One of my kids pulled a tooth in the middle of class, today.
We just looked at each other for a few minutes.
He held up the tooth like a gold medal.
I ran in to get a better look.
He ran to the nurse.
I asked if 7th graders still had baby teeth.
They looked at me like I was an idiot.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Yes, I Realize That I am a Little Green at This...
I didn't run out of the classroom crying. I didn't say that I would never come back when that blessed final bell rang. At the (literal) end of the day, I knew that I had stepped into the ultimate calling on my life. I knew after the first day that I was born to be a teacher.
I know that Divine Grace is the only thing that pushes me forward throughout the day. I have no energy, no strength reserve, and no tolerant immune system to speak of, but when those who pray for me ask me "how the teaching thing is going," I can muster up some spunk and genuinely say, "it's the most interesting, amusing, and fun thing I have ever done in my life."
Four years ago, I believe God told me to be a teacher. I had never really considered the possibility. I hated high school. I was unhappy, struggling to find something real. I didn't eat, sleep, or rest. I threw myself into an unhealthy releationship, extracurricular activities, and studying. To make the long story short, I was completely miserable. There was no way on Earth that I would subject myself to the terror of school again. Then, God rocked my world.
I was sitting in a church at camp in Oklahoma City. My husband (then boyfriend) and I had taken a group of kids to church camp. On that particular night, a crazy, tattooed, lanky Hisanic guy named Elijah Tindall was ministering to the kids. Out of nowhere, he starts talking about school. He spots me in a crowd of about four hundred kids and says, "you will be in the schools." He locked eyed with me for what seemed like several minutes. An instance like that may seem coincidental, but the reality of it all is that days before we left for that camp, I had been wondering what I should do with my life and the word "teaching" kept popping up. I knew it was from the pits of Hell, so I ignored it. Why would I be a teacher? Why would I go back to what I couldn't wait to leave?
One year before I graduated college, I felt like I had missed Him on the teacing path. I was confused about it, scared of it, and frustrated with being in college altogether. I decided against pursuing teaching as a career. The day I decided not to be a teacher was the deadline for turning in all the MAT admission materials. I had everything ready to go. I was going to graduate in May, enter the MAT program in June. The packet never left my car.
In January of 2008, I was at a particularly low time in my life as far as emotions and fear are concerned. I had been a stay-at-home-wife for almost a year. I enjoyed being at home and having the freedom to go help my husband work at church whenever I pleased. I tried to get into cosmetology school, but the admissions people there didn't seem to know anything about their own school, so I was flat-faced against a brick wall, again. Nothing I tried to do worked.
Before the Wednesday night services started one night, I had a mini-breakdown typical of blue personality types like my own. I cried to my husband and told him that there was nothing in this world that I could possibly do and feel fulfilled (in the realm of a career). I remember saying, "I am not capable of doing much of anything. There is nothing I can do. I have a worthless degree and I'm not that good at other things." He said, out of nowhere, "Take the PRAXIS II and see if you pass it. I know you will, but you need to see for yourself that you can do something." Because I am a good, submitted, little wife -or at the end of my proverbial rope- I went online that night at 10:00 p.m. to sign up for the March 15th testing date. At 12:00 am late registration closed for the PRAXIS II.
I had one shot. One. Shot. Only. I said, "Justin, I'm not going to pass it! I don't know anyone who has passed the PRAXIS II for English on the first try. The writing section is sooo hard! If I fail, there is no way I can get into the MAT program. I'll have to wait another year. Plus, I have been out of school for a year. I don't remember as much as I did a year ago." To shorten the story, I prayed, and prayed, and prayed, and prayed some more. I studied, studied, studied, and studied. I passed. I didn't really look at the scores to see by how much. All I knew was that I passed. In June, Fordyce Middle School hired me to teach seventh grade. No to be cliche-ish, but everything fell into place more beautifully than if I had taken the neatest, nicest little pieces and put them together myself.
Someone had tried to steal my calling. I listened to the lies that breathed into my mind, saying that I couldn't do this, that there was nothing for me to do. Thankfully, those lies are under my feet and I am pursuing one of the things that I was created to do. I am in the place I least thought I would be, but I have the opportunity to make it a better experience than that which I faced. I can actually help make school a good experience for broken little people like myself
-people who are trying to figure out this 70 or 80 year internship and how they fit into the bigger picture.
I know that Divine Grace is the only thing that pushes me forward throughout the day. I have no energy, no strength reserve, and no tolerant immune system to speak of, but when those who pray for me ask me "how the teaching thing is going," I can muster up some spunk and genuinely say, "it's the most interesting, amusing, and fun thing I have ever done in my life."
Four years ago, I believe God told me to be a teacher. I had never really considered the possibility. I hated high school. I was unhappy, struggling to find something real. I didn't eat, sleep, or rest. I threw myself into an unhealthy releationship, extracurricular activities, and studying. To make the long story short, I was completely miserable. There was no way on Earth that I would subject myself to the terror of school again. Then, God rocked my world.
I was sitting in a church at camp in Oklahoma City. My husband (then boyfriend) and I had taken a group of kids to church camp. On that particular night, a crazy, tattooed, lanky Hisanic guy named Elijah Tindall was ministering to the kids. Out of nowhere, he starts talking about school. He spots me in a crowd of about four hundred kids and says, "you will be in the schools." He locked eyed with me for what seemed like several minutes. An instance like that may seem coincidental, but the reality of it all is that days before we left for that camp, I had been wondering what I should do with my life and the word "teaching" kept popping up. I knew it was from the pits of Hell, so I ignored it. Why would I be a teacher? Why would I go back to what I couldn't wait to leave?
One year before I graduated college, I felt like I had missed Him on the teacing path. I was confused about it, scared of it, and frustrated with being in college altogether. I decided against pursuing teaching as a career. The day I decided not to be a teacher was the deadline for turning in all the MAT admission materials. I had everything ready to go. I was going to graduate in May, enter the MAT program in June. The packet never left my car.
In January of 2008, I was at a particularly low time in my life as far as emotions and fear are concerned. I had been a stay-at-home-wife for almost a year. I enjoyed being at home and having the freedom to go help my husband work at church whenever I pleased. I tried to get into cosmetology school, but the admissions people there didn't seem to know anything about their own school, so I was flat-faced against a brick wall, again. Nothing I tried to do worked.
Before the Wednesday night services started one night, I had a mini-breakdown typical of blue personality types like my own. I cried to my husband and told him that there was nothing in this world that I could possibly do and feel fulfilled (in the realm of a career). I remember saying, "I am not capable of doing much of anything. There is nothing I can do. I have a worthless degree and I'm not that good at other things." He said, out of nowhere, "Take the PRAXIS II and see if you pass it. I know you will, but you need to see for yourself that you can do something." Because I am a good, submitted, little wife -or at the end of my proverbial rope- I went online that night at 10:00 p.m. to sign up for the March 15th testing date. At 12:00 am late registration closed for the PRAXIS II.
I had one shot. One. Shot. Only. I said, "Justin, I'm not going to pass it! I don't know anyone who has passed the PRAXIS II for English on the first try. The writing section is sooo hard! If I fail, there is no way I can get into the MAT program. I'll have to wait another year. Plus, I have been out of school for a year. I don't remember as much as I did a year ago." To shorten the story, I prayed, and prayed, and prayed, and prayed some more. I studied, studied, studied, and studied. I passed. I didn't really look at the scores to see by how much. All I knew was that I passed. In June, Fordyce Middle School hired me to teach seventh grade. No to be cliche-ish, but everything fell into place more beautifully than if I had taken the neatest, nicest little pieces and put them together myself.
Someone had tried to steal my calling. I listened to the lies that breathed into my mind, saying that I couldn't do this, that there was nothing for me to do. Thankfully, those lies are under my feet and I am pursuing one of the things that I was created to do. I am in the place I least thought I would be, but I have the opportunity to make it a better experience than that which I faced. I can actually help make school a good experience for broken little people like myself
-people who are trying to figure out this 70 or 80 year internship and how they fit into the bigger picture.
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