Crazy love

So here I am, overwhelmed once again by the love that others have for me right now. Be it my family, my youth group kids, or friends that I've lost touch with recently, I'm feeling it. It's been one of those years where my life's expectations have lowered drastically- I've come to appreciate small packages coming my way and every ounce of feeling loved on a daily basis, even though it comes from someone unexpected.
A pastor from home put it this way last night from Anne Lamott's Blue Shoe, which made me think about how I'm always looking for it elsewhere:

When her mother comes to comfort her, the girl said she was too afraid of the dark to sleep. “But God is with you, protecting you,” said mom.
The little girl whimpered, “but I need someone with skin on.”

And I'm reading Stones for Schools, which I cannot get enough of after Three Cups of Tea:

So for me, THE LAST BEST PLACE sticker on my briefcase doesn't represent a slogan or a marketing campaign to promote the wonders of my home. Instead, those words affirm my beliefs that the people who live in the last places- the people who are most neglected and least valued by the larger world- often represent the best of who we are and the finest standard of what we are to become. This is the power that last places hold over me and why I have found it impossible to resist their pull.

It's Francis Chan's book that gave me the idea for this blog post, as I'm trying to reconcile all of these "crazy love" things that I've learned from childhood and am trying to apply to life as an adult living in San Francisco. I am loved, I just have to remember that.

Curious George

Today the kids and I read Merry Christmas Curious George. The monkey is the theme of many things for me right now- my Christmas cards, the posters adorning the city of San Francisco, the ever present stuffed animal at our Christmas show and international potluck. See below.

Curious George as some of my friends in my credential program said, needs to be admitted to a mental institution or have his head examined, because of the kinds of stunts that he pulls.

I don't know why I relate so well to this silly little monkey. Maybe it's my own childlike curiosity and how the kids I teach make me laugh all of the time. Or I lose myself in books, and when the vice-principal tells a story about one of my first-grade students gushing over why she likes to read, my eyes well up with tears.

The three Js

2010 is going out with a bang. That's what I've decided. It's been one heck of a year in more ways than one and what better way to end it than kissing 2/3 French boys all of which had the same name in one night while listening to my favorite DJ spin his tunes? As my friend Matt says, "That must have been your dream come true Meg, you must still be reveling in it." Well I am, even though I can't believe it happened and am embarrassed when I run into them at school, turning red in the face. It's all a part of this story of my life, "Les aventures de Meg."

Things you never learned with your credential

As much as I've gone to school over the last year and a half, there are so many things that I haven't learned in the classroom. This is just a few of them that I wish I had:

*How to multi-task 5,000 things at once- parent emails, administration requests, colleagues who speak another language

*How to pare down the curriculum to what's actually necessary and enhance it with project-based learning

*How to best manage transitions (no matter how many yoga posters I put up in the room)

*How not to feel isolated when you are in stress that no one around you understands

*How to enjoy hugs from former students and value each moment even though you are racing from one thing to the next

*How to appear to the outside world that you have it all together- that you are confident and capable riding to school on your bike with your watermelon helmet (even though you aren't)

*How to prepare for observations with administration, even though you've written up so many lesson plans that you can't even count them

*How to find time to go to the bathroom, drink water, not get pulled in one million directions

*How to find time to "make things your own," do what you love, create a space that expresses the classroom environment that you want to create, even though it might mean staying at school until all hours in order to do so

*How to decrease expectations- for yourself, that is

But for the moments at the end of the day in which you feel validated over a beer with a friend, it's worth the effort and the struggle.

Tales from a 3rd grade nothing

or something, so I keep on trying to tell myself.

The one who brings in her tiger Henriette and puts him in the reading corner (but then says kids can't read with it.) And a lady on the bus said, "That tiger looks real. You must be really good at taming tigers."

Or while all of that goes on, has 2 consecutive fire drills, one after another, and doesn't even know which set of stairs to go down or where to even take the kids when that happens. The second time makes it harder, not easier, and of course, is during their recess.

Who reads Chronicles of Narnia to the kids and almost falls apart during the pivotal moment when Aslan is captured and about to be killed by the witch (it's all of that spiritual imagery, you know?)

Who has to email parents and plan field trips and put kids in groups with their chaperones and learn about Native Americans who are native to the state of California and get through all of the curriculum while still infusing creativity, critical thinking, engagement, and depth while building a community of learners.

You should see my bag at the end of these days- crumpled up advertisements (because I was trying to teach the kids critical thinking skills), uneaten lunch (when would I have time to do that?)

But for today, I left 15 minutes and went to get a Blue Bottle latte. I read an inspiring article from the NYTimes thanks to my friend Lauren and thought, this is why I'm doing this. Geoffrey Cananda says I'm not going to be good at it for at least another 3 years, even though I think I'm about to change the face of education and save the world. I want to capture my idealism and bottle it up for 5, 10, 15 years down the road when I'm struggling to stay committed but my experience speaks for itself.

PV

Stability equals making a routine even though one doesn't exist, i.e. planning a trip to Los Angeles every Thanksgiving and repeating similar traditions even though you are thousands of miles away from home.

So, fourth time to PV in 3 + years of living in SF, second time to see Matt and co in LA, second time heading to the beach for the holiday, 4th Thanksgiving feast at New Door beforehand, 3rd Thanksgiving feast celebrated with first graders. First time to spend an extended period of time with a seven-month-old (2nd cousin Toby) and realize I'm.not.ready.for.that, even though babies that are related to you may be cuter than you thought.

Other traditions I've created around the holidays:

3rd time putting up a tree with roommates- though this year it's a fake (thanks to Carl Winter).

4th year looking at the Advent Devotional

2nd year trolleying, dressed up as Meggie Clause

4th or 5th NCATE assignment (I can't even remember...ready for this credential to be over)

But also a year of firsts:

1st time taking over 3rd grade (as in tomorrow)

1st New Year's in York since moving to SF

1st time changing the lightbulbs in my room (even though it's been 2.5 years, I thought that my eyesight was just getting worse)

Tgives

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, a few things I am thankful for:

While working at my school,

Parent-teacher conferences that made feeling like parents and teachers were on the same team

Parents who bring me their leftover Kiehl's cleansers and ask me to teach their children creative writing

Teachers who will debrief post-conferences at Hotel Biron over wine and cheese and then drive me home in the pouring rain

Emails from parents congratulating me on my third grade maternity leave position

In my community,

Discussions on work, life, faith- how they all intertwine. And people that are more experienced sharing their wisdom with the 20-somethings in a conversational, peer-to-peer way.

Going to the same houses for years and still feeling at home- and feeling blessed to have some of those same people around me.

People bringing me and my roommates faux fir trees all of the way from China.

Friends to have neopolitan shakes with at in-n-out late on a Saturday night

People to triple date with, who will send emails the following day to make sure there were no hurt feelings, to sit in traffic with

People who will eat the pumpkin waffles with me every Saturday morning, cover me at Trader Joe's when my card is scratched, and find me when they need me

In my family,

A brother who will laugh with me about silly things

A dad who is embracing a new life transition

A mom who is facing it with him, open to the possibilities ahead

Cousins who will host me for a third year at Thanksgiving

There's light at the end of the tunnel

Things may not end the way that you want them to, depression affects even the most saintly of us, you will escape the lie that you are alone if but for a moment, the rainy season will succumb to a sunny November, the semester's assignments will be close to being finished, a ladder-like leaning bookshelf in a room will help you reorganize a crowded space, grilled cheese tastes much better with chutney on it, report cards will be finished, friends will be ordained and engaged, babies will soon be born, the time will come when you will take over a third grade classroom by yourself. This is what you've been waiting for, all this time, but your lessons aren't wrapped up with shiny bow at the end, tying everything together, because you don't know how to do that yet.

Your friend Carin, five years your elder, tells you that she's been there, come out of the darkness, not necessarily into a bright light, but into a more illuminated present. She tells you that you are on the right path, that you have more love to give than you know, that you have to find the right people to give it to (which you are in the process of doing).

There will still be moments filled with anxiety and tension- how am I going to this?, who thought I was ready for this?, does anyone care about me?, and no matter how many days I ride my bike up Fulton's steep hill, I still won't be able to make it up a steep grade in the midst of GG park. But I can walk next to my bike, it's okay. The training wheels maybe aren't ready to come off yet.

A harsh reality

of living here, experiencing transition more than ever these past few months. Sometimes I try to talk myself into how living somewhere else would be easier and more ideal. I get scared that I'll be here still 20 years from now, in the same place, left behind. I couldn't find more hope in Fred Harrell's (pastor of City Church) words than I do right now:

First, I accept the reality that this city is a transient one. People stay here for short chapters of their life usually, and I accept it.

Second, I determine to be present for that chapter of their life, knowing that their story is a long one, and God has still given me the gift of being part of their story, and they a part of mine. This also means that as a church we must always embrace the opportunity to impact the lives of people who will be scattered all over the world.

Third, I prioritize the community I do have, and seek to grow that circle.

Fourth, and this is perhaps most important, I see where I live as a calling. God has placed me here, in this transient place, for a reason. There will be parts of it that I will love, and parts of it that will be hard, and fall under the category of participating in the "fellowship of his sufferings". But none of it will fall outside his calling of me to be his presence, right now, in this very transient, and amazing, and fractured city, and to use my resources, gifts, experiences, and abilities to follow Him in mission.

Report cards

Another Harvest festival come and gone. It's starting to be one of those things where I don't measure how long I've lived here by events anymore because three/four of each one seems like high enough numbers to count. It's been one of those weeks that I've been buoyed by the spirit of my surrounding city- the giants winning the world series, election day, and a parade commemorating the giants' victory. A dinner party cooked by a good friend whose food I've never tasted and the saying "this group will never be together ever again" said twice. Emotional talks when I've cried and realized that teaching is hard, that I can stare at the screen trying to do report cards but not get any closer to figuring out how to actually fill them out.

But the joys in all of it- meeting the co-founder of 826 Valencia in the copy room last week when I was at my wits' end, taking photos in a photo booth with my favorite four and thirteen-year-olds, taking a yoga class in French, arranging books by color on shelves in a new friends' apartments, writing report cards by candlelight at Mojo on a Friday night. This is what got me through the week.

Bittersweet

One of those words you hear often- it refers to chocolate, Project Runway contestants use it to describe their experiences on the show, and paradoxically, it's two different meanings wrapped up in one word.

Reading Shauna Niequist's newest book, Bittersweet, I realized how much life echoes this sentiment. Things are bitter- nothing will ever always be going the way that we want it to- but things will also be sweet- better than we could have imagined or beyond our wildest dreams. It's the bitter sip of coffee with the hyped rush of caffeine afterwards. I'll have more schoolwork than I can ever complete but that will be the moment when I feel the most creative and into whatever I'm creating at the moment.

It's a matter of expectation, what we think should happen when. It reminds me of Caitlin's and my jaunt to the beach yesterday, a holiday from our lives that lasted a Sunday afternoon. How we talked about writing a children's book together that will actually give the message that life is hard, but how you have to find the things that will make you give you life (a Bittersweet version for kids, if you will). How I need to create in order to feel like me again- the day that I spent going to SCRAP and working on my science fair project and my Ms. Frizzle costume last week (I know Kate, I'm actually 13 years old) was my favorite day of vacation. It was life-giving in the midst of getting everything done that I needed to do. It made me think that I'm in a different season of life now- one that I don't need to be the social coordinator or know what's going on when- that is not going to give me peace. What is will be creating something. That's why I'm applying to an arts and arts education program at Columbia.

And that's why this particular passage from the "love song for fall" chapter in Shauna's book resonates with me.

We create because we were made to create, having been made in the image of God, whose first role was Creator. He was and is a million different things, but in the beginning, he was a creator. That means something for us, I think. We were made to be the things that he is: forgivers, redeemers, second chance-givers, truth-tellers, hope-bringers. And we were certainly, absolutely, made to be creators.

If you were made to create, you won't feel whole and healthy and alive until you do. My husband is a pianist and songwriter, and you can set a timer by his need to play and create. If it's been too long, I can feel it in our house, like something gone bad in the refrigerator or a dead mouse in the walls. He was made to play, to sing, to create with sounds and notes and words, and when he doesn't, he's not himself.

I know there are some artists who create around the clock, who feel art coursing through their very veins, who can go without sleep and food and human interaction for days while they revel in the rich universe of their own minds. But I think those artists are very rare, or maybe that they're fibbing. I think for most of us, it's hard work, fraught with fear and self-consciousness, and that it's much easier to make dinner or mow the lawn or reply to emails...

And we do it (create) because it makes us feel aware and alive and created for a purpose more than almost anything else in our lives. There are a zillion things I don't do well, a thousand things I do just because I'm human and I have to, and when I do them I certainly don't feel any spark of having been created for something very specific and tender. I don't feel anything when I do the dishes or when I drive or when I buy groceries.

But every once in a while, when I write, I feel that feeling of a thousand slender threads coming together, strands of who I've been and who I'm becoming, the long moments at the computer and the tiny bits of courage, the middle of the night prayers and the exact way God made me, not wrong or right, just me. I feel like I'm doing what I came to do, in the biggest sense. That's why I write, because sometimes every once in a while, I feel entirely at home in the universe, a welcome and wonderful feeling. I could cry at that feeling, because it happens so rarely. Doing the hard work of writing makes me feel like I'm paying my rent on a cosmic level, doing the thing that I can do to make the world a little better decorated. Writing wakes me up, lights me on fire, opens my eyes to the things that I can never see and feel when I'm hiding under the covers, cowering and consumed with my own failures and fears...

Get up. Create like you're training for a marathon, methodically, day by day. Learn your tricks, find a friend, leave the dirty dishes in the sink for a while. This is your chance to become what you believe deep in your secret heart you might be. You are an artist, a guide, a prophet. You are a storyteller, a visionary, the Pied Piper himself. Do the work, learn the skills, and make art, because of what the act of creation will create in you.

So, you made it this far. Read Shauna's book, which will further ignite the spark of creativity that you've been hiding dormant. Tell me what your creative work you hope to undertake in the comments section of the blog (within the next week by midnight, 11/8) and I'll consider your entry for a giveaway of the book (signed too!). Hope to hear from you soon!

Neon lights

Yesterday was a day that I'd been waiting for a really long time. One that I knew could overcome me with emotion and faith in God's provision.

I spent the whole day, with an anxious pit in my stomach, allowing my expectations to get the better of me. Arriving at the venue with my friends, a wave of doubt washed over me. Walking down the long runway to the front of the stage by myself, I wondered what am I doing? I'm sitting alone at a concert, 5th row on the end. I was restless at first, in anticipation.

Then, Sufjan came on and his feelings deeply resonated with me. His mounting of the volcano Vesuvius only to realize it was filled with hot lava at the top. The influence of artist Roy Robinson on his work. His fear in being alone and not letting himself be distracted. His interest in things spiritual, his thinking on another wavelength. His profession of the songs as therapy, his desire to dance and move and work things out via sound.

His creativity still occupies most of my headspace a day later. Opening with Seven Swans, I knew that the concert would be one that would profoundly affect me.

I'm still profoundly affected. My head is spinning with song lyrics- such that I don't want to listen to the actual album because it might be different from what's playing in my head.

All I can say is this- I don't want to doubt God's existence or presence in my life again after last night. A God who gives me a song like "To Be Alone With You" to listen to everyday in France 4 years ago, then somehow transports me to another place entirely, where the song still has breadth, meaning, and relevance to my life.

At no other show this tour has Sufjan played that song for an audience. My friend Emily told me ahead of time to lower my expectations, as to what he would and wouldn't play and that most likely it would be his newer stuff. I checked set lists from the tour regularly before the show, holding on to a glimmer of hope.

He came out for an encore, and it was the second song he played, alone on stage with his guitar. He wore a Baltimore Orioles cap- the team I rooted for and went to games to each week growing up. I lost it, tears poured out of my eyes, I still have chills right now thinking about my surprise in that moment.

It was a gift from God, as Caitlin says- a reminder that, "Meg, you are loved." I feel overcome with knowing this truth right now. I want to hold onto it, not letting it go.

It makes me think of my birthday this year, when my friend Matt led that song around the campfire and Robin printed out the lyrics for everyone to sing along. Or how Matt sang that to me one of my first weeks here in the city, scared and alone.

Sufjan's vulnerability and creativity were revolutionary. I think I witnessed history last night. I'm going to write him a letter and tell him how much he's been a part of my spiritual journey as I've climbed the volcano only to find lava at the top.

Connecting to his sentiments makes me want to paint again. And God showed me again today- I mean, ten of my favorite artist's paintings imported from France at the DeYoung museum this morning? He couldn't have been clearer. I've got to work through things through painting, just as Sufjan is doing through music and movement.

God's been showing up in neon lights along the way.

B-rad

I'm reminded of how rad my brother is as I write this post.

Not only because he rescheduled visiting his girlfriend and celebrating her birthday for my visit to Boston, but because he...

Waited for me patiently at TJ Maxx as I tried on an outrageously-Meg faux fur vest and subsequently purchased it

Graciously hosted me as the best of hosts do- making sure I was okay getting to the airport, had pumpkin beer to drink, and got what food I wanted to eat

Hung out with my friends all weekend, enjoying himself

Was tired and had schoolwork to do, but didn't let me know that he did

Quizzed me about Giants players after accusing me that I was a "turncoat" for rooting for them during Saturday's riveting game

Washed dishes by hands after breakfast at my friend Maggie's house

Called me Marge as only brothers and close friends can do

I'm thankful for B-rad, his loving his new city and his dedication to a new field of study.

I made it

Through the marathon week,

The day in which I learned how to fill out report cards, gave a presentation to my classmates, hitched a ride to class and the airport, turned in a paper, took a redeye, apologized to the kids in my class about not dressing up for Halloween. Ms. Frizzle will just have to wait until next year or next week.

I've made it through the first 6 weeks of school. That in itself, is an accomplishment.

Also noteworthy this week- my pledge to step out of self-pity and embrace the life that I've got, to laugh and enjoy when I'm pulled in many directions in the hallway at school by students who love me, to trust that I know the right thing to say and do. Inaugurating the second annual Meg-Mag reunion of 2011 and the first Meg-Brad reunion on Boston's hallowed ground. Seeing urban farming become a reality- in a place where I remember when it used to be an abandoned field. Taking a pilates class and having sore abs for the rest of the week. Sitting in the SFO airport blogging on a Wednesday night. Realizing I won't have all of my ducks in a row before I leave- that the semester's train is soon going to be coming into the station and I am going to feel overwhelmed. Especially when the third grade class that I'm going to be taking over keeps telling me that I don't tell them to highlight their spelling words the right way. But this is the calm before the storm, at least I hope.

A Bad Case of Stripes

I read this book aloud to a class of 2nd graders yesterday... 2nd graders that I had loved on all of last year and now hang off of me like monkeys and I am their tree every time I see them in the hallway. Imagine their surprise when I showed up as their former English teacher masquerading as their French teacher for the afternoon.
Picking up the book standing in front of the rows of the library books on a Friday afternoon and recognizing the author, I figured it would be a good read-aloud to end our day together. It ended up being one of those stories that probably resonated more with me than with the kids. Here I am, 26 years old, trying to teach 7 and 8-year-olds about how not to let what other people think of them affect them. The same lesson that I've been trying to learn myself lately- I want to be respected and affirmed by the teachers at my school, the students in my class, the kids in youth group, my professors, my friends and roommates. It's like Pavlov's theory of conditioned responses- I've become conditioned to responding that way. But in trying so hard to please others, I, like Camilla, am losing a part of myself and blending into whatever the people around me want me to be. Camilla doesn't return to her normal self until she realizes that she likes lima beans and is confident in her decision to eat them, despite getting teased and made fun of. I've got to figure out what my lima beans are.

T4sj

“Cowardice asks the question, 'Is it safe?' Expediency asks the question, 'Is it politic?' But conscience asks the question, 'Is it right?' And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular but because conscience tells one it is right.”

So today I joined other San Francisco, state and nationwide educators in the fight for social justice, a so-called labor of love. My head is spinning- everytime I examine my beliefs, I feel like I went to therapy. It's figuring out me before I get into the classroom. I've been trying to do this for the last four years, maybe even longer. I feel like I'm getting closer, but then, I'll lose momentum and crumble under the pressure. I will wake up one day feeling self-confident, the next deflated.

I have all of these big ideas- I don't know how to take them all on I have so many. My vision for a school is exactly the one that Linda Darling Hammond advocated for in her presentation today, in order for the construction of education, not destruction to begin. I want to have a community and school integrated together, with a school connected to a community center- where people can access health care, take parenting classes, learn how to feed their families, train for careers. But, I keep hearing the keynote speaker in my head, who said that all you can do is think "You can't save the kids you teach- all you can do is join your students in the process in which the kids are saving themselves."

I can't do it all. I'm not superwoman, I want to be, but all I can do is continue to care about what I'm doing and try and help the students who are victims needing healing. I'm one of them too.

Life unexpected

A lot of blogging in one week. But then again, a lot happens in one week, Meg- San Francisco time. Meaning that you can actually control a classroom of children, feel confident, and then lose it the next. Or your classmates in grad school think that you are a pushover, literally- and make you try and shoot someone or give someone the finger during a dramatic representation of oppression in our society. Intense, yes, but that's why it's followed by a beer or two with our professor after class at a local bar.
In the process, I'm learning more about myself than I realize- I'm actually becoming self-aware. In the moments I feel most incompetent during the day, I have to come back and realize that yes, I might be inexperienced, but it doesn't mean that I will be a terrible, no-good, very bad teacher for the rest of my life. It means that I have the enthusiasm and big eyes for teaching first grade on a daily basis, but that it might be an adjustment process at first in getting to know every ounce of curriculum necessary to teach kids how to read.
I realize that I do love it here, San Francisco, California, despite its revelation of recent imperfections. Sometimes it takes a professor asking me if I thought I would ever move home to realize how much I do. Not because I don't miss my family, I do, but because I've become accustomed to this way of life- openmindedness, bike-riding, social justice, fresh avocado and produce life, full of opportunity ripe for the picking, that I can't imagine the day-to-day of life anywhere else.

BTS Pt deux

I made it through another Back to School night, sweaty palms at all. When asked questions like, "Will my child read in French or English first?" or having moms sit on the rug like their children, or having parents speaking 2 different languages, not understanding each other, I have to think... is this really my life? I don't know if there was ever a place other than San Francisco where I would wear a dress, looking like Madeleine (minus my hat), work at a French school, talk about "auras" and positive energy with parents, walk/ride my bike home with my students while wearing my watermelon helmet, drink wine on the fire escape with my roommate Rachael, sing to every Brittany Spears song on Glee, and go to sleep feeling like it's summer at the end of September, sweating every minute of the day.

Oh, and how I survived today

with a morning of kindergarteners, who cry when you call on them. Seriously.
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=130049247&sc=nl&cc=sod-20100927

Sometimes I think...

That I'm really into metacognition. I mean, I really like to think about things- creating worries when they might not even be there. The one that's stuck with me lately is HOW AM I GOING TO DO THIS? Almost as though I'm posing as a teacher and I don't even know what I'm actually doing. I'm putting on this act and no one else knows it's a farce but me.
I sit as teachers older and wider than me tell me how I should organize my curriculum, afraid to voice my own opinion. I'm reverting back to the Meg I used to be in times of crisis- forgetful, negative, uninspired. I think so much about thinking that I can't even find joy in what I'm doing.
My pledge to myself is this: I've got to give myself grace right now, raspy throat and all. Just because I'm 26 doesn't mean that I have to save the world, rescue my friends, have every first grader reading flawlessly by the end of the year, have a boyfriend. Rather, it's as Lunden says, time for me to realize "Meg, you have an amazing life." One that is full of adventures- going to the library book sale before it closes, sitting at Revolution cafe enjoying the hottest day of the year, trying to figure out if a masters degree is in the cards for me right now, collecting as many books as I can (not knowing if that will fill a shipping container or not). Being me- welcoming, friendly, caring. Spending time with people my own age. Realizing that I'm not ready to be a mom. And trying to figure out how to emerge from this turbulence as an adult on the other side- confident, competent, connected. An adventure being survival- on my bike, on the road of life, physically and emotionally.

Waiting for Superman

Waiting for Superman

Here I am, still waiting. Waiting for my own classroom, where I hope to start educational reform.
That will start tomorrow.

Waiting for my credential, so I can at some point teach in a public school. Waiting to talk to others whose experiences in education have influenced their thoughts of the film. Waiting to see how the excitement I've seen of teachers I've been surrounded with- in BATTI, at Columbia, will infiltrate the world of education. How my vision of starting a school will one day, hopefully, materialize. Waiting for when I can create my own Harlem Children's Zone in some area of the world, where families and their basic needs, as well as their child's education, are met. Where families don't have to painstakingly wait through a lottery process so that they can find out if their child will receive a quality education. Waiting for teachers to join together in the pursuit of educating children- it being about the kids and not themselves. Waiting for when I feel as though I can affect change, the kind of change I want to see in the world (thanks, Ghandi).

TMI

Too much information- Julie and Adam thought this name might be perfect for my blog, but I guess that's what I like about it.
It's hard to believe something that you've waited for so long is actually coming true. Something you didn't actually think could ever happen... in my case, being in charge of a classroom. My head is swimming with doubts- what am I doing? how did I ever think I could do this? where do I begin? I have the high school English head of department's grandson in my class. And I'm sharing my room, trying to make it bilingually appropriate, yet welcoming at the same time. I'm running between floors, trying to make my presence known in third grade before I take over a maternity leave position in December and have input on decisions being made now.
With no bike and no car, I'm now subject to the whims of the MUNI and its erratic scheduling. Or I'm walking 2 miles to class, needing to somehow enjoy the San Francisco heatwave of summer. Trying to set boundaries so that people don't think I'm a marshmallow. Collecting books whenever I get the chance, knowing they can't all fit in my room much longer. Figuring out if I want to get my masters or even think about more school. Feeling like I'm a senior in my credential program- it's getting harder to be motivated, get to class on time, and give 110%. Wondering how I pretend to be mature but yet feel like a first grader inside most of the time.

Summer's end

I’m thankful for…
Maybe I’m filled with a sense of gratitude right now because my friend Maggie is rubbing off on me in a good way. And my mom and Shauna Niequiest, of course.

That I don’t have to know what I’m going to do tomorrow, besides go to class. I do know that I’m in the airport for the umpteenth time this summer fulfilling my reputation as the roaming gypsy, unable to get my bulging suitcases closed because I’ve filled them with books and trinkets from home. I know that I’m probably going to want to go to sleep when I get home. That traveling, being home, seeing a best friend, learning about how to teach kids for 30 hours last week, seeing friends from near and far, the past and present, was incredible, but draining. Now I’m going back to school and the whole process starts over again. I don’t feel in control of anything, but then again, I’m not sure that I’m supposed to. Quoting Maggie and my pastor from home, it’s not like you want to rewind to relive the good parts or fast-forward to skip the difficult ones. You want to live in the present and live through it.

I don’t know what the future will bring, how long San Francisco will feel like home, when/if my “old friend” running will come back to me, how I’ll get more books to Africa, where I’d get married if I do ever, if I should continue with school to get my masters.

I know that I’ve had the privilege of seeing a good friend get married this summer.
Traveled to Africa with my mom and an inspiring group of people.
Connect with troubled kids in my own city, that I might not have gotten the opportunity to otherwise.
Walked through harsh neighborhoods in NYC, only to realize I’m not as invincible and strong as I like to think that I am.
Flown more miles than ever before.
Seen friends that really know me and been surprised by new ones.
Learned that God is in the details of my life.
Been to my hometown and considered where I’ve come from and what I’ve done.
Smashed broken glass into mosaics, filled trunks with books.
Dealt with transition, grieving each loss.

As my friend Katie said yesterday, "You've had a great summer, Meg." Now it's time to have an extraordinary fall.

Papa Gardener

I've been really feeling reliant on grace recently. Needing grace this summer in order to survive financially. Having to ask for help has never been easy for me.
But this one, my dad! has been freely giving me grace, left and right. Breakfast at Ella's to say that he wants me to decide where I want to create a life for myself, wherever that is. Remembering my friends' names and asking me how they are doing.
Sharing my mom's and my excitement for Africa. Hearing stories about businessmen I met on planes on the way to Atlanta last weekend who offered me trips to Zimbabwe- then actually knowing the person I was talking about. In an overprotective way that only dads can be.
Trying to contain my mom when she was worried about me staying in an NYC apartment that I found on the Redeemer website.
Not making a big deal about his birthday, usually ever, even though it is tomorrow.
Here's to you, Dad- on your birthday. Thanks for supporting me throughout my life, but especially, in more ways than one, during my "turbulent twenties." I love you.

To Be Alone with You

This is something I'm struggling with right now, being alone with God. It's something that I've claimed to have done since living in San Francisco, but I can't think of the last time that I was alone in my apartment or without distraction or homework looming in the last seven months. Maybe that's why the months have flown by and my African whirlwind adventure is over, why I'm feeling listless and empty. I want to escape, run from my pain and suffering, and not deal with the books that I'm carrying in my own suitcase to give to God. I'm waiting at the airport and I don't even know the destination. It's feeling these days like Alexander moving to Australia in "Alexander and the No Good Very Bad Day"- "Maybe I'll just move to Africa" because things seem easier there, more simple and I don't have to face my demons. It's so much easier to deal with the demons of other people or analyze other people's relationships with God than deal with my own heart.

Like why I feel alone in this city that I've made my home these past three years. Half-jokingly, I used to think that I would raise a family in my apartment (right Maggie?)
How I feel like change has been happening so quickly all around me that I've become numb to it and don't even acknowledge its effect on me anymore.
Why I feel so far away from my family and where I've come from. I've wanted to use the distance as reason for my independence.
Am I really affecting change here in any positive way? Is it like my friend Julie says, that I've affected kids all over the world and I'm standing in the circle between them beaming?
Is the issue trying to connect what I've done and who I've become to influence my community here? What does my community here even look like anymore?

It's like the Hills finale, Audrina, Lo, and Kristin all saying, "We're all moving on, we're all headed in our own directions, not necessarily in LA." The mindless TV show resonates with me.

If I can be alone with You, than I will be okay, in Uganda, in San Francisco, or halfway in between.

Mama Gardener

The song California Girls just came on in the cafe where I'm attempting to try and work not laying down. It reminded me of my mom, sitting on the bed of our hostel in Heathrow, watching the music video, and telling me it was her favorite song. This was the person who went from being apprehensive about our trip, going so far as to wanting a helicopter out the first day, to acquiring an African family and tearing up in the London airport after leaving Africa and our team of people. The person who is now thinking about how much we waste in America after going to breakfast with some of her friends. Who is excited about sharing with her community of family and friends about the life-changing effects of potable water from W-E-L-L-S in a remote African village. Who wishes that her church would adopt African dancing during its weekly worship services. Who stamped books and read to children who waited all day outside of the windows of the library I was trying to start. Who prayed with me about how the books were going to get over there and made a friend who knew exactly where the books should go. Who loves chipate and can't want to try the recipe at home. Who wants my dad's eyes now opened to the reality of a third world country where people contain joy and love that we in the developed world cannot comprehend. Whose facebook profile now shows her picture with girls that she and her friends helped to dress by hosting a pillowcase dress-making party. Whose worldview has been forever changed.
I'm privileged to have traveled and shared this valuable experience with you. Love you, Mom!

Vision and reality

Activity does not always lead to productivity, as Moses my African brother helping with the librairies, says.
Here I am, first day back, already feeling overwhelmed. On the verge of tears, smelling the shellac from the hundreds of strands of paper beads in my bag. Filing a claim with United and Kenya Airways after realizing that both my SLR and flip video are missing from my checked bags. Chatting with the Africans on facebook. Sore from four flights and 50 hours of traveling.
Drinking Kenyan coffee from a Kenyan mug with my roommate. Her asking me if I have ever thought of moving to Africa and thinking how much more I feel like I can contribute when I'm there. Missing my mom and her encouragement, telling me everything is going to be okay. Realizing as many things as I want to do this week, I don't have to do any of them.
Trying to sum up my trip, pretend like it actually did happen, easing back into a developed country and being in the majority, not minority. Wanting to start collecting books to help start librairies all over Uganda. Thinking how can I possibly affect change in San Francisco, right here, right now. Hoping my blocked ears will finally pop so that I can hear again. On the verge of tears, because I haven't cried, really cried, about all I've seen and heard.

Shauna Niequist, my new favorite author, is helping me through all of this right now:

Africa is nothing if not evocative. It's a place of such unimaginable beauty and dignity and expanse and possibility, and such unfathomable suffering and despair and disease and decay. It is at once so alive and so wracked by death, so powerful in its landscape and physicality, and so powerless under the weight of famine and political upheaval and disease. Its intensity scared me and overwhelmed me, and I feel like I wandered through many long days there, stunned and tired and unable to digest what I saw and heard, and more specifically, what I felt inside myself. And even now, four years later, I'm still piecing together what happened in me and what was happening around me in those cities and villages...

I had to make things right in two ways. I had to do something personally to make things right in Africa, because now I knew too much and couldn't erase the images and sounds that had embedded themselves in me, like seeds planted in a garden. I had to make something right there, which is both enormously daunting and shockingly simple. Daunting because of how massive and tangled the roots of the issues have become- it is about famine and sexual violence and patriarchy and racism and economics and medicine, and when you think you've knitted together the magical solution, one pull on one string unravels the whole thing and leaves you with a mountain of new questions, while the clock ticks away lives by the dozen. And then again, shockingly simple, because there are such good, smart people doing such courageous, good, smart things, and what can be done with tiny little bits of money is jus dazzling.

Also, though, and more difficult, I had to make things right within me. I had to confront the person I found on that trip, the one who wanted to fly home the first night and pretend the whole thing was not real. That's the trick, I think. That's why actually getting on a plane and going there is dangerous and very important. Because I could not forget about it, as desperately as I wanted to. I had to clear away space in my mind and my heart, spaces previously occupied by easy things- groceries to buy, albums to download, people to call- and replace them with the weight of Africa, a heavy, dark thing to carry with me, something under which to labor, something under which to tremble. Because once you see it, you will never be able to un-see it, and once you see it, you will be responsible for it, and for the self it reveals back to you.

from Cold Tangerines

Book tour of Africa

Is what my mom said today when we were talking about the books all getting to Africa, one container busted, but the rest still intact. How they were loaded on the roof of a van by Africans for transport to Tororo. How someone on our team just happened to tell us about a library down the road that they had worked on last week and painted with bookshelves but no books. How kids on our team helped sort the books last night, reminiscing over the beloved stories from their trip. How somehow miraculously they all made it 10,000 miles away from home.

Choosy Moms choose Jiff (in reference to my mom), In the interest of time (as the Africans always say before they begin a 20 minute long speech), You are most welcome (how they make you feel so special every time that you greet them), women selling vegetables along the roadside, dust in your eyes, clean water to villages that have never seen it and already have their jerry cans lined up, classrooms needing painted, conversations with a new friend- a vegetarian who likes art and Africa as much as I do, dresses that my friends in San Francisco being dressed on girls that have never felt empowered before, reading Eve Ensler before bed and realizing that yes, I like all the African women with me, "am an Emotional Creature." Washing widows' feet and hearing them go "I-yyyyyyyyyyyiiiiii-yi-yi-yi" when they receive gifts and hear about women who aren't trying to buy them, who love them, who have been through trials in life too. Eating chapati bread for a meal. Seeing a goat on top of a van and then dropping through the window a second later.

Hearing that we, in the West, are in a spiritual poverty and sometimes at a greater loss than those living in poverty here. We create our own problems, whereas they live contentedly with what they have.

My head is full of thoughts, as it always is when I'm in Africa. It's the first time I can shut off the tapes that roll through my head or the distractions of city life. It's like I never left, that a part of me was here, that my heart is beating for Africa. I was made to do this, I don't know what, made to bring my mom here and see my African brothers and sisters again. Fill a school with hope, deliver dresses for girls who are wearing rags or nothing at all, seeing my friends' pictures attached to the dresses on their bodies.

MJ

I don't know how to sum up summer so far:
3.5 hour psych classes
The fog rolling in at night
Friendships with people going through the same things I am
Unexpected transitions and change making me feel constantly uprooted and unstable
Being 2 semesters away from being a credentialed teacher
Sharing my love for Africa with others
Having a dinner, while crying over a beer and immediately feeling better about life
Special needs kids who write Michael Jackson poems to commemorate his one-year anniversary, hug me for 2 minutes, read to dogs from the SPCA, and say "People these days..."
Opening myself up to new possibilities when I get back, feeling the anxiety lift as I think about what life will be like as of Monday...

Rainbow Chips

The last three fourth of Julys in San Francisco have been anti-climactic in ways... Tumultuous relationships, roof-climbing parties, nose piercings and tattoos (my friend Maggie's, not my own). Foggy cloud cover and time spent outside on porches or roofs with close friends.
This year, I'm scrambling to finish summer school, paint a fairy mural, write two papers, spend four more days with emotionally disturbed kids, dote on a golden retriever, and get ready for Africa. I feel superhuman some days- I just need to get through the day, breathe in, breathe out, do my best, love other people well, take care of myself.
It's like the Funfetti cupcakes with the rainbow chip frosting. I'm trying to buy both the icing and the cake mix from Pillsbury, but really for the cupcakes to be good, I need the rainbow chip frosting. I'm resisting it at first, because I already have the Pillsbury frosting, and Betty Crocker icing isn't even found at Walgreen's. But, when I do find it, with the support of my good friends, I realize that it was worth it to wait and find the right one. Even though I just want to make the cupcakes and get them to a middle schooler for his birthday.
That's how I'm feeling about everything right now. I have the Pillsbury frosting, and I just need to find the rainbow chip Betty Crocker one to finish off my cake.

Calming presence

Never before in my life have I been called CALM. I may bring a positive energy to a particular situation, but I'm never actually the source of peace. Today, I was called calm, granted by an ED teacher himself, but he said that my friend Kate and I were unflappable, that no matter what was going on, we didn't react. When kids threatened us with scissors, screamed "F--- you you mother-f---ers," cheated at Pass-the-Pigs, said "You asking the wrong kid...," laid on the floor refusing to do work, or acted like dogs getting a treat if they did the right thing, I haven't lost my cool. Sometimes I stifle a giggle because I don't know how to react when Maliq tells me his middle name is "Don't mess with me" or "Rocky" or I almost lose my composure when this six-year-old shares his potato chips with me everyday even though he earned them, I didn't. How can someone with such a hard life be so generous?
I'm learning so much, I don't even know where to begin. Every day I count write a book, I really could. I don't know how this is shaping me, I'm in the throws of it, but I know that I won't even approach education in the city the same way.

Meggiesf

Oh and in the midst of all of this, my credential friends are saying, "Meg, you have to start a blog telling us about everything to do in the city," which of course I got to in the procrastination of writing a paper last night.
Check it out... definitely on the lighter side, no more than a few lines of text- meggiesf.wordpress.com

I can't remember being this tired

In a long, long time. It's like end of the semester-tired, only it feels like it's lasted for the last 5 weeks. It's like I know I need to take care of myself-tired, but I'm just so tired I can't cook myself a meal or do anything else but flop on my bed when I get home.
It's from saying goodbye to first graders you've become attached to, knowing that you won't have the same relationship with them in second grade. They might say hi in the hallway or hug you every so often, but it won't be the unconditional love of their admiration that comes from being their teacher. It's from seeing the disparity in our nation and our educational system, seeing six-year-old kids throw tantrums, obsess over guns, lay on the floor instead of doing their work. It's from hearing them screaming, kicking, and crying- knowing that they are coming from a dark, dark place that even you can't imagine.
It's from realizing that my weekend is booked with social activities, that I want to do, but don't know how I'm going to muster up the energy.
But enough with Negative Nancy.

Here are some of the golden nuggets:
Maliq pretending to be a scientist (even the way he walks through the hallway or flings the milk from his cereal in a straw around the cafeteria)
Laughing when I'm supposed to cry or am too dumbfounded to react
Having two other amazing people going through this experience with me
Running on the beach after working with special needs kids
Having a mom from French-American at the school working too- just seeing how we're all connected and that she and her family are not living in an alternate reality
Seeing people (teachers, assistants, interns, principals) filled with patience and love, ready to greet some of society's most downtrodden, off of the schoolbus every morning
Watching a child's tantrum quelched and then once again reaching an equilibrium, with tear-stained cheeks, the storm is over
Watching a first grader roll over tables, under chairs, tell me I'm possessed because my eyes are so big, but then become my biggest fan and permanent summer line partner
Uniting the class through the World Cup
Roommates who care enough to knock on my door and ask if my paper is almost done
Parents who keep wanting to support me in getting all of the 940 books to Africa
Realizing that 16 days of summer school later, 3 more psych papers, 3 final projects, books in tow, I'll be headed to Africa, and seeing my mom there

Single in the City

Sex and the City 2 was a pleasant surprise. I think hearing it was over the top and didn’t get great of reviews set my expectations low. However, it was my favorite film so far of the series- outrageous but addressing real life complications. How relationships are hard, your children aren’t what you expected them to be, and how you can grow up in the same city that you moved to after college. All life lessons that I seem to be learning right now. That I need to let go of clinging to relationships, expectations, and fear- relinquish the control. Trusting that I will somehow complete this 8 week summer psychology class, make ends meet this summer, and sherpa 1,000 books to Africa.

I don’t want to just think, this is hard, it will be over soon, because then I’m not open to the process and the person that I’m becoming through it. Through loss of friendships, I’m opening myself up to new people, new interests, new ideas. Like how I could spend Saturday effortless with a new friend, singing and memorizing the lyrics to the Broken Bells on the way back to the city while stuck in Bay Bridge traffic. Through my friends’ heartache and despair, I’m beginning to see that my lack of relationships has been God’s protection of my heart, not reflecting my own shortcomings or worth as a person. I’m constantly learning, I’ll never be happy with how I am just at this moment, I’m always on the cusp of being engaged in an exciting new skill (like turning boot-leg jeans into skinny ones) or reading more, gathering more information, or constantly cleaning out my closet, as though sometime I will get my style just right.

I’m M.E.G., Margaret, Miss Garner, I’m single in the city, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not figuring out who I am or in the process of knowing who I’ll become.

Sulphur and Sinuses

A lot of my internal undoings lately have happened around two things: Sulpher hot springs and stuffed up sinuses. I spent the day in bed on Friday after sleeping for 16! hours (not 20), catching up on TV and documentaries- among the best were Flow and Herb and Dorothy. I started to cry when I realized I didn't know who to call to pick up my antibiotic prescription- both Maggie and Robin were my go-tos for that kind of stuff. I hate asking people for anything, but luckily Kimberly came to the rescue.

The sulphur from Wilbur Hot Springs came into play in healing me physically and emotionally from the last month, the transitions and the ups and downs. I don't feel exactly like a new person- I'm still blowing my nose all the time- but I'm in a better head space than I was before I went. I was able to be quirky, funny, random Meg- so much so that one of my friends said they can't wait for me to be married so that my husband can laugh at me all the time. I should have told them that six-year-olds get to everyday. Work didn't stress me out the way it normally does, neither did class and transportation (now sans bike). Or figuring out that I hadn't booked the flight home for next weekend like I thought I had.

Constructivism

I don't think anyone taught me how to make meaning for myself as a child growing up in Pennsylvania public schools.

Day equals meowing cats, I mean, kids. Them acting like chickens and losing myself laughing in front of all of them. Reading the Red Balloon in French and trying to make them listen. Seeing a first grader understand suffering in Africa so that they write "Hope you don't get sick and die" on a dedication for a book that will be sent there.

All this to say, I'm trying to help them in the course of them figuring it out. And I'm lucky I'm along for the ride- even if it involves MUNI bus rides that don't get you where you need to get you on time and pasta from Trader Joe's heated up at the end of the day in a Pyrex.

Life is too short

To play the victim
To be scared about every decision I have to make
To worry about not being where I want to be right now
To clench tightly to my expectations, relationships
To feel sorry for myself all of the time

It's time to see the "golden nuggets" as Claud says...

That my kids at school have collected over 1,000 books for kids in Africa
That I finished spring semester, halfway through my credential program
That my mom is just as/even more excited to go to Africa this summer
That I have almost 700 friends on Facebook, which definitely makes up for the fact that two of the bestest have just moved away (not really)
That there are people in my life who do care about me, value my feelings, defend me in conversation, share my need for being loved
That there is a God who wants to listen to me, love me, cherish me, pursue me
That a stolen bike means a hip, new road bike to ride around the city
That I made it through the last two weeks, hopeful I'm on the up and up

I made it through last week...

A week of a 26th birthday. Feeling loved all day and not letting the "fragile" self emerge. Sharing drinks with 18 of my closest classmates. Being taken to brunch with a best friend. Celebrating with 80 6-year-olds all week long.

A best friend moving away, with another one to follow this week.

A dress-sewing party for Africa (and re-learning how to sew in the process).

Two final projects to be turned in.

Leading four classes of 20 first-graders by myself and growing in the process.

Talking to kids' parents about my passion for Africa over beers.

Seeing an empty room, closet, and shower shelf- being my myself in the apartment all weekend.

Sharing breakfast at Ella's.

Being mature in my outlook about relationships with boys.

Finding out I'll be teaching special ed this summer in SFUSD.

Choosing to take care of myself and sleep for 13 hours in a 24 hour period, even if I would be disappointing other people.

If I made it through last week, I can make it through anything. I may still cry and mourn the moving of my friends from San Francisco, teaching will still be hard for a while, but I feel things deeply and that's okay. I don't need to explain myself to anyone right now.

Babies and co.

I just saw this movie, BABIES, with my friend Robin.
Four babies, four locations, four different lives:
Namibia
Mongolia
Tokyo, Japan
San Francisco, CA
I have to admit, the Sufjan Stevens music trailer, got me in the early stages- even though most of the time, I'm fearful of babies and don't go crazy over them.
French director, of course- no narration, just life being lived.
There were parts that were hard to watch, moments that made me squirm, but also ones that made me laugh. I don't think, in fact I know, I'm not ready for motherhood- but there is this incredible bond shared by parents and children worldwide, regardless of socioeconomic status or location.
Moments that made me think that we completely overcompensate with our children here in the United States (myself included), when those in third world countries have more independence and seem the most content.
But another film in the previews got me going too- all about educational reform, Waiting for Superman. Yet another confirmation that I do want to be doing what I do, in hopes of somehow affecting change. I already found the website and pledged to save our schools by pledging to see the film.
So, here I go tomorrow, trying to save my classroom and starting to try to bridge the gap between first and third world children. Wish me luck...

I did it

Today could have been one of those days that easily could have fallen apart at the seams.
I stayed up late last night, wondering why I hadn't worked on my final math presentation sooner.

I had to take 40 kids on a field trip today and was in charge of getting them across the city and back on MUNI (without talking to strangers!), communicating with parents, catching windy papers, organizing the day.

I don't know how I'm going to be in such a responsible position most of the time, but somehow I do it.

I did my presentation, my friend said I looked like I felt comfortable in front of the class. I didn't completely lose my train of thought and freeze up in anxiety.

I tutored a reluctant French speaker into learning English through a small bribe of counting to 1-100 with M&Ms.

I made it everywhere I (and the kids traveling across the city) needed to be, on time.

I confronted a potentially volatile situation at school with a neutral attitude, not taking sides.

I might have left my second lost water bottle of the week at school, been humbled by my ability to climb up the hill of Fulton St on my bike, forgotten to eat lunch, still not been able to upload videos to websites, come to terms with the fact that I'm single for what seems to be a while right now, and above all realized that my real problem is a low view I have towards God.

But part of being twenty-six a week from today (almost to the minute, East Coast time), is realizing that I'm okay. What I feel isn't always necessarily true. I may not be able to choose how I react to situations, but I can choose to what degree I let them affect me (all of these insights thanks to MR and her overflowing joys).

I may not be able to receive affirmations well, but today I can, after the fact. Watching the video of the camping trip that my friends threw me, Megfest complete with my favorite songs and affirmations. I have a hard time in the moment, believing everything, taking it all in... knowing that I'm loved as much as my friends say.
I feel like the luckiest person in the world, I really do.
Special thanks to Robin and Nick for pulling this off, truly.

It's been a RAD (I think I'm being inspired by the Weeds character right now) weekend in a lot of ways. Lots of personal growth, things I have never done before:
1) Smoking "Turkish delight" at a Hookah bar with Wimberly on Friday night
2) Praying for 3! hours today with some of my closest friends
3) Being "me" all weekend long
4) Walking around Lake Merritt the whole perimeter (3.3 miles) in cowboy boots... those boots were made for walking
5) Asking people for things that I need
6) Getting sun (in San Francisco), just so rare that it feels like it's never ever happened
7) Knitting on a beach
8) Driving (my friend's car) over the Bay Bridge
9) Seeing Oakland in a whole new light
10) And... Anne Lamott tomorrow:

Something inside me that was stiff and rotting would feel soft and tender. Somehow that singing wore down all the boundaries and distinctions that kept me so isolated. Sitting there, standing with them to sing, sometimes so shaky and sick that I felt like I might tip over, I felt bigger than myself, like I was being taken care of, tricked into coming back to life. (Traveling Mercies)

Wild things

I think right now, I’m reluctant to think that anything will ever work out. If it didn’t work for M and K, I don’t know that it will work for anyone. If six-year-olds in the woods suffer emotionally now, I don’t know how that will change when they become adults.

I’ve spent a lot of time over the last five or more years wondering, “Wny not me, in a relationship, right now?” But what I’ve realized is that I’m actually probably better off having not invested in another human being.

The thing is, being around other people, especially kids, makes you forget your own issues. You become transfixed in their worlds and act as they do. Everything seems magical- a redwood tree, a stick, a magic wand “glowstick” flashlight. Something makes you laugh almost every second of every day…

Like Ginger saying, “I grow my own crystals.”

Or Armance writing the address of her letter on the wrong side, not with the stamps.

Matilda opening her box of kisses- really, kisses- lipstick kissed pieces of paper, handing them out.

I guess what’s more important than being in a relationship with a boy around my age who cares about me is being in relationships with people twenty years younger who love me unconditionally. Who scream my name as I walk away as though they are my biggest fans.
Who will hold my hand, sit on my lap and listen to a story, or lend me their flashlight.

I didn't want to be alone today...

something having to do with the anticipation of Easter, of the Lenten season being over, of going to the woods with 82 first graders next week, of not knowing exactly what I was going to do today. Going to church the last four! days brought me closer to God but brought out emotions I didn't even know that I had. I'm somehow back to feeling unlovable, even though I know that God loves me. I just don't know how to keep telling myself otherwise, especially when I'm the slightest bit vulnerable.
So I took videos of my friends instead. I went to the woods and got out of the city. I had dinner with a colleague from school. I made a rabbit cake (see aside).

Parent-teacher gardens

I've learned in all of my classes that the parents can affect the child's school performance by encouraging reading and holding their children accountable for their behavior. But I learned yesterday from one of the French teachers that kids like to have their "petit jardin," or their own garden at school, that they alone are cultivating. That may be why a parent who asks their first grader, "What did you do at school today?" gets the corresponding response, "Nothing." It's the child's own garden to protect, maintain, and produce. Letting other people in is hard for them.

I don't know what is better, over or under-involvement as parents. Parents who want to be let in on their children's conferences via video chat from Australia or divorced parents who don't want the other parent to meet with their child's teachers and see their school reports. Parents who haven't slept in days, parents who meet with every psychologist possible to figure out what their child needs to stay in a bilingual environment, or parents who don't know the same kid at home that the kid's teacher know at school.

I always reflect on my own experiences, wondering what I was like in first grade and what my parents heard at parent-teacher conferences. I like to think that I was doing well, reading and writing, paying attention in class, no behavioral issues. I don't remember my parents telling me otherwise, but I do remember anxiously waiting for them to arrive home from conferences so that I could hear what they had to say.

So, my question and challenge as a teacher is this: what do I want to cultivate in children's gardens, that they can learn to take autonomy over as I gradually release the responsibility? and how can I get them so excited about it that they want to go home and share what they've planted and grown with their families?

Emotional Creature

I have to steal my friend Emily's byline on this one, I feel things pretty deeply. I don't know if it's how women are made, as Eve Ensler likes to think, or if it's just me, Meg Garner, Gem Renrag, Miss Gardner.

I feel when I am walking from place to place- feeling things about the city.
I feel when I am touched by one of my kids, in particular the one who likes to think he is a cat and purrs against me five times a day.
I feel when I hear from people's voices and can connect over the phone, even though we aren't in the same place.
I feel when one of my classmates experiences a potentially threatening situation.
I feel when I experience something that moves me- a song, a story, a movie, that I have a personal connection to.
I feel when I'm studying about ideas or situations that I care about or want to reform.
I feel when I'm artistic or creative in some way- it might even be swashing the green paint over egg carton caterpillars.
I feel when I think about Africa and the people there.
I feel when God does something, shows me in some way, that I'm valuable, that He loves me.

I feel when I'm hungry, tired, anxious, depressed, over/under-caffeinated, awake, hungover, elated, vulnerable- in community, by myself.
I feel almost every moment of every day- even though my feelings aren't always founded in reason, they seem logical enough for me to feel them. They don't want to be ignored, suppressed, or belittled.

Ask, Seek, Knock

This has been coming up for me a lot lately- in sermons, devotionals, friends- just about every medium that God can use to show me that I actually have to ask Him for what I want, as opposed to just assuming that He'll take care of it or will show me what He has.

Yesterday, I experienced highs and lows- highs from having community to spend the day with (celebrating 5 different holidays in one), a middle schooler to fend off pillows with at the Pillow fight, neighbors to play Baci ball with in the park, a church that I wanted to spend 5 hours at where they play Sufjan Stevens because I wasn't ready to go home and be by myself. Highs from eating Chinese in Chinatown on Chinese New Year with 16 others, feeling known, and our friend Nick being thankful for his friends on his birthday. Lows from feeling like I always mess up relationships, that I'm unlovable, that I can't remember to charge my camera battery or keep all of my stuff together. Lows from feeling like I will never have a date on Valentine's Day, that I'll just continue this trajectory of wanting desperately to be liked, only to fall flat on my face every time I like someone and he doesn't like me back.

So, if I Ask, Seek, Knock that I'll have a date at one point on Valentine's Day, does that mean that God has to come through for me in that way? No, my roommate Lisa told me yesterday God was providing for me in the little ways- the highs, reminding me that He loved me even though I only had my parents and six-year-olds as Valentines this year, showing me His love through Sufjan and community.

REVIVE

I have a Nikki McClure calendar, thanks to the ingenious of my friend Robin and Little Otsu. Each month is a new word, with a printed illustration. This month is REVIVE. When I first changed the month from January to February, not only was I excited for a new month, but I was excited for a new saying to greet me upon coming into my room. REVIVE I thought might be synonymous with reviving relationships, reviving yourself, etc, etc. But it was REVIVE with tools surrounding it- tools that are made to craft and be creative with. So, my month of February is about reviving my spirit through creative endeavors- first one was a screenprinting class at Workshop on Saturday, which set the bar high for the rest of the month. Possible updates to follow- paintings of Africa, muraling my cousin's nursery, photographing my city.
Picture via buyolympia.com

Staring at the Golden Gate Bridge

Can be a life consuming activity, especially when you wake up in a room with two sides of the perimeter made of glass and one of the sides with a mirror showing the bridge outside. I thought I had woken up in heaven, when the ceiling was bright blue and before sleeping, had shown me in the moon. There are boats passing by, sailboats, ferry boats. It rises majestically as the fog horn blows its whistle. The ocean waves crash up against it. The mountains peek through the fog adjacent to the bridge. The fog passes over the house, because of its proximity to the ocean.
I'm not dreaming, I'm on a spiritual retreat. One that involved me listening to God's voice this week instead of fulfilling my list of shoulds and responsibilities. It was hard to hear middle schoolers disappointed with my decision not to go skiing, but I knew that I needed a weekend alone, to recover, to reset, refocus, spend time with God. Shut the door and not be able to hear the people talking on the other side. I'm about to go experience God in a new way, one that involves the City by the Bay, but not in the way that I've known it to be so far- chaotic, full of hustle and bustle, sounds and smells. This will be the day that I stay by the ocean and think in awe about God and who He is to me and those around me.

Dreamweaver

I'm not great at designing websites... napping on Saturday afternoons... not using dots in text messages... or feeling relaxed.
Why I'm ticking things off of my to-do list today when I feel like I should be resting in the calm of the storm, before the semester really begins. It will be back to having something on my shoulders all the time, something to worry about, running from place to place on my bike or the MUNI. It's worth it, I know- to have my own classroom someday, start a school, use the gifts that I've been given to contribute to the world at large. Sometimes in the time before waking up at 8 AM for a Saturday class, of mid-week exhaustion, and of frustration with school administration, it seems otherwise and I can find myself doubting my decision.

I have a dream...

That I'll be continually growing in grace.

It's been one of those weekends where I've been continually stretched beyond what I thought possible. I've had to depend on people and ask for help. I've had to realize that they still love me despite the fact that I'm a broken mess, who can't hold true to everything I say I will or act a certain way all of the time. I've been withholding parts of my life from God and He's in turn, seemingly withholding to me. I've let feelings take over: they make good slaves but not good masters (thanks to Debby for that one).
But, I've also powerfully experienced the civil rights movement through the movie Soundtrack of a Revolution, such that I think I'll be better equipped next year to teach my kids about MLK day. This year, they made clouds saying I have a dream... that they hung around their necks and some responded by saying I have a dream... that I will get a cat while others said I have a dream... that everyone who's homeless will have something to eat. Some of them understood, others did not.
Or, I got to understand that I'm loved by my friends even when I'm not at my best. That I really have this inner creativity that needs to be met, by painting, by going to a museum, by designing bulletin boards at school. That Sunday nights filled with Little Star and laughter start the week off right.

Quirky, quirkier, quirkiest

So I looked this word up in the dictionary, since I wasn't sure if I should place a negative or positive connotation around it. It might not be completely and purely positive, but it can be- you are full of unique surprises if you are quirky (thanks to EK's definition). It may be the opposite of status quo or not normal per say, according to RW and RA.

Regardless, I'm trying to be okay with this. I want to live the purpose that I'm feeling called to live out, and maybe that's through being silly, being myself, bringing life to situations, and making people feel welcome. I might be the single girl in the room full of couples, maybe that's what makes me even more one-of-a-kind. I will walk home from church by myself on a Sunday, play bananagrams all afternoon, unable to pump up my own bike tires, drive around for a half hour looking for parking and not knowing how to change lanes. All of this doesn't mean that I'm unloveable, but rather that I'm quirky.