Two new students joined my class today, one of whom speaks no English.
My natural reaction when I first found this out last week was that I needed this like I need a hole in the head. Yet, as soon as the thought passed through my mind it was stopped by another; This is a blessing. I tell my students almost everyday that there is no whining in my classroom. Ever. We are going to always be grateful and look at challenges as ways to help us grow and get better rather than whine about it. Actually, I apparently reinforce this so much that now my kids have now started to keep one another in line without any prompting from me. It's adorable and terrifying all at the same time as I begin to see just how much influence I have in their lives. This attitude of gratitude is so important to me, yet why was I so quick to label something as a burden that was inevitably going to make my job harder? I've been trying to think about how this change is a blessing and although I can't predict exactly what's going to come of it since obviously I can't see into the future, I am thrilled for this chance to grow into a better teacher and for my students to become even more inclusive, patient, and understanding. We talk a lot about these situations as "blessings in disguise". Now I'm wondering where that even came from. A blessing is simply that. A blessing. They don't come disguised. We are just the ones who disfigure them with our cynical and dismal outlooks. Where you set your mind really does make a difference. I feel like I always forget this so easily, but I'm thankful for situations that always re-convict me of this truth.
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I'm frustrated today - about the way I was educated and the fact that our collective educational values have not changed. I read and discussed the children's book, Encounter by Jane Yolen with my 4th graders today. Encounter is a powerfully written realistic fiction narrative about Columbus' arrival on the shores of our beloved country. It's powerful because it is dramatically different from the story my kids have ever learned in the past. For the first time today, they heard about this impactful political and social event from the perspective of a young Native American boy rather than the perspective of the European Explorers. As I read, I watched their faces turn from enjoyment over a nicely written story, to confusion from new information, to shock about what they just heard. Their beloved Columbus' narrative was turned upside down as one insightful student remarked, "This is sad, and unfair. That boy was probably so scared because he didn't know who these people were. And then they just took him from his home on their boats? They changed their whole life. The Native Americans were here first. This is not fair at all. Columbus was a terrible person. Did this really happen?" They couldn't seem to reconcile this new perspective with the fun, light-hearted rhymes of blue oceans in 1492 and the over-glued crafts of the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria of their past. We discussed perspective and how there are two sides to every story. We thought about how the story changes based on who's telling it, and likened this concept to having a disagreement with a sibling or friend. They both retell the same story but it sounds different based on who's telling it. What I don't understand is why I was never taught this perspective in elementary school. Why do we sanitize our history for children as if they can't handle it? Then we grow up and wonder why people are so ignorant. I have so much more to say about this but I'm not quite sure how to say it well just yet so, until next time... It has been far too long since I've last written. Long enough that I find myself asking if it's genuinely something that I care about.
All the while, those words circle around me, a haunting of sorts, an ever-persisting thorn in my side whose prickles I thought I had long ago dislodged. But I gather that's why it is my thorn, I want you to write. And I want you to trust me. So I write and I trust and I surrender in simple obedience. When I begin to see why, it suspends me in a state of startled awe and Holy fear. I never know where my words will go, who will read them, who will breathe them in and let them settle in their soul as I do with the words of my new and long-time favorite trusted authors. We write to tell a story yet sometimes mine feels feigned as I don't even know what story I am telling or what story He wants me to tell. That is how this post started. Directionless. Yet here my words go, somehow expanding this page one letter at a time. In spite of myself, I write. And I trust. Because soon enough the curtain will be drawn back to reveal the "whys" of this odd beckoning to fearlessly toil in my present investments, entrusted giftings, and precious little ones. I loathe this daily trusting but the promises are just too strong. Just too settled in some deep place of my heart that I cannot quite seem to fully reach yet I somehow indubitably know is so, so very real. |
Author4th grade teacher. Writer. Justice-seeker. Encourager. CrossFitter. John 11:40. Archives
July 2017
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