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!