News from Room 8

That last post was a bit of a, uh, downer.  This week, however, was absolutely God sustained.  (Am I really surprised?)  I survived, and the PCs did too.  Sunday night, all I wanted to do was cry, quit, and be a waitress.  (My Australian taco joint was that fun.)  At small group on Monday night, we talked about living life with the end in mind.  God wins.  Love wins (not in the you-know-who-starts-with-R-and-ends-with-obBell way).  Jesus and people who follow Him win.  No tears.  No discouragement.  No sadness.  Dancing and singing and running in fields and everything good about life here will be there.  Living with that in mind makes it a little easier to get through the sad and the lonely and the broken here.  Every morning this week, my alarm has gone off at 5:28AM and the first thing through my mind and my mouth is WE WIN.  I may lose every battle from here to the end of the world, but by golly, our good God has won the war. 

 

Happenings in Room 8 have been neither crazier or more mellow than usual.  Kids say funny things.  Kids say insightful things.  Kids call you out if ever you say one thing and do another.  Kids push the envelope.  Kids envelope you in tight squeezes.  They make you proud, and they embarrass you.  They're sneaky and impish and dramatic and sensitive and wonderful little terrors. 

I'm learning all kinds of things about teaching and myself and my PCs.  PC1 is absolutely obsessed with ninjas.  PC2 will catch any loophole you never knew existed.  My kids are too loud.  The reading specialist told me that yesterday.  She gave me some ideas for expectation posters… something I should have had from the beginning, and might have if I hadn't gotten hired 4 days before school started.  Teaching is a competitive sport.  Pride has to be crushed if you're going to be a good teacher.  You can't go around thinking you're awesome.  That attitude doesn't lend itself to collaboration and growth.  Planning and prep is the skeleton of teaching, but passion is the lifeblood.

Some days I don't want to be a teacher.  I'd rather have an office job where I can wear clothing that you can't sit on the floor in or run around or jump rope in.  I'd rather be a waitress where I leave work at work.  I'd rather be a sky diving instructor or rock climbing guide or dance teacher - one of those hobbies that turns into a job.  I'd rather do ministry or travelly jobs mingled with camp and fling stability to a young wind. 

Most days I want to be a teacher.  I want to be there to see PC5 make a jump in her reading score.  I want to be there when PC13 is crying and just needs to bury her face in someone.  I want to be there when PC7 tames his temper.  I want to jump rope.  I want to teach my PCs why the Gettysburg Address matters.  I want to read aloud to them.  I want to be there to tell them failure isn't failure unless they stay down and don't grow because of it. 

It's hard.  I have a few tough nuts to crack.  I feel young.  Half of the time, I feel young and inexperienced and adrift, and half of the time I feel young and part child myself, able to enter into the lives of my PCs.  Oh, I love them so much. 

Little Miss Sunshine, Room 8