My dad told me this story--I'm not sure what school it is from, but I'm sure someone out there will recognize it. :)
A student was preparing for a speech in his public speaking class. He went to the classroom early and taped a tennis ball on a string to the top middle of the chalkboard. He then pulled the ball to one side, marked the placement, and let the ball go. Every time the ball swung back, it reached a lower height. The student took great pains to mark everything as exactly as he could and finished his other preparations before the class arrived.
When it came to be his turn for his speech, he showed the class the tennis ball markings and explained the law of inertia--that when swinging from a fixed point, an object in motion will come back at a slightly lower place than before due to the forces of gravity. ((As best as I can tell, this is accurate--science majors can correct me if they like.)) He fully demonstrated this law and then turned to the class and the professor.
"Do you believe in the law of inertia?" The class agreed. "Do you really believe that no matter how many times I repeat this experiment, even with different materials, the results will still be the same?" The class, including the professor, agreed. The student smiled. He walked over to the corner of the room and pulled a blanket away, revealing a chair seated on a table. He turned to the professor and invited the man to take a seat. Being a good sport, the professor oomplied. The student asked the professor again if he believed in the law of inertia. The professor, once again, agreed.
The student then walked a few yards away and pulled another blanket off a hidden object, revealing a bowling ball suspended by a rope. The student pulled the bowling ball to within an inch of the professor's nose and looked his professor in the eye as the class oohed, giggled, and gasped.
"Do you believe in the law of intertia?"
"Yes."
The student let go of the bowling ball. The glossy black sphere swung out at a surprising speed, reached its zenith on the other side of the room, then began to quickly return towards the professor. The professor dove off the chair and crashed to the floor just before the bowling ball came within a foot of his body. The student turned to the class and grinned. "You see, he didn't really believe in the law of intertia, did he?"
**
So many times in our lives it's easy to say we believe in things. We believe in equality for the sexes. We believe that we should follow the law. We believe in God, Allah, Yahweh, or according to some of my friends, the Flying Spaghetti Monster (I don't think their being Italian has anything to do with it, though). We claim a lot of things, but when it really comes down to a show of faith, do we perform according to our beliefs? Do we hire the female daycare worker instead of the male because she'd supposedly be more motherly and caring? Do we actually follow the 55 mph speed limit on the highway? Do we really follow the God we claim to be our own?
We're not perfect beings. We all make mistakes and fall short of glory. As a Christian, there are times that I have had opportunities to share my faith, but I've backed off even though it's what I am commanded to do. Sometimes it's because in that particular situation it would be unethical to "preach my religion," mostly because of my career as a college professor. Sometimes it's because the people I am with are obviously not receptive to having a theological discussion. Sometimes it's because I'm not prepared to answer the questions I know are hard enough to answer even with a degree in Biblical studies. Sometimes it's because I'm just plain scared--scared of being rejected, ridiculed, or failing so badly that the person will chalk me up as just another "Bible thumper" or "hypocritical Christian."
Maybe witnessing isn't just about the ABC or Roman's Road methods. Maybe what a pastor said a few days ago to me is another key to changing a person: "Share the gospel--and if necessary, use words."
Actions do speak louder than words (anyone in a relationship of any kind can testify to this...oy, vey!). If we don't live our faith, make it clear to every bowling-ball-weilding person that we do have a trust in God that defies even primal instincts, then what does that say to the person about Who we believe in? We trust God, but only in these areas? What kind of faith is that? Who would want that?
The next time that an opportunity arises for me to prove my faith, whether it's prioritizing someone over myself, actually following the speed limit, or not being afraid to say on a very liberal college campus that I am a Christian, I pray that I have the strength to follow through. Who knows--maybe someone is out there with a bowling ball, testing the waters, and willing to consider belief based on what I do.
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Showing posts with label teaching. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Don't walk--laugh it off.
I arrived at the university thirty minutes early for my class, plenty of time to snarf down a yogurt, print off my grading sheets for speeches, change shoes, and apply the bare minimum make-up for a professional look. After dumping everything onto my office table, I shoved the rubber doorstop under the corner of the door and ran down the hall to collect my printing rubrics. When I returned to my office, the doorstop was sitting quietly in the middle of the hallway, looking lost but unperturbed about it. My door was shut. My office door automatically locks. My keys were on the table.
Locking myself out of my office wasn't that huge of a deal. All I'd have to do is go to the department office and borrow the spare key. Today, however, was the day that the secretary wasn't there at 8am like she usually was. Public Safety officers could unlock the door for me, but there would be no way they'd get there in time for my morning class. I had no pen, no make-up, no stopwatch, and my purple toenails poked out of black Old Navy flip-flops. Hardly a good match to black dress slacks. I tried waiting as long as I could for the secretary, but with only five minutes left before class and a dozen nervous speakers waiting for me, I had to go. I borrowed a pen and stopwatch from another professor then went to class. I apologized profusely for my appearance--especially given that in the previous class period I had given these students a lecture on how important it was to be prepared and professional-looking. We had a laugh about it and everything was righted after class. For a few hours.
When I arrived at a high school around lunchtime to teach my class, I kept on my dressy shoes from the morning. It was a little difficult navigating the gravel lot in clunky heels, but I made it fine and began my trek around the wood-floor gym to the tiny classroom I taught in. About half-way through my walk, I noticed how incredibly shiny the floor seemed since the last time I was there...a second before my no-traction heels slipped in opposite directions in the wax and I fell. My knees bent as I did the splits, throwing most of my weight onto my left hip, knee, and twisted ankle. I have a phobia of falling. I hate it with a passion and don't even enjoy amusement park rides that "fall" much anymore. This fall only reinforced those fears--I did some damage. Thanks to God, I didn't break anything, but my knee and ankle were already swelling and my hip protested any move I made. I hobbled to my feet (still in the heels--I have a death wish, I suppose) and made my way to the classroom.
I somehow made it through class and stopped at home for an ace bandage for the ankle (I have yet to find a good way to do this for my knee/hip--if you know or have a good diagram, fill me in!). The pain wasn't really bad until a few hours later when I had driven three more times, ran two errands, and taught another two-hour class. By the time I was off to Wal-Mart to pick up food and a few necessities, the throbbing had triggered my fibromyalgia. I popped a heavy-duty painkiller on an empty stomach (a sign of how irrational I get when in pain--Heaven help me if I end up pregnant someday) and propped up my swollen leg on the table. Near the end of the night, I ended up having some hilarious girl talk with several good friends that ended up distracting me from the pain. After that, it was sore, but remembering some of the comments had me in giggles again and I didn't feel as bad.
I know it's incredibly cliche, but laughter is good medicine for both the body and the mind. I could have been angry, irritated, or embarrassed to the point of tears over being so unprepared for class. I could have been wallowing in despair and mopey grumpiness over not being able to walk or sit comfortably anymore. Instead, I was able to shake off the foreboding feelings and relax a little. The leg will mend (and it could have been my right and I would be stuck not being able to drive--there's a blessing in this fall already). I have an excuse to wear flip-flops to class for days. My students are playing nice because they know I'm hurting. Yet another instance of locking myself out will play out nicely in my humorous memoirs one day. It's all good.
So, to encourage you to laugh off something that's niggling at you, I'll close with some corny jokes told by my friends last night:
Q: Why did the chocolate-chip cookie go see the doctor?
A: He felt crumby.
Q: How do you make a tissue dance?
A: You put a little boogie in it.
Q: If you are an American going to church and an American coming home from church, what are you when you are getting ready for church?
A: Russian.
Ok, so these may be more groaners than side-splitters for you (or your seven-year-old). Sometimes, though, when you really need a laugh, the absurd works. Monty Python proves that.
Locking myself out of my office wasn't that huge of a deal. All I'd have to do is go to the department office and borrow the spare key. Today, however, was the day that the secretary wasn't there at 8am like she usually was. Public Safety officers could unlock the door for me, but there would be no way they'd get there in time for my morning class. I had no pen, no make-up, no stopwatch, and my purple toenails poked out of black Old Navy flip-flops. Hardly a good match to black dress slacks. I tried waiting as long as I could for the secretary, but with only five minutes left before class and a dozen nervous speakers waiting for me, I had to go. I borrowed a pen and stopwatch from another professor then went to class. I apologized profusely for my appearance--especially given that in the previous class period I had given these students a lecture on how important it was to be prepared and professional-looking. We had a laugh about it and everything was righted after class. For a few hours.
When I arrived at a high school around lunchtime to teach my class, I kept on my dressy shoes from the morning. It was a little difficult navigating the gravel lot in clunky heels, but I made it fine and began my trek around the wood-floor gym to the tiny classroom I taught in. About half-way through my walk, I noticed how incredibly shiny the floor seemed since the last time I was there...a second before my no-traction heels slipped in opposite directions in the wax and I fell. My knees bent as I did the splits, throwing most of my weight onto my left hip, knee, and twisted ankle. I have a phobia of falling. I hate it with a passion and don't even enjoy amusement park rides that "fall" much anymore. This fall only reinforced those fears--I did some damage. Thanks to God, I didn't break anything, but my knee and ankle were already swelling and my hip protested any move I made. I hobbled to my feet (still in the heels--I have a death wish, I suppose) and made my way to the classroom.
I somehow made it through class and stopped at home for an ace bandage for the ankle (I have yet to find a good way to do this for my knee/hip--if you know or have a good diagram, fill me in!). The pain wasn't really bad until a few hours later when I had driven three more times, ran two errands, and taught another two-hour class. By the time I was off to Wal-Mart to pick up food and a few necessities, the throbbing had triggered my fibromyalgia. I popped a heavy-duty painkiller on an empty stomach (a sign of how irrational I get when in pain--Heaven help me if I end up pregnant someday) and propped up my swollen leg on the table. Near the end of the night, I ended up having some hilarious girl talk with several good friends that ended up distracting me from the pain. After that, it was sore, but remembering some of the comments had me in giggles again and I didn't feel as bad.
I know it's incredibly cliche, but laughter is good medicine for both the body and the mind. I could have been angry, irritated, or embarrassed to the point of tears over being so unprepared for class. I could have been wallowing in despair and mopey grumpiness over not being able to walk or sit comfortably anymore. Instead, I was able to shake off the foreboding feelings and relax a little. The leg will mend (and it could have been my right and I would be stuck not being able to drive--there's a blessing in this fall already). I have an excuse to wear flip-flops to class for days. My students are playing nice because they know I'm hurting. Yet another instance of locking myself out will play out nicely in my humorous memoirs one day. It's all good.
So, to encourage you to laugh off something that's niggling at you, I'll close with some corny jokes told by my friends last night:
Q: Why did the chocolate-chip cookie go see the doctor?
A: He felt crumby.
Q: How do you make a tissue dance?
A: You put a little boogie in it.
Q: If you are an American going to church and an American coming home from church, what are you when you are getting ready for church?
A: Russian.
Ok, so these may be more groaners than side-splitters for you (or your seven-year-old). Sometimes, though, when you really need a laugh, the absurd works. Monty Python proves that.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
God's Providence...
No risk, no reward. It's the mantra of many a stockbroker (as well as "pass the Tums--my ulcers are killing me!"). It should also, in some respects, be the mantra of Christians. If we stay in our cozy little familiar worlds, we may be "safe," but we can also miss out on many great blessings. Even opportunities that seem illogical or hardly attainable can be brought to our doorsteps by a wonderful and powerful God.
On August 17th, I was told by my father about an ad he saw in the paper asking for English teachers to help with tutoring students. While I am ok with the two jobs I have now, I was intrigued. I looked the ad up online and found a second listing for a teacher, but this one hadn't been printed in the paper. It was for a adjunct communication teacher to teach public speaking courses at a local university. This university was one I had finished my undergraduate degree and also completed my master's degree at. I loved this school, missed it terribly, and while all schools have their problems, I would love to teach there. It got my attention...but there was a problem. I had a MA in English. This called for a MA in Communications. There is a lot of overlap between the two fields, but they are very different. Community colleges will let English majors teach many communication classes, but universities often are pickier. I wasn't qualified to apply.
Something made me call the provost office, though, and ask if the position was still open. The deadline for applications was August 18 (*really* late in the semester to be hiring!) and according to the secretary, she didn't think anyone had applied, but knew for sure that no one had been hired. At this news, I knew there were a few things going for me. First, I had taught several sections of public speaking at the community college I worked at, and was pretty sure both colleges used the same textbook. Second, being an alumnus, I had some connections and had a good reputation among the English faculty. Third, if they were within a week of classes starting and no one had applied, they'd be desperate enough to hire anyone. Desperate times are what get green teachers like me hired. :)
So I ran home and spent a few hours updating my CV and working on a cover letter and teaching philosophy. I had only mixed hopes about this job...and when I didn't hear anything by the weekend, I just shrugged it off. It was a very long shot anyway. I had two good jobs that together paid for my bills. God had blessed me.
Today, I get a phone call at 3:30 in the afternoon. Someone from the selection committee is calling to see if I could do a phone interview today. "I'm in town, so would being there in person be better?" He seemed pleasantly surprised at my suggestion and jumped on it, asking me to be there in an hour. I rush home, change, try to do something with my crazy hair, and get back to the university just in time for the interview. I find myself in a room with five people, all kind professors who seem really helpful and supportive. One of the professors has a wife who works at the community college with me, so it was nice to have that connection.
The interview went well, and I was surprisingly not that nervous. I explained how I taught my classes currently and they were impressed with my creativity. There were some major differences: I approach public speaking from a performance and literary perspective while they have different levels of rhetoric that they use. I admitted that I didn't know much about those other fields, but instead of being hesitant, they welcomed my questions and said they would fill in the gaps with their knowledge and resources. In other words, I'm going to get an unofficial master's in communication if I listen to them. :) I heard several repeated comments about this being an 11th hour hiring, so they would really guide me through this fall semester without huge expectations. How 11th hour? Here's the skinny: if they hire me (the decision needing to pass through several high levels of administrations first), I'll be told Wednesday afternoon. My first class meets Thursday morning. Yeah, it's really last-minute.
Am I nervous about this, especially as I have a strong feeling I'm probably going to get offered the position? Extremely. I'm hearing this little snippy voice in the back of my head saying, "You're not a communications major! This is a very high-level university! You're not going to be able to convince those kids that you know more than they do. You can't pull this off at this high of a level. You don't even have that much teaching experience! If you wash out here, what do you think your future chances of employment are going to be?" I know these are all lies, and that I can do a lot of things once I really buckle down and focus. I will learn. I'm not lying or hiding my inexperience or even some of the downsides to hiring me, but I'm not downplaying my passion for my career or my willingness to try a new challenge.
I took a risk applying for this job. I'll take a bigger one accepting it. The blessings, though, will be immense. The job turns full-time with benefits come spring semester, which means I'll have the opportunity I've wanted for years--to have one full-time job that will support me and let me have time to write, spend time with family and my church, and enjoy a budding romance that I'm beginning with a new guy. God is answering my long-time prayer in a very unexpected way, and I have faith that He would not put me in a situation I could not handle or not be successful in. This is going to be a challenge, somewhat stressful at first, but a beautiful, beautiful blessing.
If I get hired. :)
On August 17th, I was told by my father about an ad he saw in the paper asking for English teachers to help with tutoring students. While I am ok with the two jobs I have now, I was intrigued. I looked the ad up online and found a second listing for a teacher, but this one hadn't been printed in the paper. It was for a adjunct communication teacher to teach public speaking courses at a local university. This university was one I had finished my undergraduate degree and also completed my master's degree at. I loved this school, missed it terribly, and while all schools have their problems, I would love to teach there. It got my attention...but there was a problem. I had a MA in English. This called for a MA in Communications. There is a lot of overlap between the two fields, but they are very different. Community colleges will let English majors teach many communication classes, but universities often are pickier. I wasn't qualified to apply.
Something made me call the provost office, though, and ask if the position was still open. The deadline for applications was August 18 (*really* late in the semester to be hiring!) and according to the secretary, she didn't think anyone had applied, but knew for sure that no one had been hired. At this news, I knew there were a few things going for me. First, I had taught several sections of public speaking at the community college I worked at, and was pretty sure both colleges used the same textbook. Second, being an alumnus, I had some connections and had a good reputation among the English faculty. Third, if they were within a week of classes starting and no one had applied, they'd be desperate enough to hire anyone. Desperate times are what get green teachers like me hired. :)
So I ran home and spent a few hours updating my CV and working on a cover letter and teaching philosophy. I had only mixed hopes about this job...and when I didn't hear anything by the weekend, I just shrugged it off. It was a very long shot anyway. I had two good jobs that together paid for my bills. God had blessed me.
Today, I get a phone call at 3:30 in the afternoon. Someone from the selection committee is calling to see if I could do a phone interview today. "I'm in town, so would being there in person be better?" He seemed pleasantly surprised at my suggestion and jumped on it, asking me to be there in an hour. I rush home, change, try to do something with my crazy hair, and get back to the university just in time for the interview. I find myself in a room with five people, all kind professors who seem really helpful and supportive. One of the professors has a wife who works at the community college with me, so it was nice to have that connection.
The interview went well, and I was surprisingly not that nervous. I explained how I taught my classes currently and they were impressed with my creativity. There were some major differences: I approach public speaking from a performance and literary perspective while they have different levels of rhetoric that they use. I admitted that I didn't know much about those other fields, but instead of being hesitant, they welcomed my questions and said they would fill in the gaps with their knowledge and resources. In other words, I'm going to get an unofficial master's in communication if I listen to them. :) I heard several repeated comments about this being an 11th hour hiring, so they would really guide me through this fall semester without huge expectations. How 11th hour? Here's the skinny: if they hire me (the decision needing to pass through several high levels of administrations first), I'll be told Wednesday afternoon. My first class meets Thursday morning. Yeah, it's really last-minute.
Am I nervous about this, especially as I have a strong feeling I'm probably going to get offered the position? Extremely. I'm hearing this little snippy voice in the back of my head saying, "You're not a communications major! This is a very high-level university! You're not going to be able to convince those kids that you know more than they do. You can't pull this off at this high of a level. You don't even have that much teaching experience! If you wash out here, what do you think your future chances of employment are going to be?" I know these are all lies, and that I can do a lot of things once I really buckle down and focus. I will learn. I'm not lying or hiding my inexperience or even some of the downsides to hiring me, but I'm not downplaying my passion for my career or my willingness to try a new challenge.
I took a risk applying for this job. I'll take a bigger one accepting it. The blessings, though, will be immense. The job turns full-time with benefits come spring semester, which means I'll have the opportunity I've wanted for years--to have one full-time job that will support me and let me have time to write, spend time with family and my church, and enjoy a budding romance that I'm beginning with a new guy. God is answering my long-time prayer in a very unexpected way, and I have faith that He would not put me in a situation I could not handle or not be successful in. This is going to be a challenge, somewhat stressful at first, but a beautiful, beautiful blessing.
If I get hired. :)
Monday, August 9, 2010
Humble
Last Friday, I closed the Word document on my laptop and sighed. The bittersweet moment had come. I was done with the revisions to my novel. All 266 double-spaced pages of it. It was time to party and move on to my next project, but part of me was so sad to leave my work behind, to stamp it as "complete" and not work on it anymore. Then again, this baby was five months in the making (not including the two months it "sat" before I began revising). I am a good writer and editor and had taken that book apart and put it back together multiple times. It was in perfect, tip-top condition.
Then a close friend of mine, also a writer, sent me a message on Facebook. She notified me that she had started reading my book and in the first chapter she had noticed some POV problems. She sounded very apologetic about it, knowing how hard I had worked on the book and unsure of my reaction. The first thing in my mind? I wasn't happy.
My frustration was not at my friend--on the contrary, I love her even more for mentioning something. I was mad at myself. Granted, I haven't written extensively in fiction and POV isn't so much of an issue in creative non-fiction (my specialty), so it made sense that I would still have problems in this area. I still wanted to have the book perfect and ready for publishing.
What I learned is a lesson I teach over and over in my classes...and so I'm living "physician, heal thyself." When we write something, we know what it's supposed to say, the images that are being described, the attitudes and motivations of the characters. Translating that knowledge into written words so someone not in our heads (and how grateful we can be for that!) can be tricky. I tell my students all the time to have someone read their work for them and comment on the issues that the author can't or won't see by him/herself. Instead of progressing to "the next level" of revising, peer editing, I had bypassed it because, after all, I'm an English professor. Surely I wouldn't make such elementary mistakes.
I'm a fallible human--and writing teaches me that fact every day. As much as I'd like to think I could be the next Dee Henderson, I know that without good editors in my life, I'm never going to be as great as I could be. I need to be humble, admit I need help, and accept it graciously.
To be truthful, after my initial irritation with myself faded at my friend's letter, I was relieved. I instantly saw the errors and was so happy my friend had caught them. I love getting her input--and that outside perspective.
And fixing these errors gives me an excuse to hold on to my precious manuscript just a wee bit longer before I'm an empty nester looking to either have another baby novel or deal with the fact that I'm alone for the time being.
Then a close friend of mine, also a writer, sent me a message on Facebook. She notified me that she had started reading my book and in the first chapter she had noticed some POV problems. She sounded very apologetic about it, knowing how hard I had worked on the book and unsure of my reaction. The first thing in my mind? I wasn't happy.
My frustration was not at my friend--on the contrary, I love her even more for mentioning something. I was mad at myself. Granted, I haven't written extensively in fiction and POV isn't so much of an issue in creative non-fiction (my specialty), so it made sense that I would still have problems in this area. I still wanted to have the book perfect and ready for publishing.
What I learned is a lesson I teach over and over in my classes...and so I'm living "physician, heal thyself." When we write something, we know what it's supposed to say, the images that are being described, the attitudes and motivations of the characters. Translating that knowledge into written words so someone not in our heads (and how grateful we can be for that!) can be tricky. I tell my students all the time to have someone read their work for them and comment on the issues that the author can't or won't see by him/herself. Instead of progressing to "the next level" of revising, peer editing, I had bypassed it because, after all, I'm an English professor. Surely I wouldn't make such elementary mistakes.
I'm a fallible human--and writing teaches me that fact every day. As much as I'd like to think I could be the next Dee Henderson, I know that without good editors in my life, I'm never going to be as great as I could be. I need to be humble, admit I need help, and accept it graciously.
To be truthful, after my initial irritation with myself faded at my friend's letter, I was relieved. I instantly saw the errors and was so happy my friend had caught them. I love getting her input--and that outside perspective.
And fixing these errors gives me an excuse to hold on to my precious manuscript just a wee bit longer before I'm an empty nester looking to either have another baby novel or deal with the fact that I'm alone for the time being.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Timing
I had come in to the college an hour before I had to teach. After weaving my way through the empty student computer lab, I walked the couple yards to the employee work room where I usually held my office hours. I left the door open in my haste to get to work--I hadn't refreshed my memory on the story I had assigned in my American Literature course, and while I could have bumbled my way through well enough, I wanted to be well-prepared. Forty minutes passed and I was only 3/4 done with the in-depth analysis. A loud conversation drifted in through the room and my eyes stilled on the page. The students' voices were instantly familiar. One was quite loud, a girl lamenting to a guy about the email she had received a few days earlier.
"...and then she replies and says, 'Well, there are a few techniques I can show you, but it would be better if we could go over it in person.' Like that was going to help me, and now I'm completely lost and have no clue what to do."
The snippet confirmed exactly who the girl was--a student in my morning class...and she was talking about me. She had missed the previous class, and while she had claimed in the email to have been ill, I was told by one of her friends that she hadn't finished her paper and had elected not to come to class because of it (I still give the student the benefit of the doubt, but the other story rang true with the girl's personality). Had she come, she would have realized that all of her classmates were struggling and I spent the entire class period helping them revise and strengthen their papers--using techniques that worked much better for an in-person demonstration. To be honest, I could have described the methods to the girl in the e-mail, but I wanted to work with her one-on-one and encouraged her in the e-mail to make an appointment when she could for us to go over the material. She hadn't.
Leaving my prep work behind, I walked to the doorway, leaned against the doorjamb, and looked at the young woman. "Well, if you want, I can help you right now." Both the girl and the male classmate looked up with the expected expression.
The smile on my face had some underlying cheekiness to it, although I schooled my features to be as professional as possible. I had busted them, vividly proving the old addage that people should be careful what they say--someone could be listening. Since I knew I had done nothing wrong or inappropriate, I was more than willing to tease the young students. After all, I could have responded very negatively, and there was certainly some tension in the room. The male student transitioned from shock into amusement after ascertaining that I was not upset. The young woman remained angry and frustrated.
She began ranting, still loud and angry, about how she didn't "get any of this stuff" and she was only in the class for financial aid purposes. She wanted to drop the class and it was "too hard to understand the reading." She burst into tears. I sat down next to her, my mood instantly changing. The subtext was screaming into my mind as though her thoughts came equipped with a megaphone. I'm stupid. I can't understand this. I never will. No one will help me. I'm beyond help. I feel trapped.
The other students in the room silently turned back to their computers or left the room, letting her have the modicum of privacy available in the public lab. I knew asking her to come to the office wasn't a move that she would respond well to, so I let her express her fears and frustration through the tears and occasional rants against the class. As she spoke, my mind flitted to a memory of a twenty-year-old woman who had stood before an older male professor. Her tears blocked all but the fuzziest appearance of the man as she admitted her inability to understand the grammatical structures he had talked about for a week. She felt stupid, alone, and trapped. Especially stupid. Although flabbergasted at the emotional response, the professor kindly gave up part of his lunch hour and stood in the empty classroom, demonstrating point-by-point the essence of a copula and antecedents, eventually stumbling across different ways of explanation so the young woman could finally grasp onto the definitions. I've never forgotten those concepts since that day.
All but ignoring the other students in the room, I sat by her side and waited until the emotional malestrom ebbed. I handed her a tissue, then reassured her that literary criticism was often hard to understand but she could do it. We discovered that a great deal of her problem was reading comprehension and worked together to decipher a 19th century essay. The time ticked past the point that I was to begin class, but I ignored the clock. At the moment, I had more important things to do.
As a professor, it was my responsibility to start class on time--I had policies on tardiness for my students. If this had been just a week later, my boss would have been also in attendance for my semester evaluations. I was supposed to do something, and I chose not to. I knew that the ten or fifteen minutes it would take to finish encouraging this young woman back onto a positive track would not be the end of the world for the rest of my students. The young man she had spoken to would surely explain the situation, so no one would leave. They were all adults and perfectly capable of starting the discussion without me--or at least entertaining themselves (they chose the latter. Big surprise.). There was no way I would leave until I knew she was able to work on the paper on her own again--even if it meant she would miss the first half of class in order to have that precious time to do so.
Hours later, I started thinking about Jesus' parable about the lost sheep.
Jesus said (in Luke 15:3-7, if you want to look it up) that he would leave the 99 to find the one lost lamb. I remember thinking when I first heard this story that it didn't quite make sense. Shouldn't he be worried about the big flock, too? Who's going to watch over them while Jesus goes looking for the single lost lamb? Is one lamb really worth the danger he could be putting the others in?
The point of the story isn't about the 99, though. They're fine, they're safe, and they can take care of themselves for the time being (note that He said He left them to look for the other lamb, not for infinity--this isn't abandonment but a shift in priorities; also, since God is omnipresent, He never *really* leaves...but that's a blog for another day.). Jesus is saying that He will pursue those who are lost and alone, afraid and frustrated. For a moment, in a very small way, I ministered to that student in a way that God ministered to me. By taking the time to really care, listen, and invest in her progress, I showed that she was important to me and I was willing to put the others, who were prepared, on hold in order to catch her up.
I'm not saying that "the greater good" isn't a good policy or that I should always pause my teaching for a single straggler (that is also what one-on-one conferences are for). I can't realistically afford to do this every single class period. I can, however, give her enough hope and faith in herself and in my attention to her that she can succeed even in an American Literature course. Maybe this will transfer to the rest of her college classes and, perhaps, to her life in general. Only God knows how far the ripples of this moment will reach in the pond of her life and in the lives of my other students. My prayer is that it will spread good to all involved...and lend a little sanity to an insane world.
"...and then she replies and says, 'Well, there are a few techniques I can show you, but it would be better if we could go over it in person.' Like that was going to help me, and now I'm completely lost and have no clue what to do."
The snippet confirmed exactly who the girl was--a student in my morning class...and she was talking about me. She had missed the previous class, and while she had claimed in the email to have been ill, I was told by one of her friends that she hadn't finished her paper and had elected not to come to class because of it (I still give the student the benefit of the doubt, but the other story rang true with the girl's personality). Had she come, she would have realized that all of her classmates were struggling and I spent the entire class period helping them revise and strengthen their papers--using techniques that worked much better for an in-person demonstration. To be honest, I could have described the methods to the girl in the e-mail, but I wanted to work with her one-on-one and encouraged her in the e-mail to make an appointment when she could for us to go over the material. She hadn't.
Leaving my prep work behind, I walked to the doorway, leaned against the doorjamb, and looked at the young woman. "Well, if you want, I can help you right now." Both the girl and the male classmate looked up with the expected expression.
Even plastic and acrylic can cry out, "Uh-oh."
The smile on my face had some underlying cheekiness to it, although I schooled my features to be as professional as possible. I had busted them, vividly proving the old addage that people should be careful what they say--someone could be listening. Since I knew I had done nothing wrong or inappropriate, I was more than willing to tease the young students. After all, I could have responded very negatively, and there was certainly some tension in the room. The male student transitioned from shock into amusement after ascertaining that I was not upset. The young woman remained angry and frustrated.
Heloise's Hint: back away slowly and offer chocolate/coffee/vice of choice.
She began ranting, still loud and angry, about how she didn't "get any of this stuff" and she was only in the class for financial aid purposes. She wanted to drop the class and it was "too hard to understand the reading." She burst into tears. I sat down next to her, my mood instantly changing. The subtext was screaming into my mind as though her thoughts came equipped with a megaphone. I'm stupid. I can't understand this. I never will. No one will help me. I'm beyond help. I feel trapped.
The other students in the room silently turned back to their computers or left the room, letting her have the modicum of privacy available in the public lab. I knew asking her to come to the office wasn't a move that she would respond well to, so I let her express her fears and frustration through the tears and occasional rants against the class. As she spoke, my mind flitted to a memory of a twenty-year-old woman who had stood before an older male professor. Her tears blocked all but the fuzziest appearance of the man as she admitted her inability to understand the grammatical structures he had talked about for a week. She felt stupid, alone, and trapped. Especially stupid. Although flabbergasted at the emotional response, the professor kindly gave up part of his lunch hour and stood in the empty classroom, demonstrating point-by-point the essence of a copula and antecedents, eventually stumbling across different ways of explanation so the young woman could finally grasp onto the definitions. I've never forgotten those concepts since that day.
All but ignoring the other students in the room, I sat by her side and waited until the emotional malestrom ebbed. I handed her a tissue, then reassured her that literary criticism was often hard to understand but she could do it. We discovered that a great deal of her problem was reading comprehension and worked together to decipher a 19th century essay. The time ticked past the point that I was to begin class, but I ignored the clock. At the moment, I had more important things to do.
When it comes to priorities, sometimes we just gotta smash the critters.
As a professor, it was my responsibility to start class on time--I had policies on tardiness for my students. If this had been just a week later, my boss would have been also in attendance for my semester evaluations. I was supposed to do something, and I chose not to. I knew that the ten or fifteen minutes it would take to finish encouraging this young woman back onto a positive track would not be the end of the world for the rest of my students. The young man she had spoken to would surely explain the situation, so no one would leave. They were all adults and perfectly capable of starting the discussion without me--or at least entertaining themselves (they chose the latter. Big surprise.). There was no way I would leave until I knew she was able to work on the paper on her own again--even if it meant she would miss the first half of class in order to have that precious time to do so.
Hours later, I started thinking about Jesus' parable about the lost sheep.
In this depiction, the sheep's black. Think about that (and not so much that Jesus oddly resembles Tom Cruise here).
Jesus said (in Luke 15:3-7, if you want to look it up) that he would leave the 99 to find the one lost lamb. I remember thinking when I first heard this story that it didn't quite make sense. Shouldn't he be worried about the big flock, too? Who's going to watch over them while Jesus goes looking for the single lost lamb? Is one lamb really worth the danger he could be putting the others in?
The point of the story isn't about the 99, though. They're fine, they're safe, and they can take care of themselves for the time being (note that He said He left them to look for the other lamb, not for infinity--this isn't abandonment but a shift in priorities; also, since God is omnipresent, He never *really* leaves...but that's a blog for another day.). Jesus is saying that He will pursue those who are lost and alone, afraid and frustrated. For a moment, in a very small way, I ministered to that student in a way that God ministered to me. By taking the time to really care, listen, and invest in her progress, I showed that she was important to me and I was willing to put the others, who were prepared, on hold in order to catch her up.
I'm not saying that "the greater good" isn't a good policy or that I should always pause my teaching for a single straggler (that is also what one-on-one conferences are for). I can't realistically afford to do this every single class period. I can, however, give her enough hope and faith in herself and in my attention to her that she can succeed even in an American Literature course. Maybe this will transfer to the rest of her college classes and, perhaps, to her life in general. Only God knows how far the ripples of this moment will reach in the pond of her life and in the lives of my other students. My prayer is that it will spread good to all involved...and lend a little sanity to an insane world.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Logic Bombs
A friend of mine was telling me the other day about a situation she found herself in a few years ago. She was at church and a few older people had mentioned that they didn't think her attire was quite appropriate for being in services. She saw absolutely nothing wrong with the outfit--it covered everything, was a moderate length, and there was only a tiny hint of cleavage (and she's a very buxom woman, so it's hard to avoid "showing the line"). Being judged isn't something any person wants to have happen, and some respond very strongly to this kind of scenario. I've seen women burst into tears immediately after the confrontation, locking themselves into bathroom stalls for nearly an hour. I've seen women decide to "give 'em a show" in order to contrast "truly inappropriate" attire with what they normally wore--in one case, a 30ish lady donned stripper heels, a miniskirt that didn't even cover the bottom of her bottom, and a top that left nothing to the imagination.
I can understand that instinct to pull out the logic bomb on people who, to us, have such ridiculous opinions that it offends us. I've had students deem me as stupid and apalling due to my weight right in front of me and during class. At that moment, I pulled out the biggest logic bomb I had and let it explode all over their judging faces. Not only did I disprove that fat people are always jolly (my German-Austrian temper was highly evident), but I also pulled their logic out and showed all the holes involved in making assumptions about people simply because of outward appearances. Problem was, we as humans make assumptions all the time. If I see someone who looks like they're a heavy drug user fiddling around my car when there are no other cars parked remotely close to mine, I'm going to suspect that they're trying to break in and steal something. It's a defensive mechanism that originates within our primal instincts of survival.
We should confront those with mistaken assumptions, especially if they are potentially damaging to other people, and logic bombs can help. Paul pulled one in Galations 2:11-16. Peter was falling back into his legalistic ways and, due to being a major influence on so many, was causing others to fall away from the truth. In front of the others, Paul chastises his friend and mentor, reminding him, and those following him, of the truth.
Sometimes a logic bomb can go the wrong way, though, blowing true logic all to pieces instead of demolishing falsehoods. (If you don't believe me, go to the E.R. on Independence Day and count all the injuries from fireworks that "weren't supposed to do that.") The woman who decided to channel her inner Brittney Spears and let it all hang out in church? It was definitely an explosive move...and not one that necessarily reflects the point she was trying to make--that she has discernment when it comes to dressing. Yes, showing up the "enemy" can be very self-satisfying. Doing so, however, is not always the most effective at actually resolving the situation. Those students in my class learned that I was a caring, very intelligent, and capable person not through my outburst but through my day-to-day dealings with them in the class. I had one-on-one conferences with them over their papers that really highlighted just how much I knew...and how much I could really teach them.
What should we do when we find ourselves chastised for something we don't see as wrong? Well, there are a few options. Talk to the people involved, find out why they have the issue, and see if you can come to an understanding (sometimes we really do have to "agree to disagree" and let it go at that). If they are staunch on the issue, especially if they claim it is tempting/harming others, then the Bible clearly states what our solution has to be: give it up. We wouldn't have wine bottles everywhere when inviting a recovering alcoholic to our house, so why would we flash cleavage and thigh at men who are recovering adulterers or porn addicts? If we want others to respect our choices and needs, we need to respect theirs. Otherwise, we're heading for war...and those bombs really hurt.
You don't have to cover every inch of skin, but the congregation can't blur you out, either.
I can understand that instinct to pull out the logic bomb on people who, to us, have such ridiculous opinions that it offends us. I've had students deem me as stupid and apalling due to my weight right in front of me and during class. At that moment, I pulled out the biggest logic bomb I had and let it explode all over their judging faces. Not only did I disprove that fat people are always jolly (my German-Austrian temper was highly evident), but I also pulled their logic out and showed all the holes involved in making assumptions about people simply because of outward appearances. Problem was, we as humans make assumptions all the time. If I see someone who looks like they're a heavy drug user fiddling around my car when there are no other cars parked remotely close to mine, I'm going to suspect that they're trying to break in and steal something. It's a defensive mechanism that originates within our primal instincts of survival.
While I'm sure the rhyme has helped many a person stay safe when dealing with snakes, I just scream and run no matter what they look like--that way instead of a 50% chance, I'm hitting closer to 100% of surviving the encounter.
We should confront those with mistaken assumptions, especially if they are potentially damaging to other people, and logic bombs can help. Paul pulled one in Galations 2:11-16. Peter was falling back into his legalistic ways and, due to being a major influence on so many, was causing others to fall away from the truth. In front of the others, Paul chastises his friend and mentor, reminding him, and those following him, of the truth.
Sometimes a logic bomb can go the wrong way, though, blowing true logic all to pieces instead of demolishing falsehoods. (If you don't believe me, go to the E.R. on Independence Day and count all the injuries from fireworks that "weren't supposed to do that.") The woman who decided to channel her inner Brittney Spears and let it all hang out in church? It was definitely an explosive move...and not one that necessarily reflects the point she was trying to make--that she has discernment when it comes to dressing. Yes, showing up the "enemy" can be very self-satisfying. Doing so, however, is not always the most effective at actually resolving the situation. Those students in my class learned that I was a caring, very intelligent, and capable person not through my outburst but through my day-to-day dealings with them in the class. I had one-on-one conferences with them over their papers that really highlighted just how much I knew...and how much I could really teach them.
What should we do when we find ourselves chastised for something we don't see as wrong? Well, there are a few options. Talk to the people involved, find out why they have the issue, and see if you can come to an understanding (sometimes we really do have to "agree to disagree" and let it go at that). If they are staunch on the issue, especially if they claim it is tempting/harming others, then the Bible clearly states what our solution has to be: give it up. We wouldn't have wine bottles everywhere when inviting a recovering alcoholic to our house, so why would we flash cleavage and thigh at men who are recovering adulterers or porn addicts? If we want others to respect our choices and needs, we need to respect theirs. Otherwise, we're heading for war...and those bombs really hurt.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Lessons for the Teacher, Part I
Part of what makes an excellent leader, and teacher, is the desire and ability to continue learning. For teachers, it's often called professional development. We have days set aside every semester for us to get together and talk, discuss policies, share teaching strategies. There are conferences where we can meet people from across the state or even across the country. We leave perhaps tired from the travel, but inspired and exhilirated, ready to take on the challenges of educating others all over again.
The problem with conferences is not just the cost, or the travel, but rather the infrequency of them. While I was a graduate student at Truman, I was able to go to three major educational conferences, mostly because there was funding available for us. Since graduating, these incredible large-scale meetings of like-minded people have been mostly out of my reach. There's little to no funding on the community college level, and since I work two jobs, getting out of responsibilities for five or more days at a time is a huge challenge at best. The euphoric inspiration, the feeling of belonging, and the excitement of being in this field at this time fades quickly as I reenter reality. If only I could have these experiences more often, get this sort of refueling on a regular, even weekly or daily, basis.
Thing is, I can.
The center of my life, the rock that keeps everything else grounded, is God. Just as I want to excel in my profession, I desire even more to excel in my walk with Him. I don't need to depend on the occasional revivals, camp meetings, or brilliant "lightbulb" moments that come once in a while and dissipate as I forget the lessons learned. What I need are the daily reminders and weekly meetings with like-minded Christians.
Enter "Quiet Time" and "Church."
Church isn't as much of an issue as it used to be. After years of allowing fear to keep me from taking a chance on a place to fellowship and worship, I have found a church home that ministers to my heart. I have rediscovered old friends, made new ones, and am touched by the truth and beauty in the people there. Quiet time...is another matter. My family and the few women who have either been blessed or cursed by having to live with me all know that daily regimens, outside personal hygiene, are not one of my strong suits. Vitamins. Daily writing time. Exercise. Reading. Homework. You name a habit, I've tried, and failed, over and over, to develop and keep it. I've tried methods to help me, ranging from positive reinforcement, accountability partners (who either forget or are fooled by my tricks to "get out of trouble"), punishment, deprivation, and even financial retribution. Nothing works for long. That first day that I let myself slide, that I say it's ok for me to skip...is the beginning of the end.
If I want to see God working in my life, if I'm sincere about my desire to be an instrument for Him, if I want to weather life's storms better than "just surviving," then I need to get with God's program. As many have said, "How would your significant other feel if you didn't talk to them every day, only called when they needed something, or made excuses every time you wanted to spend time with them?" I understood this before I had a boyfriend, but now that I'm in a serious relationship where we DO talk every day, I see the huge impact this has a lot more clearly...and I'm feeling the guilt.
Thing is, guilt isn't to punish us, but to push us into action. If we feel bad about lying, then we need to be honest. If we feel bad about isolating ourselves, then we need to take a chance and fellowship. If we feel bad because we're using/ignoring God, then we need to take time to be with Him.
It's not going to be easy. I have lots of excuses. I'm making a committment, though, starting today, that I'm going to challenge myself to be the best daughter of the King I can be. One small step at a time, one goal at a time; the most important one I can have is my relationship with God.
Step 1, Day 1: Daily time, set aside, to read my Bible and pray (not just for what I want/need, but to really talk/commune with God).
The problem with conferences is not just the cost, or the travel, but rather the infrequency of them. While I was a graduate student at Truman, I was able to go to three major educational conferences, mostly because there was funding available for us. Since graduating, these incredible large-scale meetings of like-minded people have been mostly out of my reach. There's little to no funding on the community college level, and since I work two jobs, getting out of responsibilities for five or more days at a time is a huge challenge at best. The euphoric inspiration, the feeling of belonging, and the excitement of being in this field at this time fades quickly as I reenter reality. If only I could have these experiences more often, get this sort of refueling on a regular, even weekly or daily, basis.
Thing is, I can.
The center of my life, the rock that keeps everything else grounded, is God. Just as I want to excel in my profession, I desire even more to excel in my walk with Him. I don't need to depend on the occasional revivals, camp meetings, or brilliant "lightbulb" moments that come once in a while and dissipate as I forget the lessons learned. What I need are the daily reminders and weekly meetings with like-minded Christians.
Enter "Quiet Time" and "Church."
Church isn't as much of an issue as it used to be. After years of allowing fear to keep me from taking a chance on a place to fellowship and worship, I have found a church home that ministers to my heart. I have rediscovered old friends, made new ones, and am touched by the truth and beauty in the people there. Quiet time...is another matter. My family and the few women who have either been blessed or cursed by having to live with me all know that daily regimens, outside personal hygiene, are not one of my strong suits. Vitamins. Daily writing time. Exercise. Reading. Homework. You name a habit, I've tried, and failed, over and over, to develop and keep it. I've tried methods to help me, ranging from positive reinforcement, accountability partners (who either forget or are fooled by my tricks to "get out of trouble"), punishment, deprivation, and even financial retribution. Nothing works for long. That first day that I let myself slide, that I say it's ok for me to skip...is the beginning of the end.
If I want to see God working in my life, if I'm sincere about my desire to be an instrument for Him, if I want to weather life's storms better than "just surviving," then I need to get with God's program. As many have said, "How would your significant other feel if you didn't talk to them every day, only called when they needed something, or made excuses every time you wanted to spend time with them?" I understood this before I had a boyfriend, but now that I'm in a serious relationship where we DO talk every day, I see the huge impact this has a lot more clearly...and I'm feeling the guilt.
Thing is, guilt isn't to punish us, but to push us into action. If we feel bad about lying, then we need to be honest. If we feel bad about isolating ourselves, then we need to take a chance and fellowship. If we feel bad because we're using/ignoring God, then we need to take time to be with Him.
It's not going to be easy. I have lots of excuses. I'm making a committment, though, starting today, that I'm going to challenge myself to be the best daughter of the King I can be. One small step at a time, one goal at a time; the most important one I can have is my relationship with God.
Step 1, Day 1: Daily time, set aside, to read my Bible and pray (not just for what I want/need, but to really talk/commune with God).
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Paying Attention
Today I made a big mistake while teaching. I work in a computer lab, and the teacher's computer can be projected onto a large screen at the front of the class--ideal for watching films, discussing papers together, etc. I had powered it up to walk students through how to format their portfolios that are due in two days and everything was going fine. The instructions over, I gave them class time to work on their projects while I pulled up old essays to finish grading.
What I didn't realize was that while I was commenting on drafts, saving new copies, and entering their grades into my Excel workbook, I had left the projector on. Anyone who cared could have looked up from their screen and saw not only their grades but the grades of all their classmates.
Oops.
Luckily, only one student noticed and he was so upset about his own grade that he didn't really pay attention to anyone else's. He brought my snafu to my attention and I quickly switched off the feed before, hopefully, anyone else had noticed.
While I'm thoroughly embarrassed and not too thrilled with myself for doing this, it did teach me a valuable lesson. I really need to pay more attention to what I'm doing, and not just in the classroom.
What am I spending my time on, really? What am I saying during those "unimportant" moments? How am I reacting to small details as well as big ones? What "unconscious" mannerisms do I have that don't necessarily reflect Christ? This time of reflection reveals a lot about myself--and a lot of areas that I need to work on.
Today I learned more than just double-checking the projector. What will you learn about yourself by looking a little closer at the things we do without realizing?
What I didn't realize was that while I was commenting on drafts, saving new copies, and entering their grades into my Excel workbook, I had left the projector on. Anyone who cared could have looked up from their screen and saw not only their grades but the grades of all their classmates.
Oops.
Luckily, only one student noticed and he was so upset about his own grade that he didn't really pay attention to anyone else's. He brought my snafu to my attention and I quickly switched off the feed before, hopefully, anyone else had noticed.
While I'm thoroughly embarrassed and not too thrilled with myself for doing this, it did teach me a valuable lesson. I really need to pay more attention to what I'm doing, and not just in the classroom.
What am I spending my time on, really? What am I saying during those "unimportant" moments? How am I reacting to small details as well as big ones? What "unconscious" mannerisms do I have that don't necessarily reflect Christ? This time of reflection reveals a lot about myself--and a lot of areas that I need to work on.
Today I learned more than just double-checking the projector. What will you learn about yourself by looking a little closer at the things we do without realizing?
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