Pruning

So it's been approximately two weeks since Nicoll and I started our some of our plants for our garden (obviously inside at this point in the year). You can see that some seeds have taken root and sprouted (two varieties of tomatoes and broccoli), while others haven't (eggplant and bell peppers). I'm sure there are dozens of verses in Scripture that I could muse over and ponder their meaning in light of my current experience with teaching and how some students listen and others don't, just like those seeds.

I think the thing that interests me more, though, is that today I had to prune out the extra plants from each little pot. Obviously, next year we won't sow quite as many seeds in a single area, but we're this time around, we're new at this. Anyway, in some squares we had as many as 7 or 8 little tomato plants sprouting. Unfortunately, I had to prune out most of those additional plants to ensure that they didn't choke each other out. Below lies the carnage:



Now that our garden is much... slimmer... than before, I can't help but think about how this process happens often in nature. Not only do we have to prune plants to ensure maximum fruit-baring, but many animals will kill the weaker of their offspring: for example, often a female dog will kill a puppy that she deems weaker in order to increase the chances for the other pups to survive.

And I can't help but wonder... why? What makes us root out the weak? How often do I do that in my own life with my students, focusing on the students who I feel like I can make the most impact on? With my own relationships? And how much of it is necessary? How much did Jesus prune his relationships to maximize his impact? Or did he prune them at all? Obviously, Jesus didn't heal every sick person that came to him; how did he choose? The same goes for the apostles. What in my life do I need to prune in order to maximize my resources and make the most impact? If I spread myself to thin, then I won't grow any deep roots and I will just wither away. But how do I make those decisions when there are so many godly works?

These are just a few questions I've been pondering. Feel free to post your thoughts, and I will post some of mine when I come up with some answers.
I welcome your thoughts, because all I have are questions today.

You Are More

"You Are More" is the title of a song by Tenth Avenue North.

This song has some of my favorite lyrics, especially in the chorus. Here's a snippet:

"You are more than the choices that you've made,
You are more than the sum of your past mistakes,
You are more than the problems you create,
You've been remade."

This song affects me on many different levels. One of those is a professional level. Everyday I see students who have no hope. They feel helpless in their plight, and many of them feel doomed to a life of poverty at best and prison or an early death at worst.

These students, at least the ones I have had one-on-one conversations with, seem to feel like they have been labeled by the system as a troublemaker, and that there is nothing they can do to break that perception. At this point in the conversation, I typically try to help students see what they have done to develop that perception for themselves and what they can do to change it.

If only it were that easy. The system is against them. It's not just their perception. It's not just the result of their actions (although they play their part). The system historically labels people and treats them accordingly, and it makes me nauseous.

And I think the worst part for me is that it's not any one system. It's not just the education system; it's not just law enforcement; it's not just American society; it's not just a contemporary problem. The worst thing about it is that it seems to be able to be traced back across human history.

Perhaps since God marked Cain for his sin, we got in the habit of labeling people according to their actions.

But praise God that Jesus came and changed all of that. Because of Christ, I long to sing "You are more than the choices that you've made, You are more than the sum of your past mistakes,
You are more than the problems you create, You've been remade" to my students. Sadly, my job doesn't allow for that. At least, it doesn't allow me to tell them how Jesus has saved them.

On more than one occasion, I have had the opportunity to tell a student who had confided in me how he or she was perceived by teachers or others in authority that our mistakes don't define us--how we bounce back from them tell the world who we are.

I don't know how much it helps, but hopefully it at least plants a seed that there is something more in life: that there just might be hope for them, yet.

Just a few thoughts at the end of a Monday. Let me know what you think or try to clarify any of my fuzzy points. (like I said: It's the end of a Monday.)

Planting Seeds

For the last year-and-a-half, I have been teaching 7th graders. Occasionally, at the end of the day, I leave feeling frustrated because I don't see the results I want to see. However, I understand that teaching takes time. It's like planting a seed: the growing season is just a little longer in humans.

Today, Nicoll and I planted some seeds that we plan on transferring into a garden after the last frost.
We planted eggplant, bell peppers, and broccoli.

Hopefully, seeing the growth in our garden this year will help me to see the growth my students are experiencing in my classroom.


On a more spiritual note, for centuries monks (and others who are spiritually minded) have devoted themselves to tending gardens as a spiritual endeavor. There are many different spiritual lenses that one could use to look at gardening, but I want to focus on the aspect of penance.

When I speak of penance, I speak of the voluntary acceptance of doing (or not doing) something as a way of showing God one's penitence for his or her sin. In the book of Genesis, God cursed the ground because of Adam and told him "in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life;
thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you; and you shall eat the plants of the field."

The majority of my life I have eaten the fruits of the labor of others: both figuratively and literally. I have been in the work force for two-and-a-half years now, so for over 22 years I ate at the expense of others. And I certainly have never had to painfully work to grow the food I ate.

I say all that to say this: as I am planting seeds of knowledge in the minds of my students and I have come to understand what an arduous and painful process educating is, it has made me want to work for my food in a very concrete way--partially as professional development, but largely for penance for the sin that I have brought into the world.

I'm sure that there will be several more posts to come about gardening, planting, and growing as this process continues--there is certainly enough biblical material to go off of.

Just a few of my thoughts; yours are welcome in the comments.

Classroom Humor

My students, although they consistently annoy me, do from time-to-time amuse me with their wit.

If you have heard me talk about my classes this year, you have certainly heard about a particularly difficult group of students that I have to deal with daily. This group of students gives me trouble for a variety of reasons; not the least of which is the amount of truly strong, yet clashing personalities present in the class.

Last semester, one of those students simply cracked me up. I have a few whiteboards that I let students use to take notes on from time to time, and there were a few students in the back of the room who were simply pretending I didn't exist, all of them huddled in a four-person circle laughing and cutting up while I was trying to get the class's attention. I stated, as I often do, "When I ask for your attention it doesn't just mean get quite, it also means I should see your eyes looking at me so I know your a paying attention."

This particular student had his back to me and was doodling on the white board. I decided to continue with instructions for the rest of the class and deal with this student after class. About a minute later, this student quickly places the white board on his shoulders, facing me. Now staring at me are two large eyes with long, curly eyelashes, elaborately drawn on the white board. It had been a long day, and I simply cracked up in mid-sentence.

Unfortunately, I think this just encouraged him...

What I Unlearned from My First Semester as a Teacher

When reflecting on what I have learned this first semester as a teacher, my first instinct is that I have learned nothing. If anything, I have "unlearned" quite a few things. I have unlearned the impulse to control every situation. I have unlearned the idea that what I am meant to do will come easy and natural to me. Sometimes unlearning is more important than learning.

Unlearning the impulse to control situations is a difficult one for me. Over the course of my life, the people who are closest to me have repeatedly pointed out that I have the annoying tendency to be a "one-upper." If someone is talking about a fun trip they had taken, I usually bring up my exciting and exotic three-month stint in Europe. If someone has a difficult time, I have it worse. If someone has an opinion, mine is better. With seventh graders, however, this attitude does not fly. They simply do not have the cultural literacy to understand that my European excursion trumps their trip to TSU's Homecoming. Nor do they understand that teaching hormonal students is much more trying than John liking the same girl as Leon when John and Leon have been best friends for the last ten years. Much less do seventh graders possess the reasoning ability to see every single time when I am right and they are wrong. Now, I bite my tongue. I listen to what the students have to say, what they feel, and what they think. Unlearning to express my dominance over every situation is quite a difficult thing, especially when you are the most interesting, most tried, and most intelligent person in the world like I am. It is hard; it is worth it.

Unlearning the idea that what I am meant to do will come naturally to me has been a struggle. Somewhere, back in the recesses of my childhood memory, there lurks a memory that explains why I feel like I should not have to work very hard to be successful. I have no idea what it is, but it is there. In life, there are those people who seem to be awesome at whatever they do; they never have to work hard to make millions of dollars or to woo women or to be the best at whatever they do; that is not me. But I am so close to being that person I can taste it. I am good at almost everything I try, but I am not quite awesome. I was good enough at school to make it by with "A"s in my classes, but they were always on the lower end of the spectrum, never the top. In college, I had to have a 3.6 to keep my scholarship; I did not work very hard and I graduated with a 3.64. I always seem to be good enough, but never great. So because of this, this nagging idea keeps haunting me: when I find what I am meant to do, it will come easy to me and I will be the best at it, and if it does not come easy, then I am out. I quit. Going into the classroom, I thought teaching would be a breeze. I relate well to people, and I know my content; I will naturally be a good teacher. Then my fourth period class entered the room. Quickly, they triggered that part of my brain that told me, "I am not meant to do this. It is too difficult, too unnatural." It is not supposed to be easy, though. It is not supposed to be natural. So, I am in there. I give it what I can. And then I go home, and I live the other parts of my life, and I am okay that I am not a good teacher. At least, not yet.

Unlearning is just as important as learning. Sometimes our natural tendencies are our worst enemies. Although I am still unlearning the impulse to be in control of every situation and the idea that good things should come easy to me, I am unlearning them.