“Faith without doubt is fanaticism.”
I signed up for the Georgetown Lenten reflection series online, and it has been a wonderful source for my own reflections. Today’s reflection was about doubting God and questioning God, but nonetheless being loved by the God one cannot fully seem to trust.
During a year of some poignant lows and lots of questioning—about myself, my purpose, my vocation, my future, my happiness, my goals, and my faith—I have not relied on my faith nearly as much as I could have. I want to see going to church, reflecting on my faith, deepening my relationship with God as privileges and joys; now I am budgeting time and forsaking some of the things that are most important to me.
Selfishly I ask God to renew and revive my love and enthusiasm for His calling and our relationship.
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Thursday 02.14.13
2 Corinthians 12:9-10 "But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'”
I almost forgot to post, but remembered in the nick of time. Hopefully this will become a smooth habit. Today was rough, and as I so often do, I found myself thinking why me? Why am I here? Why can't I be doing something easier?
I wish that I could put others first more often. A friend of mine who is also a teacher posted on facebook about how she realized recently that so many students need more love. I think that I want my work to come from a place of love but that when I am so drained and fed up and over all of it, I lose sight of the good I could do.
I snapped at some students today when I was multitasking on overload, and then later a student made a simple but thoughtful gesture that surprised and humbled me. Grace me with your strength, Lord.
One more day until ski week.
I almost forgot to post, but remembered in the nick of time. Hopefully this will become a smooth habit. Today was rough, and as I so often do, I found myself thinking why me? Why am I here? Why can't I be doing something easier?
I wish that I could put others first more often. A friend of mine who is also a teacher posted on facebook about how she realized recently that so many students need more love. I think that I want my work to come from a place of love but that when I am so drained and fed up and over all of it, I lose sight of the good I could do.
I snapped at some students today when I was multitasking on overload, and then later a student made a simple but thoughtful gesture that surprised and humbled me. Grace me with your strength, Lord.
One more day until ski week.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Lenten Reflections
I have not blogged in far too long, mainly because my life has been a maelstrom of confusion, chaos, and darkness (ha—but really). Looking back at my past entries, I see a common thread—trying to find and pull out the beauty in my experiences. And lately, it has been quite difficult to do. Finally, finally, teaching is becoming slightly easier.
As I look through my past posts and this year, I feel like I need a time and a place to be honest with myself and God—about my needs, frustrations, and temptations. I want to use this space and this time in my life to seek God more and more consciously. I’ve lost myself at times, I think because I have not prioritized that which anchors me—my faith.
My Lenten goal is to reflect very often. Daily, in fact.
Today was a day like any other. I felt incredibly frustrated at school and prayed for patience. I went to Ash Wednesday mass and felt frustrated by us, humanity, looking around the cathedral and hearing laughter, talking, distractions, rude comments, vanity--while ironically enough realizing the depth of my own self-righteousness in the midst of my frustration. I sit here tired and drained, resenting my work. Let me, Lord, seek you even in the most negative of times, and perhaps more difficult, in the most mundane of times.
So, to conclude my first post, here is a psalm that I would like to inspire me for my Lenten journey, a time of self-reflection and growth:
"Search me, O God, and know my heart;
Try me and know my anxious thoughts;
And see if there be any hurtful way in me,
And lead me in the everlasting way."
- Psalm 139: 23-24
As I look through my past posts and this year, I feel like I need a time and a place to be honest with myself and God—about my needs, frustrations, and temptations. I want to use this space and this time in my life to seek God more and more consciously. I’ve lost myself at times, I think because I have not prioritized that which anchors me—my faith.
My Lenten goal is to reflect very often. Daily, in fact.
Today was a day like any other. I felt incredibly frustrated at school and prayed for patience. I went to Ash Wednesday mass and felt frustrated by us, humanity, looking around the cathedral and hearing laughter, talking, distractions, rude comments, vanity--while ironically enough realizing the depth of my own self-righteousness in the midst of my frustration. I sit here tired and drained, resenting my work. Let me, Lord, seek you even in the most negative of times, and perhaps more difficult, in the most mundane of times.
So, to conclude my first post, here is a psalm that I would like to inspire me for my Lenten journey, a time of self-reflection and growth:
"Search me, O God, and know my heart;
Try me and know my anxious thoughts;
And see if there be any hurtful way in me,
And lead me in the everlasting way."
- Psalm 139: 23-24
Saturday, October 6, 2012
A Quiet Saturday
Do you know that feeling when you ask yourself, “Shouldn’t I be doing something right now? Meeting someone or having an adventure or hanging out with people?” I can’t get over the sense that I am in my early twenties and live a somewhat solitary, dull life. Not quite what I had expected after moving to California—that’s for sure.
It’s weird to sit and just…be. It’s weird to want more when all you want is to enjoy the simplicity of the day and of relaxing.
I had this wonderful, rejuvenating talk with one of my best friends last night, and she helped me to see that I’m still putting a lot of pressure on myself to have life just magically be settled in here in California; I moved only two months ago, and most of that time has been spent working long days. I just need to accept that time, time, time will help me.
I wish that I could stop resisting and give in to God’s grace. Clearly blessings abound, and yet I fixate on what could be improved and changed. I want more and less and different things, constantly, always. It’s tiring and exhausting, and to be honest, more than anything I have an insatiable desire for contentment.
Wandering, wandering aimless and solitary. People that I love, far, far and away keep reigning me back in, keeping me centered, sustaining me, helping me to recognize that even though college has never been more done and closed off, its love and blessings keep pouring forth. My friends won’t give up on me, even as I waver, falter, and trip up for months on end.
Really others are the ones who keep showing me that this “new” life doesn’t have to be an ending, and even with this seemingly foolish choice to move across the country, great things await me. Selfishly, I cling to the hope that life will grow better and better, that God will grace me with the wealth of joys that have hitherto been my privilege.
So I sit here. Reflecting, wondering how best to spend my one day of “freedom” from stress—wandering around town, shopping, the beach, praying, all of the above. Who knows? Wherever I go, whatever I do, I crave the grace of peace and the joy of feeling content with who I am and what I want.
It’s weird to sit and just…be. It’s weird to want more when all you want is to enjoy the simplicity of the day and of relaxing.
I had this wonderful, rejuvenating talk with one of my best friends last night, and she helped me to see that I’m still putting a lot of pressure on myself to have life just magically be settled in here in California; I moved only two months ago, and most of that time has been spent working long days. I just need to accept that time, time, time will help me.
I wish that I could stop resisting and give in to God’s grace. Clearly blessings abound, and yet I fixate on what could be improved and changed. I want more and less and different things, constantly, always. It’s tiring and exhausting, and to be honest, more than anything I have an insatiable desire for contentment.
Wandering, wandering aimless and solitary. People that I love, far, far and away keep reigning me back in, keeping me centered, sustaining me, helping me to recognize that even though college has never been more done and closed off, its love and blessings keep pouring forth. My friends won’t give up on me, even as I waver, falter, and trip up for months on end.
Really others are the ones who keep showing me that this “new” life doesn’t have to be an ending, and even with this seemingly foolish choice to move across the country, great things await me. Selfishly, I cling to the hope that life will grow better and better, that God will grace me with the wealth of joys that have hitherto been my privilege.
So I sit here. Reflecting, wondering how best to spend my one day of “freedom” from stress—wandering around town, shopping, the beach, praying, all of the above. Who knows? Wherever I go, whatever I do, I crave the grace of peace and the joy of feeling content with who I am and what I want.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Thanksgiving Break
Every day I try to open my apartment with my classroom key. I pull staplers out of my backpack and slinkys out of my pockets. When I open google docs, I automatically open the detention submission form when I’m looking for something else. Everything I do, therefore, is a confirmation that teaching has completely taken over my life.
I used to take for granted how wonderful it was to only worry about my education—and no one else’s. The first month of teaching has been really, really, really hard, and I increasingly realize that I had no idea what it meant to be a teacher. I work longer hours, juggle more things mentally, and perform more impromptu public speaking than I had ever thought myself capable of.
My life here is so completely different than I had imagined. The school year is flying by, and yet I ask myself, how the hell am I going to make it until May? I do feel pretty isolated, and sometimes it feels like my life is simply back-and-forth—school-to-home-and-back-once-more. A sprint to Friday. A short breath in until Monday.
As a solace, I imagine Thanksgiving break, Christmas break, summer break, and life-post-TFA. Not exactly positive thinking, huh? I can’t get over the feeling that I’m in an interim period, even though I’m getting increasingly settled in every day.
I know the route to school like the back of my hand. I’ve developed a mental map of fast food and Target locations; I’ve slipped into a routine rather naturally. But I can’t deny that when I get home and slip off my watch—a new acquisition for teaching—I wish that time could stop dictating my life. I work more than I should, sleep less than I should, and carefully budget the minutes of every step of the day: will I make it to school on-time? Give students enough time to access their lockers? Enough time to complete the short writing assignment? Enough time to share with a partner, to take the exit ticket, to clean up their materials, to learn the material? I carefully budget time, endlessly, ceaselessly, so that I am ever so cognizant of the fact that I do not have enough time. Never enough.
Sometimes it feels as though the days drag on and on and on and then the weeks fly by. I keep hearing, “If you can make it to Thanksgiving, you can survive this year.” Well, I sure hope Thanksgiving will arrive quickly.
Currently I’m squeezing in doctor appointments, searching for a couch, slipping in a few last beach days before fall completely sets in, planning a unit, reorganizing seating charts, searching for vocab words, and scouting out flights home for Christmas. It feels like a maze of tasks that I am doomed to leave unfinished.
Yet, I try to reassure myself. My tummy has calmed down a bit as I head to school; my body has accustomed itself (mostly) to standing for long periods; my voice is gaining endurance; my nerves and confidence are learning to withstand the threat of teenage comments. Gradually, gradually I am becoming used to this new life of mine. How I hope that my teaching will show these steps forward and feel increasingly "right."
51 days. That’s all that stands between me and my supposed guaranteed survival as a first-year teacher.
But who’s counting the days, right?
I used to take for granted how wonderful it was to only worry about my education—and no one else’s. The first month of teaching has been really, really, really hard, and I increasingly realize that I had no idea what it meant to be a teacher. I work longer hours, juggle more things mentally, and perform more impromptu public speaking than I had ever thought myself capable of.
My life here is so completely different than I had imagined. The school year is flying by, and yet I ask myself, how the hell am I going to make it until May? I do feel pretty isolated, and sometimes it feels like my life is simply back-and-forth—school-to-home-and-back-once-more. A sprint to Friday. A short breath in until Monday.
As a solace, I imagine Thanksgiving break, Christmas break, summer break, and life-post-TFA. Not exactly positive thinking, huh? I can’t get over the feeling that I’m in an interim period, even though I’m getting increasingly settled in every day.
I know the route to school like the back of my hand. I’ve developed a mental map of fast food and Target locations; I’ve slipped into a routine rather naturally. But I can’t deny that when I get home and slip off my watch—a new acquisition for teaching—I wish that time could stop dictating my life. I work more than I should, sleep less than I should, and carefully budget the minutes of every step of the day: will I make it to school on-time? Give students enough time to access their lockers? Enough time to complete the short writing assignment? Enough time to share with a partner, to take the exit ticket, to clean up their materials, to learn the material? I carefully budget time, endlessly, ceaselessly, so that I am ever so cognizant of the fact that I do not have enough time. Never enough.
Sometimes it feels as though the days drag on and on and on and then the weeks fly by. I keep hearing, “If you can make it to Thanksgiving, you can survive this year.” Well, I sure hope Thanksgiving will arrive quickly.
Currently I’m squeezing in doctor appointments, searching for a couch, slipping in a few last beach days before fall completely sets in, planning a unit, reorganizing seating charts, searching for vocab words, and scouting out flights home for Christmas. It feels like a maze of tasks that I am doomed to leave unfinished.
Yet, I try to reassure myself. My tummy has calmed down a bit as I head to school; my body has accustomed itself (mostly) to standing for long periods; my voice is gaining endurance; my nerves and confidence are learning to withstand the threat of teenage comments. Gradually, gradually I am becoming used to this new life of mine. How I hope that my teaching will show these steps forward and feel increasingly "right."
51 days. That’s all that stands between me and my supposed guaranteed survival as a first-year teacher.
But who’s counting the days, right?
Monday, September 3, 2012
Week One, Check
I crawled up the mountain. Asking myself all the while, why are you doing this? I listened to this song, and as the sun glinted off the redwood trees and the sea breeze beckoned, my bitterness abated—slightly. Ever since I’ve been in California, traffic jams have followed me like the plague—unexplained and unwanted. It’s like you cross an invisible line and suddenly cars are moving again, and the forces of the universe have decided to finish tormenting you for awhile. I never knew how much of a leg workout driving could be until I came to California and sat in just-slightly-moving-almost-stand-still traffic for an hour.
Driving and dealing with traffic has become such a huge part of my lifestyle here. I have so much thinking time in the car, and as the traffic jam came to a conclusion in the Santa Cruz mountains, my euphoria kicked in suddenly, as it is wont to do. The drive became like a game, with fast twists and turns, my grin broadening as my stomach did tiny flips. Closer, closer, and then yes—there she was: the ocean once more.
It’s not until I see the ocean that it ever really hits me that I’m here, in California. I mean, there are moments when I’m paying exorbitant amounts for gas and find a compost bin at an eatery and hear someone say “look it!” that it all comes together. But it’s really on the beach that my new home hits me, like being knocked over, breath gone, eyes wide, soaking the impact in.
Saturday was just what I needed after a long, long, long first week at school.
_____________________________________________
I couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning, the chill of the night air pervading my room and shoving aside remnants of my wispy dreams as I checked my phone again—not quite yet. I hadn’t believed people when they said you often didn’t sleep the night before school begins as a teacher. And yet there I was, anxious, worried I would oversleep and begin the school year even more foolishly than I already anticipated.
I finally arose from bed, certainly not refreshed, nauseous, anxious, and groggy. As I rushed to school, it was impossible to ignore the long list of things that could go horribly, horribly wrong. I continued to picture that scary being, “my students,” a collective, intimidating force to be reckoned with. I opened the door to let them enter my room, shaking, flustered, feeling clammy and inadequate. A laugh almost rose up, in response to the thought of how I used to take the first day of school for granted, worrying about what I would wear rather than what I would teach.
My students didn’t do me in, though they certainly tested me again and again during my first week. It was a silent series of battles to see how far I could be pushed, how gullible and lenient I am, how much I would enforce the rules I spouted off. Again and again I stuck it out, feeling unsure of myself, braving some conjured up confidence.
My lesson planning has become a little easier, both as my confidence has lost a bit of its shakiness and my audience has gained an identity. Teaching is so….different, so much more difficult than I had ever anticipated. My mind nearly implodes under the weight of so many things to remember and do and enforce and teach. Frequently I just collapse on the ground after my last round of students rush out—exhausted and drained.
I’m learning, growing, struggling, persevering. Same old, same old. Just moving forward, relentlessly.
__________________________________________
Life here makes me question what is next, what is next, what is next? A litany of possibilities and questions and uncertainties, both about the immediate future and two years down the line. Teaching is great and horrible and one of the most rigorous challenges I have yet undergone. Perhaps it is a source of comfort now, then, to consider what lies ahead.
I never imagined that I would feel at such a loss for the perfect job for me. I find myself wondering “If not teaching, then….”
That said, California has welcomed me in and there does exist that un-confronted possibility that this may be it—the place I really settle down in, the home I’ve been searching for, the job I love, the permanent “future” that eludes me.
Things continue to fall into place—my apartment, bed, car, classroom, local grocery store, target, going out places, relationships, bills, etc. My adult identity is being built from the ground up, one payment and tedious to-do checked off a long list. Per usual, I look at the past with idealism, romanticizing it, missing it, seeking refuge in it when tired and rather defeated.
To my utmost, I am trying to enjoy the here and now. Reveling in small joys and sunny days and positive interactions with students. Life is settling down, smoothing out into a busy, busy routine.
Here I am. A college graduate, teacher, adult, Californian resident.
Driving and dealing with traffic has become such a huge part of my lifestyle here. I have so much thinking time in the car, and as the traffic jam came to a conclusion in the Santa Cruz mountains, my euphoria kicked in suddenly, as it is wont to do. The drive became like a game, with fast twists and turns, my grin broadening as my stomach did tiny flips. Closer, closer, and then yes—there she was: the ocean once more.
It’s not until I see the ocean that it ever really hits me that I’m here, in California. I mean, there are moments when I’m paying exorbitant amounts for gas and find a compost bin at an eatery and hear someone say “look it!” that it all comes together. But it’s really on the beach that my new home hits me, like being knocked over, breath gone, eyes wide, soaking the impact in.
Saturday was just what I needed after a long, long, long first week at school.
_____________________________________________
I couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning, the chill of the night air pervading my room and shoving aside remnants of my wispy dreams as I checked my phone again—not quite yet. I hadn’t believed people when they said you often didn’t sleep the night before school begins as a teacher. And yet there I was, anxious, worried I would oversleep and begin the school year even more foolishly than I already anticipated.
I finally arose from bed, certainly not refreshed, nauseous, anxious, and groggy. As I rushed to school, it was impossible to ignore the long list of things that could go horribly, horribly wrong. I continued to picture that scary being, “my students,” a collective, intimidating force to be reckoned with. I opened the door to let them enter my room, shaking, flustered, feeling clammy and inadequate. A laugh almost rose up, in response to the thought of how I used to take the first day of school for granted, worrying about what I would wear rather than what I would teach.
My students didn’t do me in, though they certainly tested me again and again during my first week. It was a silent series of battles to see how far I could be pushed, how gullible and lenient I am, how much I would enforce the rules I spouted off. Again and again I stuck it out, feeling unsure of myself, braving some conjured up confidence.
My lesson planning has become a little easier, both as my confidence has lost a bit of its shakiness and my audience has gained an identity. Teaching is so….different, so much more difficult than I had ever anticipated. My mind nearly implodes under the weight of so many things to remember and do and enforce and teach. Frequently I just collapse on the ground after my last round of students rush out—exhausted and drained.
I’m learning, growing, struggling, persevering. Same old, same old. Just moving forward, relentlessly.
__________________________________________
Life here makes me question what is next, what is next, what is next? A litany of possibilities and questions and uncertainties, both about the immediate future and two years down the line. Teaching is great and horrible and one of the most rigorous challenges I have yet undergone. Perhaps it is a source of comfort now, then, to consider what lies ahead.
I never imagined that I would feel at such a loss for the perfect job for me. I find myself wondering “If not teaching, then….”
That said, California has welcomed me in and there does exist that un-confronted possibility that this may be it—the place I really settle down in, the home I’ve been searching for, the job I love, the permanent “future” that eludes me.
Things continue to fall into place—my apartment, bed, car, classroom, local grocery store, target, going out places, relationships, bills, etc. My adult identity is being built from the ground up, one payment and tedious to-do checked off a long list. Per usual, I look at the past with idealism, romanticizing it, missing it, seeking refuge in it when tired and rather defeated.
To my utmost, I am trying to enjoy the here and now. Reveling in small joys and sunny days and positive interactions with students. Life is settling down, smoothing out into a busy, busy routine.
Here I am. A college graduate, teacher, adult, Californian resident.
Saturday, July 14, 2012
Life Here So Far
My life in California thus far has been a dream, and I have been remiss in not writing about it sooner. I cannot believe I have been here for a month already. How did that happen?!? It feels like days. Weeks. Months. Years. A few moments and forever, concurrently.
Right now I’m looking out my window, at 5:00 a.m., waiting for the sunrise and thinking about how much I’ve learned. Last night I took a nap when I got home from school and it accidentally turned into twelve hours. I needed it after a long and crazy week.
Since I began induction in Berkeley and then Summer Institute here in LA, my time has not felt like my own. I got caught up in this movement that sucks one in and saps one’s energies and possesses one’s faculties. It feels like everything I am and everything I have has been funneled into becoming a teacher this month.
I’m trying to take a few deep breaths. Step back. Think about how far I have come. Teaching is both everything I thought it would be and much more, too. I hadn’t realized how quickly a group of students could become my students, who I want to succeed more than anything. I hadn’t anticipated exactly how mentally taxing teaching would be, standing at the front of the room, thinking “Will I finish in time? That student is not paying attention. That student is not understanding a word that I am saying. What is the next part of my lesson plan? How did I forget to mention that? How much time is left now? That student is about to act out, I need to prevent it. Now I need to get back to the front of the room and wrap up this explanation. Is the AC on? Why are they looking so tired?” At the end of the day, I am mostly just mentally exhausted. I certainly haven’t been getting enough sleep, but it is the fact that I myself am experiencing such a steep learning curve while trying to get my students to do the same that has worn me out.
I’m getting better and better though. Improving every day. And it’s becoming easier to imagine my life here, after Institute finishes, when I settle into my permanent school. I’ve seen the campus, am looking for apartments, thinking about what car I want to buy. I’ve met so many wonderful people, and it is clear stress bonds people in incredible ways.
And what about California itself?, you might ask. I only spent a brief time in the Bay Area, and a few weeks here in LA. I can already tell that the Bay is a better fit for me, but to be honest, I haven’t spent nearly enough time in the city here. I’ve been to Santa Monica beach and wondered around Venice a bit, but that’s as far as I have ventured so far. Santa Monica was everything I had dreamed it would be. The surreal nature of my time here climaxed as I looked out over the ocean from the soft, warm sand. Is this real? Is this my life now?, I wondered.
The rest of my time has been spent here on campus and at my school that I teach at. California is just…much different than I anticipated. It’s colder, because I’ve been on the coast this whole time. The view from my window is of palm trees, and I can watch the sunset over the ocean every night. It looks as though the sun is setting not on the horizon but at the end of the earth. Fading into beautiful nonexistence only to rise once more. My LA is that of foggy early mornings, breathless twilights, and calm and quiet nights—a teacher’s LA, I suppose. I want to see so much more, and part of me thinks that I will need to take a weekend trip to return here later this year, when I have the time and energy to really enjoy the city.
I’ll be here for two more weeks, and that’s it. Somehow Institute is already half over. I have so, so, so much to learn and work to do yet. So many moments to enjoy with friends. I’m frustrated and burned out; I’m at peace and rejuvenated; I’m weary and careworn. I’m everything at once but mostly, I am trying to humbly hand over my life to God to do with as He pleases. I have students that I am working for now. I want to be the best teacher possible for them. I want to be excited to return to school Monday morning. I want to treat every moment with precious care, investing it in helping my students learn more and more and more. Strengthen and renew me, Lord.
There’s a great deal to come. Even I can see that.
Right now I’m looking out my window, at 5:00 a.m., waiting for the sunrise and thinking about how much I’ve learned. Last night I took a nap when I got home from school and it accidentally turned into twelve hours. I needed it after a long and crazy week.
Since I began induction in Berkeley and then Summer Institute here in LA, my time has not felt like my own. I got caught up in this movement that sucks one in and saps one’s energies and possesses one’s faculties. It feels like everything I am and everything I have has been funneled into becoming a teacher this month.
I’m trying to take a few deep breaths. Step back. Think about how far I have come. Teaching is both everything I thought it would be and much more, too. I hadn’t realized how quickly a group of students could become my students, who I want to succeed more than anything. I hadn’t anticipated exactly how mentally taxing teaching would be, standing at the front of the room, thinking “Will I finish in time? That student is not paying attention. That student is not understanding a word that I am saying. What is the next part of my lesson plan? How did I forget to mention that? How much time is left now? That student is about to act out, I need to prevent it. Now I need to get back to the front of the room and wrap up this explanation. Is the AC on? Why are they looking so tired?” At the end of the day, I am mostly just mentally exhausted. I certainly haven’t been getting enough sleep, but it is the fact that I myself am experiencing such a steep learning curve while trying to get my students to do the same that has worn me out.
I’m getting better and better though. Improving every day. And it’s becoming easier to imagine my life here, after Institute finishes, when I settle into my permanent school. I’ve seen the campus, am looking for apartments, thinking about what car I want to buy. I’ve met so many wonderful people, and it is clear stress bonds people in incredible ways.
And what about California itself?, you might ask. I only spent a brief time in the Bay Area, and a few weeks here in LA. I can already tell that the Bay is a better fit for me, but to be honest, I haven’t spent nearly enough time in the city here. I’ve been to Santa Monica beach and wondered around Venice a bit, but that’s as far as I have ventured so far. Santa Monica was everything I had dreamed it would be. The surreal nature of my time here climaxed as I looked out over the ocean from the soft, warm sand. Is this real? Is this my life now?, I wondered.
The rest of my time has been spent here on campus and at my school that I teach at. California is just…much different than I anticipated. It’s colder, because I’ve been on the coast this whole time. The view from my window is of palm trees, and I can watch the sunset over the ocean every night. It looks as though the sun is setting not on the horizon but at the end of the earth. Fading into beautiful nonexistence only to rise once more. My LA is that of foggy early mornings, breathless twilights, and calm and quiet nights—a teacher’s LA, I suppose. I want to see so much more, and part of me thinks that I will need to take a weekend trip to return here later this year, when I have the time and energy to really enjoy the city.
I’ll be here for two more weeks, and that’s it. Somehow Institute is already half over. I have so, so, so much to learn and work to do yet. So many moments to enjoy with friends. I’m frustrated and burned out; I’m at peace and rejuvenated; I’m weary and careworn. I’m everything at once but mostly, I am trying to humbly hand over my life to God to do with as He pleases. I have students that I am working for now. I want to be the best teacher possible for them. I want to be excited to return to school Monday morning. I want to treat every moment with precious care, investing it in helping my students learn more and more and more. Strengthen and renew me, Lord.
There’s a great deal to come. Even I can see that.
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