insomnia

I never thought I'd be one of those people who really loved to sleep. I've always been an early riser and rarely nap. I just feel like there are so many things to be doing and I'm wasting time if I am sleeping. I go to bed early to ensure my eight hours and switch off the alarm at the first buzz. I didn't even know the snooze button existed for the first twenty-something years of my life. I always hit the ground running.

Every night when I get in bed I read or do sudoku (insert geek joke here) and try to get my mind to begin the shift into neutral. Only lately, my mind hasn't slowed down at night. It's still motoring, gears turning, full speed ahead. In that small moment, just before I turn out the light my head fills. Worries and what-ifs. Doubts. Anxiousness. Analysis. Over-analysis. As the external world fades into quiet, these thoughts come shouting into my brain.

There are two demons at work here. One is the nagging worry. I said something stupid. It's going to storm. What if I never fall in love? The other demon is my need for control. I can't change what I said. I can't dictate the weather. I can't make love happen. I am not in charge. Both demons lead to fear. Fear curls up in the corner of the brain and settles in at the most vulnerable times. For me, it is that edge between awake and asleep.

So I find myself on the attack. The best way I know to fight demons is through prayer. Here is my new nightly prayer:

God, this day has been yours from beginning to end. As I pass into sleep, please keep my thoughts on you and your countless blessings. Speak to me, Lord, in my dreams and in the stillness. May I be reminded of your unconditional love and faithfulness. And may I be filled with a peace that comes from knowing you hold me in your hands of protection and grace. Amen.

So now I will turn down the covers, push the dog to her side of the bed, flip the switch, and talk to God. And get what I never thought I'd need so badly.

A little sleep.

a few years worth of wisdom

Advice to the Me I Used to Be:

1. You'll make plans. God will have different ones. Be flexible.

2. Overalls were not, and never will be stylish.

3. Pay attention. To people. To your surroundings. Soak in God's blessings.

4. Leave. Go somewhere. See the world before the excuses set in.

5. You can teach tough kids.

6. You really should balance your checkbook.

7. First impressions are confusing, and should often be totally ignored.

8. If he isn't trying, he isn't interested.

9. Just because it's what is expected of you, it doesn't make it right.

10. Make eye contact. You never know.

the tree on the wall

I'm going to build a tree today. A tree on the wall. Its trunk - brown paper, its leaves - plastic, its effect - magical.

I built my tree last year too. It took six hours, about a thousand tacks, and a ladder twice my height. But when my students walk in and see the tree on the wall, the one arching over their library filled with books waiting to to be discovered and loved, they stare in awe.

There is a tree. In their classroom. A shady spot to read. And suddenly it's no longer paper, plastic, and thumbtacks. It's a world beyond their hard lives where adventure and laughter wait.

And the tree invites them in.

can you be?

you bring the question forward
that lurks in back my brain
swept in cobwebs of regret
and too many should-have-beens.
a hope gone stale to disenchantment,
bitter,
begins to slide out of shadow
and with hesitation seeks the light.

loose tooth

I'm back, blogosphere, and I'm better than ever. Okay, maybe that's an exaggeration, but it sure sounded good, right? And confident. Like I should be bursting through the doors in a great pair of heels and one of those huge wide-brimmed hats that women only wear to fancy horse races, arms out and voice raised in triumph. So maybe in real life it's more like flip-flops and frizzy hair, and I trip through the doorway and my voice has a little bit of that change of pitch on the end that makes a statement sound more like a question. Am I better than ever?

There is a line I like from a Caedmon's Call song that goes, "You know I had a laugh that the same old struggles that plagued me then are plaguing me still." Is that not the human condition? I notice a weakness, try to scrub it out, only to find myself back where I started. It's like a loose tooth. You know it'll hurt if you press on it, but you just can't stop yourself because even though it hurts, there is something oddly comforting in the pain.

I'm like that with comparisons. Not the literary or philosophical kind, but those sneaky half-conscious comparisons I make between myself and others, usually other women. I see another girl and wish I was that thin. Or that tall. Or that artistic. Or that intellectual. Or blah, blah, blah. The list goes on, the list of things I view as glaring inadequacies within myself and unfair blessings to others. And then they turn into questions to God. God, why did you make me so scatter-brained? God, why did you make me with big thighs? God, why did you make me so ___________? I begin to question my very design.

The thing is, it's not about measuring up. It's about being better than someone else. Because if I'm better than someone else, then that gives me a sense of pride. And therein lies the true darkness. C.S. Lewis described pride as the root of all sin, or the granddaddy of sins, if you will permit a coloquial rephrasing. You see, the real reason I compare myself to others is not to feel like I'm less than others (although I will come back to that in a moment), it's for that rare and fleeting moment where I feel like I am more than others. It's when the pain turns into selfish joy. Ugly. I'm so ugly then.

The other side is that there is something oddly comforting about feeling less than others. I can turn it into an excuse. I'm not pretty enough to go talk to that guy or I'm not organized enough to remember your birthday. Those are things that beautiful girls with dayminders do. Not me. There's relief in the excuse. It's really quite handy that way. I can also play the victim. I can feel sorry for myself and wallow and have an Eeyore-type attitude because I have so obviously been overlooked in the gene pool. This is quite convenient as well, because suddenly I've shifted the blame. I make it God's responsibility.

So this is where I find myself again. Wiggling that loose tooth. Sticking the thorn back in my side. Comparing myself with those around me. Maybe I never really stopped, but just became less conscious of it. Either way, here it is, staring me in the face. So now I have a choice. I can choose to question God, make excuses, and play the victim. I can choose to bury myself in that strangely comforting pain. Or I can choose to believe God. I can believe Him when He tells me that he lovingly and artistically molded me. I can believe Him when He shows me that through Him all things are possible. And I can believe Him when He reminds me that He has made me more than a conqueror.

The choice is not easy.
But the choice is clear.

the disappearance of an inconsistent blogger

end of school year

hectic

*gasp*

no time

see you in june

frosty

It's 44 degrees today.

Yesterday it snowed.

I wore a coat and fleece pants to walk the dog.

It's April 13th, well within the Spring season.

I live in Missouri.

Global warming who?

mother bird

If you are one of the two people who read my blog, you have noticed that state testing has been a central focus of recent posts. If not, you should really take the time right now to go back and review. The sarcasm and scathing wit is really not to be missed. I'll wait.

Now that you've caught up, it's time for a confession. Part of why I despise this time of the school year so strongly is because of the doubt. This is the time when I question all of the steps that led me to this point throughout the school year. It boils down to this: Did I do enough?

When he told me he didn't understand, did I find another way to explain it? When her hard work paid off, did I celebrate? When they made mistakes, did I show them grace? When I heard angry words, did I listen for the pain behind them?

I love my kids and I want them to have the best in life, and that includes the best of me. This is the time of the year I have to start loosening my grip on them, fluffing their wings, nudging them to the edge of the nest. So one question overshadows them all: Did I teach them to fly?

unfortunate reality

Tips for how to succeed at state testing:

1. Teach all curriculum by the end of March.

2. Teach only subjects that you will be testing. Science, history, art, music? Not on the test. Not important.

3. Give kids special pencils. They're magic.

4. Do lots and lots of review packets. When your kids are sick of hearing the word "packet", start calling them "review bundles" or "practice presents".

5. Spend money on MAP testing t-shirts for all of the teachers. Ignore the budget crisis. Kids don't need books or desks without duct tape.

6. Bribe.

crunch time

Testing

Thirty-two sharpened number two pencils and a stack of practice tests just arrived in my box. I looked through the tests. Fractions. Decimals. Time. Geometry.

"Eek!" I said out loud. I hadn't taught any of this yet. Will someone please explain to me why we must have everything taught by March? Am I wrong, or aren't there three months left of school?

I gave a big sigh and walked into the classroom.

"Good morning, boys and girls," I said. "I'm afraid I have some bad news. I cannot read to you after lunch anymore. We cannot have any more discussions. I do not have time to look at your stitches or your mosquito bites or your tadpoles. We have to get ready for the test!"

Why do we continue to give these tests? I ask myself. And why are we placing more and more value on them every year? We know that they do not accurately measure what a child really knows. We know that they do not indicate how well a child is doing in school. We know that one of your best math students can fill in one wrong bubble on the answer sheet and get a zero out of ten in math.

One of these days I'm going to get my courage up. When the tests arrive in my mailbox, I'm just going to send them right back with a note saying, "Sorry. Can't do. We're looking at tadpoles today."

- from 32 Third Graders and One Class Bunny
by Phillip Done

staring into grace

I read an article today about Kevin Connolly, a photographer born with no legs who goes around the world taking pictures of the stares that he gets from people. I read the article out of curiosity, which interestingly enough, is the exact same human intuition to which the artist attributes the stares. What stuck with me most from reading about Connolly was that he was not offended by people's stares. It did not make him feel less human. He did not get angry when people's gazes lingered trying to take in the differences they saw. Instead, he chose to recognize a fact that seems so obvious, but one that we often miss: people are human. We're curious. We want to know. It's natural.

How many times did Jesus feel the same way? All around him people stared at, mocked, even attacked him because of his differences. He was unlike anything they had seen. But he knew that they were imperfect. Flawed. Human. And not only did he choose to accept them, he chose to love them. That's grace.

http://www.therollingexhibition.com/

to my two

You keep me real. You speak grace into my life. You accept my awkwardness, my dryness, my doubt. You let me cry about things that are sad and things that are happy. You make me laugh. You keep me young. You talk with me about God and about boys, all in the same conversation. You give advice. You give the best hugs. You give yourself. You make me laugh. You make me forget the rest of the world and its standards. You encourage me at moments I need it most, even without knowing it. You make funny faces. You make me dinner. You make time for me. You make me laugh. You show me the light of Christ in your words and actions. You spill that light into me when I'm around you. You shop, talk, joke, and pray with me. You dream for me even when I can't imagine it for myself.

You make me laugh.

Thanks.

current obsessions

in no particular order...

orbitz sweet mint gum

sudoku puzzles

reality "talent" shows (ie: American Idol, Top Chef, Project Runway)

Jodi Picoult books

real estate I can't afford

NCLB (No Child Left Behind) reform

string cheese

my laptop

"greening" my lifestyle

cabin fever

a summer memory

scent of cut grass and a charcoal fire
swallowing bitter beers and trying to like the taste
a wedge of lime and plug it with your thumb
dog chases fireflies blinking teasingly
and conversation on the back porch
spilling
into
humid

night

boogers are funny

My students were making a list of who is the funniest in the class. Having heard the top five, I expressed my surprise and outrage that I was not considered for one of the positions, namely the top one. So we staged a secret competition. Me versus the funniest kid. All day another student took score secretly. Criteria included number of times the class laughed at that person (oops, I mean WITH that person...), intensity of the laughter, and ability to deliver the line without collapsing into a heap of giggles. Now, I admit I was at an unfair advantage, because let's face it, I get way more talk time than the kids. But, I am proud to admit I have officially earned the coveted "Most Hilarious" title in my class. So what that it was bestowed by a group of 26 fourth graders? They're the funniest people I know.

laryngitis

Have you ever lost your voice before? Mine currently sounds like a series of raspy croaks with intervals of unintentional squeaks and various other noises I didn't know were possible from an adult voice box. I'm like a broken microphone catching only every other word and cracking into ear-splitting feedback forcing others to cover their ears and shudder in pain. It's rather annoying. No, annoying isn't adequate. It is debilitating.

Now before you go thinking I'm just being over dramatic, (which I never am, how on earth could you accuse me of such a crime!) let me explain. I communicate for a living. I use my voice like an artist uses paint or a carpenter uses tools. As a teacher so much of what I do requires me to speak. My words can paint pictures of pioneers and parallelograms, make tears evaporate from crying eyes, and stop a nine year-old pencil-launcher in mid-throw. I need my words. And I can't have them. Now you see the problem.

But here's the silver lining: without the sound of my own voice, the rest of the world takes over. I'm hearing my family, my students, and my friends more clearly. They have great ideas. They have beautiful lives that I miss when I'm always the one speaking. The wind chimes outside my window, Missy Higgins on my iPod, my dog barking at a squirrel. Mozart who?

The best thing I've done has been to go on a long walk and listen for God. I always tend to think when God speaks it is going to be some kind of booming echo across the valleys, but God is rarely is what I expect. He is subtle in the way he communicates with us and if we are too busy listening to the sound of our own voices we will miss what he has to say. So many times I sit down to pray and I talk ceaselessly from "Dear God" to "Amen", leaving no room for the Holy Spirit to lean down and whisper in my ear. This morning, his voice was on the wind as it swirled around me. "Come to me. Keep coming. Don't hide. This is all for you." Words of love that spark feelings of homesickness; it's been so long since I've let him speak.

What do you need to hear from God? That he has a plan for you? That he will never leave you? That you are a masterpiece of his creation? Maybe the best thing you can do for God today is lose your voice.