Don't Give Up. Persevere!

The boys came to visit on Saturday. When I got home from class, they were there. We had a good time hanging out. Playing games together, laughing, and talking. My dad made the boys laugh so hard while we played Crazy Bridge (our family card game) that all they doubled over in hysterics. I laughed, too. But what made me laugh the most was my oldest nephew trying to convince everyone that one could grow out of an allergy if he simply exposed himself to it long enough.

H: “You can’t grow out of an allergy, J.”
J: “Yes you can. Remember when I had a shrimp allergy? I decided to attack it head on. I pushed through. I persevered. And now I can eat shrimp without getting sick!”
H: “You were never allergic to shrimp.”
J: “Yes I was. But I worked hard. I didn’t give up. And you’re not going to give up either. So here’s my new training regiment for you. You’re going to take off your shirt and roll around in the grass for 10 minutes a day. Then pretty soon you’ll be over your grass allergy.”

A little while later, while the boys were playing a game of football that they invented during the NC State game that our Wolfpack lost miserably, my youngest nephew found himself tackled on the floor. Giggling happily, he said, “I’m working on overcoming my allergy to Bullet!”

*I smile*

I think Jack may have been a little misguided in his advice to his younger brothers. Granted, we were all laughing during his declaration of perseverance and his prescription for H overcoming his grass allergy, yet his words really stuck with me: “I pushed through. I kept going. I didn’t give up. I persevered.”

This afternoon, in between school and school, I was really tired. As I sat at my little desk in the little hut where I’m a Monday guest, I wanted to do nothing more than, well, nothing. But then I heard my nephew say, “I pushed through. I kept going. I didn’t give up. I persevered.”

So…I sat at my little desk in the little hut where I’m a Monday guest, I got out my Willard, and I worked. And the longer I worked, the less tired and more content I became…because I was accomplishing tasks on the never-ending to do list.

There is a time for rest. I try hard to carve out a weekly day of Sabbath and to include daily activities that give me life.
There are times to surrender. Sometimes it’s best to let go of something we like or an idea that we think is wonderful—especially if it just keeps making us sick—like shrimp or grass or mushrooms.
But there are also times to work—to use the minutes given to us to produce something bigger than ourselves.

J may have spoken his words of perseverance facetiously on Saturday night, but somehow I think he knows what they truly mean. And I pray, oh do I pray, that he—and my other nephews—and niece—and students—and you, friends—will do just what he said when the going gets rough but there is success on the other side:

Push through.
Keep going.
Don’t give up.
Persevere.
Succeed.
Eat shrimp.
Roll in the grass.
Celebrate!
Then pat yourself on the back—
albeit itchy from trying—
and rest in the successful peace of a job well done.

Today Is Enough

I usually stay after class on Monday and Thursday nights to either do homework or work on these notes. I like having an academic space to myself. It’s peaceful and makes me feel very scholarly, not to mention it doesn’t allow me to climb into my bed and sleep. Tonight, however, I knew that staying after class was not an option. I accidently left my travel charger at church, so when Willard’s battery ran down toward the end of class, Willard was out of commission until I got home. So…I went to dinner with a friend I hadn’t seen in awhile, and it was nice—sitting, eating, talking, catching up.

As I thought about this unusual Thursday night meal on the way home tonight, I thought back to the note I wrote a few weeks ago about showing up. I thought about how extremely important relationships are and how essential it is to make time for them. I thought about how grateful I was to find myself without a computer charger on the same day that thoughts of cinnamon flavored coffee prompted me to write my friend who is allergic to cinnamon and make plans to have a late, cinnamon-free dinner. And then I found myself thinking about a couple of my students who made my heart swell with pride this afternoon.

I’ve heard a lot of really difficult things this week. In context of Red Ribbon Week, I’ve listened to stories of bullying and drug use that have left me feeling sad. So this afternoon, when I watched two of my students who started the year giving me nothing but attitude and trouble doing their best to pay attention and listen while a good portion of the rest of their class acted as if I wasn’t even there, I found myself feeling a small amount of joy. These two students were part of a group of students who I’d asked to do an alternative music assignment in a separate setting one week. Instead of filing away their written work as busy work, I decided to read it carefully and write encouraging, interactive comments on their papers. I returned their papers to them and wondered if the comments had made a difference.

I don’t know if it was the comments, or a conscious decision on my part to more intentionally try to show loving-kindness, or an attitude shift in my heart that helped me remember that even my toughest kids are still just kids, or if it was my deliberately speaking to these particular students each morning and calling them over for the hugs that many other students daily seek out…but something seems to have shifted in the students about which I speak, and they have actually started to show an interest in music—which is something they had not done in three years—and a respect for me as their teacher—which is something they hadn’t done either.

After class, I called over one of the students and asked, point blank, what had caused the behavior change. “I got suspended because of how I had been acting, and I don’t want to get suspended again.” Part of this student’s suspension was because of behaviors in my class. I guess the suspension served its purpose…yet I have to believe that something more has shifted inside this student. Either way, I gently placed my hands on the students’ shoulders and spoke aloud how proud I was of the change—how proud I was that I was finally able to see the goodness that I knew was there. As I spoke, my eyes filled with tears that I quickly denied when another student said, “Are you crying?!”

A friend once told me that her job as a residential social worker was to love the hell out of her clients. I immediately took the phrase to heart and decided to make that one of my goals as a teacher. And guess what, friends? I’m learning—really learning—that the only way to truly do this is through relationships. And I’m being reminded that relationships take time—sometimes even years—to grow to the place where walls begin to come down and trust begins to peak through. My cinnamon-averse friend and I had to work to that place of trust. But we arrived. And had a good dinner tonight. Maybe some of my students and I are arriving, too? Or if nothing else, we arrived today. And for now, today is enough.

Communicate Love

“You all are a whole lot more stressed than I am. Then again, I have the plan in my head and you don’t.”

I heard those words come out of my mouth at the exact moment I saw the word OVERCOMMUNICATE flash before my eyes. Just before going to church to lead the music at a missions celebration, I had read a paragraph about the importance of communication in leadership.

There I was, the music minister, trying to get the choir ready to sing, yet I hadn’t even communicated with my mom, the accompanist, about the exact order of songs that we were going to sing.

And why hadn’t I done this? Because I hadn’t even communicated the final decision to myself.

I have a lot of blank books. I’m afraid to write in them. I don’t want to mess up the pages.

For years, I wouldn’t write down my lesson plans until after I’d taught them. I was afraid that my plan would go wrong.

When I was doing a lot of concerts, I often started the concerts without having a set playlist. I had an idea. But I was afraid I’d have a new idea mid-concert and then feel stuck.

I like to have a plan. But I like to be able to change the plan to fit the exact moment that it is executed.

Which…isn’t always good when working with a group.

The statement that I made at the beginning of this post was very true. My choir was stressed about what they were getting ready to do, but I wasn’t worried. I knew that they could—and would—sing well and sing the right songs at the right time—but they didn’t know it because I hadn’t communicated it to them. I had told them bits of pieces of information—each of which escaped my mouth as a plan entered my brain—but the plan hadn’t come together in their minds.

So…I started at the beginning, went step by step, laid out the plan, got everyone on the “same sheet of music” (literally), prayed, and then we went into the sanctuary and sang as well as we’d ever sung.

Lest I not communicate this properly: I am proud of my choir. I am proud to work with my choir. I believe in my choir. And I never doubt my choir—even when they doubt themselves.

I will work on my communication skills both at church and school. I will work to be a better professional leader. But I think I’ll also work to be a better communicator of appreciation, thanksgiving, and kindness. I hope you’ll join me. And I hope that together we’ll over-communicate love.

Gigantic Pumpkin

I’ve never really woken up today. I have a very vague memory of getting dressed and packing up my things this morning, but I don’t recall laying in bed beforehand, hitting the snooze button, and waiting for my multiple of five. I think these must be the moments when my waking up actually occurs, so not remembering them today has stuck with me all day. I didn’t just feel zombie-like stumbling around my kitchen for breakfast, but I felt zombie-like through all of my classes, lunch, duty, and class tonight. Not bad. Not ill. Not like I needed to do things over. Just zombie-like—ready to crawl back into my bed and return to sleep until the next violin played to signal that it is time to wake up and dance.

Like yours, I would guess, my to-do list is stupidly long. My to-do list is always stupidly long. I have things to do for home, for school, for church, for graduate school, for my family, for my friends, and for the charities and organizations that I support. If I catch up with one then I fall behind with everything else but if I try to keep up with everything at once then something inevitably still falls behind. So I just do my best and hope that I don’t miss something major—like a jeans day. Missing jeans day would be such a waste.

Recently, my school computer, Willamina, has been so kind as to not close the 40 or so tabs on the 6 or so different windows of Google Chrome that I use to teach my classes. It’s been nice not to have to open the same tabs day in and day out and it’s been nice not having to cringe every time a video opens, wondering if a commercial for Poo-Pourri or a violent movie is going to pop up for the kids to see. But today all of my windows were closed when Willamina woke up. I guess maybe she didn’t want to wake up either. So there I was during my planning period today trying to get ready for Kindergarten, 3rd, and 4th grades, but I was in such a zombie-like state that all I wanted to do was eat potato chips and yawn. Evidently zombies like potato chips.

Nonetheless, I drudged forth, and as I opened pictures of a pumpkin and a jack-o-lantern for my Kindergarteners, I decided that I’d look for a short little video clip on pumpkins or jack-o-lanterns. After all, the pictures I’d been showing wouldn’t pin to my Pinterest page, and if the links don’t pin to my Pinterest page, then how am I supposed to find them on the days when Willamina doesn’t properly wake up? :-)

Then it happened. I woke up. For 10 minutes. For 10 minutes, I alertly and focusfully watched videos about growing gigantic pumpkins. Gigantic pumpkins fascinate me! They look like monsters from outer space who fly themselves to earth and then are so tired from their flight that they just stay plopped where they land. They’re huge and grotesque and warty and orange and green and white and so extremely cool! I don’t have any idea what their purpose is—other than winning county and state fairs or making cool little pumpkin boats—but I think it would be fun to grow one…and thanks to my 10 minutes of alertness today, I know a little of how to make that happen—not that I will make it happen—I just know the theory of what it takes—and I know that my Kindergarteners are as fascinated by gigantic pumpkins as I.

Some days, friends, we have it together. We make such huge dents in our to do list that we go to bed feeling like we’ve almost busted the piñata that will certainly burst soon and provide us with moments of great delight. Other days, though, we blindly and aimlessly swing our sticks in the air, completely missing the piñata all together.

Today was the latter for me. Not bad. Not overly frustrating. Not like I need to do things over. Just kind of there. Like a beautifully ugly gigantic pumpkin.

And the neat thing? It’s all perfectly okay.

On Showing Up

On our way to the fair on Friday night, my coworkers and I got into a pretty deep conversation. We talked about our journeys and how each of us tends to deal with things as they come our way—serious things like sickness and death and not-so-serious things like what to do when you realize you have a rip in your pants in the middle of the day. We deal with things as they come our way—and they come our way at different times and different places—which is how they need to come our way lest we stay overwhelmed.

But sometimes we get overwhelmed nonetheless. So sometimes it’s hard to show up for our own lives. And sometimes it’s even harder to show up for other people’s lives. And sometimes showing up literally means just showing up—being physically present. But other times, showing up means more than that—sometimes showing up is arriving physically and mentally and emotionally.

And when people show up—when they really show up—or when we really show up—that showing up must be honored—that dealing with life and deeply living life must be honored.

I keep finding myself being reminded of this truth. So I hope you will forgive me for, once again, reminding you of this truth as well…in modified haiku form, of course.

Work always shows up
Papers, projects, deadlines. More.
But people do not.
So when they do—when they show up:
Work can always wait.

God: Thank you for the people who show up for me, and thank you for the moments when I remember to slow down and show up for people as well. You always show up for us. Help us always to show up for others. Amen. And Amen.

AIG Egg Beater

Because of the aftermath of Hurricane Matthew, we may not have another teacher workday this year. That being said, I’ve been doing everything I can do to utilize these days. So far, my days have been spent organizing responsibilities outside of my classroom. Yesterday, I worked to organize our school-wide writing challenge and classroom incentive plan. Today, I worked on a promotional brochure for the school, wrote a lot of e-mails, discussed our school improvement plan, and did quite a bit of research on AIG. AIG is an area that I don’t know a lot about, and it’s an area for which I have chosen to do a project for my classes at Campbell.

AIG: Academically and Intellectually Gifted.
Formerly AG: Academically Gifted.
Formerly GT: Gifted and Talented.

Growing up, I was labeled as Gifted and Talented. I have two memories relating specifically to this label.

1) In elementary school (sometime between 4th and 8th grades), my friends and I were pulled for a GT class. It was cold in the trailer where we went for class and for some reason the teacher left us alone for a few minutes. While she was gone, my friends and I found an old fashioned egg beater/hand mixer—the kind that you crank by hand. Naturally, my friends and I chased each other around the trailer trying to attack each other with the egg beater.

2) Governor’s School. Because of my GT label, I was able to go to Governor’s School. I went for six weeks during the summer after my sophomore year. That summer was life-changing in many ways, not the least of which was introducing me to my horn instructor that would eventually lead me to Meredith College. That summer was the also the first time that I truly understood that there were people my age who were not Christian and had not grown up influenced by Christian belief.

So even though I benefited from the GT label, I have only those memories of the program, and while I know that the program has changed a lot over the years—which is subtly shown in the name changes—I don’t know a lot about what has changed—or what was even there in the first place! GT was bound to be more than an egg-beater chase!

Hence the project.

I got to choose from four categories: Limited English Proficient, Behaviorally Challenged, Poverty, or AIG. I was undecided between the last three categories until the sign-up sheet came to me. I was last to sign the sheet, and no one else had signed up for AIG, so AIG it was. I deal with the effects of challenging behaviors and poverty every day. In fact, I deal with them so much that I don’t even know where to begin to do a specific project. But AIG is something I can learn about and do. I think. So I will try.

Part of my job is to figure out how to see and teach all of my students because all of my students are worth it. Highest, lowest, and everything in between. Maybe I should get an egg beater, though, just in case.

How Full Is Your Bucket?

A few years ago, I went to a one-day training on The Five Love Languages. I have led staff trainings on the love languages and included a ranking system on my school’s secret pal forms each year. I truly believe in the love languages and know exactly what I need for my “love tank” to be filled—words of affirmation and physical touch. I also know exactly what I don’t need—exactly what shuts me down: negative words.

A few days ago, I finished reading the book How Full Is Your Bucket? for class. It reminds me of the concept of filling the love tank in The Five Love Languages. In fact, I wonder if one influenced the other. Either way, this book got to me. Clear, simple, and direct, the book was a perfectly-timed reminder that if anything is going to change in this world then it is going to have to come from a place of positive emotion.

Today’s culture is one of negativity—of nit-picking—of making rules because personal aesthetic has been upset. Daily interactions and activity tend to be more bucket draining than filling. And not just for the adults. For kids as well.

I teach over 700 kids each week. Sometimes, some of those over 700 students push the boundaries a little too far. I must confess, though, when I give my boundary-pushing students written alternate assignments, I usually do not return their papers; I sometimes don’t even get a chance to read them. I usually file them away in a folder entitled “discipline” in case I need to return to them one day.

Recently, on a morning when I was feeling a bit discouraged and my bucket was rather empty (in the language of the book I just read), I looked at a stack of papers that some boundary-pushing students had completed the day before. In that moment, I thought, “I hope these kids never feel like I feel right now. But I bet they do. I bet that their buckets stay close to empty. Maybe I should start trying to more intentionally fill my students’ buckets.”

So I put the rest of my to-do list on hold for a moment, took out a pen, and wrote positive comments on my students’ papers. I found ways to compliment their work. I agreed with comments and asked curious questions about answers. In so many words, I let them know that while I didn’t approve of the actions that led to the alternate assignment, I did approve of them. I let them know that I was interested in their thoughts. And then I found the students and returned their papers. I have no idea if my comments meant anything to my students or not. But the sheer act of writing the comments helped me fill my own bucket just a bit…if that’s even possible…and it helped me have a much more positive day.

On the first awards day of my first year at my school, my principal asked me to “sing a little song.” I didn’t have a little song to sing, so I wrote one. I wrote one about the school and what I thought we could be. When I finished singing that morning, teachers had tears in their eyes as they stood and clapped. “You have no idea how long we’ve needed to hear something positive,” they later said. “Thank you.” I had unknowingly added drops to their buckets. Teaching is hard work.

That year, I made it my goal to do whatever I could do to increase staff morale—to keep adding drops to buckets. I have continued that goal into my fourth year at my school—organizing treat days and First Friday events off campus, coordinating Secret Pals, providing daily coffee/tea, working to keep the workroom clean, listening to teachers whenever they need to talk.

Tomorrow is our first treat day of the year. Even though the hurricane is going to cut our educational day short, we’re still going to have treats. Treat days are some of my favorite days. Sometimes simple things like food nourish the soul. Sometimes free drinks literally add drops to the bucket.

I am an encourager. I know this. It is one of my top spiritual gifts. And what I’ve realized after reading How Full Is Your Bucket? is that even though I sometimes find myself very discouraged, I must continue to find ways to encourage the people around me—especially my colleagues and students—even when it is hard and my bucket is next to empty.

What book have you read that has challenged you lately? What life-altering things have you been learning? What things have you been doing to add drops to people’s buckets?

15 Minutes At A Time

I got to campus early tonight. Starbucks is currently selling the delicious chile mocha, and I was craving one after a long (but decent) day of teaching.

I had a plan. I would drop off my stuff in the classroom, walk to Starbucks to get my coffee, and then go back to the classroom to take stock of where I was with my assignments.

On my way to dropping of my stuff, though, I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen in a couple of months. After hugs, we stood and talked for about 15 minutes.

As I was talking to her, I saw my former college minister and mentor whom I hadn’t seen in years! She was on campus for a special event and I happened to be standing near her car as she prepared to leave. After hugs, we stood and talked for about 15 minutes.

It was so great to catch up with both of those friends.

After dropping off my things, I bumped into a classmate who had also arrived early. She had had a family emergency last week and needed to share the details of what had transpired. For about 15 minutes, I listened as she shared how God had worked in her family’s life. Empty Starbucks cup staring at me, I silently reminded myself that this was more important than coffee—that these are the moments where life happens.

Once finished giving testimony to God’s hand in her life, my classmate asked where she could find the library reserves. I told her I’d be happy to show her because…well…they are very close to Starbucks.

So we walked to Starbucks. And I got my iced chile mocha. And as we were leaving, another classmate walked in. I greeted her with open arms. We waited with her until her drink had been made. All-in-all, I was in Starbucks for about 15 minutes—talking up a storm to my classmates and the baristas.

We got to class with about 15 minutes to spare. I didn’t get a chance to take stock of where I was in my assignments. But that didn’t matter. I had gotten a chance to do life with people—to hug and talk and listen and laugh…and to celebrate that my voice is strong enough that I can talk (although I know that I still need to rest it whenever possible—even if that means putting myself in time out a few times a day).

Friends: Plans are good—especially when trying to maneuver many moving pieces and keep them from crashing into one another. But sometimes life has a way of interrupting our plans and refreshing our spirits through people—through conversations—through celebrations—15 unplanned minutes at a time.

I am so thankful.