It’s ridiculous how happy jeans days make teachers.
Funding, legislation, timing, curriculum, programming, professional requirements, lack of respect, misperceptions, hefty demands, mountains of paperwork, and days of meetings can be discouraging.
Trying to please administration, colleagues, students, and parents can be downright crazy-making.
Doing all of this in fancy clothes day in and day out can be stifling—especially when your work requires your being on the floor, tying dirty shoes, playing on the playground, or wiping snotty noses.
So giving teachers the opportunity to wear jeans—to work in his/her comfort clothes—to do something special—well…it’s really nice.
Granted…we are asked to donate money to a good cause for most of these days: $2. [I’m reminded of scenes from the 80’s movie “Better Off Dead.” “I want my two dollars!”] But, somehow, still, it’s a privilege…
Especially when we know where the money is going.
My status this morning said, “While kids across the country are dressing up for Halloween and anxiously awaiting free candy, teachers at my school are dressing down for Thursday and happily giving money to support a coworker diagnosed with Leukemia. Halloween jeans have never felt this good.”
Shortly after school started, one of my coworkers was diagnosed with Leukemia. The diagnosis came out of nowhere and left many of us feeling punched in the gut. Our staff and students have responded with an outpouring of love through cards, visits, prayers, T-shirts, bracelets, and…jeans.
If you are reading this, I want to ask you to join me and the JES community in praying for Julie. She is a fighter. A woman of faith. A believer in miracles. A hoper in Peace. Pray for Julie’s healing of the body and spirit…and pray for the teachers in your life who give selflessly of themselves each day for hardly any money yet willingly give what they have for the simple pleasure of wearing jeans and supporting those they love.
Showing posts with label colleagues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label colleagues. Show all posts
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Monday, October 28, 2013
The Lost Is Found
About an hour ago, an excited “woo-hoo!” sounded from upstairs. I was having a personal moment of celebration because what was lost had been found. If Luke had written a parable about my predicament, he would have written:
Suppose a teacher has six flash drives and loses one. Doesn’t she check the pockets of all of her pants and jackets until she finds the one that is missing? And when she finds it, doesn’t she picture message all of her friends and say, “Hoooray! I have found my lost flash drive!” and doesn’t she hold the flash drive in the air and grin in the presence of her parents? In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents.
Yesterday’s sermon was on the need for joy and celebration in both everyday life and the church. It was the final sermon in a series of sermons on fasting—on the focal passage of the Lord’s Prayer—on losing to find. It was a slap in the face to me that I had completely botched the last week of fasting—which was less of a giving up of something specific than it was of an adding intentional praise.
Last week was probably the hardest week I’d had since returning to school. I wrote my confession on Thursday, so I don’t need to write it again, but I will add that I left school on Friday feeling totally exhausted and defeated. As I realized through another sermon last night, I had allowed myself to see school as a giant and myself as a grasshopper. I had allowed doubts, frustrations, insecurities, and failures to cloud the certainty of my call back into the public schools.
I began today with the determination to try a do-over of last week’s fast. I was determined that, somehow, I would find encouragement in my days and focus on the positive…
When I got to school this morning, I had a note waiting for me. It was a thank you note that said something to the extent of, “Thank you for giving so selflessly of yourself without expecting anything in return. You are a blessing to J’Ville.” [I left the note at school so that I could refer back to it when having a rough day.]
When I got home from work today, I had a FB message waiting for me. It said, “Hey friend. Prayers for you this day that you would hop high in very tall grass. I know that you will find a path of grace and peace in all the weeds that seem to be in the way to something beautiful in public schools.”
When I receive words like these, I have no trouble keeping my determination…
But I still have little doubt that my determination will be challenged once students return to classes tomorrow and the reality of my still being behind sets in.
Yet I’m going to do my best to remain positive…to celebrate the small things…to not lose my flash drive again but to totally lose myself…and to remember that I, alone, am limited but that I, with Christ, “can do all things.”
Suppose a teacher has six flash drives and loses one. Doesn’t she check the pockets of all of her pants and jackets until she finds the one that is missing? And when she finds it, doesn’t she picture message all of her friends and say, “Hoooray! I have found my lost flash drive!” and doesn’t she hold the flash drive in the air and grin in the presence of her parents? In the same way, I tell you, there is rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents.
Yesterday’s sermon was on the need for joy and celebration in both everyday life and the church. It was the final sermon in a series of sermons on fasting—on the focal passage of the Lord’s Prayer—on losing to find. It was a slap in the face to me that I had completely botched the last week of fasting—which was less of a giving up of something specific than it was of an adding intentional praise.
Last week was probably the hardest week I’d had since returning to school. I wrote my confession on Thursday, so I don’t need to write it again, but I will add that I left school on Friday feeling totally exhausted and defeated. As I realized through another sermon last night, I had allowed myself to see school as a giant and myself as a grasshopper. I had allowed doubts, frustrations, insecurities, and failures to cloud the certainty of my call back into the public schools.
I began today with the determination to try a do-over of last week’s fast. I was determined that, somehow, I would find encouragement in my days and focus on the positive…
When I got to school this morning, I had a note waiting for me. It was a thank you note that said something to the extent of, “Thank you for giving so selflessly of yourself without expecting anything in return. You are a blessing to J’Ville.” [I left the note at school so that I could refer back to it when having a rough day.]
When I got home from work today, I had a FB message waiting for me. It said, “Hey friend. Prayers for you this day that you would hop high in very tall grass. I know that you will find a path of grace and peace in all the weeds that seem to be in the way to something beautiful in public schools.”
When I receive words like these, I have no trouble keeping my determination…
But I still have little doubt that my determination will be challenged once students return to classes tomorrow and the reality of my still being behind sets in.
Yet I’m going to do my best to remain positive…to celebrate the small things…to not lose my flash drive again but to totally lose myself…and to remember that I, alone, am limited but that I, with Christ, “can do all things.”
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Sufficient Grace and Tennis Balls
I’ve been wearing my rain gear for car duty this week. I realize that I look somewhat ridiculous in rain boots and a rain coat but I want to be properly dressed and prepared. Rain is something I can prepare for. Violence is not.
Don’t worry. I’ve not had a violent encounter this week. But I have had the realization that if someone were to get angry at car duty then there would be nowhere to hide. We are quite vulnerable standing in that parking lot. What’s more. I told my parents last night that if someone were to open fire at car duty then they’d be hearing my name on the news for being a teacher who sacrificed her life for her students. In a brief moment of clarity yesterday, I realized that I wouldn’t hesitate to throw myself over my students to save them…I’d probably just crush them in the process.
I also told my class of 5thgraders yesterday that they’d be hard pressed to find someone who cares for them much more than I. I inwardly chuckled as I watched them think aloud and come to the conclusion that I was right.
I have a problem with caring. I care a whole lot.
…
In other news, my devotion this morning confessed:“Gracious Lord Jesus, Master of things great and small, I need to talk to you about how often I sweat the small stuff. I pray about the big challenges and receive your guidance and power. Then little annoyances blow my cool and I get suited up with your full armor only to fight little skirmishes over trifles. It’s good to know that your grace is sufficient for all things.”
And for what was God’s grace sufficient today? Tennis balls.
I’ve been trying to get tennis balls on the bottoms of my chairs since school began. I need them to help minimize noise. I got most of the chairs covered a couple of weeks ago, but I ran out of tennis balls. I bought more balls on Tuesday evening and began cutting them for the chairs today. After covering the legs of three chairs, I looked around the room to see how many more balls I needed to cut. It was in that moment that I realized that two more tennis balls had been taken from the bottom of my chairs. The total number of stolen, sliced open tennis balls is now four.
For the next few moments, I was irrationally angry. I was angry at my students, their parents, television and the media, big corporations, the church, government, and myself. I was angry that someone had taken my tennis balls. I was confused as to why they wanted busted-open balls. I was mad at the thought that my students were taking the tennis balls just to see if they could get away with it—because they think that breaking the rules and stealing is fun. I was furious that I’d let them get away with it. How in the world could a kid take a tennis ball off of the bottom of a chair without me noticing? I was sad at the thought that my students could want a tennis ball so badly that they must steal a busted one. I was in quite a mood.
Then I remembered my devotion from this morning and realized, quite quickly, that the tennis balls were “small things” and “little annoyances.” So I confessed my frustration to God and a friend. Asked for forgiveness. Took a few deep breaths. Said a few prayers for my students. Focused on picking up 75 pizzas for Parent Involvement Night at school. And let my mood dissipate.
It certainly is good to know that God’s grace is sufficient for all things…and that I bought extra tennis balls.
Don’t worry. I’ve not had a violent encounter this week. But I have had the realization that if someone were to get angry at car duty then there would be nowhere to hide. We are quite vulnerable standing in that parking lot. What’s more. I told my parents last night that if someone were to open fire at car duty then they’d be hearing my name on the news for being a teacher who sacrificed her life for her students. In a brief moment of clarity yesterday, I realized that I wouldn’t hesitate to throw myself over my students to save them…I’d probably just crush them in the process.
I also told my class of 5thgraders yesterday that they’d be hard pressed to find someone who cares for them much more than I. I inwardly chuckled as I watched them think aloud and come to the conclusion that I was right.
I have a problem with caring. I care a whole lot.
…
In other news, my devotion this morning confessed:“Gracious Lord Jesus, Master of things great and small, I need to talk to you about how often I sweat the small stuff. I pray about the big challenges and receive your guidance and power. Then little annoyances blow my cool and I get suited up with your full armor only to fight little skirmishes over trifles. It’s good to know that your grace is sufficient for all things.”
And for what was God’s grace sufficient today? Tennis balls.
I’ve been trying to get tennis balls on the bottoms of my chairs since school began. I need them to help minimize noise. I got most of the chairs covered a couple of weeks ago, but I ran out of tennis balls. I bought more balls on Tuesday evening and began cutting them for the chairs today. After covering the legs of three chairs, I looked around the room to see how many more balls I needed to cut. It was in that moment that I realized that two more tennis balls had been taken from the bottom of my chairs. The total number of stolen, sliced open tennis balls is now four.
For the next few moments, I was irrationally angry. I was angry at my students, their parents, television and the media, big corporations, the church, government, and myself. I was angry that someone had taken my tennis balls. I was confused as to why they wanted busted-open balls. I was mad at the thought that my students were taking the tennis balls just to see if they could get away with it—because they think that breaking the rules and stealing is fun. I was furious that I’d let them get away with it. How in the world could a kid take a tennis ball off of the bottom of a chair without me noticing? I was sad at the thought that my students could want a tennis ball so badly that they must steal a busted one. I was in quite a mood.
Then I remembered my devotion from this morning and realized, quite quickly, that the tennis balls were “small things” and “little annoyances.” So I confessed my frustration to God and a friend. Asked for forgiveness. Took a few deep breaths. Said a few prayers for my students. Focused on picking up 75 pizzas for Parent Involvement Night at school. And let my mood dissipate.
It certainly is good to know that God’s grace is sufficient for all things…and that I bought extra tennis balls.
Monday, October 7, 2013
One Opposite of Division? Peace.
Week Four Fast: Food. Success! I successfully made it through my week of fasting the grocery store and CVS. The only time I stepped foot into the grocery store was when I was shopping for Mrs. Flora, and even then I only bought the items that she needed. The week was hard. I missed shopping for deals. But I prayed a lot, saved quite a bit of money, and learned that I could survive without buying gifts. Because of my fasting momentum, I was even able to go into Hallmark and only purchase what I went to buy. That is huge.
Week Five Fast: Division.
I began this week’s fast by joining my church. I’ve been going to Antioch for quite some time, but I hadn’t felt led to move my membership until three Sundays ago. I waited that Sunday because I hadn’t talked about it with my family—and because we only sang one verse of the invitation hymn. I waited last Sunday because we didn’t sing an invitation hymn at all. I almost waited yesterday because so many people responded to the invitation. But I walked my two pews of an aisle and stood beside the pastor and declared my desire to stand alongside him and the church as we move forward together. I didn’t realize until later how truly significant it was—and is—that I joined the church the week that our pastor challenged us to fast division…the thoughts that separate…the things that keep us apart.
The timing of each week’s fast has been serendipitous.
When I think of division, I think of separation. Misunderstanding. Bitterness. Discord. Battles. Lack of harmony. Absence of unity. Situations unresolved. Fear of being seen.
When I think of division, I do not think of peace. When I think of division, I do not think of compassion…or love.
Is it any surprise, then, that my devotion from yesterday was a prayer for peace and that my devotion for today is a prayer for compassion?
Prince of Peace, whose peace cannot be kept unless it is shared, I seek to receive your peace and communicate peace to others today…I know that if I want peace in my heart, I cannot harbor resentment. I seek forgiveness for any negative criticism, gossip, or destructive innuendos I have spoken. Forgive any way that I have brought bitterness to my relationships instead of helping bring peace into misunderstandings. You have shown me that being a reconciler is essential for a continued, sustained experience of your peace. Most of all, I know that lasting peace is the result of your indwelling Spirit, your presence in my mind and heart…Show me how to be a communicator of peace that passes understanding. Help me picture the people with whom I am to be a peacemaker, bringing healing reconciliation, deeper understanding, and open communication.
And who do I picture? My students and colleagues. Especially my 5th graders…although today I failed miserably at being a communicator of peace.
Gracious God, repeatedly in the Gospels I read the words, “He had compassion.”…Thank you, Lord, that you have resources, people, and unanticipated strength to help me do today what those around me cannot imagine possible—show compassion and love. Break through my protective layers and the protective layers of those I meet with blessings we cannot anticipate. Then, send me to the broken-hearted to communicate Your healing power.
And where has God sent me? Back to the public schools. To work with students, teachers, staff, and parents. Especially 5th graders…although most of the time I feel that I fail miserably at breaking through their walls.
God’s grace is great enough to meet the great things,
The crashing waves that overwhelm the soul.
The roaring winds that leave us stunned and breathless,
The sudden storms beyond our control.
God’s grace is great enough to meet the small things,
The little pin-prick troubles that annoy,
The persistent worries, buzzing and unrelenting,
The squeaking wheels that grate upon our joy.
(--Annie Johnson Flint)
God’s grace is great enough.
God’s strength is strong enough.
God’s desire for unity is powerful enough.
I am so glad.
Week Five Fast: Division.
I began this week’s fast by joining my church. I’ve been going to Antioch for quite some time, but I hadn’t felt led to move my membership until three Sundays ago. I waited that Sunday because I hadn’t talked about it with my family—and because we only sang one verse of the invitation hymn. I waited last Sunday because we didn’t sing an invitation hymn at all. I almost waited yesterday because so many people responded to the invitation. But I walked my two pews of an aisle and stood beside the pastor and declared my desire to stand alongside him and the church as we move forward together. I didn’t realize until later how truly significant it was—and is—that I joined the church the week that our pastor challenged us to fast division…the thoughts that separate…the things that keep us apart.
The timing of each week’s fast has been serendipitous.
When I think of division, I think of separation. Misunderstanding. Bitterness. Discord. Battles. Lack of harmony. Absence of unity. Situations unresolved. Fear of being seen.
When I think of division, I do not think of peace. When I think of division, I do not think of compassion…or love.
Is it any surprise, then, that my devotion from yesterday was a prayer for peace and that my devotion for today is a prayer for compassion?
Prince of Peace, whose peace cannot be kept unless it is shared, I seek to receive your peace and communicate peace to others today…I know that if I want peace in my heart, I cannot harbor resentment. I seek forgiveness for any negative criticism, gossip, or destructive innuendos I have spoken. Forgive any way that I have brought bitterness to my relationships instead of helping bring peace into misunderstandings. You have shown me that being a reconciler is essential for a continued, sustained experience of your peace. Most of all, I know that lasting peace is the result of your indwelling Spirit, your presence in my mind and heart…Show me how to be a communicator of peace that passes understanding. Help me picture the people with whom I am to be a peacemaker, bringing healing reconciliation, deeper understanding, and open communication.
And who do I picture? My students and colleagues. Especially my 5th graders…although today I failed miserably at being a communicator of peace.
Gracious God, repeatedly in the Gospels I read the words, “He had compassion.”…Thank you, Lord, that you have resources, people, and unanticipated strength to help me do today what those around me cannot imagine possible—show compassion and love. Break through my protective layers and the protective layers of those I meet with blessings we cannot anticipate. Then, send me to the broken-hearted to communicate Your healing power.
And where has God sent me? Back to the public schools. To work with students, teachers, staff, and parents. Especially 5th graders…although most of the time I feel that I fail miserably at breaking through their walls.
God’s grace is great enough to meet the great things,
The crashing waves that overwhelm the soul.
The roaring winds that leave us stunned and breathless,
The sudden storms beyond our control.
God’s grace is great enough to meet the small things,
The little pin-prick troubles that annoy,
The persistent worries, buzzing and unrelenting,
The squeaking wheels that grate upon our joy.
(--Annie Johnson Flint)
God’s grace is great enough.
God’s strength is strong enough.
God’s desire for unity is powerful enough.
I am so glad.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Abandoning Hurriedness
A few years ago, I ordered my grandmother a new copy of the devotional book, “Quiet Moments with God.” She had used hers to the point that it was falling apart. Evidently, when I gave her the new book I asked if I could one day have the old one. My mom handed it to me on Monday night after returning from a one week visit to Jacksonville. I smiled as I looked at all of the underlining and dog-eared pages that G-mama left in the book. I imagined her reading each day’s devotion and God speaking to her as she read. For some reason, these moments of imagination have filled me with a quiet sense of peace.
This week, our pastor asked us to fast from hurriedness. This fast has undoubtedly meant different things to different people, and for me it’s been a calming of my spirit. I have been breathing more deeply and attempting not to rush around. Even though I have been late waking up most mornings, I have returned to my bedside each day to read the pages from G-mama’s old devotional book. I usually do my devotional reading at night, but this week I have added an intentional morning prayer-time.
This morning, I considered skipping my prayer-time. But in the spirit of fasting hurriedness, I didn’t. And I’m so glad I didn’t. As I read, my prayer was this:
Almighty God, help me be a creative thinker today. I know that beyond my education and experience there are solutions to problems I will not think of without your gift of knowledge.
I think of times in the past when I’ve received this supernatural gift. You revealed answers to problems that I had not achieved with my own analysis. As I prayed faithfully and waited patiently, the startling “Ah-ha!” dawned on me. You gave me insight I could never have grasped by myself. By divine inspiration you helped me know what was happening beneath the surface of perplexities or relational conflicts. You allowed me to see what you see. I gave you the credit and the glory.
Now as I begin this day, once again I confess how much I need the gift of knowledge. People I love are troubled by complex problems. I want to give them more than my limited advice. Unsolved problems have a way of piling up. Please use me to discover and communicate your answers.
Thank you for transforming my imagination so that it can be a holy river-bed through which you can pour your creative ideas. Help me picture reality from your perspective and then claim what you want. I look forward to an inspired day.
Yesterday, after teaching three classes of students who were wildly and somewhat disrespectfully energetic, I found myself standing in the midst of a fourth class of the same. As I rested my hands on my baby file cabinet and hung my head in momentary defeat, I breathed in and out, praying for the students chattering around me, praying that God would give me wisdom to know what to say to them. After a few seconds, I quietly raised my head and said, “Boys and girls. I need you to know that I am feeling a little frustrated right now.” Not knowing what to do with my emotional confession, the students asked me why I was frustrated. I told them that I had already had three classes that had not made good choices and that they we doing the same. I asked them to forgive me for my frustration but to understand how discouraging it is when students refuse to listen. In the momentary shock of silence, I continued with class.
Later, as my students and I talked, one of them raised her hand and asked, “Why don’t you yell at us, Miss D?” Inwardly smiling at her confusion and rejoicing that she had noticed my lack of raised voice over our three weeks together—that have not been without major challenge—I responded, “Well. One. I don’t like yelling because it hurts my voice. But, two. I don’t want to yell at you. You’ve been yelled at too much, and I think there are other ways to communicate with you.”
I don’t know if anyone will remember that conversation but me. But what I do know is that People I love—students and parents and teachers—are troubled by complex problems. I want to give them more than my limited advice—more than 40 minute music lessons and more than momentary periods of relief. Unsolved problems have a way of piling up—years of neglect, months of feeling uncared for, days and nights of stress, weeks of feeling unappreciated—and I need something beyond myself to discover and communicate God’s answers of silence, grace, redemption, and love.
Fasting hurriedness helped me find that something beyond myself today…
And then it gave me five minutes to laugh at my dad who graciously made me a ham sandwich for lunch and then packed it in a gallon-sized, standing bottom, Ziploc Christmas bag. I still laugh when I think about it…and I then smile when I think about the six good reports that I gave teachers today.
This week, our pastor asked us to fast from hurriedness. This fast has undoubtedly meant different things to different people, and for me it’s been a calming of my spirit. I have been breathing more deeply and attempting not to rush around. Even though I have been late waking up most mornings, I have returned to my bedside each day to read the pages from G-mama’s old devotional book. I usually do my devotional reading at night, but this week I have added an intentional morning prayer-time.
This morning, I considered skipping my prayer-time. But in the spirit of fasting hurriedness, I didn’t. And I’m so glad I didn’t. As I read, my prayer was this:
Almighty God, help me be a creative thinker today. I know that beyond my education and experience there are solutions to problems I will not think of without your gift of knowledge.
I think of times in the past when I’ve received this supernatural gift. You revealed answers to problems that I had not achieved with my own analysis. As I prayed faithfully and waited patiently, the startling “Ah-ha!” dawned on me. You gave me insight I could never have grasped by myself. By divine inspiration you helped me know what was happening beneath the surface of perplexities or relational conflicts. You allowed me to see what you see. I gave you the credit and the glory.
Now as I begin this day, once again I confess how much I need the gift of knowledge. People I love are troubled by complex problems. I want to give them more than my limited advice. Unsolved problems have a way of piling up. Please use me to discover and communicate your answers.
Thank you for transforming my imagination so that it can be a holy river-bed through which you can pour your creative ideas. Help me picture reality from your perspective and then claim what you want. I look forward to an inspired day.
Yesterday, after teaching three classes of students who were wildly and somewhat disrespectfully energetic, I found myself standing in the midst of a fourth class of the same. As I rested my hands on my baby file cabinet and hung my head in momentary defeat, I breathed in and out, praying for the students chattering around me, praying that God would give me wisdom to know what to say to them. After a few seconds, I quietly raised my head and said, “Boys and girls. I need you to know that I am feeling a little frustrated right now.” Not knowing what to do with my emotional confession, the students asked me why I was frustrated. I told them that I had already had three classes that had not made good choices and that they we doing the same. I asked them to forgive me for my frustration but to understand how discouraging it is when students refuse to listen. In the momentary shock of silence, I continued with class.
Later, as my students and I talked, one of them raised her hand and asked, “Why don’t you yell at us, Miss D?” Inwardly smiling at her confusion and rejoicing that she had noticed my lack of raised voice over our three weeks together—that have not been without major challenge—I responded, “Well. One. I don’t like yelling because it hurts my voice. But, two. I don’t want to yell at you. You’ve been yelled at too much, and I think there are other ways to communicate with you.”
I don’t know if anyone will remember that conversation but me. But what I do know is that People I love—students and parents and teachers—are troubled by complex problems. I want to give them more than my limited advice—more than 40 minute music lessons and more than momentary periods of relief. Unsolved problems have a way of piling up—years of neglect, months of feeling uncared for, days and nights of stress, weeks of feeling unappreciated—and I need something beyond myself to discover and communicate God’s answers of silence, grace, redemption, and love.
Fasting hurriedness helped me find that something beyond myself today…
And then it gave me five minutes to laugh at my dad who graciously made me a ham sandwich for lunch and then packed it in a gallon-sized, standing bottom, Ziploc Christmas bag. I still laugh when I think about it…and I then smile when I think about the six good reports that I gave teachers today.
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