Teaching has done this really weird thing to me. It makes me wake up in the morning. No, I'm not talking in the metaphorical 'I have a purpose driven cause to get up this morning.' I'm talking the literal, physical inability to sleep in past seven o'clock. (Somehow, I feel like I should be able to blame Obama for this.) Anyway, while waking up early isn't necessarily the favorite new skill I've acquired, it certainly does give me time to think. My early morning weekend time has become my early morning pondering and reflecting on life time.
I wouldn't expect myself to blog about all of those thoughts. I wouldn't expect anyone to read those blogs about all of my thoughts. That would be stupid. And, let's face it, a great deal of those posts would be about my master plan to visit South Korea--and inadvertently infiltrate their music and TV-scenes with my undeniable talent and charm. A-List Celebrity Status, here I come!
But, seriously, who would read that?
Today, though, I do feel like a few of my thoughts might be useful or meaningful to someone, somewhere. Maybe. So, I'll share. And it's about love.
Love is an interesting thing. We've all heard the theme repeated in movies and stories over and over--that true love conquers all. That true love can overcome any conflict, no matter what the conflict itself might be. I'd like to throw in my two-cents and say: I agree. It's true. And here's why:
I'm evidence. My students are evidence. Something I don't think a lot of people recognize is that teaching is so much more than lesson plan and lesson delivery. It's not a career of percentages or production (though many school districts have forgotten that). It's a career of caring for the physical, intellectual, social, emotional, and--at times--spiritual well-being of young humans who may or may not receive that same vigilant care at home. Out of respect to my kids, I won't share the specifics of what many of them have shared with me over the course of my teaching career. What I will say is that horrible things happen to innocent children every day. Every. Single. Day. And some of the worst offenses done against them don't leave enduring physical scars. That's the worst part. How do you put a Band-Aid on a broken spirit?
There have been impromptu moments when my classroom has become a sacred sanctuary, while students have cried into my arms, and I had to wonder if there were truly a way to help them. There were times when I wished I could do more, but knew that it wasn't my place within current systems to do so. There have been times when, after everyone had gone, I would sit at my desk and cry because teaching math and reading felt superficial when so much more was at stake. I'm still trying to decide if these moments broke me, or if these are the moments that made me.
At any rate, I recognized--early on--that I would not be able to help my kids by my own skill or understanding, so I learned to ask for help. And I reminded myself what real prayers feel like. I cannot deny that something more than intuition guided me in guiding my students. On those weeks when our burdens seemed especially hard to shoulder--those moments when I was lost in a stupor as to what to do, the answer to my prayers was always the same: Love them.
As much as I wanted to, it wasn't my place to fix my students' lives. My job was to love my students, and it is a task I took very seriously. My whole self was focused on those kids, as love requires. I didn't recognize it at first--but now in retrospect-- I see that in embracing this directive, miracles have happened.
The struggling students--those who don't find academics an easy thing--found confidence and purpose. They struggled less. Some now maintain 3.5-4.0 GPA's in middle school. Love did that.
The students who felt powerless in overcoming their current situations found courage to endure those situations, make the positive changes they could, and faithfully set goals to make sure that they would not make the same mistakes of those who should have been the responsible ones. Love did that.
The students who felt out of place stopped fighting their unique personalities and talents. Instead, they found their niche or created a new one. And made no apologies for being who they were. And others accepted them. Love did that.
The students who were cruel found kindness. Love did that.
The students who believed in nothing learned to believe in themselves. Love did that too.
The teacher learned that her heart, like the heart of the Grinch, could expand as necessity required. In turn, she learned that it was the love of family, friends, God, and the returned love of her students that sustained her through the struggles. It was on focusing on that love between them that reminded her that the fight was, indeed, worth fighting. She learned that love really is all we need.
And we were all better for it.
I wouldn't expect myself to blog about all of those thoughts. I wouldn't expect anyone to read those blogs about all of my thoughts. That would be stupid. And, let's face it, a great deal of those posts would be about my master plan to visit South Korea--and inadvertently infiltrate their music and TV-scenes with my undeniable talent and charm. A-List Celebrity Status, here I come!
But, seriously, who would read that?
Today, though, I do feel like a few of my thoughts might be useful or meaningful to someone, somewhere. Maybe. So, I'll share. And it's about love.
Love is an interesting thing. We've all heard the theme repeated in movies and stories over and over--that true love conquers all. That true love can overcome any conflict, no matter what the conflict itself might be. I'd like to throw in my two-cents and say: I agree. It's true. And here's why:
I'm evidence. My students are evidence. Something I don't think a lot of people recognize is that teaching is so much more than lesson plan and lesson delivery. It's not a career of percentages or production (though many school districts have forgotten that). It's a career of caring for the physical, intellectual, social, emotional, and--at times--spiritual well-being of young humans who may or may not receive that same vigilant care at home. Out of respect to my kids, I won't share the specifics of what many of them have shared with me over the course of my teaching career. What I will say is that horrible things happen to innocent children every day. Every. Single. Day. And some of the worst offenses done against them don't leave enduring physical scars. That's the worst part. How do you put a Band-Aid on a broken spirit?
There have been impromptu moments when my classroom has become a sacred sanctuary, while students have cried into my arms, and I had to wonder if there were truly a way to help them. There were times when I wished I could do more, but knew that it wasn't my place within current systems to do so. There have been times when, after everyone had gone, I would sit at my desk and cry because teaching math and reading felt superficial when so much more was at stake. I'm still trying to decide if these moments broke me, or if these are the moments that made me.
At any rate, I recognized--early on--that I would not be able to help my kids by my own skill or understanding, so I learned to ask for help. And I reminded myself what real prayers feel like. I cannot deny that something more than intuition guided me in guiding my students. On those weeks when our burdens seemed especially hard to shoulder--those moments when I was lost in a stupor as to what to do, the answer to my prayers was always the same: Love them.
As much as I wanted to, it wasn't my place to fix my students' lives. My job was to love my students, and it is a task I took very seriously. My whole self was focused on those kids, as love requires. I didn't recognize it at first--but now in retrospect-- I see that in embracing this directive, miracles have happened.
The struggling students--those who don't find academics an easy thing--found confidence and purpose. They struggled less. Some now maintain 3.5-4.0 GPA's in middle school. Love did that.
The students who felt powerless in overcoming their current situations found courage to endure those situations, make the positive changes they could, and faithfully set goals to make sure that they would not make the same mistakes of those who should have been the responsible ones. Love did that.
The students who felt out of place stopped fighting their unique personalities and talents. Instead, they found their niche or created a new one. And made no apologies for being who they were. And others accepted them. Love did that.
The students who were cruel found kindness. Love did that.
The students who believed in nothing learned to believe in themselves. Love did that too.
The teacher learned that her heart, like the heart of the Grinch, could expand as necessity required. In turn, she learned that it was the love of family, friends, God, and the returned love of her students that sustained her through the struggles. It was on focusing on that love between them that reminded her that the fight was, indeed, worth fighting. She learned that love really is all we need.
And we were all better for it.
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