Looking Through the Lense.

I could spend a lot of time telling you about the things on which I wasted my time in life.

I could spend a lot of time reminiscing on the things in life that I should have done differently.

I could spend a lot of time explaining the reasons why life does not look like I would have told you five years ago.

I could spend a lot of time describing to you the way I should have said this and not that...on that one day.

But at some point, it will all end up being a waste of time spent about what I gave up, gave into, gave away, or gave too much of.

And we can look at life in a lot of different ways and from thousands of different angles and through millions of different lenses.

Yet, that will not change what is on the opposite side of the kaleidoscope: life. 

In several hundreds, thousands, millions, and billions of colorful pieces of mystery, sadness, joy, pain, excitement, adventure, and perpetual newness--some kind of vessel rests on the other side of the large Tree of Experience. On each piece of those branches drips a special dew of that effervescence of this gift of L-I-F-E.

I would like to think that each day is as hallucinogenic as one of those dramatic depictions that is displayed at the end of one those tubes that we used to twist in front of our eyes as a kid. We would move our hands, and we would be in awe at what was projected just four inches away from our eyes...almost as if we were looking into another world, another galaxy. Yet, in reality:  it is just a little cardboard tube with beaded fixtures at the end.

But, sometimes we need the simple to invite us to extravagant.

I love that I teach English. There are several reasons why I love what I get to do each day. However, I get to step into the world of my students. I get to share a part in the magic they create on paper. I get to share in their writing.

And that is something that is difficult to articulate. 

I have had students leave me awed with a deeper introspection to life, afraid in horror of what is behind that door, and in tears by the weight of emotion they created in a story about someone's journey. And these little souls are only fourteen.


Only fourteen. Whew.

I laugh most days with them. But on the days I get to take part in the little piece of their journey of creating new stories, of discovering poetry, and learning how to share their own story, I get to give my time. I get to listen. And that is the best way I know how to give. 


My hope is that they see life with the colorful treasures that are still ahead: a kaleidoscope of possibility.


And, hey, maybe you need that, too.

We need the clouds every now and then.

-S




P.S.. (Disclaimer: ONLY IF YOU WANT TO LAUGH)

This occurred when teaching one of my classes about color connotations and the purpose behind using colors to contribute to the tone and imagery of a passage.

Me: Brown. The color Brown carries a negative and positive connotation. When you think of "Brown," what do you think?

Student: (an immediate response) "Ker-plunk!"

Entire class of laughter ensues, including myself. 

Me: (Directing the question to student) Does that carry a negative or positive connotation?

Student: Depends. It can be either, just depending on the situation.


Yeah. That's teaching for you. You are welcome.

Party of Five.

I come from a family of the dramatic.

The passionate.
The romantic.
The zealous.
The fiery.
The dreaming.
The believing.
The fierce.

And, I say that with ammo in my hands, mind, and heart.

There is something about a birthday. Your birthday. Something that will always make you think, reflect, and ponder your past or your future...but never really your present.

But, this year? Today, I sat in my present. In the presence of those special souls I call my family.

Thankful.

I'm thankful for a family that has taught me passion, romance, zeal, fire, dreaming, belief, and ferocity.

There are none like that nucleus of four that I call my family. 

My mother-the one with the heart of gold. She breathes in other peoples' pain, only to exhale compassion and safety. She just makes you feel better. Always. It's not in her DNA to make you feel anything different.

My father-the one who cares more than he knows how to say. He has taught me the lesson of what Henry David Thoreau would say, "Live the life you have imagined." He taught me dedication. He believes to be fulfilled, go for it. Go for it all.

My brother-the one who is full of zeal and passion. He is more than a success, he is a powerful force to be reckoned with. Trust me, ten times out of ten, you want him in your corner.

My sister- the one that I don't know how to put into words on most days. She is the passionate, beautiful, fierce one who dreams more than most. And believes more than most. Even when you don't believe. She does.

And for all four of these souls I get to call my family, I say, hallelujah. There just really aren't any other people on this earth like them.

They are my fighting force.

They are the ones who have taught me how to love beyond measure.
They are the ones who have taught me how to fight without restraint.

They are always a party.

Always a party of five.

-S

Monday is Coming.

I still remember how I felt before the first day of school every single year. Ever year I had that 'First Day' outfit spread across my dresser the night before. I still recall never being able to sleep. I remember the questions that raced through my head. But, I knew I was ready for the first day.

Because Monday was coming.

As I find myself now standing on the other side of that threshold of the school doors, I am still filled with excitement. Yes, the questions have changed that race through my head. But, I am ready.

Because Monday is coming.

I am ready to have students in my room before and after school asking me questions. I am ready to laugh with them. I am ready to struggle with them. I am ready to be frustrated. I am ready to succeed with them. I am ready to believe in them.

Because Monday is coming.

The days are slipping from our hands of summer vacation, and the 'First Day' is palpable. I tend to keep looking at my class rosters for changes and updates, because I want to know those kids already.

Because Monday is coming.

And I want to begin praying by name. For those hearts that will walk through those doors. For those desks that will be filled.  And for those faces that I will get to see every day. And for those special souls I will be privileged to call my students.

Because Monday is coming.

That's fine if some teachers read this and roll their eyes at what I am saying. That is fine if they believe that I haven't taught long enough to want to keep my summer break as long as possible. Keep rolling your eyes then, darling.  Because I'm ready.

Because Monday is coming.

When I worked at Sky Ranch, every Sunday we had new campers arrive. EVERY single Sunday. And I still remember feeling that same excitement every new week, even when we were exhausted. Because every new camper deserved that same energy as that first week did. We would pray over the bunks of the new kids arriving.

Because we all knew, Sunday was coming.

And that's how I feel about my students. Yet thankfully, I don't just get a week with them. I get 10 full months. Only 10 months. And how quickly that time escapes us. My heart is full. My heart is ready. And it better be.

Because Monday is coming.

-S

P.S. Part of this post is inspired from the video Sunday's Coming. Feel free to watch. :)

Backyard Beliefs.

Did you grow up believing in magic?

I did.

I was the kind of child who spent hours in the backyard with our two dogs, Lucy and Lion-O (Thundercats, named by my brother). I lived in an enchanted world that was not just a backyard full of grass and trees. No, that stone path led into another world full of mythical dreams, illusive characters, and a realm of imagination I can never get back.

When I would exit the house, I would enter into a land of twisted fantasy with dark and ominous trails that would lead to the witch's house. And nothing was the same when I was out there. In that yard I saved villages of people, all in one powerful swoop of my sword that projected fire. I met the love of my life. I killed the evil beasts. I overcame abusive rulers. I conquered demons of many powers. I discovered new life in simple pieces of nature. I salvaged lost souls of the forest.

And fine. Every now and then, I ate mud pies.

Because out there, anything was possible. Because out there, anything was available. Because out there, my mind didn't listen to anything or anyone else. Because out there, I was safe. No matter how dangerous of an eerie backwoods where I may have found myself "injured and alone," I was fine. The only danger that beheld itself was my own imagination. It became unsafe when it began to stay indoors.

When I stopped going into the backyard. When I stopped creating stories and living them out. Something happened. Something changed. I closed a piece of the chapter on my childhood. I said goodbye to my imaginary best friend. I said goodbye to the evil gremlins who looked like those of The Labyrinth. I said goodbye to various characters that were my sidekick, my enemy, my suitor, my partner in battle.

I don't write this in a state of sadness. I recall these memories with a fond recollection on the beauty that is childhood. I am reminded that when your creativity is crushed, a part of you is as well. I don't think I would like to write as much if I didn't get a chance to live out my imagination as a child. Because that's what writing is. Imagination on paper. Stories that you always wanted to tell. Or ones that are only able to be reproduced on lines.

And, if you had to grow up too fast, for that I'm sorry. If you were never able to experience those years in your own Wonderland, I really hope at some point you are able to embrace it. Or see it through the eyes of a child. Because, those years...Well, I learned a lot of things. Here are the three most important pieces of wisdom I would like to offer from my years outside:

1. You have nothing to lose. Do whatever you want.
2. You have nothing to lose. Do whatever you want.
3. And, it's not a wooden frog. That amphibian has seen its last days. Trust me. It's just a dead frog. Put it down. And walk away.

On the days that I feel ordinary or boring. I remember that girl. The one who would get lost in her own world. And I smile. Because, baby, let's remember our backyard years. Sometimes they help us move forward. Sometimes they inspire us now. Sometimes they put the magic back into our minds.

Wooden Frogs and Mud Pies.

-S

What I Don't Deserve.

Have you ever found yourself counting days that you don't want to lose? Moments you don't want to let go? Seconds that you'll never get back?

Last May, my life changed, because my mind changed, because well, ultimately... 

My heart changed.

And everything has been different since.

I write this with tears in my eyes and a nostalgic smile on my face.


And I blame it on three things: A letter, an email, and a Friday.

My first year of teaching has been everything I never thought it would be and everything I would love it to be. My students. Those rambunctious souls with deep and questioning thoughts. They leave me tired, yet thankful.

There was that one student. The day she read me a letter in front of 20 boys, I couldn't help but attempt to hold the tears, yet lost the battle for my cheeks to catch. In just months, I felt I had made a difference. In just months, my life had changed.

If only they all knew.

There are those students you find yourself constantly doing everything in your heart and soul to get  to try, to understand, or to comprehend. And at some point, you surrender them to the good Lord, and well, you pray. And mostly, you hope they will do alright on the state test. The results were delivered in an email. And what I saw on my computer screen brought a smile to my face. And well, to no surprise, I cried. No, that was a lie. I wept. And oh, I sobbed. With tears of sweet, sweet joy, I let those bad boys roll down my face. Because those few that were thought by some as ones who wouldn't make it, who wouldn't pass...They did. I rejoiced in that quiet moment in my classroom after school realizing that their stories become a piece of mine. And never will I believe one test defines their ability, but what a great moment it was to deliver that news to those students.

Their pain becomes my pain. And their success becomes my success.

It's not every year I'm going to get to teach a classroom full of all boys. Yes, ALL boys. But this year was my year. It was Friday. They were ready to go. I can't blame them. They have my class the last hour and half of the day, and the weekend was at their anxious finger tips. And then it happened. They decided to act up. They decided to get out of control. And my response was what changed their attitudes that following Monday. But in the moment, they didn't know how to respond. They didn't know what to do. They almost looked, upset with themselves...And that, I had never seen. Who knows? Maybe it was the way I didn't raise my voice. Maybe it was the way that I was very real with them all and told them that I loved them and I was deeply hurt and disappointed. Maybe it was the fact that my eyes were watering (I was not actually going to cry, but I was functioning off three hours of sleep the night before, so that did help my case). But, the sincerity in some of their apologies after reminded me one simple truth:

They all need grace. Every day. Because, I do too. Every day.

A letter. An email. A Friday. And every single day this past year, I have witnessed my world forever change in an irrevocable, unequivocal way, that only leads me to a place I have never found myself before: content.

For the first time in my life, I can say that I love what I get to do every day. I love that I get to spend my days staring into the eyes of young and brilliant minds, rather than staring at a computer screen for hours on end. I love that I get to know the little and big pieces of their lives. I love that they invite me in to share their stories--the good and bad.


A year ago I prayed on the way to work that if I never become a mother, the Lord would make me a different kind of mother. A spiritual mother. One who guides, loves, and speaks peace over youth. Now, I'm not going to say this is where I will stay forever; however, I do believe that if this is just the first chapter...I'm ready for a really long novel of adventure.

And I know that last statement was corny. But in the sophisticated words of Kate Winslet (because everything sounds better when you are British), "I like corny. I'm looking for corny in my life."

I believe in the power of loving until it hurts, giving others grace, and finding joy in what you do every day. And fine, I really enjoy the movie The Holiday.

Be Corny, be you.

-S

On Beauty.

I'm one to say I'm learning.

I'm a teacher, and I feel like I learn more than anything.

Every day there is something new, something different, something that makes me want to scream from my "please-hold-my-hand-I'm-scared," little corner of the fearful ones of the world. Because too many days these days, I'm learning more than anything.

I look in the mirror too much. I doubt too much. I care too much. I fear too much. I think too much. I hold on too much.

There are a lot of "things" that I do just a little too much of in the eyes of others.

And that's where everything I have believed for so long has collapsed before my eyes. I have cared for too many years, for too many hours, for too many minutes, for too many seconds what other people would say. "If I did this, or wow, if I did that...What would they think? Then what would happen? How would I be perceived? How would they feel?" And there is a pain that comes with this process. There is a pain that comes with this lifestyle.

The pain of pleasing becomes a life of appeasing. And what did I learn to do?

"Smile, honey. It's just fine." Oh, the lines I learned. The script I created for my own utopia was one of elegant luster to my own, blind eyes.

But, oh dear...Did I get lost on a road of smiles that weren't real, lumps in the throat that weren't swallowed and words that weren't said.

And somewhere in the mix of the last 10 years of this blender, I created a smoothie of a fruitful mess.