Part I: When he reaches the piano...

we stand and applaud.

In the beginning was the voice. Then the first palm touched the second palm, and there was a clap. The man took skins and sinews and bones to make for himself the drum, the harp, the lyre. He found a reed and blew a whistle with that reed. He took brass and fashioned horns and cymbals with it.

When the cymbals crashed, the reed whistled, the lyre strummed, the drum beat, the hands clapped, and the voices rang--he danced! How did the sounds know what to do? The man learned, explored, discovered, invented, advanced.

But first, before the beginning, the conductor entered while the whole world was waiting, holding its breath. He reached the piano, and like ignited firecrackers, we stood to our feet and exploded in applause--praising him in advance for his control, his creative elegance.

Frederick & Nelson are Dead

I realized today that when my grandmother dies, no one will ever tell me again the wonders of Seattle's greatest department store, Frederick & Nelson. After a nap on a quiet afternoon, no one will ever again offer me a lemon drop stuck to a mound of other lemon drops in a crystal bowl. No one will whisper her errands, counting them with each slender finger, as the clock ticks behind her head. No one will apologize for taking so long to answer the door because she just returned from the beauty parlor where she got her permanent. No one will make me a "Heidi" sandwich on a tin pie plate, open-faced, in the oven, for lunch.

I was waiting for the light to turn green at a stoplight, and I just realized that my grandmother is dying. Her generation is dying. In a matter of years, they will be extinct, like the surviving passengers of the Titanic. Like Salem's Puritans. Like the Druids. Like Socrates. In a matter of years, perhaps they will never have existed at all.

The light turned green, and I realized that my grandmother is a Giver.

Lois Lowry wrote a book for children about the concept of preserving human culture through memories--The Giver. The novel takes place in a world where everything is controlled and human beings make no choices of their own; even spouses and children are chosen for them. The Giver is an old, old man in a line of Givers, who at one time received the memories of human history, culture, and experience. The Giver's job is to solely bear the weight and wisdom of those memories--some full of pain and struggle, some full of joy and peace--and offer counsel to the community when the need arises. He is also responsible for transmitting all of the memories to a new Giver who will take his place when he passes.

This is what the old do. Their gifts are the memories they bear--crowns that they pass to us to wear in glory, and to pass on to those younger than us. This is history and culture--preserved jewels which either grow bright with care, or dull with neglect. My grandmother keeps memories that I don't even know about. If I don't pry them from her, who will know? How will she survive?

Write down everything. Write down the story of your notorious relative who committed the first murder on American soil. Write down the way the light seems to shine through your grandmother's skin. Write down how her voice sounds over the telephone. Write down every hole in her gloves, every rip in her sweater seams, every wrinkle on her plastic rain bonnet.

One day you, too, will be a Giver.

Only, my One

Insecurity breeds insecurity.

I've decided that I'm not going to be an insecurity breeder. I refuse to be an insecure teacher, wife, mother, friend, sister, aunt, leader, disciple.

We each live and struggle with our own public or private insecurities. Most of our insecurities have to do with feeling like we're not good enough: if we could only weigh less, grow taller, get buffer, talk smarter, run faster, sing better... THEN we'll be happy, THEN we'll be confident, THEN we'll be able to fulfill some kind of purpose. If only, then.

There is one Only, and I am made in His image. That is security enough for me, and I will live in it now, not then.

another year in Vegas

We had a creed that we lived by in my Literary Criticism course at University: What happens in Venice stays in Venice (or Vegas, if you will--the Venice comes from The Merchant of Venice, one of our primary texts).

I adopted this creed for all of my literature classes last year, my first year of teaching. I gave a whole speech about it to my students on the first day of school. My speech was all about how studying literature is dangerous and risky because it provokes people to think critically about their culture, the world outside of their culture, and most importantly, themselves. More danger ensues when critical awareness of our environment challenges us to form opinions and arguments.

Going into teaching with no expectations of what kind of people I would be dealing with, I felt I had to institute the Vegas Rule in order to create a safe environment for all opinions to be shared and heard.

They all nodded their heads when I got to the part in my speech about the well-known phrase, "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."

"This," I said, waving my arms to indicate the space of the room, "is Vegas. What I say, what you say, what he says, what she says, stays in Vegas."

This sounds pretty silly for a high school literature course. And it is. Obviously, not everything we say will stay in "Vegas." I will talk to my peers about what goes on in my classroom, just like they will talk to their peers about what goes on in their classroom.

But ultimately, while I have them in that small, white-walled, fluorescent room for the span of 50 minutes a day, it is our classroom. And while we may not keep everything in Vegas, we create an experience that is ours and ours alone. We share discoveries, opinions, and ideas.

There is something holy in that relationship. Even if we exit this experience with distaste for one another, we are still bonded with an intimacy that's almost Platonic.

When I see my students from last year in class, or in the hallway, for those whom I don't have in class this year, it always feels like we have some kind of secret handshake, or wink. We share something in the furtive smiles we exchange... a year of living in Vegas.

Pro Verbs: Make silence louder

The shorter story: I have so many near-out of body experiences in which I look at myself in disdain as words tumble out of my mouth and my eyes roll around and my hands flop about, and self thinks to self,

"Self, you are much wiser than this."

And I'll do better next time.

You Stay Classy

Yes, I created, sponsor, and endorse Classy Monday.

Classy Monday is an opportunity for students in my class to dress up every Monday we have school for extra credit. Students can earn up to three points each Monday, depending on how classy they dress.

A tie is an automatic 3 points. Unfortunately, if you're wearing jeans with that tie, you forfeit any extra credit points. I'm trying to promote professionalism, not host Project Runway.

The first day of school, I accidently said, "You can wear a tie, just no jeans." Immediately I started laughing because I pictured a person in a tie with no pants on. Cheeky!

It's fun to see my students participate and get excited about this extra credit opportunity. Some of them dress up religiously--EVERY Monday. Some are more sporadic, but the best are the students who wait until the end of the year because they're grasping at extra credit straws just to pass the class or get their grade high enough to stay on the track team.

Now, we'll see how well my new students do next Monday...

Again, I love my job.

Almost Inferno

Is it Tuesday already?

I'm not Catholic, but I do believe in purgatory--because I've experienced it. You see, Hell is complete separation from God--darkness and isolation forever. Purgatory is actually here on earth. Purgatory is a place of confusion, impossibly large crowds, and a labyrinth of merchandise which is impossible to maneuver your way out of unless you have many, many people praying for your soul.

Purgatory is Ikea, Wal Mart, Olympia's Lakefair, and New York City on the hottest day of the summer when the sewer stench hangs in the air above the mobs.

I'd like to make a vow never to cross the threshold of Ikea again, but I can't. I know I'll go back for more cheap, easily destructible wares when I can't afford to buy the charming antiques I really want.

Do you remember "The Land Before Time"? The family I live with was watching it for the first time tonight (Margot/Mom had already seen it, but not Rob/Dad and the girls).

Why is it that the older we get, the more idyllic our childhood becomes?

Music Pick

My friend Jake introduced me to Phil Wickham sometime this last spring. I remember we were chatting in my classroom and all of a sudden he got really excited and started talking about Phil Wickham and how I needed to download his free album, etc., etc.

He promptly plugged his iPod into my speakers and began to play Phil's music. Jake was totally engrossed... I was working on my computer, thinking, Yeah, yeah. Later.

I just started listening to Phil's music on my own a couple weeks ago, and I did download his FREE album, "singalong" off of his website, which anyone reading this right now should do also, immediately: Phil Wickham: Singalong.

Listening to Phil Wickham's music reminds me of when I first discovered David Crowder. I was about 15 or 16 years old, experiencing real challenge and growth in my faith. I loved David Crowder from the first minor chord progression of "Make a Joyful Noise/I Will Not Be Silent" on the Lime CD.

This music was totally different from Vinyard, Tomlin, Redman, Maranatha, DcTalk, Amy Grant, Smitty... anything "Christian" I'd ever heard before. The music and lyrics contained genuine artistic depth, with a destination: Jesus. I find the same depth and destination in Phil Wickham's music and lyrics. Sweet revival.

Octopi

Today, we bused all of the students out to a church in Shelton for a kick off camp.

Yes, school started on Wednesday, which begs the question... didn't we already "kick off"?

Despite my first reaction of confusion and frustration over a required (for all faculty and students), off-campus kick off camp day in between two full days of school and a three-day weekend, the final result was a blast.

I saw some more of my students from last year. I had the awesome opportunity to lead the school in worship, and I got to meet some new students and give a few smiles out here and there.

The best part of the day was watching a dead octopus spinning through the air, tentacles splayed, and landing on a student's head. Ultimate Octopus: switch out a frisbee for an octopus and you've got at least 8 tentacles worth of entertainment.

Sometimes I wish we could skip all the work and just hang out. It can be difficult to make the switch between sharing my gifts and having fun with students outside the classroom to being serious and working hard in the classroom.

I love having fun with my students... bonding with them, creating inside jokes with each class. I'm often reminded that I have to be the same person in both situations... inside and outside the classroom. I may not even know when students might be watching me and paying close attention to what I say and do... I want to be consistently showing them an example that they want to and should follow. I want to show them Jesus.

The Blood-Path Covenant

My American Lit classes and I have been enjoying some sweet nostalgia with an episode of Reading Rainbow, hosted by Lavar Burton (aka Jordie from "Star Trek: The Next Generation").

It turns out that Lavar is just a little bit creepy. The way he casually pulls children's books from his leather jacket is disconcerting. And his hands are so well-manicured. And he cares so much about Little Gopher and how he wants to paint the sunset so badly. Someone give Lavar a visor, and I'll feel more comfortable.

We started reading The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini today in Honors American Lit. I'm interested to see how the students respond to this novel. I'm sure it's vastly removed from anything they've ever read before. There's some pretty serious and graphic content that will spark some interesting discussion, I'm sure. If you've never read this novel, you should. It's a great introduction to Afghanistan's recent history and culture.

The boon of my year will be British Lit. I've revamped the course this time around, only including units on literature that I enjoy. My philosophy is this: if I don't like it, how can I inspire them to like it? My goal isn't to manipulate my students to like everything I like, but I do think I will get their attention more if I am excited about what we are doing.

So, in Brit Lit, we're working on a Greek mythology unit, learning about the pantheon right now and starting Homer's Odyssey. We will have so, so many opportunities for fun in this class. I can't wait for Toga Day... we'll eat Greek food (lambbbbbb!), play Greek games (Olympics), and wear Greek clothes (Togas... no naked Olympians here!). I considered slaughtering a lamb for a sacrifice... too much?

Ah, this is life.

First day, excellent day.

I have so much to remember about today... but I can't because it was so good, and I'm so tired now.

All day, I kept singing in my head, "I love, I love, I love my job!"

I'm saving this day for another day in January, when I turn a movie on just to shut them up, and put my head down on my desk because I'm suffering from a germy head cold. That will be one of my worst days, and I could do worse at another job.

Thank God I don't work in retail anymore!

Who wouldn't want to be a teacher?

God is so good to me.

Iron-fisted falcon

Most of the time, I'm a rational person, so I can believe that school begins tomorrow. I just don't want to believe it.

My walls are quite naked. I need some plants and art deco lamps to give my room an old, creepy feel. I still have much to print and post on my other blog for each class. One syllabus still to write... it's after nine, and I have to wake up by 5:30.

Now, if only I had a falcon...

Lunch

I have a handful of amazing students. One of them came in to school today, ready to do whatever he could to help me get my classroom ready. And he did a lot.

"I need you to take those posters down, move this filing cabinet over to that corner, go through this box of crap and decide what's useful and what's not, organize all these books and somehow get them all into this undersized cabinet, find all my dictionaries and put them on an empty shelf together somewhere, take these fake weapons to the props closet, gather up all the Christmas decorations and shove them somewhere out of sight, dust the tops of the bookshelves, take out the recycling, and what do you want for lunch?"

Of course I bought him lunch... he did all those things and probably a few more. I feel so blessed.

And yet, I still have a million things to do that take SO MUCH TIME.

And then I think about people who have no jobs, who are losing their jobs, who hate their jobs.

I love my job. Thanks, Jesus.

Worry is easy; trust is difficult.