Teaching Verbs-An Anecdote from the Frontlines

"I never teach my pupils, I only attempt to provide the 
conditions in which they can learn."
-Albert Einstein

I don’t know if any of you have had the opportunity to teach children at any point in your lives, but it’s not easy. They’re little, and squirmy; according to them they have to go to the bathroom ever 9.5 minutes, and nothing seems to stick in their heads. Nothing!

Such was my predicament on Tuesday. Two weeks of trying to learn verbs in the present tense, and yet when I ask what the word ‘drink’ means, crickets. I thought to myself, no matter, I’m going to make them learn.

“Everybody outside!” I said. “We’re going to play a game.”

Immediately their interest was piqued. I heard a murmur go around the room as they got up. “A game? We’re going to play a game? Outside?” I heard Lucas tell one of the other boys, “I bet its going to be another boring English game.”

Well, seeing as how it was English class, it was in fact another English game, but not a boring one. As a group, we put our English skills to work. When I said the verb, they had to do it. Eat? Mimic eating. Jump? Start hopping. Run? Everyone around the basketball courts!

Ten minutes later, everyone was smiling and jumping and doing their English verbs, and they said, “Alisha, play with us!”

Why not, I thought to myself, and shouted “Run!” as I took off running.

 The past few days we've been experiencing a bit of wet weather, and the basketball court was drenched. Never the less, the kids had been running around, and so of course I would, too. But on the way second lap, disaster struck.

Being the overly competitive person I was, I was trying to beat a bunch of third graders by a mile. I started going to fast, and splat! My foot slipped and I went grinding into the cement, landing perfectly in a puddle.

I think it goes without saying that my class laughed at me. I ripped my jeans, scraped my elbow and bruised my pride. But they also learned their English verbs, judging be their test scores, so who am I to complain?

Those are my high-scoring tests: 10s all the way!

personal credo

Stuck

           

I want to write something inspired for you lovely people, and I’m stuck.

I’m not blocked. I have a whole host of topics I would like to touch on. Integrity, working with the kids, why sometimes people suck; all of these are things that I would like to talk to you about. But every time I sit down to write it out, I’m stuck. I’m bogged down, I’m jammed, I’m wedged in a corner-pick a mental picture.

Do you want to know what I’m stuck on? I’m stuck on black boots. I really want black boots.

I even have a really good reason. You see, black boots would go perfectly with 80% of my wardrobe. They would complement nearly everything I own. And I would be able to walk confidently into the world, well dressed with coordinating, pretty black boots. My life would be perfect.

I don’t care if you’re laughing at me here. This is really how I feel.

Along with my black boots, I’m stuck on how very much I miss the public library (I imagine they miss me too; who’s keeping them in business these days?) and Caribou. I’m stuck on how much it sucked to miss out on cheese curds at the state fair. I’m stuck on a million other little things that just seem to be accumulating in my life, like my innate need to go to Target every other day.

It’s not my intention to have a temper tantrum. I just want you to know what I’m stuck on.

There are a lot of things that I've given up that are pulling at me these days. More than just Target, I miss my freedom. And unlimited internet. And the ability to go where I want, when I want, to do what I want to do. I’m stuck on how much my life has changed in such a short period of time, and I know that there are still more changes to come. It’s uncomfortable.

It’s like any stage of life. You walk out the door of your old life, whistling and smiling, sure that everything is coming up daisies for you as you hear the sound of the lock click behind you. But after reality sets in, you find yourself moving towards that door. At first you just look at it for a while. Then you touch it. You begin knocking gently on the door, just to see if anyone’s there. You knock a little louder. Then a little louder. And pretty soon, you’re banging on the door with all your might, sobbing, begging to be let back in.

This, of course, is just me. I don’t know how sane people react to these situations.

There is no going back. There is never any going back. Yes, I could go back to the states and get a job, buy my boots and move on with my life, but that would be moving forward, not backwards. And while I really want my boots, I also want to serve God.

Even though I don’t have black boots, or the money and time to get them here, I know that I’m slowly getting unstuck. There are things here that are beginning to get a hold of my heart and dig themselves into my soul. Saturday mornings with my girls, and pancakes for breakfast. Cemitas at the fair. Movie night on the third floor. And, in the amazing symmetry of life, someday I will move on to the next segment of my life, and I’ll have to get myself unstuck all over again and stop banging on that door.

Maybe that’s my point, here. Life is change, and if you’re not changing, you’re not living. That door is always going to be there, beckoning to you, whispering how if you just go back, everything will be okay. But you can’t. Because there’s no going back-there’s only the whole world in front of you, waiting for you, and an unquantifiable God asking for your obedience.