End of Summer Blues

 

Today is my first official day of the 2024/2025 school year. 

 

Maybe I should sugar coat things and say that I’m ready. 

But I won’t. 

And I’m not. 

 

I struggle with change and a lot changed at work over the summer,

Not the least of which was my classroom. 

It makes it hard to find my bearings and to firmly plant my feet on solid ground.

 

Also, while I’m grateful to be an able bodied and minded teacher in America,

The responsibility sometimes feels overwhelming.

We are responsible for the physical, mental, and emotional safety and well-being of

Hundreds of little creatures, 

Many of whom carry deep trauma wounds,

And come from backgrounds of abuse and neglect, 

In a society that values guns and hatred and violence and cut offs 

And does not know how to cordially disagree. 

We have limited financial support and resources, 

Politicians out to defund public education and to thwart equity for all races, religions, and socioeconomic levels, 

Critics at every door, ready to find offense and broadcast it on social media, 

And hands tied behind our backs with discipline. 

We are charged with being experts in our fields yet questioned when we stretch minds. 

We are expected to wear the hats of nurses, firefighters, waiters, event planners, writers, editors, cheerleaders, actors, law enforcement officers, and super heroes, 

Ready to put our lives on the line for our students, 

Which we do, 

Because it’s what we do. 

 

But sometimes. 

The thoughts are overwhelming.  

 

And today,

This first day back after a much-needed respite from the grind, 

During a major episode of the End of Summer Blues, 

Is one of those days. 

 

Don’t fret. 

I am fine. 

I am greeting the day, and the year, with as much positivity and hope and courage as I can. 

I am smiling and hugging and greeting my colleagues whom I am glad to see. 

And when the students come next week,

I will do my best to remember names and welcome them back to the one place where many of them feel happy and safe. 

 

It’s just. 

Sometimes it’s hard. 

For all of us.

Not just teachers.

And I think, sometimes, it’s helpful to name that much. 

 

Oh God, on days like today, grant us the strength, hope, courage, and light to name what we’re feeling and then to push through, one moment at a time. You have called us to have life abundant. Help us to live into that abundant life, always. Amen. 

Semicolon Superfan

I went to see Brooke Simpson at church last Sunday. As I spoke to her after the service, she interjected, “I like your earrings.” I said, “Thank you. There’s more to the story, eh? There’s more to come.” “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes!...”

A few years ago, I became a semicolon superfan. Until that point in my life, the semicolon was just a grammatical tool used to “separate two independent but related clauses or to replace the comma to separate items in a complicated list.” I was a fan of semicolon and used it often in my writing, but it wasn’t until I heard this that I became a semicolon superfan:

“The semicolon is a symbol used as a message against suicide and other mental health issues and represents choosing to start a new chapter in your life…” (Merriam-Webster)

In 2013, a movement called Project Semicolon began as a movement dedicated to presenting hope and love to those who were struggling with depression, anxiety, suicide, addiction, and self-injury. It was started to encourage, love, and inspire.

The movement chose the semicolon as its central icon because a semicolon is used when an author could've chosen to end his sentence, but didn’t.

The message, then, is that the author is the individual and the sentence is his/her life.

When someone has a tattoo or other form of a semicolon on her body, she is saying that she is choosing to finish the sentence with new life rather than letting depression, anxiety, suicide, addiction, or self-injury defeat her.

She is saying that there is more to the story and that she is choosing to write it. She is saying that there is more to come…

A good friend of mine knew that I was a semicolon superfan and gave me my earrings as a result.

Now, whenever someone sees me, they can know that I am choosing not to let my anxiety/depression defeat me; rather, I am choosing the rest of the story.

Likewise, whenever I see someone with a semicolon, I know that they are choosing the same.

God, may we each hold to the rest of the story and know that you are working with us to write it. Help us to be a people of encouragement, love, and inspiration to those who need it most, and help us to accept encouragement, love, and inspiration from those around us. I love you. And I thank you for the semicolon. Amen.