow morning I can maybe redeem myself... maybe.)

I think I'll start to get more into the swing of everything come Sunday. Tomorrow night I'm going out to camp for a while. I know I'll probably miss some things going on with my cohort, but I really feel like it's something I need to do. I just miss it. I haven't been there since February, and everything about this time of year makes me think about it. It will be a nice bit of closure until I can visit again. Then on Sunday we have a mini-retreat. Everyone in the program will finally be here (we've been missing the second and third years for two weeks now.) We won't have any more days off (they've been nice, but I find it hard to force myself to socialize when I meet people... I need the forced togetherness at first.) Monday we start a new class that goes every afternoon for three weeks. Also during those three weeks the first years will be aiding at a Jesuit middle school for boys every other day. We'll have community dinners every week night and a spirituality class two nights a week. It will be busy, but I think I need busy right now. I need something that draws me in completely so I stop worrying about everything else.

Saint Jude - Pray for me.

Moral turpitude

I know what I'm signing on for as I prepare to start teaching in a Catholic school. I recognize there is just some literature, poetry, material that I won't be allowed to teach. But to be honest with you, I'm not convinced I'd be allowed to teach those things elsewhere in the state, and I'm not convinced I need to teach those pieces of writing in order to help my students learn, live or become better people. Shortly, I won't be able to teach any material that directly conflicts with the teachings of the Catholic church. Is that problematic? Yes, in a lot of ways. But, like I said, I know what I'm signing on for.

And really, it's not that limiting. I can still teach about social justice. I can still teach about world religions. I can still fuel the fire of inquiry. I just might have to work a little bit harder at times. Can I teach that Catholicism is wrong? NO. Do I want to? NO. Come on, it's a Catholic school. I'm not there to simply teach, and my students won't be there to simply learn. Bigger things are in place at Catholic schools. My argument is not that Catholic schools necessarily provide better education; rather, they provide a deeper sense of meaning without the restrictions of a public school. And to support that type of learning environment, I need to be on board with the expectations of Catholic teachers. I want to be on board with the expectations of Catholic teachers.

When Catholic teachers sign their contracts, there's a clause called moral turpitude. It requires Catholic school teachers to maintain a lifestyle that exemplifies the teachings of the Catholic church, regardless of that teacher's religious beliefs. If a Catholic school teacher does not fulfill this pledge of moral turpitude, he or she could be fired for a breach of contract.

An article recently ran in the Des Moines Register about a teacher who was fired for this contractual violation. I saw an argument on Facebook about the article. While I feel bad for this teacher and the situation she finds herself in now, I feel as though she had the responsibility to maintain her contractual obligations. It's an unfortunate situation either way. I'd love to hear other opinions.

The heart of the matter...

... is the matter of the heart.

"Catholic schools aren't there to make our young upwardly mobile. Nor to assure them of a wrinkle-free life. Nor to offer them security. They're there precisely to take all that away from them. They're there to lure them to give up security and come out onto the road." - Father William J. O'Malley, S.J.

"We don't serve people because they are Catholic. We serve people because we are Catholic." - Bishop Gordon D. Bennett, S.J.

Just some thoughts on today.

URYY4M (You are too wise for me)

I'm working on a project with a girl from my Philosophy of Teaching class. She also did her undergraduate schooling here. As we worked, I mentioned my nervousness in driving back to campus late a few nights ago, how I didn't want to walk the two blocks from the parking garage to my dorm. The sidewalk takes a path directly under the interstate. I then said that my nervousness was probably just silly. Then she told me how have people been held at knife-point and mugged under the interstate where that sidewalk goes... I guess my nervousness was legit. I ended up parking in the lot right next to my building. No worries Mom!!! :-)

My educational philosophy

I don't have one. Not yet.

That's my first class. We meet every day from 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. for one week. We had homework due the first day of class. Tonight our professor gave us five articles to read. They're all interesting. They're all relevant. And I wish I had more time to spend chewing on them, gnawing them apart. But I don't have much time for anything, really.

I will take a moment to tell you how relieved I am to be here. For some reason, part naivety, part stupidity, I thought I was going to find multiple struggles to overcome in becoming a Catholic teacher. Perhaps fueled by my lingering concerns about the education I received as a Catholic student, more likely fueled by my misplaced anger toward those concerns, I thought learning to teach in a Catholic school would limit my options, my creativity, my reach.

From everything I've encountered so far, I was wrong.

We're learning, reading, discussing the importance of inquiry in the classroom, the need for a social investment in community and positive social change, catholicism (little "c") as a demand for universality, for inclusion of all people, regardless of their differences. And we're learning how to facilitate those forms of learning without sacrificing faith, service or belief. Because they're all part of the same thing.

I don't know if I have means to explain all of this yet; and even if I did, I certainly don't have the time. But I hope to, so please be patient with me.

There's something special going on here. I can feel it. The Jesuits know something I don't about faith, about learning, about teaching, about life.

"What avail is it to win prescribed amounts of information about geography and history, to win the ability to read and write, if in the process the individual loses his own soul?"

John Dewey wrote that 1938. It's still relevant, warning against an educational system of banking information in students, focusing on transmitting information rather than transforming it.

More than anything right now, I can feel the weight of what I'm learning pounding into me the importance of a soul in education, a love of learning and need for growth through it.

Ad majorem Dei gloriam

For the greater glory of God.

For months now I've been anticipating today - what it would look like, what it would be. As I pulled into the parking lot outside of my 16-story residence hall on campus, I still didn't know what to expect. I still don't.

Let me explain.

About two years ago I heard of a master's program that was basically free if I agreed to teach in a Catholic school for two years. I thought, "Sure. A master's degree for free? Totally worth it." But it's not that simple. This summer I'll take 13 credit hours of graduate classes in two months. I'll live in community with 27 peers. I'll be asked to share my journey in faith with these peers. Then, when those two months are over, I'll be asked to start teaching 5-8 graders full time. I'll be asked to contribute to their growth as Catholics, as students, as people.

This is much more than a master's degree. Something else is going on here, something I don't quite have the words for yet. Many people who read this blog may not be interested in the spiritual side of my journey. And that's okay. I'll be sharing other things too. But I won't apologize for sharing my spiritual journey through all of this, because it wouldn't be true if I didn't. And, anyway, I want to share it with you. 

In two months I will be a teacher, and everything between now and then is all the training I get.

This blog will serve as a record of my ups and downs, questions, ideas and general discussions of what I'm learning and who I'm learning it from.