My beloved 7th period class is good for my heart. I was recently talking about them, and I felt my heart overflowing with a sense of gratitude. Despite my fondness for them, I will never claim that they are perfect. They are beautiful and they bring out my best side, which probably contributes to the warm reception I receive from them.
I have never had such a clear favorite. This is one of the first things I will tell people before I gush about my class. While I am far more comfortable with my classes then in years past, this is the one class where I can let my guard down. I never feel like I'm defending myself or persuading them of something or fighting them to accept a truth. We laugh together, have inside jokes, and learn together. I'm not their best friend, but I am definitely one of their favorite teachers.
There is a freedom that comes with being loved. I can give them more of who I am really am. Each day, 7th period, I feel like I teach the best. Sometimes we get off topic, there is chaos, too much energy--but always there is a familial atmosphere that fills the room. I don't myself subtly battling the class in defense of the one kid that says things people roll their eyes at or repeatedly asks questions already answered. When I was sick this week, one girl said she missed me. Although I'm not extremely close with each student, I feel an understanding with most of them and, if nothing else, the class as a whole.
I am not the only one to appreciate my blessings. One of the freshman teachers made a remark to me about my beloved class. Typically nobody else sees the class as a whole but all of the classes each period met in auditorium for preparation for confession this week. I have never sang the praises of this class to this teacher, so I was overjoyed to hear him applaud my class. He said it was though each good student was hand-selected for my 7th period class. As he was saying this, I realized they were. The good Lord knew that I would need this oasis, this haven from the storm during my school day. I look forward to them and love the time we spend together. Professionally, I need to remain fair toward my classes, but I often feel a desire to spoil them, to give in to all of their requests. Today that teacher stopped by when they were coming into my classroom and declared that heaven came early today. We smiled and he told them it was an inside joke.
This class is the only reason I am not running forward with utter joy to Christmas break. Next semester I will have most of these students again, but they will be shuffled around and students from my other class will be mixed in. I am hopeful that next semester will be wonderful as well, but I know that the beauty of this class will soon end, never to be achieved again. Life will move on and they will simply be the cherished favorite class of the past, the ones I subconsciously measure each future class against, sighing when they inevitably fall short.
For now, they are my precious gift. They are blessing to me from the Lord. Yet it is only the difficulty of my first two years that makes me so deeply relish this class. If I had them my first year, I would have expected all classes to be like this. Now I know, battle-weary veteran that I am. This, is not the norm. This is, most assuredly, a gift from the Lord, hand-selected for the good of my heart. Another beautiful display of the Lord knowing what I needed before I even thought to ask for it.
Showing posts with label blessings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blessings. Show all posts
Friday, December 5, 2014
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Are we your favorite?
"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.
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.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
A New Reference Point
College seems to be my constant reference point for things. At times I have to remind myself that I am not going back to my undergraduate years, that this isn't an extremely long vacation, that this life that I am living right now is, in fact, reality. My memories of college are so vivid and life seemed to be filled with so much learning, wonder, and beauty. These days are filled with those things, too, they just happen to filled with a lot more day-in-day-out routine. Some of the best stories that I tell for classes are ones where I was gallavanting around Europe for a semester or feeling hard-core praying outside an abortion clinic in downtown Pittsburgh. Now I look up and realize I have been teaching high school for nearly two years. In some ways, it feels like forever. Yet it also feels like it has happened so fast. Was it really two years ago that I was preparing to graduate? That I was living on a campus teeming with young Catholics? These days I am invigorated to spot another person below 40 at daily Mass.
This Palm Sunday four years ago, I was soaking up the sun from the steps of the basilica in Fatima. It was the start of a ten-day break and I would then travel to Madrid to work with the Missionaries of Charity during Holy Week. I experienced vividly the providence of the Lord on that trip. While the Lord provides for me everyday, I recognized it and relished it more at that time. It seemed to be in such magnificent ways. The Lord provided a train at the appropriate time. He provided a kind Portuguese family that drove us from the train stop to the town of Fatima. He was constantly looking out for us and giving us glimpses of beauty along the way.
The same is true for my life today but it seems to be less spectacular. My students participated in a discussion I tried to lead. My meeting with my principal went better than expected. I didn't feel like dropping into my bed at 3:30. I managed to stay awake for a whole holy hour. Little things. Things that don't feel extraordinary or all that spectacular. That is my life.
It is easy to feel a little trapped. I teach high school students in a not-too-small town but one that seems a bit stifling anyway. My heart doesn't long for a metropolis or an accolade laden teaching career. I simply desire to be fulfilled. In many ways I feel fulfilled but in many ways I feel a lack. I cannot help but at times looking around me and wondering when it will be my turn...for so many things. I'm young but I feel so old sometimes.
I need a new reference point. College continues to fall further into the past with each passing day. I cannot go back there, as much as I may wish to some days. The future I imagine may not be at all as I expect when it finally comes around. All I truly have is the present and even that I do not really possess. Christ needs to be my new reference point. Friends will come and go, family members will pass away, gifts will fade, and abilities will be lost. But Christ is ever-new.
This Palm Sunday four years ago, I was soaking up the sun from the steps of the basilica in Fatima. It was the start of a ten-day break and I would then travel to Madrid to work with the Missionaries of Charity during Holy Week. I experienced vividly the providence of the Lord on that trip. While the Lord provides for me everyday, I recognized it and relished it more at that time. It seemed to be in such magnificent ways. The Lord provided a train at the appropriate time. He provided a kind Portuguese family that drove us from the train stop to the town of Fatima. He was constantly looking out for us and giving us glimpses of beauty along the way.
The same is true for my life today but it seems to be less spectacular. My students participated in a discussion I tried to lead. My meeting with my principal went better than expected. I didn't feel like dropping into my bed at 3:30. I managed to stay awake for a whole holy hour. Little things. Things that don't feel extraordinary or all that spectacular. That is my life.
It is easy to feel a little trapped. I teach high school students in a not-too-small town but one that seems a bit stifling anyway. My heart doesn't long for a metropolis or an accolade laden teaching career. I simply desire to be fulfilled. In many ways I feel fulfilled but in many ways I feel a lack. I cannot help but at times looking around me and wondering when it will be my turn...for so many things. I'm young but I feel so old sometimes.
I need a new reference point. College continues to fall further into the past with each passing day. I cannot go back there, as much as I may wish to some days. The future I imagine may not be at all as I expect when it finally comes around. All I truly have is the present and even that I do not really possess. Christ needs to be my new reference point. Friends will come and go, family members will pass away, gifts will fade, and abilities will be lost. But Christ is ever-new.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
I Desire a Heavenly Mindset
Last night, with the adventures of homecoming safely a week behind me, I found myself reminiscing about my own high school homecoming week. It was quite easy to slip into romanticizing that time in my life because there is no risk that I will be caused to repeat it again. My memories centered on the competition of the week, the class rivalries that emerged in full force, the class skits performed in which each teacher was fair game, and the exhilaration that filled the entire school for one precious week. Throughout the week we would have games each day and the competition was fierce. Seniors almost always won but it was the goal of each grade to produce an upset, one in which only obnoxious cheating would result in the triumph of the seniors. My junior year was probably the most competitive. The skits were hilarious and all of our favorite (and not-so-favorite) teachers were impersonated and analyzed. (Note: As a teacher now, this is always a fear of mine when the students are given the chance to make fun of the teachers. I sit in the gym, waiting anxiously, hoping that I wasn't memorable enough or disliked enough to become the focus of students' laughter.) My junior year we won the "Olympics" and the triumph was palpable. We gathered in our class sections in the gym bleachers and would chant our anthems. "J-U-N I-O-R...Junior, Junior, Junior!!!" "0-8 0-8 0008" The shouting echoed off the walls of the gym. That memory is one of my favorites--the class anthems, the school spirit, the energy, the competition.
I can almost trick myself into believing that that experience was high school. It was not. High school wasn't traumatizing for me, but it wasn't the best experience of my life. I liked school and I was involved in numerous activities: choir, band, volleyball, track statistician, plays, oral interp, and TATU to name some. It was a great time of development...but it wasn't perfect.
That is one of my problems. I am excellent at romanticizing the past and thinking of it in the best ways. This doesn't hold true for everything but for many things it does. I think back (way back!) to college and I am able to make it free from any trials or difficulties. I think, "Trish, do you remember that time that your job was to read theology books and write papers? When you hung out with friends several times each week? When you felt like you were changing the world by being in the pro-life movement? Remember when you went to New Mexico and twice to Honduras for mission trips? Remember traveling around Europe? Wasn't that the absolute best time of your life?" And looking at all of those adventures and blessings, I am convinced that I should be there and not here. What is very easy to overlook is the fatigue, the stress of completing two theses in one semester (even if that was my fault entirely), trying to finish the endless stream of homework, wanting to hang out with friends but not being able to, worrying that we wouldn't fundraise enough for the mission trips, the excessive tiredness. All of that is easy to forget in the quest to make college "the best years of my life."
The point is this: the past is easy to love because we don't face its challenges in the present. Of course there are difficulties in my present life but those are more keenly felt because they are the present. In high school I was left with this feeling that nobody understood me. The friendships I had weren't rooted in Christ and therefore often seemed shallow. In college I had the blessing of making those friendships and seeing how quickly they blossomed simply because we were rooted in the same soil. Now I am able to see the beauty of those friendships even though I don't find myself immediately surrounded by them anymore. Instead I see from afar those friends continue to grow and impact the world. They are getting married, they are having babies, they are continuing on with their lives. As for myself, I am growing and changing, even if at a slower pace than I would like. The past was necessary to make me who I am today, but now I need to live in today. I need to live in today with all of its trials and difficulties--with the sophomores that won't listen to me, with the seniors that are quick to roll their eyes at my statements, with the other teachers that don't quite know how to take me, with the desire to live out my vocation yet being caught in a seemingly indefinite waiting place.
Perhaps instead of gazing jealously at the past, I should look with anticipation to the future. Imagine Heaven. All of the beautiful people I know, all of the gorgeous places I've seen, and all of the lovely experiences I've been blessed with, all rolled into one and magnified greatly--this is Heaven. When I focus on that goal, the end prize, the eternal life with God in Heaven, then the pains and irritations of today seem to pale in significance.
I can almost trick myself into believing that that experience was high school. It was not. High school wasn't traumatizing for me, but it wasn't the best experience of my life. I liked school and I was involved in numerous activities: choir, band, volleyball, track statistician, plays, oral interp, and TATU to name some. It was a great time of development...but it wasn't perfect.
That is one of my problems. I am excellent at romanticizing the past and thinking of it in the best ways. This doesn't hold true for everything but for many things it does. I think back (way back!) to college and I am able to make it free from any trials or difficulties. I think, "Trish, do you remember that time that your job was to read theology books and write papers? When you hung out with friends several times each week? When you felt like you were changing the world by being in the pro-life movement? Remember when you went to New Mexico and twice to Honduras for mission trips? Remember traveling around Europe? Wasn't that the absolute best time of your life?" And looking at all of those adventures and blessings, I am convinced that I should be there and not here. What is very easy to overlook is the fatigue, the stress of completing two theses in one semester (even if that was my fault entirely), trying to finish the endless stream of homework, wanting to hang out with friends but not being able to, worrying that we wouldn't fundraise enough for the mission trips, the excessive tiredness. All of that is easy to forget in the quest to make college "the best years of my life."
The point is this: the past is easy to love because we don't face its challenges in the present. Of course there are difficulties in my present life but those are more keenly felt because they are the present. In high school I was left with this feeling that nobody understood me. The friendships I had weren't rooted in Christ and therefore often seemed shallow. In college I had the blessing of making those friendships and seeing how quickly they blossomed simply because we were rooted in the same soil. Now I am able to see the beauty of those friendships even though I don't find myself immediately surrounded by them anymore. Instead I see from afar those friends continue to grow and impact the world. They are getting married, they are having babies, they are continuing on with their lives. As for myself, I am growing and changing, even if at a slower pace than I would like. The past was necessary to make me who I am today, but now I need to live in today. I need to live in today with all of its trials and difficulties--with the sophomores that won't listen to me, with the seniors that are quick to roll their eyes at my statements, with the other teachers that don't quite know how to take me, with the desire to live out my vocation yet being caught in a seemingly indefinite waiting place.
Perhaps instead of gazing jealously at the past, I should look with anticipation to the future. Imagine Heaven. All of the beautiful people I know, all of the gorgeous places I've seen, and all of the lovely experiences I've been blessed with, all rolled into one and magnified greatly--this is Heaven. When I focus on that goal, the end prize, the eternal life with God in Heaven, then the pains and irritations of today seem to pale in significance.
“The Glory of the Lord, therefore, is the super eminently luminous beauty of divinity beyond all experience and all descriptions, all categories, a beauty before which all earthly splendors, marvelous as they are, pale into insignificance.” The Evidential Power of Beauty
Friday, May 3, 2013
Deo Gratias
"We don't actually think you're crazy."
I smiled at that as the student walked out the door. While I wasn't extremely worried that they thought I was, there was a moment today when I wondered if I had pushed them over the edge.
We were finishing up a PowerPoint from yesterday about Purgatory and someone asked a question that related to saints, although I'm not quite certain what it was at the time. The saint they used as an example was St. Anthony. Oftentimes I don't share personal stories with them for a few reasons but today one instantly came to mind.
"I got in a fight with St. Anthony once."
They looked up at me, puzzlement chiseled into their features.
"When I was younger my mom always told us to pray to St. Anthony if I lost something. So I would pray that he would help me find my overdue library book. And he would. One month later after I already bought the book. So I finally got mad at him and told him I wasn't going to pray to him anymore. And so we didn't talk for a while."
"Wait...you and your mom? Or you and St. Anthony?"
"St. Anthony."
I looked at their faces. They wore a bemused expression but they were all paying attention and seemed interested.
"You guys think I'm crazy." The entire class laughed. I knew that telling them about a close relationship with a saint (i.e. a physically dead person) probably didn't strike them as the most normal thing. But the positive thing is that theology teachers can get away with crazy things and the students just chalk it up to their faith.
"Anyway, I started talking to him again and now he helps me find things all of the time. St. Anthony is great!"
The PowerPoint presentation continued and I put the incident out of my mind. While they are one of my favorite classes they also are often the least productive. The interesting story of St. Anthony was replaced with a frustration that they weren't working on their assignment but seemed to be talking about everything but theological matters. Yet when that student told me that they didn't really think I was crazy, the frustration melted away and I had an "I'm glad I'm a teacher" gushing of emotions. Of course, it isn't the easiest thing to do and sometimes I want to give up, but it does have moments of joy and gratitude.
Some of my sophomores even claim that they wish they were me. I was rather shocked by that statement but then I realized it was induced by my close proximity to their conversation and their combined frustrations over school, tests, and homework. "I wish I was you, Miss ------" Instantly my weekly life flashed before my eyes and I was firmly convinced that if they knew my life, they would be immediately grateful for their own. Late nights grading papers, frantic test-writing, suppers with the parents, euphoria over Friday nights that end in an early bedtime...yes, they would sprint back to their current lives if they knew much more. Their claim that I didn't have any homework to do was the added cherry to the top. Despite my vehement internal opposition to their claims, I had to laugh at the naivete of my lovely sophomores.
I like my life. It may appear boring or mundane to others. But it has a fair amount of joy and blessings mixed in with the suffering and trials. Too often we are in a state of discontent. I want to just thank the Lord right now for this moment of contentment. For the sunshine outside, the weekend languidly spread before me, the empty classroom that was just occupied by so many beautiful, wandering, searching young souls, the jeans of a dress down day, the love of friends and family, the imminent Sacrifice of the Mass, and the knowledge that someday all of this will end and what will replace it will be infinitely better.
Deo gratias.
I smiled at that as the student walked out the door. While I wasn't extremely worried that they thought I was, there was a moment today when I wondered if I had pushed them over the edge.
We were finishing up a PowerPoint from yesterday about Purgatory and someone asked a question that related to saints, although I'm not quite certain what it was at the time. The saint they used as an example was St. Anthony. Oftentimes I don't share personal stories with them for a few reasons but today one instantly came to mind.
"I got in a fight with St. Anthony once."
They looked up at me, puzzlement chiseled into their features.
"When I was younger my mom always told us to pray to St. Anthony if I lost something. So I would pray that he would help me find my overdue library book. And he would. One month later after I already bought the book. So I finally got mad at him and told him I wasn't going to pray to him anymore. And so we didn't talk for a while."
"Wait...you and your mom? Or you and St. Anthony?"
"St. Anthony."
I looked at their faces. They wore a bemused expression but they were all paying attention and seemed interested.
"You guys think I'm crazy." The entire class laughed. I knew that telling them about a close relationship with a saint (i.e. a physically dead person) probably didn't strike them as the most normal thing. But the positive thing is that theology teachers can get away with crazy things and the students just chalk it up to their faith.
"Anyway, I started talking to him again and now he helps me find things all of the time. St. Anthony is great!"
The PowerPoint presentation continued and I put the incident out of my mind. While they are one of my favorite classes they also are often the least productive. The interesting story of St. Anthony was replaced with a frustration that they weren't working on their assignment but seemed to be talking about everything but theological matters. Yet when that student told me that they didn't really think I was crazy, the frustration melted away and I had an "I'm glad I'm a teacher" gushing of emotions. Of course, it isn't the easiest thing to do and sometimes I want to give up, but it does have moments of joy and gratitude.
Some of my sophomores even claim that they wish they were me. I was rather shocked by that statement but then I realized it was induced by my close proximity to their conversation and their combined frustrations over school, tests, and homework. "I wish I was you, Miss ------" Instantly my weekly life flashed before my eyes and I was firmly convinced that if they knew my life, they would be immediately grateful for their own. Late nights grading papers, frantic test-writing, suppers with the parents, euphoria over Friday nights that end in an early bedtime...yes, they would sprint back to their current lives if they knew much more. Their claim that I didn't have any homework to do was the added cherry to the top. Despite my vehement internal opposition to their claims, I had to laugh at the naivete of my lovely sophomores.
I like my life. It may appear boring or mundane to others. But it has a fair amount of joy and blessings mixed in with the suffering and trials. Too often we are in a state of discontent. I want to just thank the Lord right now for this moment of contentment. For the sunshine outside, the weekend languidly spread before me, the empty classroom that was just occupied by so many beautiful, wandering, searching young souls, the jeans of a dress down day, the love of friends and family, the imminent Sacrifice of the Mass, and the knowledge that someday all of this will end and what will replace it will be infinitely better.
Deo gratias.
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