Remembering Thankfulness

These weeks are hard. I am sapped of strength... physically (lack of sleep will do that to you), emotionally, and spiritually. I find myself going through the motions, living minute to minute, forgetting what I need for the next hour. The only thing I am aware of is the next thing... Thinking about a few days down the road, or even a week from now is exhausting.

There's something about lack of sleep, menacing projects, and the "dripping faucet" daily assignments that manage to slowly suck the joy of life out of me. I suppose this always happens toward the end of the session, but this time around it's been worse than ever.

I must confess: my attitude has been far from good. I have been more ashamed about my attitude in the past few weeks than I have been in the past year. I know better, and yet I still take every chance I get to grumble and gripe.

I wake up every morning telling myself today will be better. And then I get overwhelmed and resort right back to my complaining self. It's easy to complain when there are 30 other people seemingly walking the exact same steps as me... same classes, same responsibilities. Complaining and ranting has become common ground.

I think back to last semester and how convicted I was about my attitude of complaining. I remember keeping a list of thanks... jotting down little things throughout the day that made me smile or laugh: the seagull that randomly stopped to pick at something in the road during early morning rush hour, a kindergartener asking if I am 100, and a clean kitchen.

As this session has progressed, I have laid aside my list of thanks. Literally. The little, bright orange spiral notebook of thanks got buried under my piles of teacher texts, notebooks, and classroom handouts. Prayer was a hurried gasp before the next stressful moment. Good conversations were always about the classroom. Chapel got cut to once a week.

Thirsty.

I decided I can't go on like this... without joy life is impossible. I pulled out the little, bright orange spiral notebook and began to write. I began to pray. I began to look for answers.

This past week has been one of the most refreshing. I am overwhelmed by the goodness around me, overwhelmed by grace. Overwhelmed by the depth of human friendship and understanding.

As I have started to work on my attitude, remembering to be thankful for even the little things has broadened my perspective. It has filled me with compassion. It has given me fresh energy even when the homework heaps.

So. If you catch me complaining. Stop me. Let our common ground be thankfulness.

Memento of my past

I'm in a weird phase of life. I realize that all my recent blog posts have to do with this... but it's probably just because I can't stop processing it.

The past month and a half I have inhaled methods and assignments, and have exhaled lesson plans, sixth grade, and teacher texts. I use words like "schema" and "comprehension" and "contextual factors" in almost every conversation. When I close my eyes I think about Wednesdays in the classroom, the mountain of lesson plans, unit plans, and reflections waiting for me to complete. My artistic side is solely expressed in how creative I make my lesson plans (and sixth grade math lessons can only go so far...)

Since Grace has switched to 8 week sessions of three classes, I end up deeply immersed in a few subjects till they pepper every conversation and regulate my whole thought process. Last session it was all about prayer and creative writing. Last semester it was all about Ukraine and politics. And the sessions before that... middle school and more lesson planning. But I'm realizing that this session will carry over through the rest of my life. Because this is all about being a teacher. Which is, after all, what my life is supposedly going to be.

However... I miss the creative side of life. In high school I considered myself to be a musician. I considered myself to be artsy. I spent time with artsy people, and I loved it. But as college has progressed and I have gotten busier, I have slowly eliminated many of those parts of me. This year I quit playing in the orchestra. It was too much of a time commitment, and I didn't have time to practice. It's the first time since 5th grade that I don't see my violin at least once a week. Sure, it's tucked away under my desk, but it's strapped in, covered with cloth, and zipped away.  I no longer have a piano to play when I get stressed... and time for writing has dwindled.

I realize that I appear to have rejected most of who I have been for the majority of my life. In the day to day running around, I don't realize it's even happened. But sometimes I pause to ponder... and realize that I have become someone entirely different, and that I have left behind so much of my artsy side.

I am most hit with it when I take time to be around artists. When I stop to marvel at art or pottery from a true artist. When I listen to beautiful music. When I glance in the direction of my violin. When I see an overwhelming sunset. Sadness washes over me, and I mourn the loss of that artistic side.

This seems like a weird segue into explaining why I got a cartilage piercing... but. I did. And I think it has a lot to do with this more artistic side of me.

Some people see it as a rebellious streak. Perhaps it is the "good girl," "rule follower" in me taking the opportunity to rebel. But I don't think so. A cartilage piercing to me has always been a symbol of creativity... and a reminder of the people I loved to spend time with as they made beautiful things in art, in music... subtle but different.

It's something I have always wanted, but especially now since I so miss the artistic side of me... the part of me I have always loved, but have always been shy about.

I figured I might as well do it now...

A little uncertain but excited

A little bit of culture shock... Grace College to this :)

Matching piercings!

Incompetence

I'm exhausted. In every sense of the word.

There's something about trying to play the part of a student and a teacher that just wipes me out (I wonder what it could be...). Every day feels like a marathon, fighting to push through to the end, fighting to do good work. In the past this usually works for me. I'm known to be a good student...

But what happens when I simply can't give 100% to everything? When things start tumbling out of my grasp because I simply can't keep up the balancing act? Five hours of sleep, rushing around finishing (and forgetting) homework assignments that really matter, working, heading up a campus organization that is exploding in interest and involvement... all while trying to learn what it means to be a teacher to a class of sixth grade students... it's absolutely overwhelming. Sometimes I long for the carefree days of sixth grade when a "hard" night of homework was a math worksheet and a reading assignment.

My views about education are being flipped upside down, the things I thought I knew are all unknowns. I feel like after three years of hard work and education about how to educate I know so much... yet know so little. Terror grips me at the responsibility of being in charge of students' education. People tell me I'll be a great teacher. But how do they know? I'm seeing so much more of what that means. My respect for great teachers is growing by the day, and my understanding of mediocre teachers is swelling. Teaching is hard. It is not something you do simply because you can't do anything else.

Even though I've been a good student, I'm realizing that being a good teacher is not a given. In fact, I am doubting my ability in everything. I am at a point of complete humility... pushed to my breaking point. But I have decided this is what I'm doing. There's no going back.

It's not just because I've spent three years of college studying to become a teacher. It's because I have fallen in love with teaching. With the kids. With the lives I have the opportunity to shape. I love helping others learn, to see passions develop, and to keep the fire of education alive.

In the rush of each day... in the exhaustion of each moment it's easy to forget the big picture. It's so easy to lose sight of the higher goal. It's easy to get buried in the details.

I am incompetent... but I am working hard... I still face failure, the need for reflection, and grace every day.

That's why each night I climb into bed whispering "Your grace is sufficient for me. Your power is made perfect in weakness..." and I wake up every morning murmuring "Your grace is enough for today."