Finishing

I am on the last section of my senior project: working on assembling my oral presentation and powerpoint.

Normally things like this energize me, make me excited, and fill me with a sense of accomplishment.

Today, however, I am dragging my feet and struggling to get it done. It's not because I no longer find it interesting. It's not because it's something I don't want to do, or that I feel like I'm being forced to do. In fact, nerd that I am, I have enjoyed this project immensely... the growth I have seen in my students as well as myself has been so encouraging.

None of these things are holding me up. Rather, it's the fact that this is the last big thing I have to do before going to Hungary. Finishing this project implies that I am essentially finished with my student teaching here in Indiana. Of course I will still go to school for a few more weeks... I'll even be teaching a few subjects. However, most of my work will be entirely completed, and my supervising teacher will be reclaiming the class. While it will be nice for my responsibilities to lessen over these next few weeks, it is still very bittersweet.

It's bitter because I love my kids. I love how excited they are to learn from me. I love that they are rough around the edges and that they aren't always easy to love. I love that they have grown so much just in these past few months. No matter where I end up next, Madison and my sixth grade class will always have a part of my heart.

It's bitter because my roommates are so dear to me. It has been such a blessing to live with two other student teachers (and one basically-teacher) who understand the daily stresses, who listen to my crazy sixth grade adventures, and who make me laugh till I cry with their stories of first and third grade.

It's bitter because I haven't spent much time with my family over these months, and now I'm getting ready to leave the country.

It's bitter because I'm leaving everything I know, that I'm comfortable with, that I love, and that I have experienced success with. I'm leaving so many people I love. And I turn to face the wild unknown.

Except it is known.

It's sweet because I get to go live with my Nagyi who I usually only get to see once or twice a year.

It's sweet because I get to live in a huge city, in another country, full of people I have never met... yet people I can understand. A city I know well, with favorite ice cream stops, bus stops, and bakeries. A city of my childhood.

It's sweet because I get to celebrate wandering... exploring... and doing something I never imagined I would be brave enough to do.

It's sweet because I get to teach kids. Totally different than these ones, but kids nonetheless. I get to work with English Language Learners, middle school students, and even high school students.

It's sweet because I get to work with other Christians in a Christian school, and worship with believers from all over the world.

It's sweet because I'm still going home.

Stats

It's Saturday.
I am about a week away from presenting my final senior project, and I'm sitting here crunching student data and analyzing student learning. It is one of the most invigorating things I have ever done.

As I pour over numbers, make graphs, and calculate averages I can't stop smiling. It might have to do with my Mumford Pandora station. But I know it's more than that. It's because I live for growth. Growth energizes me and gives me purpose. And now I have a palpable, obvious representation of growth.

In the past, growth has always come in a different form. It's been through Growth Group leading... watching my girls grow and learn to be vulnerable with each other. These things take time, and they cannot necessarily be traced back through what they learned in Growth Groups. However, it was still encouraging to see their progress. Working with people is hard since growth is never a steady increase... it always seems to plateau. And it's like that with school-learning too.

But today, Growth comes to me in pre- and post-test data... the English Language Learner who increased his score by over fifty percent... the quiet girl who is convinced she's dumb (who managed to only miss one point)... my two students with IEPs who struggle with writing...they both nearly aced the writing portion of my test. My whole class meeting my goal for them, and students increasing their scores by over 30 percent. This calls for celebration.

I am humbled by the way my students show me grace for my mistakes, by their encouragement and desire to help me. By their advice, "yell at us more... you're too kind" or "we like funny teachers. you're funny. always be funny" or "we don't like reading. we like video clips" or "make homework funner" or "you're doing everything right. don't change anything."

My heart is full. Of growth. Celebration. Excitement. The love of teaching. Sixth Grade.

High Standards

This week was a lesson in high standards... for myself and for my students.

Typically as I go from week to week teaching, I leave my small room a complete mess. My bed is lofted, and I rarely want to take the time clambering over the top to cover the bed and make it nicely. The morning rush of trying on different outfits, disliking the way they look and switching just minutes before walking out the door leads to heaps of dress clothes on my chair that I use to get down from my lofted bed. Sixth grade papers and assignments litter my desk as I try to keep them straight as I keep track of math, reading, and three classes of social studies,. A stack of books: math, social studies, supplementary texts, Maniac Magee, and The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, my bible, notebook, and journal lay in between picture frames of the people I love and haven't seen in what feels like forever. Every night it's a race to get my needed seven hours of sleep... pushing through another day.

Weekends are supposed to be productive. They never are, because I am simply too tired from the week. The mess in my little hole of a room overwhelms me and makes me avoid going in there at all costs. My mind feels as cluttered as my room, and my bed is always calling me to come and rest. I usually spend the weekend cleaning my mess... and within a day it's all back, just like I left it.

This week I realized that I had developed the unhealthy habit of mess. The mess controls me, keeps me from accomplishing what I need to, and leaves me feeling tired and gross. So I set a goal for myself: I would make my bed every day this week, and all clothes had to be put away by the end of every day before I went to bed. I realized that if I took the extra two minutes every day, it would save an hour of cleaning on the weekend. This might sound like a stupid goal, not much of a "high standard" but it has made all the difference this week.

Instead of avoiding my room, I was able to come "home" and relax, prepare for the next day, get to bed on time, and feel rested in the morning. I felt productive and clean. And. I made my goal.

This expectation for myself spilled over into high expectations for my students.

I did not let them give me excuses. I did not let them tell me that they didn't "get it" or that it was too hard to learn. When I showed them I trusted them, believed they could accomplish what I asked of them, it was astonishing to see what they could accomplish:

Sixth grade "low math" students derived pi by measuring household objects like bowls, toilet paper, and oreos. They also derived the equation for circumference and areas of circles...

Sixth grade readers wrote me about the theme of Maniac Magee and gave me specific evidence from the text to back it up. Thesis statements and everything... stuff some of my college students struggle with. And my sixth graders did it!

Sixth grade social studies students wrestled with the concept of child labor in other parts of the world... how can it be allowed? How is it fair that these children are being treated? They analyzed the immense gaps between the wealthy and the poor and the injustice in the world... all on their own.

Yes, they are just sixth graders. But when given high standards, they will achieve beyond what is expected. Those high standards must start with myself before spilling over into my classroom. But once those are in place, students will rise to the occasion and achieve far more than I ever could have expected of them. I am reveling in the results of high expectations.

Who am I?

Today the sound of my own thoughts is deafening. Like the stormy waves we saw at Point Pelee this winter, they crash, one after the other, into my sanity. They drown out logic, emotions, hope. Until I'm simply living moment by moment, always waiting for the next crash to interrupt.

While most "inspirational" posters recommend living in the moment, enjoying life second by second... this can frequently become a selfish way to live. Or an unwise way to live. If moment by moment I choose to do what I think is right for me, I stop caring for others. Because nine times out of ten, I will choose to live for myself.

It is this realization that has me agitated. My senior year is slowly fading... It's second semester already. I'm leaving for Hungary in a month and a half. Then two weeks back here. Then graduation. And then a big, fat question mark. ?

So today I tried my best to listen in church. I tried my best to greet those sitting beside me. I tried my best to keep it together. But crash. after crash. after crash. Interrupted my thoughts.

I planned on going to my sunday school class after church to have some time to see people I don't get to see throughout the week. But I realized that suddenly I was on the verge of tears. crash.

An understanding look from my new apartmentmate, a reassuring touch on the shoulder, and I sprinted out the door. I contemplated a walk through the tiny snowflakes drifting down onto the already white ground. But I knew I needed Truth, and I was uncertain how much my mind had to offer at this point.

I got home, snuggled down, new Bible (well not-so-new anymore) in hand... already its pages are crinkled, underlined, and smell more like lotion than a new book...

I tried to journal. Nothing came out. I tried to talk things out (yes. I talk outloud when I'm home alone). I tried to get to the bottom of my anxiety, fear, and frustration.

Finally I just wrote "I'm mad." and then I listed circumstance after circumstance of days built up. So often we talk about how "being mad" is no way to live. So I stuff it. Until it comes out in crash. after crash. after crash. Stopping any real thinking from happening. Finally I laid everything out. And I traced back my incessant crashs to a lack of control. too much uncertainty. frustration at not knowing.

Then the quiet words Who am I? Etched themselves across my mind. So I began listing.

Alpha and the Omega. Beginning and End.
Eternal.
Almighty.
Wise.
Prince of Peace.
All-knowing.
Father.
LOVE.

After each one, I stopped, considering what this had to do with my life. And realized. My life isn't unknown. It's just unknown to me. It's uncertain to me. But it is by no means unknown.

And then the words, Perfect love casts out fear.  I know the One who is perfect love. And the more I reflect on His love, the more my fear, my control-freak, my anger subsides. Because I know He is infinitely loving and infinitely wise. He knows what's best... and I can trust Him.

So instead of being mad, frustrated, overwhelmed, and upset... I choose to declare His steadfast love in the morning and His faithfulness by night (Psalm 92:2).

The Power of a Kind Word

Sixth grade is far better than I could have imagined. Their personalities and interests are so developed, they are smart, they are hilarious. But they are cautious in giving their respect. Teaching them is hard. When I first walked into the classroom I wasn't showered with drawings of "I love you." Neither was I bombarded with hugs or any kind of attention. They stole glances at me when they thought I wasn't looking. They whispered about me behind my back. They talked about me at lunch.

But slowly, they are giving me their respect. I've had to earn it, work for it, show them I care... even when they don't seem to care about me.

It started with quiet smiles at a joke. A nod when I gave directions. But now they tell me they like me. That they like when I teach. That things are making sense. And that is better than any hug or cute picture from a kindergartener. It takes more work to win them over, but once they trust you... they come to your defense. They do what you say (for the most part), and they want to learn from you.

For me, sixth grade seems like yesterday. I remember the sixth grade crises. I remember learning the very things I am now teaching. I was always a high-achiever. But now when I teach, I must focus on all my students. I love finding ways to encourage the students falling through the cracks.

The boy who doesn't ever do his work because he's never had anyone make him, and he's never seen the point.

The girl who is too shy to ever volunteer in class, so everyone assumes she doesn't have anything insightful to say.

The boy who gets on everyone's nerves because he's obnoxious and asks silly questions on purpose... or so it seems... until I stop and talk with him, and realize he doesn't even know he's doing it.

The boy who always feels stupid because he's always a step behind everyone else in math...

The English Language Learner who gets confused about vocabulary and misunderstands all of the assignments, making him look incapable of doing quality work.

The student who lays his head down on his desk and doesn't pay attention in math. He seems stubborn. Until you realize how rough home is for him. Of course he can't focus on finding areas of triangles when he's worrying about a sibling's court date.

I'm learning the power of a kind word. Of stopping to listen -- to understand before jumping to conclusions. To put actions with my talk... to show them I care. To offer grace, coupled with high expectations, that makes them want to achieve. I know it isn't up to me to change their lives forever. I know so much depends on them. But I hope that they get a glimpse of the possibilities. And that most of all, they know there is someone fighting for them, caring about them, and cheering for them to succeed.