Letter to My 8th Graders...

Here's my feeble attempt to say thank you to the young men and women who unknowingly changed my heart forever- my 8th graders. 

I treasure you.  

I treasure your hearts, your convictions, your sense of self.  I treasure your beauty, your vulnerability, your sense of adventure.  I treasure how you readily opened your hearts to me, inviting me to see the joy, the pain, and the wonder you have from our world.  What I see before me is truly captivating.  

I treasure you.

To my ladies:

Before me, I see a group of young ladies that have affirmed my belief that young women today are growing up strong, confident, and smart.  I look at you, ladies, and see a zest for life that permeates every inch of your being, and I can't help but wish I had known you when I was in 8th grade.  Maybe if I had, your vibrancy would have rubbed off on me, and I wouldn't have felt so insecure with who I was.  Ladies, you have captured my heart.  Don't let anyone tell you that you're not good enough.  You are.  You are valued and loved.  You are beautiful and smart.  I sit here with eager anticipation, waiting to see the women you will become, and yet, I am also content with knowing you just as you are this very moment. 

There are ladies in this room who break my heart, not for anything you have done, but for what the world has done to you.  The world has lied to you.  It has told you that you aren't pretty enough, skinny enough, or valuable enough.  And you believed it.  You swallowed the harsh and bitter lies as truth, and the ramifications are devastating.  I see you making choices that you aren't ready to make.  I see the paths you are taking, the mistakes you are making, and it breaks my heart.  How do you not see what I see? How do you not look in the mirror and see the beauty and wisdom I see?  When I look at the young women you have become, I see tender hearts behind sullen eyes.  I know those eyes. I used to see them in my reflection too.  To you, dear ladies, I reiterate- you are beautiful.  You are captivating.  You are worth it. 

To my gentlemen:

Then, there are my ridiculously hilarious and often inappropriate gentlemen that have unreservedly welcomed me to do life with them the past four years.  I have seen you, gentlemen, transition from young boys, bustling with exuberance and untamed energy, into reflective young men who own your shortcomings and promise to do right the next time.  Some days, you are mature for your years; others, you are still the young boys I knew not long ago.  The only difference is now you look down at me, instead of the other way around.  You, boys, have an unparalleled sense of humor.  I laugh endlessly, all while wishing I could match your humor and wit.  I can't. You are funnier than me.  

You are unashamed of nerding out, you shuffle with the best of them, you let me teach you about crop dusting (potential teacher fail...).  You understand when I am being hard on you, and why I need to pull you into the hallway for "a talk".  You don't like it, I know, but you listen, usually head hung low, and you apologize.  You, gentlemen, have reaffirmed my hope in young men.  I believe wholeheartedly that you will become responsible, wise men that will make this place better.  Actually, I take that back. You already are responsible, wise men making this place better.  Please don't stop.  I anxiously await the day when I get to see you become the honorable husbands, fathers, and leaders our country so desperately needs.

8th Graders: the past four years have been such a privilege for me, an unearned gift, that has forever changed my reality and perception of teaching.  Yes, I teach synonyms and proper spelling and how to find writing topics. Yes, I have taught you to analyze a character's motives, recognize figurative language in texts, and applauded you when you actually finished a book in my class (*cough, Jesus*).  But you have taught me so much more about my profession than any college class or professional development could.  You have taught me to see the students in my class as people first, students second.  You have stories, lives, and pasts that matter.  You have inside jokes with your friends, bad hair days that ruin everything, fights with your best friends that leave you feeling lonely.  You are people, and me trying to teach you a comma rule or the meaning of a hard poem is futile if I don't "see" you first.  Because of you, I am a better teacher and a better person. Words cannot express my gratitude for this.

Never in my life will I get a class like yours, a group of students that I get to travel with for five years straight.  I don't know what it's like to teach and not see your faces looking back at me.  The thought alone make my heart swell with bitter anticipation of next April, when you leave.  I don't know what it's like to start class every August and have to learn 30 new names.  I have always had the pleasure of seeing my favorite faces every August, my kids who are so eager to share their summer stories with me, that not having that is foreign and uncomfortable.

Ladies and Gentlemen, you have set the bar high.  I feel sorry for the next group of kids who must fill your shoes, the shoes that have made a lasting imprint on my heart. 

I Am Who I Am...On His Purpose

Sometimes working in a low-income, urban school district makes me feel like I'm emptying the ocean with an eye dropper.  And just when I feel like I am making gains, filling my cup slowly one drop at a time, someone comes and knocks it over.

I am left staring at my spilled cup and the vast ocean of hurting kids in front of me wondering, What's the point?


Today, God graciously and probably humorously answered me.

The point is, He loves these kids.  And I was purposely created to love them too.  Despite all of their flaws, their energy, their incessant back-talking, the eye rolling, the held-back tears, and eventually their crumbling walls, I am called to love them because He loves them.

I believe I was created BY His purpose, FOR His purpose, meaning my behavioral quirks, personality, physical appearance, background, and life experiences make me uniquely talented and fitted for the work He demands of me.

Here's what I mean.  Get ready! You're going to learn more about me than you'd probably care to know. Sorry.... except I'm really not.

• For YEARS, I was the awkwardly cliche middle school girl. I was uncomfortable in my own skin, jealous of the "pretty" girls, too shy to put myself out there.  The introvert in me kept my heart closed, hiding my anxiety and unhappiness from the world.  I, like every other girl on the planet, suffered from body image issues.  I was the poster child for "Middle School is the Worst Three Years of Your Life."  Unfortunately for me, my awkward followed me years after I left 8th grade.
• I was raised by a strong-willed, confident, single mother.  I don't know my dad, apart from a name on a birth certificate and a handful of sporadic memories that make me grimace.  I was the typical "day-care kid," who felt more comfortable around childcare providers than my own extended family.  I resented my friends who had dads and even to this day, I feel a pang of hurt when I see a Father-Daughter Dance at a wedding.
• I am sarcastic. Almost to a fault.  I love making people laugh, and sometimes I'm even good at it (not according to this blog, however. This blog is 100% stoic. All.The.Time).
• I am young-ish.  I am old enough to see the repercussions of the mistakes I made in my early 20's, and I am young enough to understand when the next generation makes the same ones.  I look younger than I am. I vividly remember meeting my students' parents the first couple of years teaching. I felt their eyes scanning me up and down, wondering "Is she even old enough to be a teacher?"

Now...why would a self-proclaimed introvert who guards her heart fiercely be so vulnerable today (aside from this is her blog and she can)?  It's because I realized this: I am the way I am on purpose.  Don't get me wrong. I am flawed. Seriously flawed.  Some days I even try working at it.  But I realized that God is using me EXACTLY the way I am to serve His purpose.


I speak fluent middle school. I know how to get my troublesome 7th and 8th graders to care.  Believe me, I'm not gloating.  I have no idea what the magic formula is for getting through to these kids, but something is working.  My kids know they can come to me. They know I've invested my everything into their success. After 4 years of pouring into their lives, I've finally started to see a transformation in them.  Their walls are beginning to fall. 


I attribute this all to God.  He has fully and graciously equipped a very flawed person like myself to handle the daily battles of working with hormonal middle school kids. 

So here's where I leave off.  Luke 12:48 says, "From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked."

I have been given my life for a purpose.  I have been given my personality, every strength and vice, every inappropriate sarcastic comment or thought, for a reason.

And because of this, I let out a huge sigh of relief.

Eyes Wide... Closed

I recently read this quote by Norman Douglas, "To find a friend, one must close one eye.  To keep him...two."

It took me a few reads to truly appreciate the beauty of this idea.  Douglas is suggesting that finding community takes a certain act of faith, as well as an extension of grace.  We must have faith that the person we "see" before us is who they say they are, and we must extend them grace when perhaps that's not the case.  We don't enter relationships blindly, but once we're knee-deep in them, we are called to love and accept our friends where they are.

Recently, I was over-whelmed with life. Yes, yes, I know, this is a common theme when I blog. I'm working on it.  I write when I'm stressed. I write when I'm emotional.  I am neither of these today.  Be shocked.

Instead, I just felt like sharing a story as my act of gratitude towards a dear friend.

A couple of weeks ago, I was failing at life.  One of the first things that seems to go when I lose control of life is the orderliness of my house. It was bad.  I needed help.

My best friend and I had made plans to spend time in community with one another, but I texted her the morning of asking for a rain check.  I wanted to clean my house.  I assumed she'd happily comply.  But hours passed, and I heard nothing from her.  She called me after school and said she would not extend me my rain check, but instead would come help me clean.  Ouch.  She was a better person than me.  My best friend, who I've canceled on countless times, was coming to help me clean my house...while pregnant.  Yeah, it wasn't my proudest moment.

She was so gracious and perky, asking "What now?" and "Let's tackle this area next."  I was humbled and guilt-stricken for her act of service.  As she cleaned my upstairs bathroom, I sat on my kitchen floor and cried.  She doesn't know this, well, not until now, at least.

I had let my life get so crazy, so busy, that I had hurt the people around me.  My circle was wide, but it certainly was not deep.  I cried because I realized that I had failed at keeping up much more than just my house.

1 John 4:20 says, "If someone says, 'I love God,' but hates a Christian brother or sister, that person is a liar; for if we don't love people we can see, how can we love God, whom we cannot see?"

She was loving me when I certainly hadn't earned it.

I hope she knows how much I love her heart. She loves me unconditionally, but still holds me accountable for my lousy decisions.  She extends me grace when I need it and challenges me to do the same.  I said at her wedding that she was a woman that I looked to for advice and for approval, someone who so clearly embodied a strong woman of Christ.  Everything I said about her character and her heart is still true today.

She has a been a friend who has kept both eyes closed with me. And for that, I am grateful.

With your loved ones, are your eyes open or closed?

 

House Arrest

It's not a secret- I over-commit. I have trouble saying no.  My life is a constant series of appointments and to- do lists. I frequently double book, hoping it will all work itself out. I'm the typical, busy, twenty something.

But it wasn't always this way.  There was once a time when my weekends were free. I watched a thing called television, and I could even provide you with a synopsis of all the latest episodes of the hit shows.  I read books...and actually had time to finish them.  I even reveled in the fact that when an engagement came up, I got to pull out my calendar, and actually use it.  Back then, I wasn't busy.  I hated it.  Being lazy wasn't how I wanted to live.

So I changed it. 

This past year, I went from one extreme to the other. Lethargy is not a word I'd use to characterize my life now.  Every weekend, I find myself struggling to balance all of the people and commitments I've made.  I drive. A lot.  I use more gas now, than I'd care to admit.  I miss sleep, and I'm often left out of conversations regarding what's on television.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I'm just summarizing what life looks like now.  It's strikingly different than a year ago.  And I feel blessed by it all.

But I found enough down time to blog. Shock. I had to cancel three sets of plans today, Memorial Day, the day when everyone, even the hermits of the world have plans, because I'm under House Arrest.  

I'm not allowed to leave my house, or really even get up off the couch, per Dr. Kendra's and Dr. Shannon's orders.  I had surgery on my foot on Friday. Very painful bone surgery.  I say this because I underestimated how much it would hurt, and how much I would have to scale my life back.  Yesterday, only two days after my surgery, I attempted to "get my life back." Church, friends, bible study- a typical Sunday.

Only it wasn't typical.  I was too drugged up to hear the message at church. I struggled to get up and down the stairs, providing comic relief to my friends.  I threw up several times, while my beloved friend and chauffeur held back any patronizing comments about being right. I even laid sprawled out on her bathroom floor because I was too weak to get up. Yesterday wrecked me.

And here I am- smiling.  I'm sitting on my patio, loving that I'm not allowed to do anything today.  I was forced to take a day off, and I'm so thankful that I have friends who tell me when enough is enough. God strategically placed strong-willed friends and family in my life who make me take care of myself. 

So to those wonderful ladies, I say thank you.  Thank you for loving me enough to yell at me when I'm being stupid. Thank you for being strong enough to make hard decisions for me.  Thank you for challenging my stubbornness.  

I need days like today. And I need you to remind me of that. 

What Are We Teaching Kids?

Kids are great reflectors.

Yes, I realize that statement isn't rocket science.  In fact, there are a number of websites exploring the relationship between adolescent brain development and environment.  No seriously.  I Googled it (side note- the English teacher in me loves the fact that we took a proper noun and made it into a verb).  Anyhow, there are over 27,000,000 sites about this idea.  Add my blog post, and now we have 27,000,001 sites examining why middle schoolers act they way they do.  Neat.

Kids are products of their environments.  Spend even a small amount of time with a middle school student, and within minutes, you can deduct whether or not their parents are present or absent in their lives.  You can ascertain whether the father figure is honorable or cowardly.  You can even tell if a kid is feeling the pressure of financial stress, or if they're being raised to naively believe that the money supply is infinite.  To those kids, I chuckle.  Infinite money supply. Haha, yeah, good luck, buddy. 

Anyhow, I'm realizing that middle school students reflect their upbringing in how they think and how they behave.  And this goes for ALL kids, not just the gems sitting in front of me in English class.

Exhibit A:  I have a 7th grade student.  We'll call him Isaac*.  From the moment Isaac stepped foot into our school, he has struggled.  Fighting, bullying, incessant eye rolling.  He has perfected it all.  He was immediately labeled a "real middle school kid," and I'm going to be honest, my first thoughts about him were, Ugh, really? Which, of course, was followed by my own eye roll.
       Isaac has been suspended countless times, is behind in every academic area, and speaks openly about how he hates his life.
       Enter his parents.  

       Earlier this semester, I had to sit in on a meeting about Isaac with all of his teachers, my principal, Isaac, and his mother.  His mother openly said, "I've given up on him.  I'm waiting for the police to come and take him away."  Yup, right in front of her son.  Heart breaking, right?
       I realized that day that Isaac's behavior, lack of self-control, and overall demeanor was not his fault.  Up until that point, he had no one, myself included, telling him that he was valuable, that he was uniquely created for a purpose bigger than I or anyone else could see.  He mattered.  He just didn't know it.
       From that point on, my colleagues and I took him on as our "project".  We vowed that we would not give up on him.  He WILL graduate from high school.  He WILL get out of his destructive home environment.
      Well, a few weeks ago, he stole a master key to our school.  Yeah, if that's not a kick to the stomach, I don't know what is.  After weeks of "working on him" and extending him grace, he pulled this. Really, Isaac? Really?!?
       Of course, we had no proof that he stole it, except for other students' testimonies.  He continually denied it, frustrating us even further.  Finally, after several conversations telling him that if "it just shows up," he wouldn't get into any trouble, he proudly returned the key on Monday.
       Later on in the day, he went up to the main office.  He asked my principal, "Um...are you proud of me for turning it in?"
       She responded, "Isaac, yes.  You did the right thing, but I'm very hurt and disappointed that you lied to us and stole the key in the first place."
       His head lowered, feeling ashamed.  And then softly, he said again, "But I did the right thing, right?  You're proud of me?"
       Hearing this broke my heart.  He was crying out to be validated and praised.  He desperately wants to be told he is good, that he has so much to offer this world.
     
      And yet, the people who really get to shape him into the man he needs to be aren't stepping up.

      Kids reflect the instability, chaos, and pain that encompasses their world.  But they also reflect the good, the love, and the respect they see.  It's a scale.  Show a kid that they matter, and they will start to believe it and act that way.  Show a kid dysfunction, and they become dysfunctional.  It's that simple.

     So God, today I ask, please grant me patience to deal with my students who act out.  Help me extend them grace when they mess up.  Let my words and actions show them they matter.  

Reading Should Change You

If my 6th and 7th graders learn only one thing while in my English class, I hope it's this: Reading should change you.  Yes, I would be relieved if they could learn the difference between your and you're or that 'cuz isn't a word, much less a reason. If after our eight months together, they can spell definitely or does correctly, I would be happy, and I think the world would thank me. But this is not why I teach.  It's not why I love reading and writing.

I love being an English teacher because I get to show 100 angst-ridden, hormonal 6th and 7th graders that there is a world outside of text messaging, Facebook posts, and YouTube clips.  Like teenagers everywhere, my students are consumed with drama.  Their friendships and romantic relationships are short-lived and not fulfilling.  They hate their parents one minute, love and admire them the next.  They don't know who they are, or what they want.  They simply can't see beyond themselves to appreciate the life they have been given. I'm not criticizing them.  I went through this stage.  It is why I'm not too worried about them.  They'll grow out of it, eventually.

However, when I am granted a small window of opportunity to get them to be moved by literature, I get to go home, hang my "teacher" coat up, and breathe a sigh of relief.  I did it.  They were affected.  Someone else's story caused them to see themselves and the world differently.

I had such a moment on Friday.

My 7th graders are in the midst of a Holocaust unit.  It's been the hardest and most rewarding unit I have ever taught.  I can unabashedly say they have learned more the last four weeks than they have this whole year.

Don't tell my district, but gasp, I read aloud to them.  A whole book.  Everyday.  Together, we read Yellow Star, a true account of a little girl who survived in the Lodz, Poland ghetto.  She was one of 12 children to walk out on Liberation Day.  270,000 Jews were forced to live in this ghetto over a six year time period, and only 800 people survived.  Of that, 12 were children. 12.

There were several times while reading this book that I got goosebumps or teary- eyed.  Again, I'm admittedly a tender-heart who loves reading.  You shouldn't be shocked that this book would affect me.

But the real thing to be celebrated is that I had 50 7th graders along for the ride.  When we finished the story on Friday, silence filled my classroom.  Eyes stared down at the tables.  One student had to quickly find the tissue box.  Words were unnecessary.  I knew what their silence meant- they had been moved.  Reading had affected them.

I had them write personal responses anonymously just so I could see what they were thinking. Here are some that validate that I am exactly where God needs me to be:

-"I take things for granted. I know I should value everything because they had nothing and they were just content with family." 
-"Through it all, they had hope.  They had each other and that was enough."
-"To be honest, I thought the Holocaust was just a tough part in history, but I realize that it was much more than a rough patch in someone's life.  It was real." 
-"Horrifying.  The feelings, thoughts of this unspeakable madness.  It made sorrow rise up from my aching heart.  Tears of respect flow down from my soul." 
-"I think many of us take life for granted.  I got chills throughout this book.  If we think our life is hard, just imagine being in the shoes of a Holocaust victim."
-"Jews went through so much pain seeing the Nazis kill their loved ones, but they still managed to hold onto hope. "


This is why I teach.

He is Why

Crossroads.  Junctions.  Intersections.

Call it what you will, but each is referencing those big life moments where "from this point on, things were never the same."

Our current series at church titled,"Changed Life...Changed Community...Changed World," is exploring these turning-point moments, most notably Jesus's triumph over death and how it literally changed everything.  When he conquered death, he paved a way for every person to have an intimate, personal relationship with his father.  His ultimate sacrifice allows me to sit here on my patio smiling because I know a freedom that is rooted entirely in grace and mercy.  My Father loves me, has always loved me, and will always love me.  My limited human experience will never fully appreciate or understand the gravity of that statement.  And I don't have to.  I just know it's true.

Jesus describes in Matthew 16:13-19 how nothing will be able to stop his church, his mission in having every person know the freedom that comes with God's grace and love.  In Acts 1:8, he describes how his church will spread first to "Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth."  2000 years later, and his promise hold true.  His church has spread to the ends of the earth.  I am living proof of that.

Today's service talked about Stephen, a preacher who accused the Jews of persecuting Jesus.  He is ultimately stoned to death for his sermon.  Upon seeing this, believers scattered. To where?  Judea and Samaria, ultimately fulfilling Jesus's own promise about how his church will spread.

Our God is so masterful.  He equipped Stephen to be exactly who He needed him to be.  Eloquence, intelligence, and position- all used so that one day, he could deliver this pivotal, life- changing sermon.  Stephen's death was for His purpose of spreading the great news of Jesus.

So here I am, thinking about God's purpose for each of us.  I am reminded of a quote that states, "The purpose of my life is far greater than my own personal fulfillment, peace of mind, or even my happiness.  It is far greater than my own family, career, or wildest dreams.  I was born BY His purpose FOR His purpose" (Beth Moore).

Stephen was wonderfully and intricately crafted by God to be used by God.

And I'm realizing, so am I.  He has entrusted me with this small amount of time on earth to live abundantly, fearlessly, and effectively.  My geographical location in the world, my passions, my disposition, my career choice- are all a part of God's plan. So it is with this in mind that I ask, "God...what do you want to do today? And how can I be a part of it?"