Fingers of God

Today Shane and I walked on the beach at Cherry Grove. We were all the way at the end where the inlet and the ocean meet. It was low tide, so there was lots of room to walk. For a while the sand was dry and bleached perfectly white and it had smooth flowing waves. Then we got to an area that was hard, smooth and damp. Around a tidal pool, there was an area of sand that was heavily ridged. Along the edges of another tidal pool, the edges had a terraced look -- layers and layers of sand, slightly graduated. In some areas, the water had cut deep canyons into the sand. Other areas had shallow rivulets flowing. One area looked pithy, like a pumice stone with millions of tiny holes. Some areas had gentle depressions, as if someone had raked their fingers through the dampened sand. So I began to think of fingers on the sandy shore of our lives. I thought of how God sometimes allows us to hang loose and free -- natural and flowing. Sometimes he allows the rivers to carve canyons in our souls to develop our character or to help us appreciate the blessings we have or to have a feeling of empathy for others with canyons carved in their souls. Sometimes we find ourselves full of tiny holes, soaking up all the positive and negative life has to offer. Sometimes our lives are flat and smooth with very little chaos, and sometimes chaos produces heavy ridges -- ups and downs, some wet with tears, others dry and thirsty. As God dips his fingers into our lives, we have to trust -- even when he refrains from dipping his fingers into the landscape of our lives. We have to trust that if he created the oceans and the tides and the tidal pools and all the configurations the same sand can create under his craftsmanship, then certainly our lives will be no less beautiful. Whatever his fingers are doing or not doing in your life, step back, take a look at the artistic piece he's composing, and if you don't like what you see, have a conversation with the sculptor and then watch and see what your life becomes.

Bring on the Gravy!

I spent several hours yesterday with my family -- more specifically with Daddy, Shanda, and Dale. We planted 14 rows of Irish potatoes. . . .Shanda and I sat on the setter behind the tractor, dropping potatoes into the ground. Daddy, of course, was driving the tractor, and Dale walked behind planting the ones that didn't go deep enough or fixing any little problems the setter (or Shanda and I) had. It wasn't the hardest job, nor the easiest I've ever done. Shanda was thrilled to be dirty (city-living really doesn't agree with her), and I must admit it felt good, although my manicure suffered, and now I have semi-permanent potato and dirt stains on my thumbs. My butt was temporarily numb, and today my upper body is slightly sore. But it is a good sore-ness. It was cool to be a kid again with an adult perspective. In so many ways it felt like "old times". Dale being a typical brother -- teasing, aggravating -- we sang and laughed together. Daddy laughed at us and with us. Hopefully this summer we'll have lots of potatoes for potato soup, mashed potatoes, French fries, potatoes au gratin, etc. But we've already reaped the greatest reward -- time well-spent with people you love. That, my friends, is gravy! :~)

Are You SURE You Want to Be a Teacher?????

Okay, if you have any dreams of becoming a teacher, stop reading right now! If I had video-taped part of this day, it could have been part of a teacher boot camp program. . . .

9:30 AM A knock on my door -- ESL (English as a Second Language) teacher with a Hispanic family. She introduced me to a new student for my class. Problem: He's straight from Mexico and speaks no English. He's not happy to be here (Read here: Understatement of the century as evidenced by his burying himself in his mother's side, copious crying, and wailing. . . .) I try to say, "Hola", but he is not ready to hear me. ESL teacher talks with him to no avail. Still, he cries; still he wails. . . .We call out one of my other Hispanic students thinking it will help. He's not ready to hear him, either. His wish is simple -- he wants to go home! Finally we give up temporarily. ESL teacher says, "We'll bring him back in a few minutes. He needs some time." OK with me. . . . so I step back in my room. . . .what I see is Ms. April standing beside the desk of one of my students who is throwing up repeatedly. Ms. April is holding the trash can and paper towels and looking not a little disconcerted. So I press the intercom button to call the office and ask them to send a custodian.

9:40 Custodian arrives, starts cleaning up; The dad brings new student back (kicking and screaming no less) He tries to get new student to go into the room -- reminds me muchly of trying to put a cat in a sink full of water -- arms and legs went out in every direction -- clawing, scratching, and grabbing anything he could to keep from going in. . .(In fact I think he must have gotten Dad, because there was blood on my door in the aftermath. . . .) Dad wrestled him in, while custodian was trying to get in and out with broom, mop . . .and sick student was trying to get out with trash can in her hands in case she got sick again.

9:45 New student is in, Dad is gone; sick student has called home -- someone is on the way to pick her up; sickness is cleaned up, custodian is gone.

Now new student is fighting me right and left. . .He wants his mama; he wants his daddy; he wants to go home. . . .He wails, cries, smacks his head, yells at me, tries to get to the door repeatedly. . . . . and this replays for the next 2 hours -- intermixed with my 15 other students asking a million questions -- "What's his name? -- Where's he from? Why's he crying? Can we introduce ourselves? Why does he spell his name like that? Doesn't he speak English? . . . . ."

After a while, we do try to introduce ourselves, but he cries through the whole thing and won't look at anybody.

I assign another Hispanic student to be his shadow (friend, helper. . . )He sits on one side and I sit on the other (I'm still afraid at this point he's going to bolt for the door as soon as he gets a chance. -- and BTW, I did have to restrain him a time or two to keep him from making a run for it. :~\) I tried to reassure him, but he only wants his mom, his dad and to go home. So I tried to go over the reading story with the rest of my children. No chance. . . he is wailing too loud and the other students are way too distracted. At one point he calms down slightly, and as I'm trying to read over him, and his student helper turns to me and says, "Mrs. Fletcher, you need to 'shh' -- he needs it quieter. . . ." (I'll just let that one hang there a while. . . .)

11:45 Blessedly, lunchtime finally arrives. My main worry is if he's going to try to run when we get into the hallway. So I position myself on one side, with his student shadow on the other. I held his hand all the way to lunch, and he was much calmer. He didn't want anything to eat, but finally did eat a little bit; sat with his new friend -- saw a couple of brief, tentative smiles.

12:30 Back in the classroom; the closer we get to the room, the more upset he gets. I kept trying to think what I could do to make him feel more comfortable. I decided to try to introduce the rest of my class to some Spanish, and him to some English by playing some songs I have in both languages. . . .That didn't help -- he got more and more upset. . . .I finally gave up and had Ms. April take them to the carpet to read the reading story. While they did that, he and I sat at the computer going over simple addition facts -- numbers in Spanish, then English. He smiled quite a big, began repeating numbers in English, and I was feeling pretty good about our progress. Eventually he tired of it, and I moved him to another computer and put him on Starfall.com where he could hear the English alphabet and letter sounds and read simple stories in English. He worked happily on the computer for about an hour -- peace -- ahhh! Finally! The class went over some math in preparation for a quiz tomorrow.

1:45 Took a bathroom break, and he actually went to the bathroom. . .came back and got right back on the computer.

2:10 They called over the intercom and said he was supposed to ride the bus home. . . the wailing started again. . .oh, no. . . .I'm trying to make arrangements for the rest of my kids so I can walk him to the bus. . . then they call back and say, oh, nevermind -- his parents are coming to get him . . . .whew! OK -- He's ready to go home, and for that fact, SO AM I!!!!!!!!!!!!

2:45 We head outside, and he spots his mom right away. They're going to pick him up tomorrow. I assure him he can go home, but I'll see him tomorrow "Hasta la manana. . . "

Now, let me just say, I cannot imagine how he must feel and my heart is truly going out to him, and I really wish I had taken Spanish, and I'm not sure what I'm going to do tomorrow (especially considering my assistant will not be there tomorrow. . .), but I'm very glad it's Friday, and if you really, truly still think you want to be a teacher, you should probably see a therapist :~)