"This train will stop at every station from Hibarigaoka." That's what I heard. Or at least, that's what I understood--the announcement was in Japanese: 「ひばりヶ丘から各駅に止まります。」 I cannot even begin to guess how many times I had heard the Japanese phrase without comprehending, waiting for the inevitable English translation, but tonight for the first time, I was thinking in Japanese and paying attention at just the right moment and I understood the phrase as it was being spoken--not even a moment's lag for my brain to translate or catch up. I couldn't suppress my smile.
It has been a long time since I have posted anything, and even longer since I've posted regularly. This is a statement of fact, yet not an apology--my life has gone and is going through a major metamorphosis this year.
Two years ago, on November 22, 2011, I wrote this post. One year ago, on November 18, 2012, I went to a "singles party" after church. The host had intended to introduce me to a young lady who was a friend of the family (and I mean "introduce" in the only way that it can possibly be interpreted in the context of an after-church singles party). However, God had other plans and I ended up sitting on the other side of the room in the middle of a conversation that I could not follow, as it was all in Japanese. Of course, instead of my lack of understanding making me invisible, it apparently made me a target for questions. I tried valiantly, but unsuccessfully, to keep up. The young woman sitting next to me must have recognized my confusion, and she began to translate for me.
I'd seen her at church before, and at a home party a month earlier. I'd thought she was pretty and that she seemed nice, but I'd never properly met her or spoken to her. She seemed a bit shy, and I could be a bit shy, too. And, I had simply assumed she did not speak English. But all of a sudden, here she was, swooping to my rescue and tossing me a lifeline. I was grateful and very much relieved. After I'd answered the questions that had been posed to me (through my rescuer's translation, of course), we met officially for the first time: her name was Tomomi.
As I said, that meeting happened on November 18, 2012.
In exactly six weeks, Tomomi and I will marry each other, and start our lives together.
The past year has been the story of our meeting, our friendship, and our courtship. We began to spend time together in group settings in January. We went on our first date to see Les Miserables at the beginning of February. And, on March 16 (8 months ago), after going out almost every week since we saw Les Mis, we officially became a couple. Less than two months later, we were engaged.
We both feel sometimes as though we're living someone else's lives, that this is all so unreal. Perhaps this is because it has happened so naturally--there was no thunderbolt from heaven when we met. Neither of us parted ways that evening thinking that the other was "the one". We simply found ourselves in situations where we could spend time together and get to know each other. It was in no way dramatic, and it was so unlike all of the adolescent crushes that had dotted my teen years and early 20s. Those were intense and emotional, and I suffered from an inability to act naturally around whoever it was I happened to have a crush on at that moment. I'd try too hard to be funny or cool, and would come across as nervous, awkward or so over-eager as to be off-putting. My friendship with Tomomi was (and is) steady and comfortable despite all odds saying it shouldn't have been: language gaps, cultural differences, a 4 year, 11 month age difference, and the fact that neither of us really does small talk would seem daunting on paper. Yet, we found ourselves at ease with each other from the start. I can be myself when I'm with her, honest, vulnerable and real. Perhaps because of this, I'm inspired to become the best version of myself that I can be, seeking to abandon my selfishness, striving to serve, and praying over our relationship constantly. It's a journey that has made me much more keenly aware of my shortcomings, but I am blessed to be with someone who accepts me anyway, and who reminds me frequently of God's mercy, forgiveness and love. It's a journey that has made me a better person. Of course, the real journey, the journey of matrimony, has yet to begin and I can do no better than to rely on the grace of Him who has brought us this far.
This may be the last time I write before my wedding day, and I wanted merely to express what is on my mind and heart at this unique time between chapters in my life, and to express my joy and gratitude for the goodness of God and His plans.
When I wrote that letter to my future wife (linked above) two years ago, I was forcing myself to trust God's plans despite my own impatience and frustration. We cannot predict God's timing, but we can trust in God's goodness and His faithfulness. He has allowed me to experience frustration, anger, annoyance, heartbreak, pain and impatience over the course of my lifetime, but He has never abandoned me nor failed me. I pray that I can recognize this, trust in this and rejoice in this every day as a husband; that we can take joy in this every day as a couple.
Amen.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Summer learning', better teachin'
On Wednesday morning, I was jolted awake. Not by the soothing, melodic tones of my alarm (the Sleep Cycle app on my iPhone), but rather by the realization that work was starting up again 35 minutes later with several days of staff meetings. You see, this summer was an odd one for me... I was busy, having started my Master's classes online and fitting in three weeks of Japanese tutoring on top of that. Perhaps more strange was the fact that I never really settled into summer mode. After school finished in June, I had three busy weeks in Japan before I went back to America for three busy weeks with family before returning to Japan for three busy weeks (well technically two sick weeks and one busy week). It was the summer of threes, and the pacing was less than leisurely. It was a good summer, though! The opportunity to learn, deepening both my understanding of my calling as a teacher and my ability to speak, read and listen to Japanese was valuable. The time with my family (particularly introducing them to my fiancee) was precious. Now, I am looking forward to the first day of classes, perhaps less rested than usual, but no less excited.
There are several reasons why I am, perhaps, more excited than usual for this coming year:
1. I was able to be a student again this summer. I returned to concepts and texts that I'd read in college, when teaching was 100% theoretical in my mind and found new things as I read from the vantage point four years of experience. I delved into new and exciting books that opened my eyes to so many possibilities for what a classroom can and should be. I also learned a lot as I watched how my professors structured the class and gave feedback. It's fun to watch how education professors teach--and I am sure that it must be more than a little stressful for the professors, who must be aware that their pedagogy itself is being scrutinized! Fortunately, I was blessed with very good professors who provided me with many wonderful ideas simply by the way they set up the classes.
2. My schedule. Check this out:
1st period: Prep
2nd-3rd period: Humanities A
4th-5th period: Humanities B
6th period: Matsu (yearbook)
7th period: Prep
It's never been a secret that 11th grade Humanities is my favorite subject to teach--I love the variety of learning opportunities that emerge when U.S. History and American Literature are combined into a blended block class! However, this year I have the opportunity to teach two sections of Humanities, which is a blessing! The past two years, I taught 9th grade World History in addition to Humanities and English 11 (just the American Lit--those students had another teacher for U.S. History) making for 3 preps and working with close to 100 students every day. I learned that even thinking about (let alone teaching) 100 different students requires a lot of mental energy.
By contrast, this year, I have 2 preps, and between the two sections of Humanities, only 46 students. I retooled my Humanities curriculum over July and August as an assignment for one of my summer classes, and I will be taking an online course this fall on assessment strategies. In other words, I've developed the course to a higher level of quality than it was at last year, and I will continue to develop it as the semester goes on in tandem with my own online learning. Humanities is my focus this year as a teacher, and my main responsibility. The lion's share of my prep energy and grading energy can go into this single class. I could not ask for a better assignment and I am excited!
I started working on my syllabus this afternoon at 4:30 and before I knew it, it was 7:30. I'd become so engrossed in my work that I lost track of time. I am really just ready for the students to come back so I can start teaching. That's a good place to be the week before school starts, I think :)
There are several reasons why I am, perhaps, more excited than usual for this coming year:
1. I was able to be a student again this summer. I returned to concepts and texts that I'd read in college, when teaching was 100% theoretical in my mind and found new things as I read from the vantage point four years of experience. I delved into new and exciting books that opened my eyes to so many possibilities for what a classroom can and should be. I also learned a lot as I watched how my professors structured the class and gave feedback. It's fun to watch how education professors teach--and I am sure that it must be more than a little stressful for the professors, who must be aware that their pedagogy itself is being scrutinized! Fortunately, I was blessed with very good professors who provided me with many wonderful ideas simply by the way they set up the classes.
2. My schedule. Check this out:
1st period: Prep
2nd-3rd period: Humanities A
4th-5th period: Humanities B
6th period: Matsu (yearbook)
7th period: Prep
It's never been a secret that 11th grade Humanities is my favorite subject to teach--I love the variety of learning opportunities that emerge when U.S. History and American Literature are combined into a blended block class! However, this year I have the opportunity to teach two sections of Humanities, which is a blessing! The past two years, I taught 9th grade World History in addition to Humanities and English 11 (just the American Lit--those students had another teacher for U.S. History) making for 3 preps and working with close to 100 students every day. I learned that even thinking about (let alone teaching) 100 different students requires a lot of mental energy.
By contrast, this year, I have 2 preps, and between the two sections of Humanities, only 46 students. I retooled my Humanities curriculum over July and August as an assignment for one of my summer classes, and I will be taking an online course this fall on assessment strategies. In other words, I've developed the course to a higher level of quality than it was at last year, and I will continue to develop it as the semester goes on in tandem with my own online learning. Humanities is my focus this year as a teacher, and my main responsibility. The lion's share of my prep energy and grading energy can go into this single class. I could not ask for a better assignment and I am excited!
I started working on my syllabus this afternoon at 4:30 and before I knew it, it was 7:30. I'd become so engrossed in my work that I lost track of time. I am really just ready for the students to come back so I can start teaching. That's a good place to be the week before school starts, I think :)
Sunday, August 18, 2013
The Trains of Tokyo
Earlier this year, I read this article:
http://en.rocketnews24.com/2013/01/30/the-51-busiest-train-stations-in-the-world-all-but-6-located-in-japan/
In case you didn't read the link or the URL title itself, the article presents a list of the 51 busiest train stations in the entire world, and yep--you guessed it! Most of those train stations are in Japan. In fact, you have to scroll about halfway down the list to find a train station that isn't in Japan.
It was articles such as this one (and the resultant, perhaps somewhat exaggerated word-of-mouth) that helped to form one of my most basic images of Japan long ago, years before a life in Japan was even a glimmer on the horizon for me: packed trains. Putting aside everything Nintendo, busy trains were the first thing that came to mind when I imagined Japan. I'd heard about trains packed so tight that stations needed an employee just to push people in so that the doors could close. I'd heard about the rampant problem of groping on crowded trains. I'd heard about the razor-sharp promptness and precision of the Japanese train schedule. My main mental image of Japan was a salaryman in a suit, sleeping standing up while gripping the hand-rail (but not in any real danger of falling over due to the cluster of people crammed in around him).
Even as an abstract or fanciful concept (that is, something I would never experience myself), the Tokyo train system intimidated me.
Then, I moved to Japan... and that changed nothing. For four years, the trains in Tokyo still intimidated me. I preferred to bike, or walk, or catch a ride to wherever I needed to go, and would just as soon avoid taking the train, thank you very much! The problem is, the further I needed to travel, the less I could get by with my diet of biking, walking or ride-catching.
At about this time last year, it occurred to me that my students knew the train system of Tokyo better than I did. Now, one year later, I would say the opposite is true: I genuinely believe that I have a better handle on the Tokyo trains than 95% of my students (the remaining 5% are train-buffs who memorize that kind of information more for fun than out of practical need).
The reason for this shift? It may have something to do with the estimated 160 hours I have spent riding the train so far this year alone. I go to Otemachi for church each Sunday; I go to Meguro twice a month (once for worship team rehearsal, once for Gospel choir rehearsal); I go to Yurakucho each Thursday for community group; I go out to meals or coffee with my fiancee in Tokyo, Yurakucho, Daimon-Hammumatsucho, Ginza or a variety of other places on a regular basis.
I pass through Ikebukuro Station (#3 on this list, though apparently it has since overtaken Shibuya for the #2 spot) several times each week. Numbers 8, 18 and 20 are all part of my regular routine. The words "regular" and "routine" just about sum it up: this has become normal to me. The crowds and busy trains no longer phase me in the least. The map of the Tokyo Metro system (which makes the human nervous system look simple and straightforward) makes sense to me now. I am beginning to gain an awareness of how everything is connected.
I'll close with a list of basic things I have learned while riding the trains over this past year:
1. Not all lines are equal. The Oedo Line is roughly 50 meters above hell and my guess is that Satan himself had a hand in setting the fares.
2. If you get on the Marunouchi Line in Ikebukuro and are willing to wait no more than 5 minutes, there's absolutely no good reason why you can't find a seat.
3. The Yamanote Line has the most pleasant platform boarding melodies... but trying to get from Ikebukuro to Tamachi is a lose-lose situation.
4. The Seibu-Ikebukuro Line is weird; it's privately owned, and to downtown Tokyo folk, it's viewed as a rural line, kind of an isolated spur. Yet, from Higashi Kurume, I can travel to Shibuya, Yurakucho, or even Motomachi-Chukagai in Yokohama (to name a few) without having to transfer!
5. Long train rides are the perfect time to work: I've graded many a paper (and this summer, written many a paper and read many a chapter) while sitting on trains to and from downtown.
6. If there are no seats available, or better yet, no grading/homework to do, long train rides are the perfect time to practice Japanese. I've clocked many hours of JLPT vocab practice on my iPhone while on the train.
7. Another form of Japanese practice/entertainment is to translate station names into English! Some of my favorites:
Ochanomizu eki = Tea-water Station
Otemachi eki = Big Hand City Station
Meguro eki = Black Eye Station
Mejiro eki = White Eye Station
Tsukishima eki = Moon Island Station
Ikebukuro eki = Glove Pond Station
8. I (and undoubtedly millions of others) will never tire of saying or hearing the name "Takadanobaba"
9. If I catch the Kotesashi-bound train on the Yurakucho Line from Tsukishima (Moon Island) where my fiancee lives, it takes EXACTLY one hour to get back to Higashi Kurume.
10. Suddenly, one hour of traveling doesn't seem like that much, anymore... :)
http://en.rocketnews24.com/2013/01/30/the-51-busiest-train-stations-in-the-world-all-but-6-located-in-japan/
In case you didn't read the link or the URL title itself, the article presents a list of the 51 busiest train stations in the entire world, and yep--you guessed it! Most of those train stations are in Japan. In fact, you have to scroll about halfway down the list to find a train station that isn't in Japan.
It was articles such as this one (and the resultant, perhaps somewhat exaggerated word-of-mouth) that helped to form one of my most basic images of Japan long ago, years before a life in Japan was even a glimmer on the horizon for me: packed trains. Putting aside everything Nintendo, busy trains were the first thing that came to mind when I imagined Japan. I'd heard about trains packed so tight that stations needed an employee just to push people in so that the doors could close. I'd heard about the rampant problem of groping on crowded trains. I'd heard about the razor-sharp promptness and precision of the Japanese train schedule. My main mental image of Japan was a salaryman in a suit, sleeping standing up while gripping the hand-rail (but not in any real danger of falling over due to the cluster of people crammed in around him).
Even as an abstract or fanciful concept (that is, something I would never experience myself), the Tokyo train system intimidated me.
Then, I moved to Japan... and that changed nothing. For four years, the trains in Tokyo still intimidated me. I preferred to bike, or walk, or catch a ride to wherever I needed to go, and would just as soon avoid taking the train, thank you very much! The problem is, the further I needed to travel, the less I could get by with my diet of biking, walking or ride-catching.
At about this time last year, it occurred to me that my students knew the train system of Tokyo better than I did. Now, one year later, I would say the opposite is true: I genuinely believe that I have a better handle on the Tokyo trains than 95% of my students (the remaining 5% are train-buffs who memorize that kind of information more for fun than out of practical need).
The reason for this shift? It may have something to do with the estimated 160 hours I have spent riding the train so far this year alone. I go to Otemachi for church each Sunday; I go to Meguro twice a month (once for worship team rehearsal, once for Gospel choir rehearsal); I go to Yurakucho each Thursday for community group; I go out to meals or coffee with my fiancee in Tokyo, Yurakucho, Daimon-Hammumatsucho, Ginza or a variety of other places on a regular basis.
I pass through Ikebukuro Station (#3 on this list, though apparently it has since overtaken Shibuya for the #2 spot) several times each week. Numbers 8, 18 and 20 are all part of my regular routine. The words "regular" and "routine" just about sum it up: this has become normal to me. The crowds and busy trains no longer phase me in the least. The map of the Tokyo Metro system (which makes the human nervous system look simple and straightforward) makes sense to me now. I am beginning to gain an awareness of how everything is connected.
I'll close with a list of basic things I have learned while riding the trains over this past year:
1. Not all lines are equal. The Oedo Line is roughly 50 meters above hell and my guess is that Satan himself had a hand in setting the fares.
2. If you get on the Marunouchi Line in Ikebukuro and are willing to wait no more than 5 minutes, there's absolutely no good reason why you can't find a seat.
3. The Yamanote Line has the most pleasant platform boarding melodies... but trying to get from Ikebukuro to Tamachi is a lose-lose situation.
4. The Seibu-Ikebukuro Line is weird; it's privately owned, and to downtown Tokyo folk, it's viewed as a rural line, kind of an isolated spur. Yet, from Higashi Kurume, I can travel to Shibuya, Yurakucho, or even Motomachi-Chukagai in Yokohama (to name a few) without having to transfer!
5. Long train rides are the perfect time to work: I've graded many a paper (and this summer, written many a paper and read many a chapter) while sitting on trains to and from downtown.
6. If there are no seats available, or better yet, no grading/homework to do, long train rides are the perfect time to practice Japanese. I've clocked many hours of JLPT vocab practice on my iPhone while on the train.
7. Another form of Japanese practice/entertainment is to translate station names into English! Some of my favorites:
Ochanomizu eki = Tea-water Station
Otemachi eki = Big Hand City Station
Meguro eki = Black Eye Station
Mejiro eki = White Eye Station
Tsukishima eki = Moon Island Station
Ikebukuro eki = Glove Pond Station
8. I (and undoubtedly millions of others) will never tire of saying or hearing the name "Takadanobaba"
9. If I catch the Kotesashi-bound train on the Yurakucho Line from Tsukishima (Moon Island) where my fiancee lives, it takes EXACTLY one hour to get back to Higashi Kurume.
10. Suddenly, one hour of traveling doesn't seem like that much, anymore... :)
Friday, August 16, 2013
Nate Gibson and The Never-ending Quest for Balance
One thing that always struck me about the Harry Potter series is how much the tone changes from the first book to the last. The series gets darker, for sure, but the things Harry says, does and thinks; the adventures he finds himself in; the interactions he has with others; all of these change as the series goes on to fit Harry's age, and also his internal changes as a character. I remember abruptly recognizing this shift when I read the irrepressibly moody, angst-y and dreary "Order of the Phoenix" for the first time--it was like I was reading a completely different series than the one I'd started with "Sorcerer's Stone".
I'd say my time in Japan has gone through similar tonal shifts. Not from light to dark, necessarily, but the elements that make up my life, my interactions, what my time, energy and thought go toward--certainly these have all changed drastically since I first arrived as a wide-eyed 22 year-old in 2009.
My first two years were centered almost exclusively around CAJ and the Higashi Kurume area. I worked 5 days a week at CAJ, I coached cross country or attended sports games on Saturdays and attended the church on campus on Sunday mornings (followed by supervising the JAM Middle School youth group on Sunday afternoons). I spent easily 85% of my waking time either on CAJ's campus, or with colleagues/students from CAJ. I ate, drank, breathed, slept and ultimately lived CAJ. I love the school, and I love my job, but during these years, I had virtually no life outside the walls of Christian Academy. I would occasionally hang out with colleagues who were around the same age, and do dinner or karaoke, but I found that I had little to talk about aside from my classes and students--there simply was not a whole lot more to my life at that point.
The earthquake (certainly a dark, dramatic chapter) woke me up to the need for some semblance of balance. My reaction to the earthquake, which I now realize was unusual, was to resolve to stay in Japan (I had been planning on leaving). Suddenly, with an indefinite stay in Japan ahead of me, I realized that I needed to adjust my lifestyle and seek out balance. I realized I needed to stop going to church on campus and find a church that was completely (or at least mostly) separate from the school. (By the way, I certainly am not suggesting that attending this church as a CAJ teacher is a lack of balance--my life just happened to be unbalanced, and finding a new church happened to be the first step in finding some balance--it would not be the right choice for everyone). Not long after this, CAJ's headmaster issued a staff survey to gather data on church involvement; with me planning to "retire" from JAM and seek a new church, I realized I needed a place where I'd feel at home and could get involved.
I first attended Grace City Church in Ginza in August of 2011; the worship, the preaching and the atmosphere felt immediately familiar--similar in so many ways to my beloved home-church in the States. Still, I worried that 50 minutes of traveling one-way was too far and so I attended only periodically, and tried to remain aloof (after all, friendships with folks downtown would inevitably take up even more time!). Fortunately, thanks to the efforts of a very kind and caring family (who, incidentally, were my one link to CAJ at Grace City), I began to make connections and build relationships despite myself. I realized that God quite clearly intended this to be my new home-church, and that I needed to get involved. I joined the worship team, an affiliated gospel choir, and a weekly community group. More significantly, I met my future wife at an after-church party last fall.
Now, a typical week sees me traveling downtown at least 3 times a week, and sometimes 4 times. I am preparing to become a community group leader, and from September, will participate on the worship team two Sundays a month. I've also participated in vision meetings for a church plant that will be starting services this fall. And of course, there's the adventure of wedding planning that is now beginning, and the recognition that my fiancee and I do need to take additional time for each other that isn't about church-hunting, logistics, invitations, or anything else to do with the wedding.
My life has entered a new chapter and it feels like a completely different story from the one I was living almost 5 years ago. Yet again, the pesky issue of balance remains. I absolutely need to allow myself the time and mental energy to do my job the best that I can; after all, I view teaching at CAJ as my calling! That said, unlike several years ago, I must balance this with the very real need for church involvement, friendship (one very special relationship in particular), and time with God.
This coming school-year will be something completely new, different from any I've had yet. I ask for prayers for wisdom, for energy and for balance. I'm excited; happier than I've ever been in my entire life, actually. At the same time, I have an unprecedented amount of stuff going on simultaneously in several different sides of my life, and caring for all sides will be no small task. Becoming a whole and healthy person is challenging, but I figure God's grace and strength are sufficient to build me into that person!
I'd say my time in Japan has gone through similar tonal shifts. Not from light to dark, necessarily, but the elements that make up my life, my interactions, what my time, energy and thought go toward--certainly these have all changed drastically since I first arrived as a wide-eyed 22 year-old in 2009.
My first two years were centered almost exclusively around CAJ and the Higashi Kurume area. I worked 5 days a week at CAJ, I coached cross country or attended sports games on Saturdays and attended the church on campus on Sunday mornings (followed by supervising the JAM Middle School youth group on Sunday afternoons). I spent easily 85% of my waking time either on CAJ's campus, or with colleagues/students from CAJ. I ate, drank, breathed, slept and ultimately lived CAJ. I love the school, and I love my job, but during these years, I had virtually no life outside the walls of Christian Academy. I would occasionally hang out with colleagues who were around the same age, and do dinner or karaoke, but I found that I had little to talk about aside from my classes and students--there simply was not a whole lot more to my life at that point.
The earthquake (certainly a dark, dramatic chapter) woke me up to the need for some semblance of balance. My reaction to the earthquake, which I now realize was unusual, was to resolve to stay in Japan (I had been planning on leaving). Suddenly, with an indefinite stay in Japan ahead of me, I realized that I needed to adjust my lifestyle and seek out balance. I realized I needed to stop going to church on campus and find a church that was completely (or at least mostly) separate from the school. (By the way, I certainly am not suggesting that attending this church as a CAJ teacher is a lack of balance--my life just happened to be unbalanced, and finding a new church happened to be the first step in finding some balance--it would not be the right choice for everyone). Not long after this, CAJ's headmaster issued a staff survey to gather data on church involvement; with me planning to "retire" from JAM and seek a new church, I realized I needed a place where I'd feel at home and could get involved.
I first attended Grace City Church in Ginza in August of 2011; the worship, the preaching and the atmosphere felt immediately familiar--similar in so many ways to my beloved home-church in the States. Still, I worried that 50 minutes of traveling one-way was too far and so I attended only periodically, and tried to remain aloof (after all, friendships with folks downtown would inevitably take up even more time!). Fortunately, thanks to the efforts of a very kind and caring family (who, incidentally, were my one link to CAJ at Grace City), I began to make connections and build relationships despite myself. I realized that God quite clearly intended this to be my new home-church, and that I needed to get involved. I joined the worship team, an affiliated gospel choir, and a weekly community group. More significantly, I met my future wife at an after-church party last fall.
Now, a typical week sees me traveling downtown at least 3 times a week, and sometimes 4 times. I am preparing to become a community group leader, and from September, will participate on the worship team two Sundays a month. I've also participated in vision meetings for a church plant that will be starting services this fall. And of course, there's the adventure of wedding planning that is now beginning, and the recognition that my fiancee and I do need to take additional time for each other that isn't about church-hunting, logistics, invitations, or anything else to do with the wedding.
My life has entered a new chapter and it feels like a completely different story from the one I was living almost 5 years ago. Yet again, the pesky issue of balance remains. I absolutely need to allow myself the time and mental energy to do my job the best that I can; after all, I view teaching at CAJ as my calling! That said, unlike several years ago, I must balance this with the very real need for church involvement, friendship (one very special relationship in particular), and time with God.
This coming school-year will be something completely new, different from any I've had yet. I ask for prayers for wisdom, for energy and for balance. I'm excited; happier than I've ever been in my entire life, actually. At the same time, I have an unprecedented amount of stuff going on simultaneously in several different sides of my life, and caring for all sides will be no small task. Becoming a whole and healthy person is challenging, but I figure God's grace and strength are sufficient to build me into that person!
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
5 Years Ago
In August 2008, I packed my bags and made the long drive to Iowa one final time. I was 22 years old, and about to begin my student-teaching practicum. To say that I was nervous would be an understatement. This excerpt from a post I wrote at that time reveals some of my anxiety:
The wind blew gently, cool and refreshing. I put down my sandwich and took a minute to appreciate my surroundings, my eyes following Skyline Divide to the horizon and then carefully studying the mountaintops ahead. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. On Wednesday, I would pack up my Ford Taurus and leave for Iowa. It would be hard to leave behind this beauty again.
In that instant, the fears and uncertainties of graduation day returned in full force. Was I really supposed to go back? What if I got in front of the classroom and realized that I wasn't supposed to be a teacher? How would I survive the semester? Just what was I supposed to do with my life?
As long as I could remember, I had believed that God had a plan for me, but somehow, in that moment I found trusting harder than ever.
The others finished eating and we began to walk away from the hilltop, and into the woods; away from summer and into the unknown.
The wind blew gently, cool and refreshing. I put down my sandwich and took a minute to appreciate my surroundings, my eyes following Skyline Divide to the horizon and then carefully studying the mountaintops ahead. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. On Wednesday, I would pack up my Ford Taurus and leave for Iowa. It would be hard to leave behind this beauty again.
In that instant, the fears and uncertainties of graduation day returned in full force. Was I really supposed to go back? What if I got in front of the classroom and realized that I wasn't supposed to be a teacher? How would I survive the semester? Just what was I supposed to do with my life?
As long as I could remember, I had believed that God had a plan for me, but somehow, in that moment I found trusting harder than ever.
The others finished eating and we began to walk away from the hilltop, and into the woods; away from summer and into the unknown.
I worried that I'd find I wasn't meant to be a teacher, and that all of my education classes would have been a waste. However, more than that, I worried about what lay beyond student teaching. Even if my experience in the classroom went well, what would I do after that? The name of a Facebook photo album I created that month was "The tip of the question mark". Everything seemed so uncertain.
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| Teaching 11th Grade U.S. History in Sept. 2008 |
What I realize now is that the future is never completely certain. Putting down roots and having financial security does make a difference, but ultimately, the future is unpredictable. My 22-year-old self came to grips with his own doubts and difficulty in trusting God at such an uncertain time. My 27-year-old self recognizes God's hand very clearly guiding me and caring for me over the course of those 5 intervening years. I would do well not to forget this when I face trials and uncertainties in the future.
My 22-year-old self had no idea that he would enjoy his student teaching experience (well, half of it, anyway). My 22-year-old self had no idea that he would move to Japan less than 5 months later. My 22-year-old self had no idea that in 5 years, he'd be starting his 5th full year of teaching at the same school, that he'd be engaged to a wonderful, Godly woman, or that he'd dedicate much of his free time to learning Japanese.
The future is uncertain, but God is good; God is faithful. What's more, God knows our future and His plans are better than ours. I do not know what the next 5 years will bring, but I am resolved to place my trust and faith in God, who has never abandoned me, and never failed me!
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| I haven't had a beard like that since then... |
Monday, July 1, 2013
Summer 2008, revisited
The summer of '08 was my summer of '64: my last "full" summer at home, nearly four months of time spent with friends and family, working a miserable summer job and enjoying the last vestiges of childhood while trying not to think about the uncertainty of the looming, post-college future. I wrote extensively about that summer here.
Now, five years later, I look back. There's a little nostalgia involved, to be sure, but the overwhelming feeling is that of the runner beyond the finish line, looking back at the course he's just run. I know my race is still in progress, but I don't think I'd ever willingly return to the part of the course I was at in 2008.
I do, however, want to add another section to my epic Summer 2008 write-up. With five years' distance, one aspect in particular has taken on a more significant meaning to me. Here is my long-overdue chapter on working the night-shift at Haggen:
LOVERS IN JAPAN
After being silence-treatment-ed out of my job at Youngstock's, I went back to the drawing board: asking for job applications from various work-places, filling out said applications, bringing them back to aforementioned work-places, and...
...waiting.
After about a week of keeping my cell-phone on my person at all times, the call came: Haggen was inviting me in for an interview. Now, I want to make it clear up front that I love Haggen. It is the nicest grocery store chain in the Pacific Northwest, and in my humble opinion, the entire U.S. They are dedicated to their customers, dedicated to quality, and were kind enough to employ me for two summers while I was in college. I am forever indebted to them, to that extent.
But the job I was interviewing for (by my own volition, mind you) was the night-shift. The hours, 11 (or thereabouts) till 7. The job, throwing, and blocking/facing shelves.
Now, for those of who have never had the privilege of working in a grocery store, a quick lesson on the jargon:
"Throwing shelves" is aisle-speak for taking the palettes full of boxes (of cereal, of spaghetti sauce, of toilet paper, you name it) that have been dropped off in the loading bay by the store's suppliers, carting the palettes into the aisles, opening the boxes and putting the contents onto the shelves in their proper spots.
"Blocking/Facing" refers to the process of making sure the products look good on the shelves. There's a protocol to this--for the "Blocking" portion: All items, be they jars of baby-food, cans of tomato soup, boxes of kleenex, or what have you, must be stacked as high as they can be in the shelf-space provided, but they must also be stacked at least two deep (hence, "blocking"). This means, if a product is running low, to consolidate into fewer and perhaps shorter stacks, to keep them two-deep. "Facing" gets its name from the process of adjusting cans and bottles so that the front of the label is facing out. With pet food, I should note, it is possible to stack the cans with the front of the label facing out and still have done it the wrong way. The trick with cans of pet food... you may want to get something to write with and write on, by the way, because this is GOLD... is to adjust the cans at precisely the right angle so that it looks like the cat or dog in the picture on the label is smiling at you as you approach the cans. I am not sure why, but the angle matters and it WORKS! Well, it makes the cat look like she's smiling, anyway... I'm not positive it actually moves more pet-food than if we'd stacked the cans backwards, but... you get the idea.
That's the end of the quick lesson on grocery store-specific terminology. Now, back to my story: that was the job I was applying for. I thought the night-shift sounded as though it could be fun--after all, in the mind of a college student, what could be more fun than staying up all night?
Well, I got the job, probably due to the following reasons: a) I was willingly and enthusiastically applying for it, and... no, that's it. I'm sure.
At the beginning of June, I'd bought Viva La Vida Or Death and All His Friends, Coldplay's latest album. It seemed to me to be the perfect soundtrack to my life at the time on both a large and small scale. I listened to the album every night as I drove to work, and would nearly finish the album on the drive home in the morning. There was something about climbing into my car in the dark of night, and turning out of the driveway onto an otherwise-empty country road while listening to the eerie "Cemeteries of London" that was perfect, in a moody and angst-y way.
Since the roads were always clear at this time of night, the only variables in getting to work were the 4 stoplights I would encounter along the way. Because of this consistency, I would be singing along with the exact same song every night as I parked my car at the store. That song was "Lovers in Japan". The upbeat tempo and melody (not to mention, the call to "soldier on") helped to mentally prepare me for a night of throwing and facing shelves. More than that, though, the song held a certain exotic appeal, calling out to a small part of me that was quietly longing for adventure. My good friends, the Vander Haaks, lived in Tokyo and I loved listening to their stories about life in Japan.
"Tonight, maybe we're gonna run,
dreaming of the Osaka sun;
dreaming of when the morning comes."
At this point, I'd turn off the ignition and get out of my car... dreaming of the coming of the morning, for sure, but also dreaming of the allure of a faraway place, an adventure not-yet embarked upon... dreaming of the Osaka sun.
My co-workers were a colorful bunch. I was the youngest among them by 10 years, easily, and was the only one for whom this would be a temporary summer-time gig. I also found out that I had replaced another young guy named "Philip" (I've changed the names for the sake of privacy), who was, apparently, "a tool". I heard many stories about Philip as the summer progressed, and each story was worse than the one before. My personal belief is that Philip was probably not as bad as they said, but that the more they complained about Philip, the more everything he'd done bothered them in hindsight, and the more they exaggerated about him.
The leader of the pack was a man called "Spaniard". It occurs to me now that I never learned his real name, so I couldn't spoil his privacy even if I wanted to. He introduced himself as "Spaniard", The other guys all called him "Spaniard", so that's what I called him, too. I do not think he was Spanish, so I can only assume that years before, there must have been some inside joke that lead to the nick-name, and that the passage of time, coupled with the warped reality of the night-shift, had made that nick-name into an un-ironic title. By the time we met, it had, for all intents and purposes, become his name.
Spaniard loved softball. I'm not sure if the league was broader than local grocery stores, but it's more fun for me to remember it that way. Anyway, Spaniard had recruited most of his co-workers onto the Haggen team, and they played several times each week. Apparently, one time, he'd invited Philip, too.
"Philip said he had, like, an amazing arm, so I said yeah, man, definitely... come play sometime. When he got onto the field, his arm was DECENT. Decent, not amazing."
"Typical. That little punk", snorted Doug, the oldest of my co-workers. Doug was pushing 50, had an unkempt mustache and the state of his Haggen polo gave me the impression that he'd never learned to work a washing machine. Doug had two conversational modes: Complaining (about his ex-wife, his second ex-wife, his current wife, and his current step-daughter), and talking about his favorite websites (none of which I would feel comfortable listing here, or anywhere).
Jason was the youngest of my co-workers. He was in his early 30s. He was often late to work, and so in the 10-20 minutes between the beginning of our shift and the time he'd clock in, his co-workers (who also seemed to be his pre-eminent social circle), would cram an entire night's worth of bad-mouthing and back-stabbing in. It made me shudder to think what they said about me while I was not present. Then again, I rarely spoke aside from asking questions about the job--mostly I nodded, smiled, listened, and kept a low profile, so I'm fairly sure I didn't provide them with much ammo. I learned that Jason was in a perpetual state of drunkenness--not only from what my co-workers said, but also from the 3 or 4 times that Jason steered the palette cart into the wine display, knocking over a tower of reds and adding a half-hour of clean-up to our shift each time.
One night, 2 hours had passed and Jason had still not arrived. His friends called his cell phone and called his house, but to no avail. So, during our lunch break (which we could take at any point between 1 and 3 in the morning), Spaniard drove to Jason's house and found him passed out under a pile of cans. At least, that's how Spaniard described it when he came back to the store with a very pale, staggering Jason.
Softball, drinking, work, sleep; softball, drinking, work, sleep; this was the life that I heard about each night. It was the reality I had a window into as I listened to my co-workers talk about the previous evening's big game during our break-time. It was not a summer job for these guys--it was their bread and butter; their way of making ends meet.
I still wonder about those guys sometimes.
However, more colorful than my colleagues were the shoppers who would come into the store in the wee hours of the morning. Some cases were sad, like the parents who brought their adult downs-syndrome son to the store at midnight and were constantly snapping at him for getting excited about what he saw on the shelf.
Some cases were bizarre, like the young couple who were pushing a wide-awake toddler in a stroller through the baby food aisle at 2 am.
Then, of course, there were the countless shoppers who wore dark sweatshirts with their hoods up, as though by having that cover, they might miraculously become invisible to the world around them. The eyes that would stare unseeing from under those hoods still give me chills as I remember them.
Most strange, perhaps was the time a couple who were about my age approached me at 4 in the morning, asking what aisle our shot glasses were on.
"Shot glasses are seasonal, only sold just before New Year's", I explained.
My reply was followed by several beats of uncomfortable silence as the couple looked at each other, at me, and at the shelf where we were standing. Then their eyes locked onto the Dixie Cups.
"F*** it, we'll take these", the girl said, grabbing two 20-packs of our largest Dixie Cups.
However, the customers were few and far-between, and what I remember most about my job were the long hours of solitary blocking and facing. Throwing the shelves was a team endeavor, and it would take maybe two hours. The rest of the shift was spent organizing the products on the shelves alone. Under the principle of divide-and-conquer, each of us had a part of the store we were responsible for blocking and facing. For me, it was baby foods, pet foods, household cleaners, soaps and detergents. As I worked my way from shelf to shelf, aisle to aisle, I tried desperately not to think about how quickly the fruit of my hours of tedious labor would be crushed by the onslaught of morning shoppers who simply grabbed stuff off the shelves and tossed it into their carts without noticing the impeccable blocking and facing. I might as well have tried to stop the tide from coming in.
The solitude and tedium gave me ample opportunity to reflect on my life--where I'd come from and where I was going.
Where was I going? Of course, I didn't know where I'd go after I finished my student teaching in December, and the not knowing terrified me. I did know one thing: I did not want this to be my life. I did not want to live in the cycle of working all night and sleeping all day, squinting up at the sun like a newborn foal every time I would make the trek from the entrance of the store to my car at the end of my shift. I knew I wanted something more.
"Dreaming of the Osaka sun;
dreaming of when the morning comes."
Each morning, usually by 6:00 (our shifts were dependent on finishing our duties for the night and not actually staying for a rigid 8 hours), I would walk across the parking lot to my car. The sky was often pink with the dawn by this time, and the air carried that unmistakeable feeling of dew and dampness that a summer morning brings. I'd turn on my car, and re-start the track I'd been listening to before. As I'd drive away from Haggen, I'd sing "Lovers in Japan" from the start one more time. I knew I'd pull into my own driveway just as the song "Viva La Vida" ended. I knew I'd sleep till 3 in the afternoon. I knew I'd repeat the process again the next night. I knew it wouldn't last forever. I didn't know what would come next, and I couldn't have imagined that I was on the brink of my greatest adventure yet. I couldn't have dreamed that in half a year, I'd be nearer the Osaka sun than ever before.
All of this came to me in full force tonight, listening to Viva La Vida for the first time in a long time, as I walked along the river in Higashi Kurume, Tokyo.
Japan.
Now, five years later, I look back. There's a little nostalgia involved, to be sure, but the overwhelming feeling is that of the runner beyond the finish line, looking back at the course he's just run. I know my race is still in progress, but I don't think I'd ever willingly return to the part of the course I was at in 2008.
I do, however, want to add another section to my epic Summer 2008 write-up. With five years' distance, one aspect in particular has taken on a more significant meaning to me. Here is my long-overdue chapter on working the night-shift at Haggen:
LOVERS IN JAPAN
After being silence-treatment-ed out of my job at Youngstock's, I went back to the drawing board: asking for job applications from various work-places, filling out said applications, bringing them back to aforementioned work-places, and...
...waiting.
After about a week of keeping my cell-phone on my person at all times, the call came: Haggen was inviting me in for an interview. Now, I want to make it clear up front that I love Haggen. It is the nicest grocery store chain in the Pacific Northwest, and in my humble opinion, the entire U.S. They are dedicated to their customers, dedicated to quality, and were kind enough to employ me for two summers while I was in college. I am forever indebted to them, to that extent.
But the job I was interviewing for (by my own volition, mind you) was the night-shift. The hours, 11 (or thereabouts) till 7. The job, throwing, and blocking/facing shelves.
Now, for those of who have never had the privilege of working in a grocery store, a quick lesson on the jargon:
"Throwing shelves" is aisle-speak for taking the palettes full of boxes (of cereal, of spaghetti sauce, of toilet paper, you name it) that have been dropped off in the loading bay by the store's suppliers, carting the palettes into the aisles, opening the boxes and putting the contents onto the shelves in their proper spots.
"Blocking/Facing" refers to the process of making sure the products look good on the shelves. There's a protocol to this--for the "Blocking" portion: All items, be they jars of baby-food, cans of tomato soup, boxes of kleenex, or what have you, must be stacked as high as they can be in the shelf-space provided, but they must also be stacked at least two deep (hence, "blocking"). This means, if a product is running low, to consolidate into fewer and perhaps shorter stacks, to keep them two-deep. "Facing" gets its name from the process of adjusting cans and bottles so that the front of the label is facing out. With pet food, I should note, it is possible to stack the cans with the front of the label facing out and still have done it the wrong way. The trick with cans of pet food... you may want to get something to write with and write on, by the way, because this is GOLD... is to adjust the cans at precisely the right angle so that it looks like the cat or dog in the picture on the label is smiling at you as you approach the cans. I am not sure why, but the angle matters and it WORKS! Well, it makes the cat look like she's smiling, anyway... I'm not positive it actually moves more pet-food than if we'd stacked the cans backwards, but... you get the idea.
That's the end of the quick lesson on grocery store-specific terminology. Now, back to my story: that was the job I was applying for. I thought the night-shift sounded as though it could be fun--after all, in the mind of a college student, what could be more fun than staying up all night?
Well, I got the job, probably due to the following reasons: a) I was willingly and enthusiastically applying for it, and... no, that's it. I'm sure.
At the beginning of June, I'd bought Viva La Vida Or Death and All His Friends, Coldplay's latest album. It seemed to me to be the perfect soundtrack to my life at the time on both a large and small scale. I listened to the album every night as I drove to work, and would nearly finish the album on the drive home in the morning. There was something about climbing into my car in the dark of night, and turning out of the driveway onto an otherwise-empty country road while listening to the eerie "Cemeteries of London" that was perfect, in a moody and angst-y way.
Since the roads were always clear at this time of night, the only variables in getting to work were the 4 stoplights I would encounter along the way. Because of this consistency, I would be singing along with the exact same song every night as I parked my car at the store. That song was "Lovers in Japan". The upbeat tempo and melody (not to mention, the call to "soldier on") helped to mentally prepare me for a night of throwing and facing shelves. More than that, though, the song held a certain exotic appeal, calling out to a small part of me that was quietly longing for adventure. My good friends, the Vander Haaks, lived in Tokyo and I loved listening to their stories about life in Japan.
"Tonight, maybe we're gonna run,
dreaming of the Osaka sun;
dreaming of when the morning comes."
At this point, I'd turn off the ignition and get out of my car... dreaming of the coming of the morning, for sure, but also dreaming of the allure of a faraway place, an adventure not-yet embarked upon... dreaming of the Osaka sun.
My co-workers were a colorful bunch. I was the youngest among them by 10 years, easily, and was the only one for whom this would be a temporary summer-time gig. I also found out that I had replaced another young guy named "Philip" (I've changed the names for the sake of privacy), who was, apparently, "a tool". I heard many stories about Philip as the summer progressed, and each story was worse than the one before. My personal belief is that Philip was probably not as bad as they said, but that the more they complained about Philip, the more everything he'd done bothered them in hindsight, and the more they exaggerated about him.
The leader of the pack was a man called "Spaniard". It occurs to me now that I never learned his real name, so I couldn't spoil his privacy even if I wanted to. He introduced himself as "Spaniard", The other guys all called him "Spaniard", so that's what I called him, too. I do not think he was Spanish, so I can only assume that years before, there must have been some inside joke that lead to the nick-name, and that the passage of time, coupled with the warped reality of the night-shift, had made that nick-name into an un-ironic title. By the time we met, it had, for all intents and purposes, become his name.
Spaniard loved softball. I'm not sure if the league was broader than local grocery stores, but it's more fun for me to remember it that way. Anyway, Spaniard had recruited most of his co-workers onto the Haggen team, and they played several times each week. Apparently, one time, he'd invited Philip, too.
"Philip said he had, like, an amazing arm, so I said yeah, man, definitely... come play sometime. When he got onto the field, his arm was DECENT. Decent, not amazing."
"Typical. That little punk", snorted Doug, the oldest of my co-workers. Doug was pushing 50, had an unkempt mustache and the state of his Haggen polo gave me the impression that he'd never learned to work a washing machine. Doug had two conversational modes: Complaining (about his ex-wife, his second ex-wife, his current wife, and his current step-daughter), and talking about his favorite websites (none of which I would feel comfortable listing here, or anywhere).
Jason was the youngest of my co-workers. He was in his early 30s. He was often late to work, and so in the 10-20 minutes between the beginning of our shift and the time he'd clock in, his co-workers (who also seemed to be his pre-eminent social circle), would cram an entire night's worth of bad-mouthing and back-stabbing in. It made me shudder to think what they said about me while I was not present. Then again, I rarely spoke aside from asking questions about the job--mostly I nodded, smiled, listened, and kept a low profile, so I'm fairly sure I didn't provide them with much ammo. I learned that Jason was in a perpetual state of drunkenness--not only from what my co-workers said, but also from the 3 or 4 times that Jason steered the palette cart into the wine display, knocking over a tower of reds and adding a half-hour of clean-up to our shift each time.
One night, 2 hours had passed and Jason had still not arrived. His friends called his cell phone and called his house, but to no avail. So, during our lunch break (which we could take at any point between 1 and 3 in the morning), Spaniard drove to Jason's house and found him passed out under a pile of cans. At least, that's how Spaniard described it when he came back to the store with a very pale, staggering Jason.
Softball, drinking, work, sleep; softball, drinking, work, sleep; this was the life that I heard about each night. It was the reality I had a window into as I listened to my co-workers talk about the previous evening's big game during our break-time. It was not a summer job for these guys--it was their bread and butter; their way of making ends meet.
I still wonder about those guys sometimes.
However, more colorful than my colleagues were the shoppers who would come into the store in the wee hours of the morning. Some cases were sad, like the parents who brought their adult downs-syndrome son to the store at midnight and were constantly snapping at him for getting excited about what he saw on the shelf.
Some cases were bizarre, like the young couple who were pushing a wide-awake toddler in a stroller through the baby food aisle at 2 am.
Then, of course, there were the countless shoppers who wore dark sweatshirts with their hoods up, as though by having that cover, they might miraculously become invisible to the world around them. The eyes that would stare unseeing from under those hoods still give me chills as I remember them.
Most strange, perhaps was the time a couple who were about my age approached me at 4 in the morning, asking what aisle our shot glasses were on.
"Shot glasses are seasonal, only sold just before New Year's", I explained.
My reply was followed by several beats of uncomfortable silence as the couple looked at each other, at me, and at the shelf where we were standing. Then their eyes locked onto the Dixie Cups.
"F*** it, we'll take these", the girl said, grabbing two 20-packs of our largest Dixie Cups.
However, the customers were few and far-between, and what I remember most about my job were the long hours of solitary blocking and facing. Throwing the shelves was a team endeavor, and it would take maybe two hours. The rest of the shift was spent organizing the products on the shelves alone. Under the principle of divide-and-conquer, each of us had a part of the store we were responsible for blocking and facing. For me, it was baby foods, pet foods, household cleaners, soaps and detergents. As I worked my way from shelf to shelf, aisle to aisle, I tried desperately not to think about how quickly the fruit of my hours of tedious labor would be crushed by the onslaught of morning shoppers who simply grabbed stuff off the shelves and tossed it into their carts without noticing the impeccable blocking and facing. I might as well have tried to stop the tide from coming in.
The solitude and tedium gave me ample opportunity to reflect on my life--where I'd come from and where I was going.
Where was I going? Of course, I didn't know where I'd go after I finished my student teaching in December, and the not knowing terrified me. I did know one thing: I did not want this to be my life. I did not want to live in the cycle of working all night and sleeping all day, squinting up at the sun like a newborn foal every time I would make the trek from the entrance of the store to my car at the end of my shift. I knew I wanted something more.
"Dreaming of the Osaka sun;
dreaming of when the morning comes."
Each morning, usually by 6:00 (our shifts were dependent on finishing our duties for the night and not actually staying for a rigid 8 hours), I would walk across the parking lot to my car. The sky was often pink with the dawn by this time, and the air carried that unmistakeable feeling of dew and dampness that a summer morning brings. I'd turn on my car, and re-start the track I'd been listening to before. As I'd drive away from Haggen, I'd sing "Lovers in Japan" from the start one more time. I knew I'd pull into my own driveway just as the song "Viva La Vida" ended. I knew I'd sleep till 3 in the afternoon. I knew I'd repeat the process again the next night. I knew it wouldn't last forever. I didn't know what would come next, and I couldn't have imagined that I was on the brink of my greatest adventure yet. I couldn't have dreamed that in half a year, I'd be nearer the Osaka sun than ever before.
All of this came to me in full force tonight, listening to Viva La Vida for the first time in a long time, as I walked along the river in Higashi Kurume, Tokyo.
Japan.
Tuesday, June 4, 2013
Farewell, Class of 2013
Though I started at CAJ during the 2008-2009 school-year, I was more a fly on the wall than anything else for those first few months: working with some students one-on-one, but mostly just observing the community around me.
It wasn't until August of 2009 that I set foot into my very own classroom, which, if we're being completely honest, is absolutely nothing like student teaching (about 10 times more terrifying).
That first year, I taught Bible to every high-schooler, but Bible classes at CAJ meet every other day, and each section of students rotates between two Bible teachers, so I found developing rapport and relationship with those students to be challenging.
However, I also taught one section of 9th graders--16 students--for both World History and Freshmen English. Education classes and common wisdom tell us that the first year of teaching is brutally difficult, but honestly, it's an experience every teacher must go through; a crucible in which a new teacher learns more about themselves, and more about how to teach than they learned in several years of theory classes. (Note: this is not to say the theory classes are worthless. On the contrary, they are quite helpful, but that helpfulness is not truly activated until after spending time in the classroom and developing through trial and lots of error some kind of reference point for all the theories and pedagogy picked up in college classes).
Over the course of an entire school-year, I got to know these 16 students very well, spending almost two hours with them each day, 5 days a week.
Today, I get along well with many of these students. At the time, however, things were not quite so comfortable. As a first-year teacher, I was quick to be defensive and offended, easy to anger, quick to respond impatiently. Here is a blog-post that I wrote on Thursday, Feb. 25, 2010, describing a typical day in Freshmen Humanities:
12:15-12:18--Tardy bell for 5th period rings. No students tardy! I set up the computer and projector that I checked out from the library for today's presentations.
12:18-12:25--I introduce the presentations for the day with a brief overview of French, British and Dutch colonization.
12:18-12:35--Technological difficulties. The computer is working fine, but the projector is only displaying the background of the desktop; nothing else. Since it seems to be a problem with the projector and not the computer, I end up packing up the projector, taking it back to the library, and checking out a different one.
12:35-12:40--Same exact problem.
12:40: Eureka! I discover that the projector is actually showing an adjacent computer screen, and I can actually drag the Keynote presentation from the computer screen to the projector screen.
12:41--Turns out the projector screen only shows the presenter notes when we hit "play show".
12:44--I discover that the "mirror screen" option is off in system preferences, and turn that back on, which enables the presentation to play on both the computer screen AND the projector screen. Huzzah!
12:46-12:51--Student presentation on the Jamestown colony. Very good!
12:51-12:55--I follow up on the presentation and re-emphasize the main challenges that the Jamestown settlement faced.
12:55-12:59--I introduce the next presentation on piracy by talking about the settling of the Caribbean and competing interests between the French, English and Dutch.
1:00-1:04--First half of student presentation on The REAL Pirates of the Caribbean.
1:04--Lunch bell rings.
1:04-1:10--I pack up computer, projector and speakers, and move them one room over (we change rooms between 5th and 6th). I then unpack and re-set up the works.
1:49--tardy bell rings for 6th period. A string of 8 students file in right after the bell (unfortunately my Internet is down, so I can't mark them tardy).
1:50-1:53--Projector computer is being finnicky. Takes a few minutes for student to get back into his account and open the presentation he'd started before lunch.
1:53-1:57--Student finishes presentation on piracy. Great job!
1:57-2:01--Questions from classmates about piracy.
2:01-2:08--I introduce the next presentation on the 7 years' war
2:09-2:20--Student repeatedly tries to log onto his account. After about 10 tries, it starts to load. SLOWLY. Eventually it brings him to his desktop, but gives him the spinning beach-ball for 5 minutes. In the meantime, I (a bit on edge and frustrated) criticize the noise levels during presentations and threaten to give tardies to anyone who talks while their classmate is presenting, and for those who already have tardies, an unexcused absence. An overreaction? Definitely, but I'm in a foul mood by this point. This leads to a heated "argument" between myself and the class over whether those 8 students were actually tardy. Everyone is on edge and unhappy. This sucks. The beach-ball is still spinning. I think the only thing we'd agree on right now is how much we hate technology.
2:20--I realize that my laptop is still unable to get onto the Internet, and that the technological difficulties must be related to the network. Stupid school network.
2:21--I shift gears quickly, pushing the scheduled presentations back a day and asking the final Romeo and Juliet group to perform their scene (they were supposed to go on Tuesday, but were missing group members).
2:25--Since it is a warm, sunny day, we all move outside in front of the auditorium.
2:28-2:37--The group gives a very good performance. The rest of the class watches intently and cheers during Tybalt and Romeo's epic sword fight.
2:38--The bell rings and everyone departs for their 7th period class, significantly happier.
Every day is an adventure with the freshmen. Not always easy. Not always fun. Sometimes it's really frustrating both for me and for them. But we're learning together. The good times more than make up for the bad. I'll miss this group next year, despite all the struggles we've had. I hope they'll miss me too!
Today, I watched several of these students, now Seniors, present their Senior Comprehensives--the culmination of a year-long intensive research project, examining a world issue of their choice, analyzing causes and effects, and formulating a Biblically-based solution. It was remarkable to see how far they have come; how much they have grown as students; as people; as citizens of the world, ready to embark from this place. I am proud of them. I can't help but wonder--over those same four years, how have I grown... as a teacher; as a person; as a citizen of the world?
I wish this class all the best. Ours has been a complicated and sometimes tense relationship, but we helped each other learn and helped each other become who we are today. I am incredibly grateful, and will miss the class of '13 tremendously.
It wasn't until August of 2009 that I set foot into my very own classroom, which, if we're being completely honest, is absolutely nothing like student teaching (about 10 times more terrifying).
That first year, I taught Bible to every high-schooler, but Bible classes at CAJ meet every other day, and each section of students rotates between two Bible teachers, so I found developing rapport and relationship with those students to be challenging.
However, I also taught one section of 9th graders--16 students--for both World History and Freshmen English. Education classes and common wisdom tell us that the first year of teaching is brutally difficult, but honestly, it's an experience every teacher must go through; a crucible in which a new teacher learns more about themselves, and more about how to teach than they learned in several years of theory classes. (Note: this is not to say the theory classes are worthless. On the contrary, they are quite helpful, but that helpfulness is not truly activated until after spending time in the classroom and developing through trial and lots of error some kind of reference point for all the theories and pedagogy picked up in college classes).
Over the course of an entire school-year, I got to know these 16 students very well, spending almost two hours with them each day, 5 days a week.
Today, I get along well with many of these students. At the time, however, things were not quite so comfortable. As a first-year teacher, I was quick to be defensive and offended, easy to anger, quick to respond impatiently. Here is a blog-post that I wrote on Thursday, Feb. 25, 2010, describing a typical day in Freshmen Humanities:
12:15-12:18--Tardy bell for 5th period rings. No students tardy! I set up the computer and projector that I checked out from the library for today's presentations.
12:18-12:25--I introduce the presentations for the day with a brief overview of French, British and Dutch colonization.
12:18-12:35--Technological difficulties. The computer is working fine, but the projector is only displaying the background of the desktop; nothing else. Since it seems to be a problem with the projector and not the computer, I end up packing up the projector, taking it back to the library, and checking out a different one.
12:35-12:40--Same exact problem.
12:40: Eureka! I discover that the projector is actually showing an adjacent computer screen, and I can actually drag the Keynote presentation from the computer screen to the projector screen.
12:41--Turns out the projector screen only shows the presenter notes when we hit "play show".
12:44--I discover that the "mirror screen" option is off in system preferences, and turn that back on, which enables the presentation to play on both the computer screen AND the projector screen. Huzzah!
12:46-12:51--Student presentation on the Jamestown colony. Very good!
12:51-12:55--I follow up on the presentation and re-emphasize the main challenges that the Jamestown settlement faced.
12:55-12:59--I introduce the next presentation on piracy by talking about the settling of the Caribbean and competing interests between the French, English and Dutch.
1:00-1:04--First half of student presentation on The REAL Pirates of the Caribbean.
1:04--Lunch bell rings.
1:04-1:10--I pack up computer, projector and speakers, and move them one room over (we change rooms between 5th and 6th). I then unpack and re-set up the works.
1:49--tardy bell rings for 6th period. A string of 8 students file in right after the bell (unfortunately my Internet is down, so I can't mark them tardy).
1:50-1:53--Projector computer is being finnicky. Takes a few minutes for student to get back into his account and open the presentation he'd started before lunch.
1:53-1:57--Student finishes presentation on piracy. Great job!
1:57-2:01--Questions from classmates about piracy.
2:01-2:08--I introduce the next presentation on the 7 years' war
2:09-2:20--Student repeatedly tries to log onto his account. After about 10 tries, it starts to load. SLOWLY. Eventually it brings him to his desktop, but gives him the spinning beach-ball for 5 minutes. In the meantime, I (a bit on edge and frustrated) criticize the noise levels during presentations and threaten to give tardies to anyone who talks while their classmate is presenting, and for those who already have tardies, an unexcused absence. An overreaction? Definitely, but I'm in a foul mood by this point. This leads to a heated "argument" between myself and the class over whether those 8 students were actually tardy. Everyone is on edge and unhappy. This sucks. The beach-ball is still spinning. I think the only thing we'd agree on right now is how much we hate technology.
2:20--I realize that my laptop is still unable to get onto the Internet, and that the technological difficulties must be related to the network. Stupid school network.
2:21--I shift gears quickly, pushing the scheduled presentations back a day and asking the final Romeo and Juliet group to perform their scene (they were supposed to go on Tuesday, but were missing group members).
2:25--Since it is a warm, sunny day, we all move outside in front of the auditorium.
2:28-2:37--The group gives a very good performance. The rest of the class watches intently and cheers during Tybalt and Romeo's epic sword fight.
2:38--The bell rings and everyone departs for their 7th period class, significantly happier.
Every day is an adventure with the freshmen. Not always easy. Not always fun. Sometimes it's really frustrating both for me and for them. But we're learning together. The good times more than make up for the bad. I'll miss this group next year, despite all the struggles we've had. I hope they'll miss me too!
Today, I watched several of these students, now Seniors, present their Senior Comprehensives--the culmination of a year-long intensive research project, examining a world issue of their choice, analyzing causes and effects, and formulating a Biblically-based solution. It was remarkable to see how far they have come; how much they have grown as students; as people; as citizens of the world, ready to embark from this place. I am proud of them. I can't help but wonder--over those same four years, how have I grown... as a teacher; as a person; as a citizen of the world?
I wish this class all the best. Ours has been a complicated and sometimes tense relationship, but we helped each other learn and helped each other become who we are today. I am incredibly grateful, and will miss the class of '13 tremendously.
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