And the Greatest of These

For the Senior class, the seasons of "lasts" starts fairly early at CAJ, with the last Senior concession sale in late February/early March.  A steady stream of "lasts" continues from that point on: last concerts, last Thrift Shop, last chapel, last Far East, last APs, last homeroom, last Community Group, last essay, last test, and so on.

I guess because it started so early, and at a time when the year seemed far from over, it didn't really hit me how close we were getting to the end.  Now, we're getting into the last of the lasts.

I took 9 Seniors out to coffee during their 7th period study hall today.  I have 7th period free, and since it comes on the heel of 5 straight class periods, I typically use it to sit down and catch my breath.  I've been so blessed this year to catch my breath on a couch in the Senior Lounge, where several students spend their study hall.  This has been a tremendous blessing--it allows me to remain an active part of their lives, though I no longer have them in class, as they can ask me questions, I can provide advice for writing, college stuff and comps, and above all else, as we simply sit and talk.  It's not always an on-task study hall, but I feel it's been an important time for both myself and the Seniors who are there.

Today, as I sat with them at the picnic benches in the school plaza, everyone enjoying their coffee, it struck me that we've only got one more 7th period study hall left this year: half the Senior class is gone to a leadership retreat tomorrow, and Monday is the last regularly-scheduled day of school.  After that, I'll watch the Seniors do their Comps Presentations on Tuesday.  They aren't required to come to school on Wednesday or Thursday, and then Friday is graduation, and though I'm so blessed to be able to speak to them on that night, there will be no time to simply sit and enjoy a conversation.  In other words, Monday is basically it.

When this realization hit me, I got kind of a dull feeling in the pit of my stomach and actually started to tear up a little.  It's weird--when we think of people we love, we think of our families, our friends, our significant others... but beyond those big three, we may be hard pressed to think of people in our lives who we genuinely love.  I felt this exact same way at the end of the year last year, once when my Humanities class asked me to stop taking down the posters from the walls while they were around because it was breaking their hearts, and again on the last day of class... the same dull feeling in my stomach, a feeling of having a lump in my throat and having to blink away tears.  I realized: I love this group.  Not out of duty... not because I'm supposed to... but because I've come to know and invest in them so deeply that I would do anything to protect them, to ensure the best for them as they leave.  What happens to these students matters tremendously to me; I'm torn between wanting them to stay so we can keep reliving the last few years, and wanting them to leave because I know that's what they want, and also so I can see just what they do with their lives.  It's weird to experience a brand new emotion like this at this stage in my life... and I suspect the goodbyes of next Friday will be very tough. This will be my 4th CAJ graduation, and while I've certainly sent off individuals and small groups who I really cared for, this is the first graduating class that I taught full-time and the first graduating class who I can honestly say, I love as a class.

I'm sure it has... but I sincerely hope that my investment in and love for this class has made a difference in their lives.

Closing

Tomorrow is my last normal day of class for this school year.  On Friday, the Juniors will be out of class, helping out with the elementary school field day.  Though Monday is a regular class schedule, each of my classes will be starting their culminating events (presentations) on that day.  Tuesday is Senior Comps, Wednesday through Friday are culminating event days, Friday night is graduation.

It feels so weird to be at this point--somehow incomplete.  It feels like I was only just energetically telling my students that "history is now and we're living it!"  I'm amazed at how much energy and momentum I started off this school year with and ashamed of how little I'm finishing with.  I fell victim to my own expectations, and tried so hard to fit the Juniors I taught this year into the mold I'd cast with the class of 2012 last year.  There were good moments of learning, and I established positive relationships with a lot of individuals... but I think I never managed to earn the attention and respect of the class as a whole because I simply couldn't get past trying to shove them into the same spot that last year's Juniors had occupied.

My take-away from this is that I need to be willing to take the time to get to know a class before I lock in the specifics of what learning will look like for the duration of the year.  I did this at the beginning of the last school-year, but because last year went so smoothly, I tried to apply the exact same heuristic to my classes this year.  Rookie mistake, I suppose--each class has a different personality and just because a certain way of doing things is fun and meaningful for one group doesn't mean that it will be fun and meaningful for another group.  I was reminded of this today as some of my former students, Seniors, signed my yearbook--something that came up repeatedly was how much they enjoyed my class, how fun they thought it was, how much they learned, how they appreciated my teaching style.  By contrast, most of the direct feedback I've heard from my Juniors this year is how bored they are and how little they care about the content of my class.  While I know that there are many who do enjoy my class who have not been so vocal, it stings to hear the apathy which seemed so much rarer last year.  Especially since I know that it was really on me to figure out how to engage this new group, and I never did.  I abandoned the way I did things last year and tried to find the right frequency, but I don't feel like I ever really locked into it.  As I said, I'm not going to lose sleep over this--learning still happened, the kids still grew, they're still ready to be Seniors... I just feel like I missed an opportunity to really inspire them and capture their attention and imagination with what I was teaching and how I was teaching.  I guess I can't win 'em all.

We're ending in a better place than we did two years ago, after my first year of teaching--a year filled with misunderstanding, conflict, lost trust and impatience with each other.  We're ending on friendly terms this time, but oh so different than the cupcakes, scrapbook, class photo and tearful goodbyes that I had with my Juniors at this time last year.  Perhaps that's why it feels incomplete.  Perhaps I'm still holding that great year as a standard by which I measure my success and failure as a teacher.  Maybe I need to reevaluate how I define success; not to lower my standards, but to broaden them, to look for different indications of success and of course to continually be on the look-out for new and engaging ways to pursue success as a teacher.

Somehow I'd envisioned that each year of teaching would get easier, each year planning would get easier, but I now see that the further in I travel, the more I become aware of complexities and nuances that I was blind to before.  I'm not entirely sure where my planning and prep-work this summer will start, but I do know that next year will be a completely different ball-game altogether!

Come What May

Letting go is tough.  Certainly this becomes obvious when we must say goodbye to loved ones--death after all is not part of the intended order.  However, this truth about the sheer challenge of letting go runs much wider than the brutal goodbyes.

We may find ourselves in situations in life where we are called to let go of our plans, let go of our dreams,  perhaps even let go of our security.  I know that this is a particular struggle for me: I have such a specific image in my head for what I want out of life, for what I want each new year, each new day to look like.  When reality turns out to be different, I become easily frustrated and even despondent.  I feel as though I have failed in some way.  I begin to doubt my calling and my purpose.

Increasingly, I realize that I need to let go of the intricate plans and expectations that I've built for myself, and simply live faithfully day to day, trusting that God's plans are better than mine.  I want so badly to have a specific kind of life, a specific kind of career and to be a specific kind of person that I end up putting all of my energy into trying to achieve these things.

I've put so much stock into my own plans and my own desires that they have become the ultimate goal of my life.  At this point, I must back up and recognize that faithful service should be the ultimate goal of my life.  This does not mean sitting idly by and letting life happen, but rather approaching each day with a spirit of joy and gratitude--living out the trust that God will provide.

I keep such a tight grip on my expectations and it is exhausting.  Maybe it is time instead to invest that effort and energy to doing my best with each moment.

Lord, grant me strength.

Stress&Peace

My time with my family was short, but it felt longer than I expected it to--perhaps because of the emotionally draining and intense nature of the days I spent at home.  It seems like we had relatives at our house at almost all times, and then of course between the viewing and the services, there was even more time spent with relatives, some close and some distant.  I appreciated everyone who showed up to express their sympathies, but it definitely did wear on me after a while to hear so many people say "This must be so tough; I know how much time you spent with her."  Not that they were wrong, but each time I heard that served as an overwhelming reminder that yes, this is, indeed tough to go through.

Throw on top of that my efforts to make progress on at least something school-related in my spare moments (made good progress on my grad speech) and the gnarly sleep-schedule that jet-lag brings about, and I'm currently feeling an odd combination of peace and stress.  I feel peace in my decision to come home.  It was the right choice and I'm so thankful that I could spend this time with family.  At the same time, I feel exhaustion, and stress at what lies ahead.  You see, the amount of time left in the school-year is significantly less than I'd fully realized when I was hastily putting together plans for when I'd be out of the country.  Yes, there's grading I need to do, but more than that, I'm realizing that I'll have to truncate and even cut out a lot of stuff I'd hoped to do in my various classes during the last week of school.

Even the work currently in progress in my various classes will finish with barely any time to spare--I hope and pray that timing is on my side!

Perhaps what I need to do is just take a deep breath and resign myself to simply letting things unfold as they may.

I've never been good at this.

Thoughts between 5 and 6 am

The weather has been gorgeous the entire time that I've been back in Washington.  This morning, I was up before 5 because my sleep cycle still hasn't gotten over jet-lag (and at this rate, won't before I leave tomorrow).  On the bright side, this meant that I was already wide awake to go out and watch the sunrise.  Nothing underlines the green of the trees and fields, or blue of the sky, or freshness of the air more than having spent the past few months in the city.  I love Tokyo, and I feel so much more at ease with city-life than I ever thought I would, but there's no denying that the countryside is still my favorite place to be.  Thing is, if I was out in the country full-time, I probably wouldn't appreciate its beauty nearly as much.  I think the arrangement I've living out right now makes sense.

It's been a blessing to be with my family, even for this short time.  As my brother, sister and I walked to the car after the funeral service on Thursday, we all agreed that it wouldn't have been right if one of us had not been there.  After all, we grew up together under our Grandma's care, and in some ways, it was as though we'd said goodbye to a second mother.  So while we were there for our Grandma, and there for our parents, uncles and aunts, we were also there for each other.

We enjoyed the chance to just spend time together--to joke around, to sing, to simply sit in the same room together; an opportunity that is becoming increasingly rare as life takes us in different directions.  As it is, I believe the three of us will only be together for 10 days or so this summer.  Sibling time is a fading luxury.

So--overall, I am glad I decided to come back.  It's very strange to think that even a week ago, I didn't know I'd be doing this.  It'll be maybe a little stressful trying to hit the ground running when I get back to Tokyo.  There's not much school to adjust back to--a regular week and then finals.  A week of meetings beyond that and I'll be back in Washington again.  Still, it'll be a packed couple of weeks, getting grades in and finishing/practicing/giving the grad speech for the Seniors.

God has brought me this far, and I trust that with His grace and strength, I'll finish the year well.

Thank You, O My Father

This morning, my family laid Grandma to rest with a graveside service, and then a memorial service at 1st CRC.  It was a beautiful service, though it has really hit me since I got home just how hard it is to say goodbye.  Grandma was a steady and steadfast presence throughout my life, and I especially recall her strength and faith in the face of death, whenever she would lose someone close to her.  It was jarring that this time, she was the one being laid to rest, the one being mourned and celebrated.  It's the start of a new era, an era in which my dad, uncles and aunts are fast becoming the oldest generation in their family and in which my grandparents are all gone.


I was blessed to be a part of this memorial service, and was able to help provide special music, singing a  hymn with my brother and sister, as well as my cousins Luke and Sarah.  Grandma loved hymns--she was constantly singing or humming while she'd work, and she imparted this love of hymns to her children and grandchildren.  In fact, her last hour of life was spent surrounded by my dad and his siblings as they sang hymns to her.  The hymn we sang was "There is a Redeemer" by Keith and Melody Green, and the words provide a wonderful comfort and assurance even as today we grieve and shed tears for a woman we dearly love and miss.  I've shared the words here:




There is a Redeemer, 
Jesus, God's own Son,
Precious Lamb of God, Messiah, 
Holy One!

Thank you oh my Father, 
For giving us Your Son,
And leaving Your Spirit, 
'Til the work on Earth is done.

Jesus my Redeemer, 
Name above all names,
Precious Lamb of God, Messiah,
Hope for sinners slain.

Thank you oh my Father, 
For giving us Your Son,
And leaving Your Spirit, 
'Til the work on Earth is done.

When I stand in Glory, 
I will see His face,
There I'll serve my King forever,
In that Holy Place.

Thank you oh my Father, 
For giving us Your Son,
And leaving Your Spirit, 
'Til the work on Earth is done.

In Transit

As I write and post this, I literally am in transit--the airporter bus that I'm taking from SeaTac up to Bellingham has wi-fi.  I was not planning on taking this trip--even when I first heard from my parents at this time last week that Grandma's health had taken a turn for the worst, I didn't really consider what I'd do if she passed away.

All that said, I anticipate this being a meaningful time for my family as we celebrate and remember Grandma Emma.

I'm pretty wiped because it is currently 3:00 am Tokyo time, but only 11:00 am Washington time, and I've been awake since 8:00 am Tokyo time.  So, I won't try to write anymore just at this moment, as it may wind up being incoherent.  I will say, though, that I am ever-grateful to live in an age where it is possible to make last minute arrangements to fly across the ocean in a matter of hours for something like this.  I think that was my 14th trip over the Pacific, and it seems to get easier every time.

We're about to get onto the free-way now.  I think I'll post this, since I can do that, and then catch a quick nap.  The world is so plugged in, it's scary.