So I'm sitting here in my living room on the last night of June 2011. A storm is passing outside in curtains of rain, washing the earth away (not to mention getting the inside of my car wet) and I can't help but internalize the water cycle into something profound. The art of cleansing. It assumes damage, it assumes mistakes, missteps, perhaps even recklessness. While pondering this over, it came to me: you have to start with mistakes in order to enjoy being clean. Over the past year and half I have thought back on my life 11,000 times. I have wondered why I didn't realize that I wanted to be a teacher sooner (like college!). I have daydreamed about the 4-5 years teaching experience I could have by now. I have kicked myself for starting this journey now, in this market, in this state and with these student loans. But I have to endure the truth that much like fire purifies metal, a storm also washes clean.
When I get to the other side of this chasm (and believe me I will get there), I will be a kick a$$ teacher. Now this is not solely because I received stupendous instruction from my graduate program (clears throat) or because my resume is spotless, but it will be because I fought for it. God lit a fire under me a few years ago and I can't put it out. There is so much about teaching that I adore: the light bulb moment a kid gets when you transpose an idea into a practical reality that they can grasp, the smile of appreciation, the collaboration of skills between educators, the sound of paper, scissors and glue hard at work. I get high from the smell of a classroom (permanent markers have nothing to do with it). This is what I want to do for the rest of my life. I am married to this idea, there is no going back. So for the insight, I am thankful. For the situation, I have struggled with bitterness. But there is hope.
Recently, there have come a few new trends to my life. One is that I started running. Yes, you are reading the right page. Bekah Weglarz is running. To be honest, I hate it. But what is more invigorating is that I love hating it. I get off on taking my anger out on running, slinging it through the mud, pulling out it's teeth, soaking it in gasoline and lighting it on fire. Too graphic? Deal with it. I kick that son of a gun in the cajones 3 times a week. I am training for a 5K. Not that big of a run I know, but for me? Near impossible. What is even more stimulating is that this act of running is cleansing me. Not just of toxins that I sweat out and burned calories, but I'm less angry, less bitter. I don't dwell on the mediocre and distress of life anymore. I look forward to things, rest in the unknown and enjoy the moment. My soul is being cleansed.
I have also started my regular devotions again. My quiet time with the Lord in the mornings gives me strength, renews my mind, centers me for the day and reminds me why I'm here. I am here to love Him and others through him without agenda. I am not here for myself. Being in an occupation of service this summer has caused me to be humbled. I had to repel entitlement away and cling to opportunity. I am filling a need and providing a service for these families, I am to be Christ to these children. Screaming, crying, poopy diapers, messes, cartoons, toys, giggles, games, crawling, laughing and sleeping; these children are loved by God. If I cannot serve "the least of these", how can I expect to respect the children in my future classroom? The answer is I can't. I have to start here, I am being built to be a better teacher everyday.
I had to start dirty, but everyday I appreciate the cleanliness a little more.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Practice makes Theory
I just had an epiphany. I am a teacher. Now, this isn't new news. It's no secret that I am passionate and excited about filling young minds with knowledge. I stand in front of 31 5th graders talking about "The 3 R's" of recycling and I get a high that heroine could not contend with. But until a couple of weeks ago, this reality eluded me. Allow me to elaborate: I was helping my cooperating teacher with Math Centers and I ran one about telling time. Now in the middle of giving the instructions, a thought came over me. "These kids will tell time for the rest of their lives. I get to be the one that teaches them this." Crap, now I'm screwed. Privilege is a funny thing that way. It's earned responsibility. So I'm freaked. It's no secret that I fail; more often than admitted. I do try my very best everyday. Even so, when I try, I expect perfection...to no avail. After all, I have had over 12 months of theory instruction right? I should be a pro by now. Hogwash. I suck. I get up there and fake my way through most of it. Now don't get me wrong. I buy into common responses to this. Such as the phrase, "fake it til you make it". This is pretty stupid if you think about it. Pretend like you know what you're doing until you feel comfortable lying about it. Great. But, unfortunately, it's true. And I do it, a lot.
Now I have had several people express their support for me in this. "You'll be a great teacher!" "You're really gifted in this." "I know you'll be great!" Sorry to say it, but again, hogwash. No one knows. Least of all me. We say these phrases in the same spirit that we tell people that it's going to be ok. There is no way for anyone to know that. What if I die from a freak napalm accident? Then what? Eat. Your. Words. Now I don't want to sound like a jerk so let me say I still appreciate the sentiment. So, as I was saying, my head is full of theory and tools. I have been pushed out of my nest am left to actually being the teacher. Therefore, I have to reconcile "the ideal classroom" with the actual messy world. Let me tell ya, they go together like brown and black: tacky. So I have to relearn how to be a teacher, what works, what doesn't, what blows up in my face (aka 3 branches of government project). But, as previously posted, I said I wanted to be a learner as well as an educator. So Bekah Anne, eat your words.
On the other hand, I am quite glad that teaching is messy. Because I'm messy. I don't take to life being calm and quiet very well, I prefer the ups and downs. It makes a good story. Since I am a human being (last time I checked) I want to be the protagonist to my own story. Donald Miller is a great Spiritual author and forward thinker. He uses a philosophy about organizing your life into the elements of a story: 1. Want something. 2. Envision a climatic scene. 3. Create an Inciting Incident. I feel this is my new backbone. The new elements of my goal setting endeavors. Good job Don, you got to me. So let this be my send off. May I preach to myself to be comfortable as a learner (aka failing) and may that learning refine me to rise out the ashes and become the teacher that God has made me to be. The End...(ellipses for dramatic effect)
Now I have had several people express their support for me in this. "You'll be a great teacher!" "You're really gifted in this." "I know you'll be great!" Sorry to say it, but again, hogwash. No one knows. Least of all me. We say these phrases in the same spirit that we tell people that it's going to be ok. There is no way for anyone to know that. What if I die from a freak napalm accident? Then what? Eat. Your. Words. Now I don't want to sound like a jerk so let me say I still appreciate the sentiment. So, as I was saying, my head is full of theory and tools. I have been pushed out of my nest am left to actually being the teacher. Therefore, I have to reconcile "the ideal classroom" with the actual messy world. Let me tell ya, they go together like brown and black: tacky. So I have to relearn how to be a teacher, what works, what doesn't, what blows up in my face (aka 3 branches of government project). But, as previously posted, I said I wanted to be a learner as well as an educator. So Bekah Anne, eat your words.
On the other hand, I am quite glad that teaching is messy. Because I'm messy. I don't take to life being calm and quiet very well, I prefer the ups and downs. It makes a good story. Since I am a human being (last time I checked) I want to be the protagonist to my own story. Donald Miller is a great Spiritual author and forward thinker. He uses a philosophy about organizing your life into the elements of a story: 1. Want something. 2. Envision a climatic scene. 3. Create an Inciting Incident. I feel this is my new backbone. The new elements of my goal setting endeavors. Good job Don, you got to me. So let this be my send off. May I preach to myself to be comfortable as a learner (aka failing) and may that learning refine me to rise out the ashes and become the teacher that God has made me to be. The End...(ellipses for dramatic effect)
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Comfort
"Being comfortable makes me uncomfortable." I have been teased for that phrase several times. No, it is not some vain attempt to place myself among famous quotists of our day. The phrase simply sums up my auspicious quest for purpose, destiny and the like. But until recently, it has never resounded louder. Reality is punching me in the throat and I have no defenses. However, I have to take responsibility here. I do this. I run away from comfort. In fact, all my major decisions in life have been made primarily because I got comfortable, complacent...dare I say it: content. Once I snuggled into a corner of life, dug a groove and grew roots, I needed to get up and move. I needed to relocate and restart the growth process (including pain & rejection). I could be noble and say it's because I want to perpetually learn. After all, learning occurs on the cusp of growth and change. But to be honest, it's probably because I'm fearful. I'm fearful of being mechanical. I'm fearful of repeating myself without purpose or pursuit. I'm fearful of plateau. I'm scared of routine. All human beings are afraid of these things on some level. It's just typically people with Autism who are happy with that lot. Some find their comfort in a world without change or catalyst. Some love control and predictability. I hate it.
I will never forget the day I discovered this. It was the 2nd semester of graduate school and I was packing my food for the day. It was a Tuesday, which meant I had class from 4:30 pm until 9:30 pm. This meant I not only had to prepare my lunch for work but my dinner for school that night. I took two frozen meals from the fridge and placed them in my bag. I zipped it up and poured my morning coffee. I then sat down and proceeded to have a mini panic attack. At 6:30 am, I knew everything that I was going to be eating for that day. Already! There would be no adventure of discovery in the fridge as I try to create a unique concoction for supper. No weighing the options of eating out that night and no audacious trips to a vending machine at work. No, I had everything planned, all that was left was execution. My day hadn't even started and I was already bored. I thought to myself, "who wants to live like this?" If all the adventure I got was unearthing the mystery of what my meals would look like for that day, then so be it. I wasn't going to rob myself of that.
That was the last time I packed both meals.
I had been living my life of "unpredictability" for some time by then. I just never knew why I was. I had come to Chicago, left all my family and friends behind and started over. I studied the first thing that interested me, made as many friends as I could and laid a foundation that I couldn't easily get away from. I wanted to make a new home here apart from St. Louis. But then again, I knew I could only keep that up for 4 years. I took the first job offered to me and again hit my life's reset button. That life blew up in a poetic irony sort of way. So I started over at a different job. I was good at that job, my talents were recognized and I was given a promotion, a raise and more responsibility; all within 3 months of starting. But then...I plateaued. I learned all I could, got as far as I wanted to go and hit a dead end. Luckily, I got married and had to move again. Ergo, new job. AGAIN, I became alive with excitement and challenge, mastered the art of the position and drew all I could from it. After about 6 months, that reset button was looking mighty tempting. I forced myself to stop my destructive pattern and reflect on my experiences. I was determined to put these to proactive use. I knew I enjoyed the same aspect of each job that I had had to date: teaching. I liked training new people or helping to unravel a difficult case. I liked being the possessor of knowledge and serving those around me. I was good at explaining things and demanded good communication. I was a leader without meaning to be and respected without trying. So I needed a new challenge, a new opportunity, some type of career that is void of plateau and a had a constant catalyst of change. I needed to be an educator. I needed to blend all of my dreams in life into a one word career that was simple, yet aligned to my talents. I don't want predictability in my job. I want to be challenged, I want to use all of my aptitude and ability beyond their typical evidence.
(My husband likes to call me "the queen of metaphors", so here's one for ya...) I want to make Michaelangelo's David just using play-doh.
I could wrap all of this back around to my general theme of movement, achievement and goals but this time, it's not really about that. Mostly, it's that my dreams of being a teacher are around the corner from becoming real and I'm scared to death.
I blame Eleanor Roosevelt.
When I took my job at Action For Children I had one of those default screen savers that everybody gets. It was filled with pictures of kids & families, quotes from our founder and statistics. But there was one slide that I will never forget. A picture of dopey, plain jane Eleanor next to her famous quote, "Do one thing every day that scares you." I looked at the screen saver for almost a year before I took hold of that challenge and signed up for grad school. It is 1 year later and the finish line is in sight. So there you go Eleanor, I'm freaked.
And it feels great.
I will never forget the day I discovered this. It was the 2nd semester of graduate school and I was packing my food for the day. It was a Tuesday, which meant I had class from 4:30 pm until 9:30 pm. This meant I not only had to prepare my lunch for work but my dinner for school that night. I took two frozen meals from the fridge and placed them in my bag. I zipped it up and poured my morning coffee. I then sat down and proceeded to have a mini panic attack. At 6:30 am, I knew everything that I was going to be eating for that day. Already! There would be no adventure of discovery in the fridge as I try to create a unique concoction for supper. No weighing the options of eating out that night and no audacious trips to a vending machine at work. No, I had everything planned, all that was left was execution. My day hadn't even started and I was already bored. I thought to myself, "who wants to live like this?" If all the adventure I got was unearthing the mystery of what my meals would look like for that day, then so be it. I wasn't going to rob myself of that.
That was the last time I packed both meals.
I had been living my life of "unpredictability" for some time by then. I just never knew why I was. I had come to Chicago, left all my family and friends behind and started over. I studied the first thing that interested me, made as many friends as I could and laid a foundation that I couldn't easily get away from. I wanted to make a new home here apart from St. Louis. But then again, I knew I could only keep that up for 4 years. I took the first job offered to me and again hit my life's reset button. That life blew up in a poetic irony sort of way. So I started over at a different job. I was good at that job, my talents were recognized and I was given a promotion, a raise and more responsibility; all within 3 months of starting. But then...I plateaued. I learned all I could, got as far as I wanted to go and hit a dead end. Luckily, I got married and had to move again. Ergo, new job. AGAIN, I became alive with excitement and challenge, mastered the art of the position and drew all I could from it. After about 6 months, that reset button was looking mighty tempting. I forced myself to stop my destructive pattern and reflect on my experiences. I was determined to put these to proactive use. I knew I enjoyed the same aspect of each job that I had had to date: teaching. I liked training new people or helping to unravel a difficult case. I liked being the possessor of knowledge and serving those around me. I was good at explaining things and demanded good communication. I was a leader without meaning to be and respected without trying. So I needed a new challenge, a new opportunity, some type of career that is void of plateau and a had a constant catalyst of change. I needed to be an educator. I needed to blend all of my dreams in life into a one word career that was simple, yet aligned to my talents. I don't want predictability in my job. I want to be challenged, I want to use all of my aptitude and ability beyond their typical evidence.
(My husband likes to call me "the queen of metaphors", so here's one for ya...) I want to make Michaelangelo's David just using play-doh.
I could wrap all of this back around to my general theme of movement, achievement and goals but this time, it's not really about that. Mostly, it's that my dreams of being a teacher are around the corner from becoming real and I'm scared to death.
I blame Eleanor Roosevelt.
When I took my job at Action For Children I had one of those default screen savers that everybody gets. It was filled with pictures of kids & families, quotes from our founder and statistics. But there was one slide that I will never forget. A picture of dopey, plain jane Eleanor next to her famous quote, "Do one thing every day that scares you." I looked at the screen saver for almost a year before I took hold of that challenge and signed up for grad school. It is 1 year later and the finish line is in sight. So there you go Eleanor, I'm freaked.
And it feels great.
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