I stopped writing because I fell victim to the fear that my writing isn’t good enough. That it’s pointless, purposeless, unnecessary. Even though, countless times, I have been told the very opposite of that. Even though people have reached out to tell me that my writing is good, honest, meaningful, and powerful and that they look forward to reading whatever I write next.
I stopped making art because I started to believe that lie that I wouldn’t be as good as the artists I follow on Instagram. Even though people have encouraged me start an Etsy shop. Even though people have paid me to create for them. I stopped seeing my purpose in my job as my disdain for it and my students grew and festered like a cancer. I believed the lie that I’d never be good enough; even though the feedback I had gotten from students and parents in the past was the farthest from “not good enough.” But this year, all I’ve felt is “not good enough;” because I stopped being who I am and fell into the vicious machine of this world. I stopped enjoying working out as I started to believe the lie that I needed to be “better, faster, stronger”. I’ve always been an athlete ever since my elementary years. I always loved all of the athletic endeavors I attempted because, to me, my purpose in playing was the joy I got out of it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m competitive. I always have been, but I’ve always naturally made “the love of the game” my priority. So, I was able to be “stronger, better, faster,” without the pressure of being “stronger, better, faster;” simply because I loved what I was doing. I don’t know when I fell into the “stronger, better, faster” lie. The comparison trap lie. The “you must be like everyone else” lie. I don’t know when I started to lose sight of my value, purpose, and uniqueness as I slid into to trying to attain conformity with others rather than holding steadfastly confident to the truth of who I was created to be, and walking boldly in that truth. It was a slow, sneaky descent, but the journey downward has made the view here from the top that much more empowering. As I sit here after months of trying to get back to myself, my resolution - or maybe it’s more like a battle cry - is to stop the fallacy of “stronger, better, faster”. To cease striving and fall on grace and to do things “for the love” again. To write for the love of words, and sharing and the beauty of connecting with others. For the love of self-awareness and personal growth. To write because it makes me feel empowered and purposeful. To create art for the love of beauty, color, making mistakes, and inspiration. For the love of making a mess. For the love of looking at something I’ve created and being proud of it, and proud of myself as I remember the joy and peace I felt in the process. To create for the joy of focus and serenity. To teach for the love of humanity. For the love of finding joy in the practice of believing in another. For the love of sacrificial service to someone who may never be able to repay your kindness or return your investment in their lives. To workout for the love of movement. For the love of finding joy in strength. For the love of celebrating what my body can do, rather than succumbing to frustration and defeat over what it cannot. For the love of persevering. For the love of surprising myself as when I accomplish things I didn’t think I could. For the love of the fiercely empowering feeling of relentless determination when I set my mind to something. For the love of believing in myself. For the love of working to sustain this body so that it can live as long as possible, and experience as much of this life as possible. To love, joy, peace, purpose, faith, and confidence - thank you for letting me take you back.
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Every year on Clean Water Sunday, I leave with a heart re-broken for the beautiful people in Nicaragua who we were supposed to leave with clean water; except the unyielding ground would not allow for us to do so. Four years later, I still don’t have the words to describe how my heart broke that day. I still don’t have the words to describe how, each and every Clean Water Sunday, I️ fight back tears as my heart breaks all the more while I remember, while my heart persists to forever connect with the hearts of people I love, in a place that I love, who are still drinking disease-ridden water because they have no other choice. What I don’t need - what I really, really don’t need - is for anyone to tell me that; nevertheless, God is still good. I don’t need to hear that He “will make a way where there is no way” or that He “will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert” (Is. 43:19). I don’t need to hear it because, I know. I know the promises. I believe and proclaim them with everything I am and I feel them in the very depth of my soul. In the depths of my soul that I didn’t even know existed until God opened it by breaking my heart for what breaks His that day under the vast, beautiful Nicaraguan sky. That day when I finally understood the depth of Jesus’ radical, all-consuming, endless, boundless love for every single living organism on this overwhelmingly, awe-inspiring earth of His. So, nevertheless this broken little heart of mine remains filled with unrelenting hope. Hope not only because of Jesus, but because I️ know that the hearts of all of us, His people that He created, are good, are compassionate, are willing. During this season of giving, when you begin to feel a bit consumerist in the midst of your shopping. I’m asking you to stop for a second and remember that the Christmas season is a celebration of joy and hope. We are filled with joy and hope because of the greatest gift of all, Christ, that was given to us. Consequently, we give gifts to others to bring them joy and hope and to make sure they know and remember and feel the love that we have for them. I’m hoping that maybe, just maybe, the cry of my heart might move yours to action birthed out of compassion, as opposed to guilt. That maybe this Christmas season, you adopt a globally-minded perspective and put part of your Christmas budget toward bringing joy, hope, and love to children around the world whose joy and hope are laced with the hardship of lack of access to a basic human need. I️ have no doubt that God will meet their needs according to His plan for good for them, but as citizens of the world, we have a responsibility to reach out and let people know that someone cares. Certainly we can all certainly do a little more. For more information and/or to donate visit: https://liquidchurch.com/serve/clean-water/ Or https://water.cc And/or set your Amazon Smile to Living Water International and put that consumerism to good use! :) I feel like I only ever write about the same few things. That’s probably because I actually do only ever write about the same few things. I guess that’s because some stories need to be told over and again; whether for my own freedom or for the freedom of others.
Isn’t it funny, and also frustrating, how when you think you’ve finally got something all figured out it comes around with little to no warning to try to take you down again? It’s like we’re just living in circles. I’m sure you can relate somehow. I wrote a portion of what you’ll read below a few months ago but never posted it. As I sat down to write again about the ever-present thorn in my side that is anxiety, I found both comfort and a bit of strength in my own past words. And a greater resolve to fight that much harder to know and love God again. Last summer I began a self-study on Ephesians when my faith was in a place where I desperately needed revival and recovery and something new to hold on to. Within the chapters of this letter I discovered the themes of power and grace. Little did I know just how much I would need to hold onto what I was learning in those pages; not only in the present of that moment but in the middle of my current present. Over the past year or so, it’s become clear to me that I can do nothing apart from God’s power. As difficult circumstances and big questions wax and wane, I needed and still desperately need the truth that God is sovereign and God is limitless. Oh, how often I lose sight of this. And oh, how often does my blindness set me back. As I constantly battle with anxiety, I need God’s power to remember that He is stronger than what I am feeling and that the battle is not mine alone. Sometimes I don’t even know that I’m experiencing anxiety over something until it’s too late. While I’m introspective and observant enough that I’ve learned to recognize some warning signs, what I’ve noticed lately is that if I’m feeling disconnected from God, it’s exponentially more difficult for me to recognize and push back against my anxiety. The farther I am from God, the longer it takes me to identify and make sense of stressors and fear and the harder it is for me to confidently believe in my own abilities and giftings. I need to take hold of His power to have peace that He has gone before me and He is and always has been holding all things together; and I need His grace to be able to press on with confidence and freedom from the fear of the “what ifs”. God has made me fight for my faith over the past year and a half in a way he hasn’t ever made me do before and let me tell you, it really sucks. Most of the time I feel like I am failing miserably. He has forced me to face hard questions, doubts, and fears. He’s given me no leeway in examining the deepest corners and crevices of my heart to find out what I really believe and just how much I want it. In all of this I have learned that I am weak without his power and I am even weaker without his grace. If he didn’t give me grace as I discover all of the ways in which I simply cannot do life merely out of my own volition, I wouldn’t have the resolve to change, grow, and press on. If He didn’t display His power so clearly in my life, I wouldn’t even have hope that one day I’d be standing on the mountain rather than crying out from the valley. I feel like everything I’ve written here makes it sound like I’m out of the valley. I’m not. This is not a story of victory; yet. It’s a story of a desert, a valley, and a few small streams throughout. Over the course of my faith journey I have learned to be grateful for the valleys and deserts and storms. Every single time I emerge from a season of life like this, God has done an incredible work in and around me. As Charles Spurgeon has famously said, “I’ve learned to kiss the waves that slams me into the Rock of Ages.” Amen to that. Yet, no, it does not give me “fullness of joy” to know that right now. I’m actually really over the struggle that this past year has been. I’m tired of fighting. I’m weary and worn. And honestly, it just all seems unfair. Nevertheless, I can see the sun breaking through the clouds when I stop to look at the joy and love that surrounds me and is poured into me everyday by so many people throughout so many parts of my life, I know that God is still working, that He has not forgotten me and never will. I see His love for me and others ever more clearly through the people He allows to surround me and speak into my life. I can surrender control and trust that He is good because I see His unfailing goodness in my life. Yes, I hate that so often I have to fight through a mess to see His provision and I absolutely resent that have to keep learning the same lessons over and over again, but I can honestly say that as long as it’s all for His glory, then, it is well. And maybe, just maybe I am wrong about it all. Maybe every Christian everywhere has it all wrong and none of this is real but as far as I’m concerned, if I get to the end of my life and there’s nothing waiting on the other side, I’d rather be able to say that I fiercely believed in a story of hope, redemption, restoration, and growth. A story that pushed me to love a little harder, to look for the good in others, to value others more and to learn how to apologize and get over myself. A story that gives me a reality check while also making me purposeful and secure in who I am. A story that helps me to find peace and courage in the storm. A story that never fails to reorient my heart toward all of the beautiful things of this life. Here I am, writing because I said I would. Writing because when I do I render my world shattered yet all the more whole.
This has been a year where so many words have been stuck in my head. Swirling about, longing to be captured and crafted onto a page. They’re stored in my visions, glimpses of inspiration from fleeting moments all around me. That’s why I’m sitting here, writing because I said I would. Writing because I thought it would pull the words out of me and onto this page but I guess when they’ve been left unsaid, or unwritten, for so long, they’re not going to let me off the hook quite that easily. I could keep writing from my stream of consciousness like this but I set to out to write something good. To try to create something of beauty from all that I have learned, felt, and lived over this past year that has had me reaching for pen and paper with every fear, every inspiration, every victory, and every doubt; producing melodramatic journal entries that sometimes make me raise an eyebrow at myself like I do in my head when someone is publically letting their own crazy show. Yet, right now felt like a good time to write because it’s one of the few times this year I’m not hell-bent on escape from all of the things I’ve been called to in this life that I oftentimes just feel so unqualified for. Though, right now, I feel an eerie comfort in the contentment of staying in this tension. It’s strange, but I’ve been here before. Maybe it’s all of the unexpected voices this year that have been affirming my diversity. The voices that make me stay every time I want to run when it all just becomes too much. How do I always forget that tension means I’m doing it right? The whole reason I liked you in the first place was because of your faith. Because of how you live out your beliefs with grace, intelligence, and respect. I fell for your passion and confidence. Your growth over the past few years has been my inspiration. I love your spirit. Never let anyone kill that in you. You write with such rawness and humility. You need to do that more. It’s strange to me. Having people see me. Really see me. The truth is. I don’t know how to not be myself. I never did. In elementary school, I never cared about being friends with the popular crowd. I just wanted to unapologetically get straight A’s and be better than all of the other kids at kickball. Don’t judge me, we all have our struggles. Or judge me, it’s fine. That’s your burden to bear. In middle school, I left the popular lunch table when a friend said, “Oh, we can totally make her so popular,” about the new girl. Even at 12 years old, something about that just didn’t sit right with me, and next day I had joined another lunch table. They did make the new girl popular, but at what cost to her individuality, I still wonder. I didn’t care about trying to go to all of the best parties in high school and didn’t worry about what I might have been missing. I wasn’t romanced by social hierarchies. I never really understood the purpose of them anyway save for marginalizing those whose value we’re too blind to see. The complexities of hanging my life like bait for the taking was not a hobby I was interested in pursuing. I just wanted to be whoever I was supposed to be, even though I had no idea who she was or where to find her. I thought I did though. I thought I did until I met God in a mid-morning haze seeped with empty promises and cheap alcohol and found that He had disqualified me from the race of notoriety and belonging and fitting-in with the world. “My love, you have forgotten who you are.” Today I meet God in the perfect faces, laughter, and hugs of my students. I meet God with empty hands raised on Sunday morning, reaching but never getting close enough to the one who gave me this spirit and confidence that everyone has been complimenting. I meet God in my dramatic journaling and in my failures and anxiety. I meet God in early morning song on my way to work and in tears when it’s all just too much. I meet God with weakness, gasping for breath on the floor of the gym as I break myself down to make me that much stronger. How grateful I am that He broke me down spiritually in this same way. How grateful I am that He met me in the depth of my brokenness so I can now meet Him in glory and power. How grateful I am that He continues to do that every day I draw from the breath He has put in my lungs. And God still meets me. God meets me in my doubt. In my joy. In my anxiety. In my certainty and in my restlessness. He meets me in my questioning. He meets me in a current of tears as he tells me that just like He set me apart from this world, He has also set me apart from the human confines of a religion that tries yet consistently fails to truly follow Him. He meets me when I learn that nor do I know how to truly follow Him either but it’s not going to be by listening to others without remembering that their perspective is also flawed and incomplete. All the while He reminds me that I can trust Him. That He loves me. That because I have been faithful with little, He can continue to entrust me with much, and although I perceive it as something that will break me, He reminds me that I’ve been here before. That I’ve never been broken by anything He has commissioned me to do. Rather it’s always the astounding opposite. I tell my students that to be fearless means to be brave despite your fears. I know, if you break down the word into its base and suffix it literally means to have no fear. But I'm going to dare to redefine it. After all, I've never been one to go with the status quo. I wrote about being brave in my Back-to-School post last year too. I’m starting to grow ever-more convinced that bravery and confidence despite uncertainty is going to be the new school year theme of my mental state every year. I can take a pretty good guess at what my new kids’ fears are right now. Is there anyone else in my class that I know or even really like? Is 4th grade going to be too hard for me? Will I have someone to sit with at lunch? Will I get lost in a new school? Will my teacher like me? (Yes, she will :), and she already believes in you more than you even know.), Will I like my teacher? Will I have someone to sit with on the bus and to play with at recess? Right now my fears are the same as they are every other year. Will I be enough for them? Will I be able to give them what they need to thrive, not only academically but as a whole person? Will I be patient enough, loving enough, encouraging enough, forgiving enough? Will I just in general be able to keep it together (always an uncertainty. Wine and chocolate helps a lot. And CrossFit. A lot of CrossFit.) I’m laughing at myself as I write out these fears because they are identical to every year past, and every year, the outcome is the same. When all is said and done, I never think I’ve been enough of anything for them; despite how they’ve grown and what they’ve achieved. Yet, when all is said and done, they never fail to tell me just how enough I was. I love looking at the letters I have my kids write to my next class. It’s both comical and encouraging to see what stuck out to them. I love even more to pull out the notes and cards they write me at the end of the year. We all need people to remind us of our value and tell us that we matter. When it comes from someone you poured your entire heart into, it makes it that much sweeter. It makes me that much more brave, and ready to confidently go into a new year despite lingering residue from persistent fears. So, that word: fearless. Some use it as positive self-talk, others as a battle cry. I, on the other hand, am not a fan. I don’t believe that it’s possible to be fearless. We are merely human after all. Have you ever met anyone who had no fears or worries about anything at all? I haven’t. I’ve read that fear, worry, and anxiety are protective responses of our brain when we are facing imminent danger. Of course, sometimes (or oftentimes, if you’re someone like me who experiences anxiety) our fears are completely irrational. Yet, having no fear is not healthy. Therefore, I don’t believe that encouraging someone to be #fearless in everything is a reasonable admonition. However, what we can do, is teach one another how to sort out our fears. Which are reasonable, which are not and how can we work to press on despite our fears? Because, I don’t know about you, but when I’m fearful of something and someone tells me to just “not worry” about it, it just makes it all exponentially worse. So, Year 3, I’m ready for you. I’m ready to say things like, “I see that this is worrying you. What can I do to help?” And, “I know this is hard for you, but I’m not going to let you give up.” And, “OH NO! Did I just hear, ‘I can’t?!’ We don’t say that in Ms. Frazee’s class!” And, “I’m sorry you're getting discouraged. Take a quick break, think of something that you’re awesome at, then let’s try this new thing again.” As a student from last year wrote in her LIterary Essay, “If you are brave, it helps you to be strong and grateful. Also, others might be inspired to be brave because you showed that it’s possible to be brave even though you’re scared.” So, my new nine and ten year old friends, I’m ready to help you to be brave (not fearless), to trust yourself and your abilities, and to do your best and be your awesome self. Can you help me to do the same? :) I decided not to work this summer so that I could have some much-needed recovery time. It started out as a good idea but lately I've just been bored. I've been trying to be more intentional with my days because when I sit around and do nothing I become anxious and overwhelmed. I've been trying o a 30-day writing challenge, which also started out well, but has admittedly just turned into me picking and choosing from the prompts. Anyway, I was determined to be purposeful today and to hold myself accountable to that. And I was! I got a little head start on some things for the next school year, had my pre-DR reading and reflection time, and wrote form two writing challenge prompts. One was, "What is something you are excited about?" I like what I came up with and wanted to share since I haven't posted here in a while :)
30-Day Writing Challenge - Day 13 I can’t believe I’m saying this; well, okay, I can. I'm excited for school to start again. I'm excited to have new little ones to love and I'm excited to be better than I was last year. I can't wait to see that look of pride on their faces when they finally get something they've been struggling with. I can't wait to see them love a lesson or project I give them. I can't wait for them to run up to my desk in the morning to tell me about their soccer game or sleepover or camping trip. I can't wait to teach them how to be brave even if - especially if - they’re nervous or scared. I'm excited to watch them grow as a community, to stand up for one another, and to include that one kid that no one else sees value in. I can't wait to call out their goodness, talents, and uniqueness and cheer them on as they become ever more confident in themselves. I'm anxious for what they're going to teach me too - how to be more loving, more patient, a better listener, more observant. I cannot imagine doing anything else than this. Sometimes I try to, but all else never fails to pale in comparison. Sometimes I don't think it's worth the frustration and stress. But if there’s one thing I learned this year, it's that, 95% of the time, my response to my circumstances is more powerful than the actual circumstance itself. I (tried) to teach my class that too. This year I'm going to try harder to remember that for myself. Squeaks, shuffles, and stomps snap my selfish anxiety and jolt me into the only thing that will matter all day. “Good morning!” I greet sleep-dazed eyes through a smile that I had prepared myself to force. Yet, their little stampede makes it as natural as breathing; as easy as old, wise love sharing silent morning tea on the porch in an enlightening sunrise. I love when they run to me in the morning because they can’t wait to tell me about their basketball game from the night before. I love when they insist that they need my help even though I know it’s more of a want than a need. There is not one part of the day that they don’t make better. That is why I fight for them. I fight for their voices. They’re little voices, but they stay with me; becoming part of my own. Voices. Words that need me. Words that plead with me. Words that (try to) defy me. Words that encourage me. Voices. Sounds that keep me grounded. Sounds that remind me that I am here for something far greater than myself. I fight also for love. Love that sees me, asking me to see them too. Love that stares at me with faith and trust that makes my own sight clear when circumstances muddy my heart’s once crystal clear vision. Voices and love that point my compass to the One that gave me these voices that convict and grow and strengthen my resolve to stay with the One who bends my will toward the light. Though uncertain, I will not be shaken. Someone who I studied under (for only one semester but he had a profound impact on the way I now think) and respect as not only an educator but just as a human being in general posted on Facebook today, “I refuse to be afraid. I refuse to be bullied by this vote or its supporters. I will not walk in fear. I refuse to mollify the situation with false appeals to 'loving one another' or 'setting politics aside.' I will not let this vote sway me from the path: My classroom remains a space for transformative justice and I vigilantly and fiercely protect its mission and its safety.”
I, too, refuse to be afraid. I, too, refuse to be bullied by this vote or its supporters. I will not walk in fear either, for that is what undergirds my faith and entire belief system. I, too, refuse to mollify the inhospitabilty, hostility, and hatred that has driven and continues to drive this entire situation. However, the ideal of ‘loving one another’ is not a false appeal to the hurt, marginalized, and oppressed people of this country. Loving in the face of hate is the boldest, most courageous, most difficult choice we can make in a situation like this. Love does not mean that we agree with someone. Love does not mean that we think certain words and actions of others are acceptable. Love does not mean that I am not outraged, disappointed, or upset by how the past few days in in America have unfolded. Choosing to love is not an attempt to mollify, or temper the injustice that is running rampant in our beloved country; for love and justice are not mutually exclusive. You cannot work toward justice without love and you cannot love others well if you are operating through anything other than a lens of justice. I, too, will not be swayed from the path. My classroom is a space for transformative justice as well. Like my former professor, I have deliberately created it to be such a space. I work everyday to dismantle oppressive discourse but I would not be able to do that if I did not first build and continue to maintain an environment where each and every student feels loved for who they are, just as they are. They know; however, that even though that is true, sometimes what we think is clouded by the things we don’t know, do know, and the experiences we have had and not had. I’m trying to teach them from a young age to critically examine their perspective. I want them to hold firmly to the truth that they are allowed to believe whatever they want but if their beliefs cause them to treat someone the wrong way, than there’s something wrong with their beliefs. See, if I did not value and love them regardless of what they currently believe, verbalize, or act upon all work in transformative justice would be severely hindered. I may be successful with some and not so much with others; but that is just the reality of diverse human existence. Love means listening to others and firmly but patiently rebuking them when necessary. Love is the only way to make sure our voice is fully heard and our efforts toward justice are not in vain. “You’re different this year. Sassier.”
“No, I’m more confident.” “That’s great! What’s helping you be more confident?” “Well I scored my first goal for my club team and I’m doing really well on it in general.” “So your accomplishments are making you confident? That’s good. But what happens if you don’t score another goal for the rest of the season?” “I’ll probably be depressed. Why are you like this anyway? Do you want to be a guidance counselor or something?” Why am I like this? Because I care about you. You were my student last year, you are my little athlete this year, and I take care of my own. Because you wrote me a card at the end of last year telling me the “Top 10 Reasons I’m the Best Teacher Ever”. Reason #1 was that I help you out with your problems. Reason #4 was that I am the best at encouraging you. Reason #10 was that I am caring. Remember that? Now you have expectations of me that I never want to fall short of - because I want you to be able to always look back and see me as someone who fiercely believed in your worth, no matter what. I need to have hope that you believe deep in your heart that your accomplishments are important and surely to be celebrated, but your value comes from someplace far greater than anything you could ever achieve. I’m “like this” because your mom told me that the only reason you’re running this season is because you want to spend more time with me. You know me well enough to know that I am not going to let that time go to waste. So again, I’m “like this” because I care about you. I’m “like this” because I need to have hope that throughout your lifetime when you unavoidably fall short of your own dreams and expectations, you have the courage to pick yourself back up again because you know that you are worth more than soccer, your grades, what others say about you or do to you, and what you say about yourself. And as long as you are within my sphere of influence I will never stop being “like this”. My new 4th graders, Here we are again; at the start of a new school year. New beginnings. New goals. New teachers. New friends. New demands and expectations. It’s a lot to walk into, I know. But I promise that you’ll make it. Just as I did for my students last year, I have prayed for you each by name. I have prayed over our classroom and thus I do not expect a perfect year; for the presence of God does not mean the absence of problems but, I expect a year full of joy-filled trials and triumphs. You need to know that I am not perfect and I don't expect you to be either. But I do expect you to work hard and never give up regardless of how insufficient you feel. I know you're probably nervous; so am I. And yes, before you ask, I'm just as nervous as I was last year. But it's okay. A teacher-friend told me last year that being nervous isn't always a bad thing. It means that I care and that I want to do a good job, because I care about you. "I'd be worried if you weren't nervous!" she exclaimed. Now, I've heard it said and seen it written that nervousness equates to weakness. Let me explain something, nervousness is not weakness. Being nervous will take you down if you let it; but we all have a choice - we can be let ourselves be taken down or we can be brave in the face of fear and confidently (or maybe with uncertainty, that's okay too) press on anyway. Let's all be brave together. If someone still wants to tell me that nervousness is the same thing as weakness then I'll gladly accept that anyway, because I know that when I am weak, I am strong. Recognizing my need forces me to rely on God, to call upon His name when my own strength isn't enough, and also when it is. Therefore, my perceived weakness is neither a deficit nor an obstacle but rather a way to for God to be glorified and for me to grow within my own humanity. Truth be told, I am not ready for you. I feel as if I am but when I really think about it, how could I be? I don't know you. Our room is set-up (mostly) and month one of our daily lessons are planned but I would be doing myself a disservice if I convinced myself that I am ready to teach you. I’m ready to celebrate your successes with you, give you consequences when you need them, and second chance after second chance because there is not one part of me that doesn’t already believe in you, or isn’t ready to see the good in you despite what unwise choices you might decide to make. My new friends, I learned a lot last year. Here’s what I would tell myself around this time last year if I could time travel: 1. Kelly, you can be as “ready” as humanly possible but you won't know what to do until you've met and grown to really know each little one in your care. 2. Have high standards, not expectations. A pastor at your church told you this a few years ago in regard to relationships but you didn’t really understand the difference until now. I think he meant that people will fall short of your expectations more than they will meet them. Expectations should be something that change as the relationship, friendship, etc grows. Over time we learn what to expect from people. Standards; however, are more akin to goals. Have high standards for your students and be sure they know what their end goal is, but give them grace, and re-adjust your expectations if they fall short of them on the way to meeting your standards. 3. You’ll probably be wrong more than you’ll be right. Own it, and apologize when necessary. 4. There are times when kids just need to be kids. Let them. Let them “just be kids” more than you think is necessary. 5. Sometimes the way you do something or handle a certain situation won’t make sense to others. It’s okay. Trust yourself. Trust your God. Be confident in knowing that He chose you, not someone else, for that moment because you have been uniquely gifted to handle it in just the way that you are. There are probably about 10 other lessons I learned that I can’t currently put words to but nevertheless, all of those lessons above are going to help me be a better teacher for you. Although “better” most certainly does not mean “the best”. I'm not trying to be the best, nor do I want to be. I'm not in competition with anyone else. I just want to be best version of myself this year so that I can be exactly what you need. You don't need a teacher who's trying to be better than everyone else, you just need a teacher who really sees you, and does what's best for you, not what's best for herself. I learned that last year too. This year, I don't want you to strive to be the best either. Yes, I know that’s not what most people would say, but hear me out. I don't want you to try to be better than your classmates around you, or your friends in other classes. I just want you to be better than you were the year before, the week before, the day before. I don't want you to compete with the kids around you; rather, I want you to be encouraging and supportive to help build one another up to be better than they were the day before too. In my classroom, it's not every man for himself. We're all in this together. See you soon, Ms. Frazee |
Author4th grade teacher. Writer. Justice-seeker. Encourager. CrossFitter. John 11:40. Archives
July 2017
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