Again, again--life was going well, I thought I was heeding God but really wasn't putting much energy into Him, and things crashed. Crawling from the rubble, my hand came across His Word--and I opened my eyes to see.
Part of what He led me toward was an article by Elisabeth Adams in the Boundless webzine. "Into the Wilderness" started off with a blurb about visiting and living in Jerusalem, which always piques my interest. Then she began talking about the Feast of Tabernacles or, from my Bible memory, the Feast of Booths, which took place on the fifteenth day of the seventh month. Imagine my joy as a child, reading that God had ordained a holiday to take place on my birthday. Imagine my disappointment when my mother pointed out that the ancient Hebrew calendar did not align with ours.
Adams' explanation is that the Feast of Tabernacles was meant to remind the people of where they had come from. They hadn't always lived in cozy houses with quick access to marketplace wares. They had lived in tents, had wandered in the desert...and the LORD had provided...
The bit that struck me in relation to current events in my life was the theme of Adams' statement, "I am always dependent on God: the desert just reminds me that I am."
I've done all I can in this current quandary. I've shaped my cozy house and know who will sell me the right stuff and how I can earn my keep. Yet a situation came along that reminded me that I am not in charge of my little world.
God is.
And I choose to be thankful for this tent.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
No, Wait--There's More!
We had parent-teacher conferences a couple of weeks ago. One mother dropped in with her son.
*This is his worst class. He's clearly not understanding the material on the quizzes. Can you give him something to help with that?*
I looked at the kid, who dropped himself into one of my comfy chairs and slouched there. *What about your notes?*
*Well, you go too fast...* he started. *And when I try to hurry up, I can't read my handwriting...*
Not an excuse. *Where can you go to get another copy of those notes?*
"Your website..." he mumbled.
*Well, what's this with these participation points?* the mother asked next.
*He lost those when he was sent into the hallway.*
*How do they get sent into the hallway?*
*If they're being a distraction in class...*
*So, to keep their participation points, they just need to sit there and not say anything?*
I got what she was implying: do nothing, and that counts as good participation. No. Be cooperative; don't be a dink.
I mentioned her son's proclivity toward talking to others, one student in particular.
*Well can you move them, so they're not sitting near each other?*
*T sits in the front of the room,* I told her, *and A's at the back. These kids talk all across the room!*
Then she asked why he was doing so poorly in my class. (His grade was a 69%, which, I believe, is substantially better than it was the previous year.) We didn't talk about his four late assignments, which I took past the due date. We didn't talk about the quiz he hadn't retaken though I'd given him the option and a personal reminder. I'm not in his other classes with him, so I turned to the kid. *Why are you doing more poorly here?* He shrugged. Conversation rotated then came back to the same dialogue: mother, me, kid. He still didn't know what made the difference.
In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best time to bring up putting her kid back on ADHD meds. But he'd been on them last year, and I appreciated that time. The kid learned, as did those around him. I'd called her about it in the springtime, but hadn't heard back. The issue kept coming up in team time with my colleagues, and the mom was in my room, so...
It did not go over well.
*Miss X [homeroom teacher] said he's doing better, and all his other teachers say he's doing well, so no. Meds are not an option.* There was a bit more blustering in there, including a line of, *His grades are...mostly okay in most of his classes, so, no.*
It was one of those cases in which I stood back and shrugged as minimaly as I could physically, but a whole darn lot facially. Big eyes. Not scared, but "you're the boss; this is in your hands" eyes.
I had another scheduled conference, so she left. She did control herself well throughout our talk; I could tell she was much more frustrated than she verbalized.
Later, I mentioned the incident to others on the team. Miss X said the kid had been better for her recently--and as teachers, we want to stress the positive--the hope for the future. Apparently, that was all the mom went away with. The other teachers were shocked. He's not doing well for them at all. They've since gotten emails from the mom, wondering how they can help her kid.
A few days ago, I talked to a friend who's also a local. She knows others who have been in this area their entire lives. She mentioned an old classmate of ours and how that classmate has a friend with kids in my school system. The mom is apparently out drinking numerous nights a week and is making some rather non-parental decisions.
Ironic, isn't it, that this lady's name is the same as my student's mother's?
*This is his worst class. He's clearly not understanding the material on the quizzes. Can you give him something to help with that?*
I looked at the kid, who dropped himself into one of my comfy chairs and slouched there. *What about your notes?*
*Well, you go too fast...* he started. *And when I try to hurry up, I can't read my handwriting...*
Not an excuse. *Where can you go to get another copy of those notes?*
"Your website..." he mumbled.
*Well, what's this with these participation points?* the mother asked next.
*He lost those when he was sent into the hallway.*
*How do they get sent into the hallway?*
*If they're being a distraction in class...*
*So, to keep their participation points, they just need to sit there and not say anything?*
I got what she was implying: do nothing, and that counts as good participation. No. Be cooperative; don't be a dink.
I mentioned her son's proclivity toward talking to others, one student in particular.
*Well can you move them, so they're not sitting near each other?*
*T sits in the front of the room,* I told her, *and A's at the back. These kids talk all across the room!*
Then she asked why he was doing so poorly in my class. (His grade was a 69%, which, I believe, is substantially better than it was the previous year.) We didn't talk about his four late assignments, which I took past the due date. We didn't talk about the quiz he hadn't retaken though I'd given him the option and a personal reminder. I'm not in his other classes with him, so I turned to the kid. *Why are you doing more poorly here?* He shrugged. Conversation rotated then came back to the same dialogue: mother, me, kid. He still didn't know what made the difference.
In retrospect, it probably wasn't the best time to bring up putting her kid back on ADHD meds. But he'd been on them last year, and I appreciated that time. The kid learned, as did those around him. I'd called her about it in the springtime, but hadn't heard back. The issue kept coming up in team time with my colleagues, and the mom was in my room, so...
It did not go over well.
*Miss X [homeroom teacher] said he's doing better, and all his other teachers say he's doing well, so no. Meds are not an option.* There was a bit more blustering in there, including a line of, *His grades are...mostly okay in most of his classes, so, no.*
It was one of those cases in which I stood back and shrugged as minimaly as I could physically, but a whole darn lot facially. Big eyes. Not scared, but "you're the boss; this is in your hands" eyes.
I had another scheduled conference, so she left. She did control herself well throughout our talk; I could tell she was much more frustrated than she verbalized.
Later, I mentioned the incident to others on the team. Miss X said the kid had been better for her recently--and as teachers, we want to stress the positive--the hope for the future. Apparently, that was all the mom went away with. The other teachers were shocked. He's not doing well for them at all. They've since gotten emails from the mom, wondering how they can help her kid.
A few days ago, I talked to a friend who's also a local. She knows others who have been in this area their entire lives. She mentioned an old classmate of ours and how that classmate has a friend with kids in my school system. The mom is apparently out drinking numerous nights a week and is making some rather non-parental decisions.
Ironic, isn't it, that this lady's name is the same as my student's mother's?
Can You Handle Another Whine?
I was feeling spiffy at work--I had my technology figured out. The marvelous world of Google Docs was discovered. I could make PowerPointish presentations and publish them to the Web. I could set up a Google Calendar for each of my classes and link my presentations to the relevant date for each class. I showed my students how to access my school page, in which I had embedded my Google Calendars. My little sixth graders were going online at home to print off notes when they were absent or when they knew their handwriting was too unreliable.
For my small-group classes, the day's activities were based on the Google Calendars. "Go to your class's page. Find today's date. Click on the link that will take you to the story we're going to read. When you're done with that, go back to the calendar. Click the link that will take you to the questions I put in via Google Docs. Bring up a new window/tab and go to your Google Site [which I had them create--using Gmail addresses but not using them for email, which is blocked on our system--circumvention!]. On your page called 'Answers,' type in your answers to the questions. Refer back to the story that is also online. Make a link to the original story. When you're done, check someone else's work by going to their site. Make corrections as they check yours. Refresh your screen to see the updates they've made. If no one else is done, I'll check yours--right from the comfort of my own laptop..."
It was beautiful.
And then, last week, our admin sent out an email saying that something was slowing down our network to the point of being ridiculous. Google has updated itself with components that are constantly scanning and active, which apparently uses up our bandwidth. If the problem is Google, we lose Google. So it was blocked.
All of it.
No search engine.
No calendar with meetings listed and assignments by class.
No documents for kids to print out.
No sites for kids to take ownership of and be excited about using, even though they're in a remedial class.
No relatively safe searches.
And now...I start...OVER...
For my small-group classes, the day's activities were based on the Google Calendars. "Go to your class's page. Find today's date. Click on the link that will take you to the story we're going to read. When you're done with that, go back to the calendar. Click the link that will take you to the questions I put in via Google Docs. Bring up a new window/tab and go to your Google Site [which I had them create--using Gmail addresses but not using them for email, which is blocked on our system--circumvention!]. On your page called 'Answers,' type in your answers to the questions. Refer back to the story that is also online. Make a link to the original story. When you're done, check someone else's work by going to their site. Make corrections as they check yours. Refresh your screen to see the updates they've made. If no one else is done, I'll check yours--right from the comfort of my own laptop..."
It was beautiful.
And then, last week, our admin sent out an email saying that something was slowing down our network to the point of being ridiculous. Google has updated itself with components that are constantly scanning and active, which apparently uses up our bandwidth. If the problem is Google, we lose Google. So it was blocked.
All of it.
No search engine.
No calendar with meetings listed and assignments by class.
No documents for kids to print out.
No sites for kids to take ownership of and be excited about using, even though they're in a remedial class.
No relatively safe searches.
And now...I start...OVER...
Bait-Cutting
How long do you keep fishing before you realize you're not getting anything? How long do you stay in a place before you realize there's nothing there for you?
Nothing.
It seems that God has been slowly stripping away things that keep me here. Friends move or have changes in their families, which moves them in a different direction. Others just...well, the connection's missing. They're here. I'm here. Lives are similar...but then I feel awkward and don't interact well, and they think...what...I'm snobby? Boring? Wish I knew...sort of... Anyway, I see myself at 33, still standing against the fence by the dugout. Pick me. Somebody. Please. Not that I want to play, and not that I'm that good at it. Just so I...don't...have to...stand...here...
So that makes it easier to switch "schools," as it were. I hadn't felt the impetus in years, but maybe that's what God is using to make it really uncomfortable here. It's scary to think of leaving my comfort zone...but it's not comfortable.
Nothing.
It seems that God has been slowly stripping away things that keep me here. Friends move or have changes in their families, which moves them in a different direction. Others just...well, the connection's missing. They're here. I'm here. Lives are similar...but then I feel awkward and don't interact well, and they think...what...I'm snobby? Boring? Wish I knew...sort of... Anyway, I see myself at 33, still standing against the fence by the dugout. Pick me. Somebody. Please. Not that I want to play, and not that I'm that good at it. Just so I...don't...have to...stand...here...
So that makes it easier to switch "schools," as it were. I hadn't felt the impetus in years, but maybe that's what God is using to make it really uncomfortable here. It's scary to think of leaving my comfort zone...but it's not comfortable.
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