"Are we your favorite class?"
I wonder if they are just guessing. Do they ask every teacher this? Am I that transparent? They don't know how I am with my other classes, so I am not quite certain how they could guess this.
"Do you have the most fun with our class?"
I don't want to lie to them. But I cannot tell them the truth. I cannot say, "Yes. You are my favorite class. You are often the highlight of my day. I look forward to this class and don't stress out at all about this class. I love the students. You are my favorite." I cannot say this. Because even if I would swear them to secrecy, it would come out. At some point, one of them would open one of their lovely, excited mouths and spill the secret. How would I recover from that? While I may be permitted to have favorites, they are to be secret favorites. Ones that are never actually discovered until twenty years later when you run into your students at the grocery store and you see them juggling kids. Then you can say it as much as you want. Then it is acceptable. As much as I may want to tell them now, I cannot.
Instead, I say, "Are you guys done with your assignment?"
"She is completely avoiding our question! Don't lie--are we your favorite?"
"I'm not going to lie. You have five minutes left to complete your reading."
They mustn't know. But how can I help it if they think they are my favorite? It is hard to argue with the truth.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Monday, October 20, 2014
Beholding Your Beauty
“The acute experience of great beauty readily evokes a nameless yearning for something more than earth can offer. Elegant splendor reawakens our spirit’s aching need for the infinite, a hunger for more than matter can provide.” -Fr. Thomas Dubay
An acute experience of great beauty. Sometimes beauty pierces the heart and the soul. It catches your breath. It very nearly makes you weep. It is a heart-rending experience of something that makes you long for far more, yet causes tremendous gratitude that you were able to experience that small glimpse.
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| Photo cred for this one goes to my little sister |
Yesterday, the priest at Mass focused on beauty and how it can pull us in to something beyond what we can see. I was in love with his descriptions of different moments of beauty. Part of me wondered if this is a common experience, the transformative power of beauty that causes one to stop and stare with unabashed brazen wonder.
It happened to me in Switzerland, a land I became firmly convinced that could never be home to atheists. I wondered how they could look at their mountains and lakes and not see God. Yet we can all be in beautiful situations and places and simply pass them by, not concerned with the truly monumental aspects.
Take a few moments to soak in the beauty of fall, the beauty of this world. Gaze at a lovely painting, listen to a classical work, drive through the autumnal countryside--draw up into your soul all of the beauty that surrounds you and let yourself be drawn up into it as well.
Friday, October 17, 2014
My Cute Sophomores
My little sophomores are so cute. Don't tell them I said that, though. To them, at 15-16 years old, cute isn't a compliment. But I mean it as a sincere compliment.
A few examples to illustrate my point. Today we had a test in Scripture. They came in and wanted to write "Knowledge Celebration" on the board with balloons. They proceeded to gather around the board and do that--one person delegated to write "knowledge" and the other "celebration." Someone else wrote off to the side "Celebratory woop!!"
After prayer, a couple students begged to tell a story of their adventure last class period. I gave them three minutes. One of them rapidly told the story, including much animation, humor, and excitement. The other outlined the story on the board with rudimentary symbols and signs. In the end, the class politely applauded the adventure that had occurred.
Yesterday I wore glasses to school for the first time. This sophomore class was the only one to mention anything about them, although I am sure most of the other students noticed.
Student 1: "Have you ever worn glasses to this class before?"
Me: "No."
Student 2: "You look like a whole new woman!"
Student 3: "You look very scholarly."
(Murmurs of assent.)
The other day one of my students gave me a back-handed compliment. He meant it in the best way but it isn't exactly in the way a teacher desires to hear it. (But as compliments are hard to come by in this profession, you take what you can get.)
"It feels like we never do anything in this class and yet I feel like I am learning a lot."
"Thanks,"
"No, I mean--I enjoy this class so much it never feels like work."
That's better.
They are at an interesting point in their lives. They are in the midst of high school life. Growing up, they are determining who they will be for the rest of their lives. Yet there is an innocence that is found within them. Particularly this class. They have troubles and stresses but they are genuinely good kids. And I love them all the more for it. They are definitely not perfect, but they are sophomores and they give me hope in a seemingly hopeless world.
I wonder what the Lord has planned with their beautiful, fragile, so-much-potential lives. And I am thankful to be a part of it, if only for a while.
A few examples to illustrate my point. Today we had a test in Scripture. They came in and wanted to write "Knowledge Celebration" on the board with balloons. They proceeded to gather around the board and do that--one person delegated to write "knowledge" and the other "celebration." Someone else wrote off to the side "Celebratory woop!!"
After prayer, a couple students begged to tell a story of their adventure last class period. I gave them three minutes. One of them rapidly told the story, including much animation, humor, and excitement. The other outlined the story on the board with rudimentary symbols and signs. In the end, the class politely applauded the adventure that had occurred.
Yesterday I wore glasses to school for the first time. This sophomore class was the only one to mention anything about them, although I am sure most of the other students noticed.
Student 1: "Have you ever worn glasses to this class before?"
Me: "No."
Student 2: "You look like a whole new woman!"
Student 3: "You look very scholarly."
(Murmurs of assent.)
The other day one of my students gave me a back-handed compliment. He meant it in the best way but it isn't exactly in the way a teacher desires to hear it. (But as compliments are hard to come by in this profession, you take what you can get.)
"It feels like we never do anything in this class and yet I feel like I am learning a lot."
"Thanks,"
"No, I mean--I enjoy this class so much it never feels like work."
That's better.
They are at an interesting point in their lives. They are in the midst of high school life. Growing up, they are determining who they will be for the rest of their lives. Yet there is an innocence that is found within them. Particularly this class. They have troubles and stresses but they are genuinely good kids. And I love them all the more for it. They are definitely not perfect, but they are sophomores and they give me hope in a seemingly hopeless world.
I wonder what the Lord has planned with their beautiful, fragile, so-much-potential lives. And I am thankful to be a part of it, if only for a while.
Saturday, October 11, 2014
The Simple Life
Each day was simple in its task. I was to wake up, eat, walk, pray, and sleep. Each day, I was successful.It is difficult to not be successful with such a simple task. Yet too often I feel as though my life is not filled with simple tasks. Instead of checking each item off the list and falling into bed knowing I did what was necessary that day, I am often going to sleep simply because I'm too exhausted to finish the task at hand.
The Camino was simple. Not easy, but very simple. I don't think my interactions with everyone I encountered were perfect, but essentially every day ended successfully.
I don't feel this success as a teacher. I don't feel this success simply as a working young adult Catholic. Most days I feel as though I am miserably failing. Then I wake up the next day to fail again. The stack of uncorrected papers grow, the lesson plans become less than plans and more like ideas that are half-taught. The sleep dwindles, the time I take for prayer lessens and I fall asleep during it anyway.
I am not successful.
The world measures my life by a standard of success that I do not have the luxury of choosing. Even if I had the option to choose my own standard, I would still fall short.
Thankfully, the Lord measures success differently. He desires my faithfulness and not simply my apparent (or unapparent) success. With honesty, however, I am lacking in the faithfulness department, too.
All of this draws me back to the simplicity found on the Camino. I had no papers to grade, no lessons to plan, no time to waste on Facebook, and very little distractions apart from the beautiful scenery and the pain in my feet. It made me wish that all of life could be like that. That life could be a simple, clear path. I would wake up in the morning and know exactly where I was to go and I would take the necessary steps to get there. I would nourish my body and try to consistently be in my bed by 10 pm. It was a forced balance that I find myself not adhering to on a regular basis. I knew what I needed and so I did what was necessary.
How do I take the simple beauty of the Camino lifestyle, the necessary discipline encompassed within that, and apply it to my daily life?
How do I encounter success through being faithful?
How do I simplify?
Tuesday, October 7, 2014
David
David was an American. The first American that we encountered as a hospitalero in the Spanish albergues. My impression of him, initially, was terrible. That wasn't because I was quickly judging him or disliked him in appearances. It was because he came off like a jerk.
We showed up, with our minimal Spanish and tired legs, and inquired about beds for the three of us. "Tres?" The single word was a question indicating more than we wanted to attempt in Spanish. The man with a full head of silvery hair was unimpressed.
"Yes. I see three people." We were taken aback and weren't sure how to proceed. If I had an ounce more of stubbornness and more energy in my body, I might have left the albergue and walked to a different one or a different town. Instead, we awkwardly stood there, feeling bad for our spokesman and wondering if he was the only one in charge.
He briskly asked for our passport and credentials. Annoyed, I tried to kill him with kindness. I openly smiled at him when he handed my documents back to me. He didn't seem quite certain how to take it. I would have thought he would be excited or interested to meet some people from his country, but he was clearly not.
The other hospitalero came down the steps and she greeted us in Spanish. David's unenthusiastic voice chimed in, "They speak English."
"You do?! Wonderful! I can talk to you! My name is Patricia." The shift in emotions was quick. David was brooding and annoyed while Patricia was bubbly and patient. We watched them interact, assuming at first that they were a married couple. She wanted to know what the men had discovered about the water situation. Three times David gave a rude or unkind answer, but she persisted.
"No, really, David. Tell me what they said, so I can tell those who are asking."
Finally, he gave a genuine response that satisfied her. My impression at this point was rather favorable to Patricia and dismissive of David. I wasn't here to get walked on or be the point of his melancholic sarcasm. She convinced him to show us to our beds, a task he wasn't pleased with but completed with minimal grumbling.
And so it was, the first American volunteer and already I was wishing one of us was from a different country. No wonder people dislike Americans if they all act like that, I thought.
My next main encounter with David was at our communal meal. Between Patricia and David, the plan for the evening was presented: supper followed by singing and then watching the sun set. David kept walking in and out of the room while we settled into our seats. I thought I had him pegged--they were a married couple and she wanted to volunteer and he came along because of her. Not because he wanted to, but simply for his wife.
Yet within the first few minutes that theory was flipped on its head. They weren't married but had met the previous year when they finished the Camino in Finisterre. Both wanted to volunteer and decided to complete the undertaking together. He was from the States and she was from England. This information was nothing to what happened next.
Cool, detached, collected, sarcastic David began to speak. He revealed that this was their last night of the two weeks of volunteering. The next day they would be leaving for a holiday. David got choked up numerous times during his speech, his voice cracking and squeaking as he struggled for control. It was completely and utterly unexpected.
The meal of lentil soup with meatballs was served. David would take our bowls, with a large smile, and refill them before passing them back down the line to us. I was baffled. This hardly seemed to be the same man. Here he was trying to be polite and kind, a contrast to the seemingly self-absorbed American I had encountered hours earlier.
David was one of the greatest surprises of the Camino. I'm not sure I ever again saw such a transformation. The first David was, unbeknownst to me, struggling with the idea of leaving the tiring but beautiful work of being a hospitalero. He was also under stress due to water problems and trying to communicate in his rather terrible Spanish. I didn't know that but immediately felt not welcomed. Patricia was more patient and knew more of his heart. When he obnoxiously refused to seriously answer her questions, she patiently waited for him to be sincere. That evening, David told all of us that Patrica was his best friend.
They sang silly songs, making fools of themselves for our entertainment. Then we took a group picture outside and watched the sun set. The colors were lovely but weren't quite as grand as South Dakota. In the morning, we set off, waving goodbye to companions from the previous night. David surprised me. At the center of our hearts is a desire to be known and loved. We may build up walls all around us and shield ourselves with steely hearts, but there is always a chink in the armor. Because there always remains the desire to be known by others.
Even supposed jerks like David can turn out to have hearts of flesh after all.
We showed up, with our minimal Spanish and tired legs, and inquired about beds for the three of us. "Tres?" The single word was a question indicating more than we wanted to attempt in Spanish. The man with a full head of silvery hair was unimpressed.
"Yes. I see three people." We were taken aback and weren't sure how to proceed. If I had an ounce more of stubbornness and more energy in my body, I might have left the albergue and walked to a different one or a different town. Instead, we awkwardly stood there, feeling bad for our spokesman and wondering if he was the only one in charge.
He briskly asked for our passport and credentials. Annoyed, I tried to kill him with kindness. I openly smiled at him when he handed my documents back to me. He didn't seem quite certain how to take it. I would have thought he would be excited or interested to meet some people from his country, but he was clearly not.
The other hospitalero came down the steps and she greeted us in Spanish. David's unenthusiastic voice chimed in, "They speak English."
"You do?! Wonderful! I can talk to you! My name is Patricia." The shift in emotions was quick. David was brooding and annoyed while Patricia was bubbly and patient. We watched them interact, assuming at first that they were a married couple. She wanted to know what the men had discovered about the water situation. Three times David gave a rude or unkind answer, but she persisted.
"No, really, David. Tell me what they said, so I can tell those who are asking."
Finally, he gave a genuine response that satisfied her. My impression at this point was rather favorable to Patricia and dismissive of David. I wasn't here to get walked on or be the point of his melancholic sarcasm. She convinced him to show us to our beds, a task he wasn't pleased with but completed with minimal grumbling.
And so it was, the first American volunteer and already I was wishing one of us was from a different country. No wonder people dislike Americans if they all act like that, I thought.
My next main encounter with David was at our communal meal. Between Patricia and David, the plan for the evening was presented: supper followed by singing and then watching the sun set. David kept walking in and out of the room while we settled into our seats. I thought I had him pegged--they were a married couple and she wanted to volunteer and he came along because of her. Not because he wanted to, but simply for his wife.
Yet within the first few minutes that theory was flipped on its head. They weren't married but had met the previous year when they finished the Camino in Finisterre. Both wanted to volunteer and decided to complete the undertaking together. He was from the States and she was from England. This information was nothing to what happened next.
Cool, detached, collected, sarcastic David began to speak. He revealed that this was their last night of the two weeks of volunteering. The next day they would be leaving for a holiday. David got choked up numerous times during his speech, his voice cracking and squeaking as he struggled for control. It was completely and utterly unexpected.
The meal of lentil soup with meatballs was served. David would take our bowls, with a large smile, and refill them before passing them back down the line to us. I was baffled. This hardly seemed to be the same man. Here he was trying to be polite and kind, a contrast to the seemingly self-absorbed American I had encountered hours earlier.
David was one of the greatest surprises of the Camino. I'm not sure I ever again saw such a transformation. The first David was, unbeknownst to me, struggling with the idea of leaving the tiring but beautiful work of being a hospitalero. He was also under stress due to water problems and trying to communicate in his rather terrible Spanish. I didn't know that but immediately felt not welcomed. Patricia was more patient and knew more of his heart. When he obnoxiously refused to seriously answer her questions, she patiently waited for him to be sincere. That evening, David told all of us that Patrica was his best friend.
They sang silly songs, making fools of themselves for our entertainment. Then we took a group picture outside and watched the sun set. The colors were lovely but weren't quite as grand as South Dakota. In the morning, we set off, waving goodbye to companions from the previous night. David surprised me. At the center of our hearts is a desire to be known and loved. We may build up walls all around us and shield ourselves with steely hearts, but there is always a chink in the armor. Because there always remains the desire to be known by others.
Even supposed jerks like David can turn out to have hearts of flesh after all.
"I will give you a new heart and place a new spirit within you, taking from your bodies your stony hearts and giving you natural hearts." Ezekiel 36:26
Communal Meals
There we were. Gathered around a long table, laden with food and wine, surrounded by a small sampling of the globe. Simple food was passed around, abundant and filling. Joy was passed down the row of people, the seasoning that was added to the top of each bowl of stew that was consumed. It was warm--or perhaps it was the wine and the intoxicating blend of languages and cultures, a beautiful spin on the Tower of Babel with English being a common reference point for many.
Some say this is what the Camino is--this is the ultimate Camino experience. The communal meals shared in random albergues around Spain to an eclectic gathering of people. We are from the US, Canada, Brazil, India, Germany, France, Spain, and beyond. We speak a smattering of languages but we are sharing our stories and bonding, even though this may be the only moment we are ever together. This part of the day was one of my favorites and the memories are poignant.
Despite the beauty of those moments, they simply made me feel like I was remembering something rather than experiencing it for the first time. Of course this was my first time walking the Camino and sharing in those lovely communal dining experiences. But I had shared a common meal with people of varying backgrounds and motivations. I had felt the warm embrace of belonging to a community. All of this was simply pointing to our membership in the Body of Christ. I belong to Him and, through Him, am united to so many others. Although we seem so different, we are very similar. We are all searching for truth and goodness and beauty. We all desire friendship and companionship and love. We are longing for fulfillment and something to transcend this fragile life on earth.
The communal meals along the Camino were the physical nourishment for the road that stretched in front of us, the difficult, beautiful road leading to Santiago. The Eucharist is the spiritual nourishment that prepares us for the road that stretched on, the road strewn with thistles and roses that meanders to the Wedding Banquet of the Lamb. Both are shared with others and both point to something even more.
Some say this is what the Camino is--this is the ultimate Camino experience. The communal meals shared in random albergues around Spain to an eclectic gathering of people. We are from the US, Canada, Brazil, India, Germany, France, Spain, and beyond. We speak a smattering of languages but we are sharing our stories and bonding, even though this may be the only moment we are ever together. This part of the day was one of my favorites and the memories are poignant.
Despite the beauty of those moments, they simply made me feel like I was remembering something rather than experiencing it for the first time. Of course this was my first time walking the Camino and sharing in those lovely communal dining experiences. But I had shared a common meal with people of varying backgrounds and motivations. I had felt the warm embrace of belonging to a community. All of this was simply pointing to our membership in the Body of Christ. I belong to Him and, through Him, am united to so many others. Although we seem so different, we are very similar. We are all searching for truth and goodness and beauty. We all desire friendship and companionship and love. We are longing for fulfillment and something to transcend this fragile life on earth.
The communal meals along the Camino were the physical nourishment for the road that stretched in front of us, the difficult, beautiful road leading to Santiago. The Eucharist is the spiritual nourishment that prepares us for the road that stretched on, the road strewn with thistles and roses that meanders to the Wedding Banquet of the Lamb. Both are shared with others and both point to something even more.
And the angel of the Lord came again a second time, and touched him, and said, “Arise and eat, else the journey will be too great for you.” And he arose, and ate and drank, and went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb the mount of God. -1 Kings 19:7-8
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