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.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
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.
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.