Looking back at the better

Maybe I should be saving this for tomorrow, but because I will be occupied for the majority of the day, there is literally no time like the present.

2010. I remember thinking, "People said that 2009 was a really bad year... but what makes them so sure that 2010 will be better? It won't be."

Here's what I get out of that mentality: "Better" is relative. Better than what? On what level? Emotional? Financial? The list continues. My point is that the concept of "better" usually hinges on subjective happiness. What does this mean? It means that what makes us happy is not always what is best for us.

For instance, this year was not a better year on the level of subjective happiness. It was a hard one, full of difficult situations and heartache. On another level, the objective happiness level, it was a better year. Seemingly paradoxical, it is true. This year has provided multiple opportunities to strengthen my relationship with God and I have learned so much. I have grown.

Here are a few of the things that happened:
-Lived in England for a month (Incredible learning experience for loving those who claim to have the same values as you but they really don't)
-Health scares related to my mom (History of breast cancer and we thought it came back along with a case of shingles)
-Broken relationships with people who were/are close
-Student teaching (one of the most intense emotional experiences of my life so far)
-Weddings and engagements of friends
-Living in an apartment for the first time

Obviously that doesn't cover the entire year. Honestly, I feel like 2010 is a year of brokenness for me. The beautiful things is that I know I'm being reconstructed by my Creator so that I am able to glorify him better. I can honestly say I am stronger from the me that stepped into this year. There are things that I struggle with more intensely now but I stand upon firmer ground. As I transition into 2011, the year I will graduate from college, the year I will hopefully find a teaching job, I am stepping into another world of unknown things yet I feel as if I'm being slowly, albeit painfully, prepared for it.

I am not going to say that 2011 will be a better year because I know that I will be hoping for the subjective happiness. Rather, I am anticipating more brokenness and healing that only happens in Christ. Broken trust and broken hearts do not mend with a snap of fingers. They don't fix themselves when the human decides he or she is done hurting. We have to press on and ride it out. I pray for healing. I pray for the restoration of trust. I pray for guidance.

Ok, 2011. You heard it. Now stop dawdling and arrive, already!

Two steps forward, one step backwards

I would say that the past fall semester consisted of two steps forward. Now, I find myself in a familiar place, meaning I took a step backwards. Maybe it is the rhythm of life that will never change or maybe it will once I move beyond this stage, whatever it is. Needless to say, I would rather rewind to my life one month ago. I felt like I was making progress. As a friend put it, "I got my swagger."

Ok. Maybe I didn't have swagger, but I felt a semblance of being a real person. I felt like each interaction I had with people was useful and meaningful on numerous levels. I donned professional clothes. I ate leftovers I made for lunch in the teachers' workroom. I came home tired but still looking professional. I graded papers. I talked to at least 40 different people each day. I was treated like an individual who had the ability to run a group of students. I looked in the mirror each morning and evening and a person with a forming potential stared back at me.

Looking into the mirror isn't quite as interesting anymore. The "quick-service restaurant" uniform is just as unflattering as it has always been. Lunch is free food, usually a salad eaten in a humming food court around 2pm. I come home covered in coater and sporting hat-hair. It may be nice to not have any work to do outside of work, but my mind yearns for that occupation. I am so thankful that student teaching revealed how much I love teaching, but I can't help but be a little resentful that the desire to teach cannot be fulfilled right now in my terms.

Surely there is a better way to spend my time at home. This period of my life is just beginning. I can't spend it wishing I was at Taylor or still doing student teaching. I have to move on even though I don't want that. Contentment is something I have to pray for constantly because I always seem to want what isn't best for me. It is a grand game of tug-of-war which God always wins but not before he lets me tug my way for a couple minutes. I feel like there are things dragging me back to this situation for a reason and I don't care to put my finger on why because I would make myself crazy if I did that for everything that is happening.

So, even though I feel like I'm taking one step backwards for two steps forward, I do not care to try and pin down reasons why.

Hearts are fragile

Situation: You're cleaning a wine glass made from some of the finest glass in the world. The stem makes a knife look clumsy. You are holding it as carefully as you can, turning it while wiping the inside with a dish towel. Then, all of a sudden, the glass shatters in your hands. Shards log themselves into your flesh and all over the sink and counter. Your nerves send shock waves up to your brain and your vision flickers as the pain registers with the rest of your body. Now you look at your hands, colored red, and you don't know what to do.

Translation: You try to handle your emotional heart, one of the most precious things we have as humans, with care. It is the well-spring of life. Each relationship affects it. You "tend" to it and keep it sheltered from certain things, like dishwashers (or in this case, a shallow relationship), yet something happens to make it break. You have no idea how that happened because you were not being careless and there was reason to believe that you were doing exactly what you should have been doing. Regardless of the reasons and the logic, you are stuck with a mess and you are mystified.

I'm not just talking about romantic relationships. You all know that backwards and forwards. There is another aspect of the relationship that I was referring to, which is the relationship with the people you interact with every day. There is a fear, an underlying fear that paralyzes us from truly talking with someone or investing time in someone. We would much rather know what we will gain from a relationship at the beginning than not know anything. Here is the challenge: what if you spent less time worrying about what you'll get from something or someone. In the day-to-day relationships, you will get "shards of glass" in your proverbial hands. Good news, though. The glass comes out and you heal.

This is what I am scared of, though, as my student teaching winds down. How will it affect me when I realize that I will not be in these people's lives anymore? How will that affect my ability to pour into future students and co-workers? I guess as my college experience begins to close, I realize that no relationship is a given. I will not have a campus full of people for the next four years, nor will I have a classroom full of the same students. I can't have it all but I know that I am called to love. Even though my heart is fragile, it can be made stronger... I have to let the work be done.

Rewards and the 3 "C"s

Inserting the key into the doorknob, turning it 360 degrees to the right, and pushing the door open ushers me into the room where I have been teaching since August 12. Friday did not show me any signs that it would be different than any other day. My routine is simple: Write up the agendas on the board, try and shake off the dark cloud that hovers over my head after working with the middle school students, enter more grades, and make copies of handouts and worksheets. Then, fourth period starts and my students help me forget that I was even at the middle school earlier. The class full of 26 enthusiastic students, though not always enthusiastic about learning French, makes me laugh and sigh- all at the same time.

Fifth period came around and I could tell something was up. One of my students had IMed me the night before, asking if I liked red velvet cake. This is not a random question that does not arouse suspicion, but I brushed it off. It was probably for one of my last days at the high school.

After lunch, I came into the room and was putting together material for the next class when 5 of my students marched in carrying a huge box of cupcakes, a cake, chocolate chip cookies, soda, and a gift. I was speechless. They had been lamenting that it was my last day as their teacher, but I didn't know that they would do anything on that day! I was a little bit speechless. Remembering back to the beginning of the school year, I remember my frustration at the challenge I thought would be my French 2 class. Now that I've made it through, I can say, fondly and honestly, that I learned the most from my French 2 students. Rough days happen and no one is ever perfect (And they know I made enough mistakes to prove that) yet the experience was one of the best. It's amazing how little things like cake, cupcakes, and cookies can brighten your day and give you that warm fuzzy feeling and you float around on a cloud for about 2 hours. They were such a blessing to teach. That probably sounds pretty cliché, but it's true.

It was a great Friday. I love all of my French 2 students. I am sad to let them go, but I have to. I can only imagine how hard it's going to be to let go of all of the students. We'll find out, I guess.

Oh by gosh, by golly, it's time for nostalgia and holly

Adapting a title of one of my favorite Sinatra Christmas songs is the best way to describe this phase of student teaching. I anticipate the end of the semester, like most students but I am looking back, wondering what I did with the last 16 weeks of my life.

I will give up my first class at the end of this week as I begin to phase out. At the beginning of the semester, I could not even imagine being here. It felt a world away, to borrow a phrase of a certain blog title. I don't know how I got here, to this world where I am comfortable in front of students and collaborating with other teachers, leaving the life of a student (somewhat) behind. It's like reaching land after a long and tumultuous journey only to find that you have to be leaving again, even though the land looks very livable. This is something I find frustrating about college: the constant planting and pulling up of roots. Life is lived in 3 month increments. It was fun for a while, but I would really love to be in one place longer than 3 months... although I feel like as soon as that happens, I'll yearn for the variety of the nomadic pattern of my college life.

Moving on implies scary things... like trusting other people with the work you've spent hours brainstorming for and creating, or accepting that you might never see these people again in your life. I'm sure many people identify with this situation. I know I am not the only one who knows this sensation.

Sometimes I sit here by my tree and I mourn for the relationships I've lost and will lose, but then I'm reminded that God provides the love from somewhere other than my physical being... which means I can continue fostering relationships, old and new. That sounds exhausting and I do not want to mourn the loss of the day-to-day contact between my students and my student-teaching self. I know I will, because that is a part of life, but I'm not looking forward to it. Spending the last 3 to 4 months with these high school students has brought me from one world to another. Like the analogy I used earlier, it was a rough journey at times, but now that I'm here, I look around and I thank God for his mercy and omnipotence. He could not have given me a better place to grow nor better people to grow with.

I have about 6 days left of teaching and then I fade into the long line of student teachers who came before me. 6 days doesn't seem very long at all and I'm sure they will fly by, but I am thankful for the time I will have with the students, even if I get frustrated.

A zoo of ducks

One of my favorite experiences in the classroom is when I get to tell a story.

The story I told involved a student and Will Smith. They both like ducks. They both want to start a duck zoo, but they do not know where the ducks are. They are not in Detroit... or Amsterdam... or Quebec... or Chile. Nope. They are found in Russia.

The best part about this story: I actually had rubber duckies hidden in the room. I mean, who wouldn't want to get up in French class and help to find the ducks?

I was puzzled, though. My supervisor came in to observe me during one of the class periods where I was telling this story in French... And she asked me after wards: "What is the point of telling a story? Is it just for listening? They don't participate very much..."

I was stunned. Just listening? Anyone who has taken a foreign language knows that you can memorize vocabulary lists out the wazoo... The most difficult part is stringing your ideas together to make coherent and relevant phrases in the target language. What am I doing all period when I'm telling a story and circle-questioning? Teaching structure without the students realizing that they are learning it. By the end of the period, the students are using the vocabulary and the structure when they answer questions. I think that is one of the most valuable experiences a student can have in the classroom. Maybe I'm just brainwashed from going to the TPRS conference, but I think there is value in this method...

So, how do I convince other people that it's valuable? As an emerging teacher, I have to be able to defend this method to administrators... How in the world can I do that? How do I prove that the students are participating more this way than if I called on them one by one when going through exercises in a book? With TPRS, students are answering 5 to 8 questions per minute. The MAJORITY of the students spend half of the period speaking French. Would they be speaking that much if I was forcing them to do exercises out of the book or workbook exercises? C'mon. Let's get real. NO. Everyone knows that when the teacher does that, the students zone out until the teacher calls on them. I know. I've done that and I do that.

What student doesn't want to listen to a bizarre story about a zoo of ducks? What student doesn't want to look for ducks around the room? What student doesn't want to laugh instead of falling asleep in his or her desk?

Look at these questions and tell me that you think that telling a story is only good for listening. I dare you.

Fail. What do you do with failure?

Profound thoughts seem to come in quick succession when I'm driving to school in the morning. Passing by the Upland cemetery, the rising sun reflected off of the granite headstones, creating flashes of pink that caught my eye. This visual stimulant brought the thought that those flashes are just like our lives. You would think, "Wow. That's kind of depressing to realize at 7 in the morning!" That's actually not the sentiment I felt. There is something amazing in that flash; something brilliant and mesmerizing. Everyone has one, but that doesn't make it less beautiful. The cool thing is: this analogy falls short of the preciousness of life. The headstones reflected one color and all the flashes were relatively the same. Our flashes of life aren't the same. Everyone's is different. Cool, huh?

I wish that I could say that the profound moment settled into my head and I looked at every person with wonder and awe, with appreciation at the handiwork of God, but this post is titled "Fail" for a reason. That's right. Humanity strikes again.

In past posts, I have mentioned technology: the highs and lows, the excitement and the frustration that I have encountered thus far as a student teacher. Today tops all of these. Today, I tried to use technology in the classroom. Today, I failed. In the excitement of using "Voki," I went to the tech people at the high school and started asking about the language lab equipment. Unfortunately, the computers did not have microphones for the students to record themselves. The head tech guy said, though, that he could try and get a laptop cart from the science department. So-very-ever thankful, I bounced out of the tech room, feeling like this was going to work after all. The tech guy comes and finds me and says that the science department agreed to share the other laptop carts and that I could have a cart for Friday.

We tried logging onto the program, but the version of Adobe on the laptops wasn't new enough... So, they had to unfreeze the computers, download the new Adobe, refreeze the computers and then make sure that the website worked. Then, we encountered another problem. The program didn't register the internal microphones. We found our way around that and I practiced and practiced so that I could fix any problems that arose with the microphones. This was all on Wednesday. Thursday, I abducted the laptop cart and told the tech guys what they needed to do for me to use the laptops (because the head tech guy was gone for the day)... that felt oxymoronic... me? telling techies what to do? No way.

So, Thursday continues. I tell my students that I'm thrilled to have them work with a website where they can record themselves speaking French and use an avatar. They are excited. I try logging into my account and it doesn't work. I try not to panic because it's probably just a glitch. I come home and I even set up a new account and none of the possibilities are working out. Perfect.

Friday morning: I get to the high school and move the laptop cart into the room and start to look at the laptops. Of course, the one laptop I decide to use as a run-through doesn't have the recent version of Adobe on it. Panicking, I pull out two more laptops, log on and try out the website. Those are working. Ok. I couldn't help but feel cool that I was working on three computers, side-by-side, all at the same time! Panic doesn't go away when I realize that I have to go through and manually turn on all the internal microphones before my fourth period class starts. Needless to say, I didn't get that done in time. My class came in and I had to act like all of this was meant to happen and that things were under control.

24 students, countless recordings, repetitions of instructions, and a handful unprepared students later, it's almost lunchtime and the last thing I want to do is to do that again and again... for three more periods. I have no other choice, though. Who knows when I will have the laptops again... the science department can be pretty stingy with "their" stuff. During lunch, I wanted to throw in the towel. My brilliant idea of having students save their Vokis failed. My brilliant idea of using the language lab failed. My "brilliance" failed. I realized, though, that I couldn't transfer all that onto my students. That isn't fair.

Long sad story short, I hit a new low at school and I was stuck. I had to try and get myself out of the depths of teacher despair in order to keep going. It's like wanting to call your mom because you're sick, but you're stuck at college so there's really no point in calling because she can't do anything. I don't know if I'll be brave enough to try using technology like that in this classroom again, so I won't make a projection. I do know that I'm thankful for the weekend... because it's been a week.

Somebody put squirrels in my desks

Visiting the great state of Colorado was wonderful but I think it took me out of the teacher world for a little too long. I stepped into the classroom this morning and I realized that the students were buzzing with energy... not the "Let's get to work and learn French" kind of energy, either. No. This energy possesses students into thinking that their voice is at a frequency where the teacher will not hear it. False. I may be becoming deaf, but I'm not there yet.

With this bucket of cold water, I'm looking at my students and wondering how to get us all through to Thanksgiving break. It is a dangerous mission that could fail at the slightest false wind.

The first plan of action: create another seating chart. I sat down this evening to draft some more charts and ended up becoming more frustrated than I was in the beginning. I will attribute that to the memories of the day. Don't get me wrong. The day was decent, it is just more decent when you let yourself forget all the students you had to keep in line.

The second plan of action: find activities that they will have to move for. I have never claimed to be the world's most creative person, but now more than ever, I'm realizing that I am definitely not that person. If I could parallel this feeling to anything, it would be if you were backed up against a wall and the person doing the cornering was demanding you to do a cartwheel. Yeah right.

The third plan of action (and most certainly not the least): Pray more than I think I need to. Patience doesn't come from the fallible composition of dust that we like to call the superior being. Nah. It comes from another source and we often suppress it. During this time, when patience is running low and students are not paying attention, there is no way that I can keep smiling at the squirrels. All I want to do is catch them with a net and release them into someone else's cage.

I hope that I'll be able to find a solution, otherwise this next week is going to be so long.

Why we need technology

In the past week, I have learned more about my patience level than I have in the past four years. Let's take a simple example, such as trying to download something onto a droid. What takes people 5 minutes has yet to happen on my phone. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for repetitiveness. After all, I'm trying to become a foreign language teacher. What else do we do but repeat all day? I'm not asking for a lot, I'm merely requesting that it looks like some progress is being made. So, since it is just a phone, I've put that issue on the back burner. At least I have a phone.
The next incident I can list is one that hits even closer to home. It's the ongoing quarrel between my laptop and the media carts at the high school. One would think that hooking up a computer and a projector is simple. It is... when you have the right cord. If only I had gone with my instincts and mentioned that nothing was hooked up to the "computer" section on the projector. This little incident lasted through my fourth period class so I couldn't do what I wanted to do. Even plan B failed. I almost failed the patience test when the students kept me asking me questions that I had already answered, but God provided a tongue to bite... He's such a thinker. Looking back on today, I have to laugh. If technology were a person, I feel like he/she would jump from behind a corner and yell "November Fools!" and then start laughing like a possessed mummy.
This is why we need technology. It always keeps us guessing what will actually happen. I bet Sir Isaac Newton, Blaise Pascal, and Albert Einstein laugh (if they could) when their points about theories and laws are proven to be fallible. In theory, technology is reliable and it makes things faster... False. If there's a tech issue (which happens), there are no acceptable alternatives. It's called dependency. If I wasn't dependent on technology to show videos to the students, I could have avoided this exercise in patience.
I might be a less patient person if it weren't for technology... With that realization, I guess I should also point out that, thanks to technology, I'm writing a blog post from a laptop. So, thank you, Technology, for being the laughing mummy in my dreams and the enabler of so many healthy and unhealthy things. Our relationship will forever be bittersweet until you become perfect.

Jack Frost brought his friends

Mornings are darker and the windshield is covered with a tenacious dust when I walk out of the apartment. It feels so early and maybe that is because I've stayed up later than I should have, but it's too late to fix that. There are students and papers and futures to deal with. I can't complain about the early hour anymore though, because, after 12 weeks of leaving my apartment at 6:45am, I can now leave at 7:20am. The prompted change is a long story so let's just leave it at that.

Yesterday, I didn't get to sleep in until 6. I got up at the old normal 5:35am becuase I had the privilege to go to a Foreign Language Teacher conference in Indianapolis with my supervising teacher. It was a great experience: it was as encouraging as much as it was intimidating. I was able to go to the session by Toni Theisen, the ACTFL teacher of 2009. Admittedly, one of the reasons I looked at the session more closely was because I saw she's from Loveland, Colorado. I am so glad that I went, though, because I had wanted ideas and guidance for using technology in the classroom. She had tons of stuff and I felt rather lost when she started throwing jargon around like "voki" or "toondoo." I always knew that I wasn't that technology savvy, but I didn't think I was that bad. Determined to prove myself capable, I came home and spent 8pm to 1:30am trying to figure out the voki tool. It shouldn't be that hard, but apparently I have a ways to go before I can use these great resources in the classroom.

One of the best experiences during the conference was being treated like a teacher. When people find out that you are a student teacher, they immediately treat you differently. It makes sense, but it gets old after a while... at least treat me like a first year teacher, please. This hierarchy is ridiculous. Anyways, I was paired with a Latin teacher in the technology session and it felt really good to be the creative one. Don't worry... I won't get a big head. I haven't taught Latin, but I took it and being creative with vocabulary and translations has got to be one of the biggest challenges a teacher can face.

I am so excited to try some of my new ideas out (as soon as I figure out the system that is educational technology, which will be a while considering my experience last night) but now it's starting to register with me... I won't be teaching these students for much longer. After this coming week, I have maybe two weeks before I start removing myself from the classroom. It's painful to think about. For over 10 weeks, I have been pouring myself into these students and I have grown to love every single one of them... even the ones who make me want to pull out my hair. I'm not looking forward to leaving them. I'm not looking forward to being a student in the classroom again. I failed at sitting still in the conference sessions yesterday. That never was a problem until I became a student teacher. Moving around the classroom and making large arm movements is what I do every day. That will look so different 3 months from now.

So, along with the frost and dark mornings, the season has brought nostalgia, the desire to curl up in blankets and watch Psych all day, and the desire to spend ridiculous amounts of money on cardigans and Pumpkin Spice lattes. Thankfully, student teaching makes me do something with my life, although I have found time for all of the above. It's kind of like my own magic trick. Just like backing the 18 passenger Post Office van up the library delivery dock driveway. One magic trick I have yet to master is the concept of time. The senior Education electronic portfolio is due at the beginning of December. I'm going to put myself out there and say I am no where near ready for this. To be fair, not many people probably are, they're just better at looking like they are. Kudos to them. I'll continue panicking, wasting hours of my life alternating between my new wikispace and the piclit and the other ideas that kick my butt. Thank goodness for an extra hour in my life tonight!

Wisps, clouds, and other forms of condensation

You know the voice. It's a small whisper that reaches the back of your mind: "Well that was pathetic. And you said that was your best shot?" Or how about the ever-famous "Really? That was stupid."

The mental picture I have of this enmity is as follows: green-tinted wisps that curl around the earlobe before caressing the ear canal and winding its way around each twist and turn before it finds residence in the brain. It's eerie and seductive. You know that whatever is going into your ear probably shouldn't be allowed entry, but surely the little misty thing isn't that bad...

That's how I see it. It's more cool if it's a mist rather than thoughts that refuse to leave me alone. As a perfectionist, every thing I do wrong is detrimental to my life. Well, maybe not that drastic, but hyperbole is a literary device for a reason. After a difficult day where I felt like that lessons failed or I wasn't clear for the students or I wasn't connecting with them, the wisps turn into puffs once they reach my brain. After sitting on my couch and putting my feet up for the day, the puffs of "voices" turn into billowing clouds. I'm pretty sure my roommates have seen the smoke seeping from my ears as I try to move on and accept my failures with a grain of salt. Too bad salt isn't known for its smoke-fighting capabilities.

It never occurred to me that teachers need encouragement, too, when I was in school. I sat in my desk, much like generations before me, and judged. "This teacher is so incompetent. They can't even grade papers consistently! What do you mean they watched TV while they graded? I wish I could get away with watching TV while doing homework! I hate when so-and-so writes on the board because it is never in chronological order!" Believe me, the judgment went on. Now that I'm the one in the pumps and slacks at the front of the room, I find that all these mistakes are easy to make. This may come as a surprise, but a student has to worry about one student. A teacher worries and grades and cares for at least 80 students every day. I guess it makes sense that they would make mistakes. When it comes down to it, the mistakes have more power than encouragement at times. One word of criticism has the potential to the great rating I received from my supervising teacher. How sad is that? It takes no time at all for my ears to look like an over-active humidifier. (You know what I'm talking about... the humidifier that looked like a miniature fog machine.)

It's coming. The end of the week and I am on the brink of sighing with relief. How does that work? How can someone become so focused on weekends? Maybe it's the lack of pressure to perform. Maybe it's the relief that you don't have to clean up your act for a little while so it's ok to have fog flowing from your ears. Putting on an "ok" face is hard and exhausting, especially for the sake of 80 students. This week has been good, don't get me wrong. I'm so thankful that I don't have to worry about leaving these students and starting all over, but I'm human, so I'm not satisfied. I'll figure that out eventually, but it's a process. Hopefully, I'll be able to stop looking like an humidifier. Verdict is still out on that one.

The fall break that wasn't and is yet to come

Feet pounding the pavement. Each impact brings accentuates the ache in the separation of muscle and bone. Arms moving rhythmically back and forth. Hands occasionally wiping the perspiration from the forehead. Earbuds wiggling their way out of ears as the feet continue beating the ground.

I could focus on these things, the wonder of the body and physical movements as I run through Upland on an autumn evening, but I think that would make the run longer. Instead, I decided to listen to the beats and the rhythm of whatever song my playlist selected until one of those earbuds fell out of my ear and I had to put it back in. Does anyone else have that problem?

I also thought about life and student teaching and then I realized that it was a gorgeous evening and I was witnessing the beauty of fall. The locals told me that the leaves were not going to be as pretty this year, due to the dryness, but I still find it beautiful. As I run through neighborhoods, I see giant looming trees of orange and red, colors that are not that common in Colorado. My tennis shoes crushed fallen leaves in their piles as I passed beneath the aging wood. It was spectacular. I wish I could run in autumn all the time!

After running through the neighborhoods, I decided to run around the Loop. For those who do not attend Taylor, the Loop is a sidewalk (ish) that circles campus. Normally, I avoid this running path because everyone does it: Runners, lovers, loners... everyone. But, this is Taylor's fall break, which means I could run it alone. So I did. And it was painful.

It was painful for a lot of reasons. At this point in a college career, people begin to feel nostalgia. "Oh man. I'm a senior. This is my last fall here at Taylor. Where will I be next fall? I'll never be able to walk/run the Loop like this again. This was my last..." Yeah, I won't keep going. You get the picture. Don't worry. I drowned out the soul-searching with Tiao. So, in the end, the Loop was painful because it reminded me that I'm not on Fall Break. It was painful because my shin splints are coming back. I know. World's smallest violin, right?

So, I don't have fall break this weekend. Big deal. I have fall break in one and a half weeks. Two days longer than the fall break my roommates got to enjoy. I'm looking forward to that, believe me. Although, before I numbed myself into a mindless body going through the motions of running, I remember thinking: I don't like taking breaks from my students. Adjusting back to being a teacher after a break is really hard! It's like reconstructing a Jenga tower after some moron just took out one of the foundation blocks: Doable but painstakingly slow. I would much rather not have a break. I'm serious. Weekends are all I can handle. As I continue teaching full time, I'm hoping I'll find the healthy balance... You know, where I look forward to breaks and I don't panic about the Jenga classes.

I've prattled long enough. I do have to say, this fall break of Taylor's has been nice and quiet, which is something I needed much more than time away from campus.

I hear you, I see you

My roommate and I say that to each other often, ever since we saw the first episode of this current season of the TV show "Parenthood." This could be a mantra for my life right now.

You want a reason? Well, I'll try to explain it to you.

Maybe you've heard this: Things are never as they seem. This phrase is easily comparable to "I hear you and I see you." Acknowledging the opinions and the presence of mind of another person is admitting that whatever you see is not what the other person sees. For instance, I might see a defiant attitude in a 7th grade girl and my father sees a girl who does not know where she is going to live in two weeks or if her mom's boyfriend is really gone. True story. Unfortunately, this girl moved a few weeks ago, but the storyline is the same.

My dad had to point out the other side of the situation to me. He had to say, "Bridget. You know why she was doing that, right?"

In my wisdom, I replied, "Of course! She doesn't have a consistent authority figure in her life and she is fighting me."

His reply reminded me of how we describe God... tenderly shaking his head and saying, "Oh Bridget. Don't you know that there is a whole world out there that you cannot fathom? This little girl, who is entrusted to you for a short amount of time, is probably struggling with somethings at home that you'll never know about and it's your job to reach her where she is at."

This is the part where I should have said to her, "I hear you and I see you."

That is what the human being wants, isn't it? To be seen and heard. To be loved and remembered.

In the flimsy walls of the French classroom, I can only acknowledge my students' backgrounds and attempt to hear and see each one, but I am not superhuman. In the emotionally packed walls of my life, it's hard to see and hear everyone. Again, I am not superhuman. I have fallen into the rut of believing I knew the intent and motive behind every action that ever affected me... like this past week. It took a gentle reminder...ahem... well, depending on your definition of gentle... to get my attention and realize I had narrowed my vision to my "blood circle," meaning as far as my arms can reach.

So, new goal to add to the ever-growing list: "Hearing and seeing people."

What your senses tell you

One of my friends remarked that she loves the smell of fall until she realizes that the smell is the smell of decaying leaves.

I love the smell of fall because I do not have a problem with the thought of decaying leaves. As horrible as it sounds, this remains true: death must happen in order for the new to come. Things must end so beginnings can happen. Leaves have to plummet to the ground to make room for the buds in springtime. This makes me wonder why people say they are turning over a new leaf. Shouldn't you just leave that poor leaf alone and choose a different one that doesn't need to be turned over?

Let me preface these thoughts quickly. I am not saying that one must be in unity with nature in order to know the deeper meanings of life. I'm not saying that your senses and emotions are to be trusted. I won't even go so far to say that you should be enjoying the smell of decay or be okay with the thought of death. Just take these thoughts as you will and do with them as you will.

As a college student, I am familiar with changing from season to season. I am not just referring to the results of the earth's rotation. Let me give you an example: Packing up the family car with clothing, shoes, school supplies, an oscillating fan, organizers, hangers, food, and trash cans crammed into a car for the journey to college that happens once a year. Then, once the fall semester ends, the student goes home for the Christmas season, where homework, late night donut and Polar Pop runs and questionable dining commons food do not exist. Next comes, for the Taylor student, a month where you can do anything: travel the world, take a dreaded class, or stay home. Then, back to Taylor to complete another semester. At the end, the small room is packed up, into yet another vehicle and the student speeds home for another stage of life. My point is that there is a constant rhythm of change. It becomes routine, yet we are unsettled by the facets that are unknown. For many, life is only known in 3 month increments. This is where I am. So what? I am not unique in my predicament, so why care?

I don't know why you care, but here's why I care to write it. As time whizzes past my ears with high-pitched squeals, I realize that I am not supposed to know what will happen, even a month from now. If I was supposed to have life figured out by now, I would. If I knew my perfect mate, I would have only had one boyfriend. If I knew where I was supposed to go after graduation, I would be working on finding housing. Case and point? I am not supposed to know. I am not supposed to manipulate the things of this world to ensure my feelings of safety and self-empowerment. Who am I trusting if I burst into the world, guns blazing and noise pouring from my mouth, noise that I think are comprehensive words? Myself. That is a pathetic thing.

How many people only trust only themselves to drive their beautiful new cars? Too many. Where did it say in the manual that the owner of the car has never made mistakes and never had an accident? I'm pretty sure that there is no such clause to be found. How great do you think you are that you will be the best caretaker of the car? Do you pride yourself into thinking the same thing about your life? Do you remember that you are just as flawed and fallen as all of humanity? Or did you forget that? You are not the ace. You are, at best, the kid in the back car seat. Sure, you know yourself, but there's a reason you're not the head honcho. It's because God makes you look like a Hot Wheels car in the Grand Prix.

What does all of this have to do with your senses? Well, here it is. Don't think that you know what a feeling means or that something is a sign from God unless you have been in constant communication with him. Just because the puzzles pieces seem to fit perfectly doesn't mean that they match the color scheme. If sin was obviously wrong, we would never have the problem of sinning. Things appear to fit but you don't know where God is, chances are he wanted something better for you. Let that pride die. Let there be room for your trust in God to grow while the old interpretations fade away and you seek more than just a feeling or some emotional high. Let your future be vague. Let go and, while you're at it, enjoy the smell of the decay.

Tell me a story

Last week, I went to a TPRS conference in Cincinnati with my supervising teacher. TPRS stands for "Teaching Proficiency through Reading and Storytelling." My supervising teacher told me a little bit about it, but she wanted me to have some more exposure to it and I'm so glad she orchestrated it.

After picking me up at 4:50am, we took off toward Ohio. I wanted to curl up into the fetal position and go back to sleep, but I wasn't sure if my supervising teacher would have approved. The car ride was fun and we made good time. We walked into the Comfort Inn off of the interstate and I felt a little out of place, but nothing more than a student teacher would feel at a conference full of seasoned teachers. There were other French teachers there, which was as encouraging as it was intimidating.

I won't bore you with the details of the conference, although it was not at all boring. We'll settle for the fact that I was inspired to do a little storytelling myself when I returned to my classroom the next day.

I plopped onto the couch and went through paper after paper, trying to outline a story that would interest middle schoolers and include level-appropriate vocabulary. After killing a tree, I thought I had a winner. I was excited and a little full of myself as I went to school the next morning.

It was not as easy as I thought it would be. As fun as it was, it was exhausting and I felt like I was botching everything. Naturally, I am a beginner with this method, so of course I wouldn't do it perfectly. I did discover that, after a few practice runs, I love telling stories to my students. The students love hearing them and participating. They come into class now asking me if there could be another story. They are also soaking up the French. I speak more French in my French 1 classes than in the upper level classes, which is crazy.

One of the stories went like this: There was a boy named Ed. He had a friend. It was Stuart Little. They both wanted hamburgers, but there was a problem and Stuart Little had to go to the hospital...because he didn't have a mouth. Ed then goes on a search all over the world to find a mouth for his friend and purchase 400 hamburgers. He bought a mouth from Dr. Frankensteina and then went to Russia to buy some hamburgers. The cashier became angry with Ed, so she threw 400 hamburgers on him, so now he had to transport all of these across the world, back to Stuart Little in Madagascar. He gave Stuart Little the mouth and then Stuart Little ate all the hamburgers.

Through TPRS, I have discovered another side of how I want to teach. I love being a little more crazy in front of the students and making them laugh. Their interest in the class has grown exponentially since I started telling stories. I have found a way to tell stories AND make people laugh at the same time! Hallelujah! Telling silly and crazy stories has made me so much more comfortable in the classroom and I love that feeling. It might also be the fact that I just completed my 8th week of student teaching, but I think I'm going to chalk it up to storytelling. It sounds better... which is what it's all about. Give the students something to laugh at, something to remember, something they can be a part of. I feel myself growing and looking eagerly at the future, even though I have no idea what is really going on outside of my lesson plans.

The taste of defeat

Carrying my load of four French books, two binders, two spiral bound notebooks, two planners, one pencil bag, five folders, a lunch bag, a water bottle, and a travel mug, I barely stop to see the sunrise. The other day when I was running late, much like today, one of my friends was also running late. She stood at the door, holding it open for me and said, "You are going to be so happy you got yourself up this morning! Look at the sky!" I turned and I saw the most beautiful assortment of puffy purple cotton against the pale pink backdrop as the sun's rays filtered through the atmosphere. If I had been on time that morning, I would have missed it.

This morning, I was also running late. When you wake up in the morning and you remember you were supposed to have written a test for one of your classes that day, you know it is going to be a rough day. There was no cotton candy in the sky nor were there diamonds... I did not even bother to look. I was on a mission and the itinerary did not include star gazing.

This is what happened to me this morning (Yesterday, I had spent time in Cincinnati at a TPRS (Teaching Proficiency through Reading and Storytelling) conference with my supervising teacher and it was great! I felt empowered and a little cocky when I left the windowless room off of I-75. Sadly, that empowerment lasted for about 12 hours, if that.):

I went into the classroom, guns blazing this morning as I eagerly used the method with the students. It did not go exactly as I had planned, but it wasn't horrible either. I gathered my things, shook off the nagging feeling of failure and drove to the high school for the rest of the day. Finding the sub report and the paperwork from yesterday took more time than I expected and then I had to print the test that I made this morning. I encountered another problem: I had saved the wrong document file type. Story of life, oui?

While I was waiting for some version of Microsoft Word Viewer to download, I looked at my student roster to see who was already counted absent for the day. It was at this moment that I realized that the boy who was the subject of my last entry had dropped the class. My heart plummeted to my toes. What could I have done? How could I have convinced him to stay? I know it is not my fault and there are many factors that influenced his decision, but it was hard to recover from. He had won a special place in my heart but now my life has lost contact with his. He is no longer one of "my kids."

My supervising teacher said that she was not surprised and that most kids in alternative school drop regular classes because they have an attendance problem anyways. I had to restrain my eyebrows from vaulting past my hair line. After teaching for as long as she has, maybe I will feel the same way, but I still feel like a failure and I did not do something he needed me to do. That is one of the worst feelings I've experienced while student teaching. I wanted so badly to pour into this student and now he is out of my classroom. Just goes to show you that I don't have things figured out.

I am getting used to not knowing what is going to happen or where I will be going. It's easier to avoid the long term plans and expectations because they will change anyways. Not having those expectations will decrease the hurt and you'll be spared. I wish I could truly learn this lesson. I think I'm getting pretty close, thanks to the vagueness of my life at this time.

I was telling a friend today that I am in a constant foggy state-of-mind. Things are not clear and I do not know what to do. Some mornings, when there are no magnificent sunrises, a fog settles into the towns and cornfields. It cocoons me on my drive to school and I feel a connection. Yes, as strange as it sounds, fog has become a dear friend. No one can see further than anyone else into what is going to come up on the road. If someone tries and turns on their brights, they only make it worse. I've tried for too long to put the brights on and the backlash of the beams still makes my eyes ache. Now, I feel comfortable in the fog and the idea of being able to see for miles makes me uncomfortable. What if there is something I don't want to see?

As a future educator, I realize that every teacher has down days. I had one. I'm hoping that tomorrow will not mirror this one. I am more than willing to let this one slip into the time line of my life. I don't like the taste of defeat. It's too bitter to get rid of easily and it hurts as it goes down to my toes. I suppose the key is in recovery and dealing with it again and again.

Collisions

Your first take of this word is probably one of tension, conflict, and some kind of reverberating force that causes ripples in the surrounding area. Well, that is exactly what I mean it to be.

Nothing you do is separate and isolated. Every single thing that is done affects another. I wrote a story about something called "The Butterfly Effect" for a math class in my freshman year of college. While I was writing it, it seemed like I had to fabricate some large plot in order for there to be one pivotal moment. The reality is, though, every moment is a pivotal moment. Every choice you make is pivotal. Your choice makes the difference when the collision comes and the impact it has.

Let me give you an example. There is a young man on his way to class. His sweatpants are sagging well below his belt line and his over-sized hoodie makes him appear to have more flesh on his bones than his face portrays. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and he makes eye contact with you through heavy-lidded eyes. He has nothing for class. You know this because his hands are in his pockets and there is no backpack or bag to be seen. You could glare at him, because he knows that he should have the proper materials for class, when he asks if he needs his book today... Or, you could say, "Sure, I'll watch your lyrics for you while you go get your book, although I'm going to have to count you as tardy. Pull up your pants while you're there, please." And when he comes back, exclaim that you are glad the book is here and you hope to see it when he comes in the room the first time.

Of course, you can't allow him to go every day to get his book because he should now to bring supplies to class, but just imagine if you had not allowed him to get his book and you had stared at him when he asked you to watch his lyrics. His hood would have crept up his neck to the back of his head and you would have lost him. It comes down to this: Do I let the stereotype that most teachers see influence how I treat him? Or do I chose to see him? Even when I know he is talking about dropping French? However I chose, I affect him. However I talk about him to others affects them and him. You are affected by hearing about him... maybe not a lot, but you are.

You cannot prevent collisions. You cannot prevent affecting people when you make choices. These things happen. Your responsibility is to take these into account when you interact with those around you. Don't be so self-absorbed or self-pitying to say that no one is affected by you. You are not God nor are you invisible and insignificant. Take the bigger perspective and look outside of yourself. Try actually seeing the people around you. It could be convicting or enlightening. Again, you have that choice. Make it.

And the sky wept

Even if the droplets don't come from the sky, the idea of rain is inspiring... It creates an excited hum which runs through my veins and makes my fingers feel like they could connect with my brain to say something. Not just anything, but something meaningful. I'm sure some people feel that way... They might even grab a cup of tea or coffee, just to coax their fingers into cooperating and creating this aura of intellectual goodness.

I don't make those promises, but I do understand the didactic thrill of rain. So many people find solace in "curling up with a good book and a cup of tea" or doing some other comforting indoor activity. Today, I found myself grading and creating quizzes for my poor students, or should I say victims. I was not completely without the comforts of rainy days, though, so do not get out the world's smallest violins yet. My good friends, The Count of Monte Cristo and Ratatouille, were wonderful companions and the pièce de résistance to a partial overcast and rainy Saturday. Considering my movie choices, one would think I missed France or something.

Maybe it's the rain, maybe it's the constant rhythm of entering grades into a gradebook, but I was reminded today of how it felt to sacrifice an entire day to academia. It was different than previous collegiate Saturdays, though. Instead of cramming facts into my head about chemistry or some other class that was "related to my major," I was grading papers and figuring out what to do with the students who have been entrusted to me. The thought was thrilling. No offense to my fellow college-age friends, but I would not want to trade places with anyone. Yes, grading and planning take up a lot of time. In the end, it isn't so bad. I am not memorizing formulas or absorbing four chapters of psychological jargon. I'm using what little creative juices I have to educate a handful of students about France and the French language. What a great excuse to dabble in my favorite things... French literature, French music, the current events in France, and mastering the French language.

I know there are days when educators feel as if they have signed up for the wrong trip. In my short experience, I have felt this way, too. The best cure, though, is the day when you know you were born for this and you know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this is a huge part of becoming who you are meant to be. The good days will outshine the bad, if you let them. There are reasons why light is so much stronger than darkness, we just forget and let ourselves dwell on the dysfunctional and the broken. That is probably one of the reasons why people love rain... We can identify with nature in it's grayness and we desire to sequester ourselves into overstuffed chairs with blankets and worn stories. It is here that we feel comfortable and justified in our state of melancholy. You forget about the things that make you laugh and you grasp for the things that hurt you the most, because the pain seems fitting when the sky appears to be crying.

We all know that the sky doesn't cry. Obviously. But after you've taken off your yellow raincoat and set your rubber boots aside, I would venture to guess that you start to think about what made you sad, or who gave you a scar, physically or emotionally. I think it's human nature to want to feel miserable. It is so hard for us to relish in the good moments. As a student teacher, it is hard to let the good moments have more weight than the moments when plans backfire or our flaws have been pointed out. The key is to realize that if we were perfect already, there would be no need for college or student teaching. Where could we go if we knew everything and we were perfect educators?

My point, in so many words, is this: the sky can weep, as we weep, but there is a time for everything. When the rain is gone, we have to realize that as life moves, there is a direction and a goal which will be seen through to the end, despite life's complications. Let the rain come and I will let myself work through memories and failures, but I will proceed when the clouds abate and I am reminded of His faithfulness with the array of colors that arch across the sky. I am human and I will learn to thrive.

It becomes clearer as the fog rolls in

When I first moved in to this apartment, I was excited to enter into a world I where I had never traveled: Student teaching. While I thought I would be tense and uncertain during my first week in the middle school and high school, I became eager to "get my feet wet." Well, they got wet. In more ways than one.

Don't let anyone ever tell you that teaching is easy. When I was a high school student, I would slouch into my desk and raise an eyebrow at the professional educator at the front of the room who sometimes wore a tie as he tried to press more information into my ears. The poor man did not know that my mind was already humming with judgment and there was no way I would afford him space. Now I'm on the other side. I am the "professional educator" at the front of the room, although I do not wear ties. The students still slouch in their desks, but I feel removed from them. It has only been 4 to 7 years since I was in their situation, yet I cannot identify with that world anymore. I have planned quite a few lesson plans, thanks to Taylor University's requirements, and I have learned that students cannot be squeezed into my schedule. I've tried. Whether you like it or not, reviewing something they learned yesterday will take 10 minutes, not 5 minutes. For them, knowing verb forms means being able to look at their books while filling out a sheet of paper. Boy, was I naive to think that I could whip these kids into shape...

Driving home has become a bit of a therapy session. I should probably recline my seat during Gas City rush-hour traffic and get the full effect. This is the time when I think about the students who are struggling and the moments during the day when I looked at the chalkboard and prayed to the yellowing ceiling, "Dear God...I'm teaching." There are times when I feel as if I don't belong. There are other times when I know this is what I was born to do. Moments of the latter happen more than the former. Good sign, right?

Now, when I drive to school at 6:45am, the sun does not greet me by trying to pierce the back of my head through my eyes through the reflection in the rearview mirror. Oh no. Now there are heavy fogs that glide across the small ponds and valleys, which disappear as the sun rises. The cornfields have lost their youthful green for the stalks of scarecrows. With autumn approaching, the world is slowing down. The bustle of summer vacations and projects is over. Finished. (Or finishing up, for some of you.) Now comes routine and her companion, the pumpkin spice latte. Yes. I did just advertise for Starbucks. I am settling in to my student teaching and I am almost done with my first week of having complete control of all the classes. One down, two to go. That should be clear enough, right?

Well, small problem. Things are no where near as clear as that. I do not have a second placement for my student teaching, so I do not know where I will be in a month. I do not know what I will do after I graduate, where I will go, etc. When I called my parents after the second week of student teaching to tell them about my life and the rough adjustment to keep my personal life completely separate from teaching, they calmly said, "Welcome to the adult world."

That's is just what this is... a welcome to another world, completely different than the ones before it yet building off of the foundation of past worlds. It is here that I will learn how to juggle friendships and workloads. It is here that I will learn how to budget food money more closely. It is also here that I will be broken and seek healing. My God is good, though, and I have faith that he will complete all that he has set out for me. All of these worlds will make sense, but they do not have to make sense right now.