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Showing posts with label self-esteem. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self-esteem. Show all posts

Thursday, October 31, 2013

Is there anybody listening?

OK, so I know it's been a while since I last posted (or at least it feels like a long while, anyway...), and it was a while before that post as well...  Life has been busy and I've been subbing a lot, but honestly, that's not reason enough to go so long between posts and it's not the main reason that I have :-/

Truth is, I'm not struggling much with finding something to say, but with believing that anything I have to say is worth listening to.  Sure, I've got ideas and find myself thinking "OMG... I SOOOOO need to blog about THIS!  It's gonna be EPIC!!   Best blog post EVER!!!"  And then I start writing the post...

...And then I stop, because something in me starts to wonder, "Why do I bother with this?  Is this really worth writing about?  Is this really worth READING about?  C'mon... you know no one's going to read this crap, and even if they do, they're just going to click away and go find something worthwhile and meaningful to read to cleanse their minds of this nonsense that I've been spouting."  And so I stop, save the draft (I have 6 drafts currently on my Blogger homepage... 7 if you count this one...), and go back to cruising my Facebook feed, hoping for some sort of connection with somebody.  I feel like I'm actually living this old Queensryche song from my middle school years...


(Wow... Geoff Tate in a tank top... That's kind of an "Ewwww... What were we all THINKING back then???" sort of a moment... o.O  But anyway...)

Why do I bother speaking if no one is paying any attention?  It's like living with my kids... I've lost count of the number of times where I've made some sort of announcement or asked a question ("Dinner's ready...", "Time for bed...", "Why are you all singing 'The Star Spangled Banner' to the tune of 'The Narwhal Song'?"), only to be completely ignored or else stared at like I've just sprouted a third nose in the middle of my forehead.  I know, I know, this is normal... the kids-not-listening part, not the third nose part... but as any parent can attest, it's really, REALLY frustrating :-/

I think each of us has a very human need to be heard and to be noticed...  We want people to listen to us and to tell us we're worth listening to; without that, our souls starve and wither a little each day.  We are the only creatures on earth with a voice, a language, and an innate drive to communicate, and I don't believe that's an accident or a side effect of evolution... When God sent Jesus to earth, He was called the Word made flesh (John chapter 1, specifically verse 14) for a reason; when God wanted to get our attention and be noticed, He did what we would do and used not a gesture, not a glare, not an interpretive dance or a game of charades, but a Word.

People need to speak, to listen, and to be heard... And we never realize how much we need all of those until the silence overwhelms us.

Supposedly, I've had 672 visitors to my blog since I started writing in 2011... And from all those, only 2 people (other than me) have made any sort of comment or left a footprint to let me know they were here.  It's kind of discouraging, because I start to wonder...

Is it that I'm not saying anything worth commenting on?
Is it that I'm saying something so distasteful that no one wants anyone else to know they were here?
Is it that no one likes me, everybody hates me, and I guess I should go eat worms?  (As long as they're sour gummy worms, I might actually be OK with that... ^_^ )

Maybe no one's actually reading my words at all, and all 672 of those hits were just Googlebots after all...

But... If you ARE actually reading my words, thrown out into the cyber-void for who-knows-what purpose, could you do my poor battered self-esteem a favor and leave a comment to let me know you're there?  Who you are, where you're from, how on earth you stumbled across my odd little internet soapbox here... and whether you agree with me that sour gummy worms are way better than the rainbow gummy ones :-)

If something I've said in a post has struck a chord or a nerve with you, tell me so and why.  If you've got a question for me or a counter-argument to something I've said, let me know.  If you're thinking I'm a self-absorbed idiot who really should go back to answering the phones at Wal-Mart... well, try and break that to me gently and with nice words, please ^_^

To sum it all up: Talk to me, because the little voices get really strange notions when I start talking to myself... :-D

(OK, hopefully that was the end of my itty bitty pity party...  And then this song came on my iTunes and suddenly I felt much better...)


Thursday, January 17, 2013

What Salvation Means to Me...

As Christians, we hear a lot about salvation (i.e. "being saved", "getting saved", "leading someone to salvation" "being washed by the blood of the Lamb", etc.)  Some of us even take what we hear and then go out and talk to others about salvation... and we call that "leading people to Christ", "soul winning", "leading them down the Romans Road", etc.   I wonder though, sometimes, if maybe we talk so much about "salvation" that people who aren't already Christians have learned to just tune us out like so much noise.  I mean, we use all kinds of simple-yet-abstract phrases to dance around the topic... "just ask Jesus into your heart", "get right with God", "save your soul", "become a believer", "meet Jesus", and on and on... and I'm not saying that there's anything wrong or false about any of those words or approaches at all; each one explains a certain facet of salvation, and who knows which phrase will be the one that totally makes sense to someone who's searching for the truth about Jesus Christ?

But I wonder if maybe we spend so much time trying to find the right words to say it and the right phrase to summarize it that we never actually get around to explaining what salvation could actually mean to the person we're talking to, and we end up just adding to the noise instead of helping anyone.  And if we're all just so many noisy clanging cymbals, is it any wonder that, when the topic of religion comes up and we say, "Well, I'm a Christian...", no one ever follows that up with "Oh, really?  Why are you a Christian, and what is it like to be a Christian?"  Unless of course they're just looking for reasons to dismiss you as an idiot, lunatic, or fanatic... and if that's the case, then they're going to find reasons to do that no matter what you say, so what you say really doesn't end up mattering in the first place :-/  But that's a whole 'nother topic, and not one worth going into at the moment anyway, so... :-)

So, basically, if you have no interest in my answer to the question of "Why are you a Christian and what is it like to be a Christian?", and/or you don't care to read about what salvation means to me, then that's just fine... you can skip the rest of this post and read about some of my other, less "religious" soapboxes.  No offense taken :-)

But... if you're curious or if you really want to know more about why I am the way I am, then here we go:

What "Salvation" Means to Me

We all strive to fill our days with stuff to keep us busy, to keep us interested, to keep us from getting bored.  We go to school and/or to work, we come home, we eat our meals, we go to sleep.  We read books, watch TV, listen to our iPods, look for YouTube videos, play Minecraft.  We play in bands, compete on teams, work on projects, spend time with our loved ones, relax with friends... well, we try to relax when we're not busy doing all of the other stuff, anyway....   Sometimes we go places to worship those things that are bigger than us... whether they're worthy of our worship or not.

But then, there are those times when we're all alone, when the work is done, the friends have all gone home, the loved ones are all asleep, when the computer is off and the TV is silent.  Those times when we have nothing to distract us from that gigantic gaping hole in our souls that keeps us awake, whispering in our ears...

You.  Are.  Alone.

And we realize that not only are we alone and feeling kind of lonely in that moment, but we are undeniably, painfully Alone as well.  Because there is a difference between simply being lonely and being Alone... Lonely is what we feel when we think no one is around and we wish that someone was; we know that it is temporary and that we will survive.  When we are Alone, we're not so sure about either.  We spend our days trying to convince ourselves and others that that hole isn't there, that we are complete and that we have it all together... but when we are Alone, we look it in the face and know that we are liars.

(OK, so maybe you're sitting there reading this and thinking to yourself, "Oooooh-KAY then...  Let me know when Reality comes calling again, and until then, just keep your little CRACKED self over in that corner way, way away from the rest of us, 'kay?  Thanks..."  And that's fine... I'm not likely to come after you with anything but a dull pencil, so you're most likely safe where you are ^_^  But next time you're alone, and you're thinking about all that big dark Meaning of Life stuff... I'll bet you'll remember this and start to wonder why... o.O)

So, what is this hole in our souls and why is it there?  I would say that it's the spot where our spirit should be, and that it's been carved and shaped and left empty by God so that we would look for Him.  You see, we're like little kids with a jigsaw puzzle... We've got most of the pieces together, we know what our lives should look like, but there's just that one spot we can't seem to find the right piece for.



So what do we do?

We take all of the pieces we've got left and try to fit them into that spot to see which one is the right one.  Trouble is (and I'm sure we've all run into this at least once in our lives...  I know my kids did a LOT when I was still running my day care :-D ), all of our puzzle boxes have gotten spilled a time or two, and with this particular puzzle, there's one piece missing.

So, what do we do now?

Well, we can try to keep cramming random pieces into the hole, and get more and more frustrated with each one that doesn't fit.  Hey, we can even go and get all of the other puzzle boxes out, dump them all over the floor, and then try all of those pieces in the hopes that one of them will fit.  Just imagine all the super bonus frustration that you can have with that approach ^_^  And then when none of the pieces fit, we can get all mad and throw all of the puzzle pieces all around the room before setting fire to them in the bathtub.  And then try to explain the reasonableness of our decision-making process to the nice firefighters and the insurance adjusters when they come to call...



Or... We can go to the adult of the house and ask them if they know which piece goes there and where that piece might be.  And if they would be so kind as to help us find it and put it in its place.

See, this is the situation I found myself in when I was 20.  None of my pieces were fitting together, and I knew that I had great big gaping holes in my life where things like hope, security, and a will to live should have been.  I had been trying for years to put myself together and keep myself there, but no matter what I did, nothing seemed to work for very long, and as soon as I thought I had it figured out, another piece would fall to the ground and my whole puzzle would shatter.

I was Alone.

But then God was there, and He offered me the piece I'd always been missing.  And once that piece was in place, all of the other pieces made more sense.  Of course, it helped that now I could ask God for help putting the pieces together... "So, hey, Lord... How does this piece with the iguana in polka-dot boxer shorts balancing on a beach ball fit into the whole picture?  Oh, wait... What do you mean it's really a red carnation balanced on the steering wheel of a Toyota Camry?  Well, I guess that does make a little more sense, especially when you put it between those other two pieces..."

But still... What does any of this have to do with salvation?

Well, salvation is the name of that missing piece to my puzzle... No, not the iguana one, the other, analogy-type one, smart-alecks :-P  You see, I needed a savior, someone to rescue me and help me put the pieces of my life together, because as long as I was trying to put myself together on my own, I was doomed to failure.

But what did I need saving from?  What super-scary threat did I need to be rescued from?

Now, this is the part where a preacher would talk about eternal punishment for sins, the death of the soul, separation from God and light and all things that are Good, and unending punishment in a lake of fire.  And all of those things are in the Bible and all of those are gigantically big, end-of-the-world, Meaning-of-Life kinds of things that I am fantastically grateful to be rescued from.  Because it is a huge relief to know that I don't have to worry about any of those things when I die.  But, it seems to me that there should be more to salvation than just the things I won't have to worry about until after I'm dead.  And I'm really not much of a preacher anyway, so...

I think we all get the concept of being saved from a white slavery ring by a devoted father (a la Taken), or being saved from genocide like in Schindler's List, or being saved from a sinking ship like in Titanic, or even being saved from Loki and the Chitauri by Nick Fury and the Avengers.  We totally get that, and we even pay a good chunk of money to see those stories play out on the big screen.  And in Christian circles, we hear all the time about people being saved from addictions, saved from prostitution, saved from disease or infirmity or financial difficulties... which are all amazing and fantastic, but not something we've all gone through.  Most of us live pretty mundane lives, with few or no tales of sinking ships or bank robberies to tell.  But that doesn't mean we don't need someone to save us sometimes.  Here are the mundane little things that I needed saving from:

The shame about all of the stupid things I did when I was too stupid to know any better.
The shame about all of the stupid things I did when I really did know better.

The worry that no matter what I did, I would always be a failure.
The worry that everyone was about to find out that I would always be a failure.

The pressure of trying to be good enough for people to finally accept me for who I was.
The pressure of just trying to be better than I was.
The endless work of getting up every morning and still just being... me.

The suspicion that my existence and my life really was just a random collection of chances with no bigger meaning or point to it.
The fear about what if it would mean if that suspicion turned out to be true.

The frustration of going to work and to school each day and wondering why on earth any of it even matters.
The added frustration of being told that it all should matter by people who couldn't seem to explain why it should matter.

The realization that everyone I knew and everything I had was, at one point or another, going to leave me.
The panic in realizing that there was nothing I could do to stop them.

The terror of feeling lost and knowing that I had no idea where I was going, what I was doing, or how in the hell I'd gotten where I was.
The quiet certainty that all of that was my fault.

The knowledge that with every day I lived, I risked hurting the people who loved me and the ones that I loved back even more than I had the day before.
The knowledge that even if I tried to explain that to them, they'd deny it to my face and tell me I was just being melodramatic.

The loneliness of being completely, utterly Alone in this world.

The understanding that the only way to end that loneliness was for me to die.

The pain that I knew it would take to get myself there.

The damage I would do to myself if I didn't succeed.

The uncertainty of what was actually behind the dark veil of death.

To sum the whole list up in 7 words or less:

I needed to be saved from myself.

All my life, I had been hoping and waiting for my Bryan Mills, my Oskar Schindler, my Thor, my own personal superhero to come and rescue me from myself so that I could go out and finally be everything I always wanted to be.  None of them ever came.

Jesus Christ did.

And in asking Him to rescue me and trusting that He actually would, I finally found the peace I had been missing.  Which was followed by the hope, the security, and the will to live that I so desperately wanted.  And He has never left me, even in my craziest, my darkest, and my scariest times... and I won't lie, there are still times like that, even now that I'm a Christian.  The difference is that, when things get dark and no one is around, Jesus is still there and I'm not alone anymore.  

I will be the first to admit that I'm not some well-read theologian; I know that there are a vast number of different theories about the afterlife, the soul, the "true" meanings of heaven, hell, grace, justice, redemption, propitiation, atonement, and so on-- even within Christianity alone.  And I don't know much about most of those theories, much less about what other religions and worldviews have to say about such things.... and not knowing much means I should probably not say much, lest I sound even more like a total idiot than I already do ^_^

But what I can talk about is what I know from my own life and what it has convinced me of.  And so, this is what I mean when I talk about "salvation"... I'm talking about the peace I have that comes from being saved from my own self-destructive impulses.  The hope I have that comes from knowing I'm going to be all right after all.  The relief that comes from knowing I have a Superhero who will come to either rescue me from whatever trouble I get myself into or stand guard over me as that trouble blows over.  The joy that comes from knowing that whatever crap may be going on in my life right now, there is something 3 million times better waiting for me once it's over.

So, maybe you're asking:  What on earth brought this particular train of thought roaring through the station at 3:30 in the morning on a night when my youngest child is home sick with the flu?  (Well, maybe you weren't asking, but now that I've brought it up, just go with me on this one, OK?  If for no other reason than sympathy for a sick kid... ^_^)

I've been thinking a lot recently about someone I know who doesn't see the same things I do when they think about God, the universe, the meaning of life, and a lot of that stuff.  This person has become one of my very favorite people in the world, and I care a lot about them and what they think and feel and believe, even if we agree to disagree on some of the Big Picture Stuff.  The thing is, because I care about this person, I want them to be more settled and feel more at peace than they are right now, and all I know is that I've found that kind of security, peace, joy, and meaning in my relationship with Jesus.  What I don't want to do is to preach at them or make them feel like I'm lecturing or threatening them, because I remember what that feels like and I absolutely hate, hate, HATE that feeling... that feeling that because I'm not a saved believing Christian, I'm somehow subhuman and therefore not worthy of value unless I get my act together and get "saved."  But, how do I talk to them about salvation without them thinking I'm trying to change them into something they're not or puff myself up into something I'm not?   And I know that, as I go through this life, I'm going to meet more and more people like this, and I'm going to find myself over and over again in this same situation of wanting to speak but not feeling welcome to... and that doesn't even begin to count all of the people I'll never meet who will get to know me by reading this blog.  The possibilities here actually hurt my brain o.O

So maybe I'm kind of hoping that, even if I never get the chance to tell them my story in person, they'll read this blog, and hopefully, they'll actually listen to what I have to say without shutting me out.  In the meantime, my job is to love them right where they're at, whether we agree or not.  Because really, it's not up to me to "save" them... that's between them and God.  All I want to do is tell them what I know so that they can hear the truth about being a Christian from someone who's been there and has finally found what they are still so desperately looking for.

Friday, January 4, 2013

Broken Stained Glass Candles... Like Me

So... The holiday season is now over and things are about to go back to "normal"... well, at least as normal as it gets around these parts o.O

For Christmas this year, my youngest gave me this stained glass candleholder made of grout and bits of broken blue glass...



He didn't make it himself (I know this because I was with him at Goodwill when I picked it up and commented on how cool it was... which was about 3 aisles before he told me "Mom, DON'T LOOK... I'll be right back!" and then took off running ^_^), but all the same, I love it just as if he did because of what it says about life and about me.

Allow me to explain.

Once upon a time, I was created as a beautiful, unblemished piece of art, without understanding of life or sin or failure.  Granted, I had some structural flaws-- mainly health issues and a family background that would make life difficult for anyone-- but as far as I could see with my newborn eyes, I was perfect, lovely, and loveable.

http://supercleanpr.com

But then, life happened.  Over time, I was bumped, dropped, knocked around, fractured, and crushed by circumstances.  In response, I lashed out, cutting myself and others with the sharpened edges of my shattered innocence.  My flawless surface began to show cracks where I had been hurt, dribbles of glue where people who loved me had tried to fix me, and scraps of cellophane tape where I had tried to heal myself.  Bits and pieces of me were broken off and embedded in the hearts of those who tried in vain to understand me, just as pieces of them were left buried in me.

http://tektites.co.uk

As I began to see the power that I could have by hurting people, I became not a piece of art but a weapon, wielding my damaged pride like a knife and using my bloodied edges to slash at others before they could pierce me with their own.  Yet the blood was not just theirs, but mine; for every wound I inflicted on them, I took two of my own.  While the damage I did to those around me was spread out among dozens, the damage I did to myself landed only on me.  Every cruel word I spoke, every bruise I left, every vicious tirade I inflicted echoed in my mind, and each word came back to haunt me as I realized that everything I said had been true... about me.  I cut others so that I could forget that I had been cut myself.

Once I was an innocent; now I was a monster.

Once I was whole; now I was deformed.

Once I was beautiful; now I was broken.

My original form was lost, my once-shiny colors and designs covered by dirt and shattered by situations and choices.  Like broken glass littering the midnight street, I had become ugly and useless, a cruel glittering of danger waiting only for the distracted feet of my next victim to tread upon me.

http://westoftheimagination.wordpress.com
But then...

God steps in.

And bit by bit, He begins to gather up the broken pieces of me.  He cleans them off and sets them aside, separating them by color, shape, and size.

http://earofthewind.com/about

Some pieces He refines, rubbing off the sharp edges and rendering them harmless; others He leaves sharp to be used as tools for His work.

http://boehmstainedglass.blogspot.com/2011/07/octagonal-window-glass-cut.html

Slowly, one by one, He takes each of the broken pieces and places them into a mold.  At first, the design makes absolutely no sense to anyone but Him; in time, however, glimpses of the bigger picture become visible.

http://mosaicartsource.wordpress.com

I write these paragraphs in the present tense because I am still a work in progress; God isn't finished putting me together yet.  I still have some sharp edges and many missing pieces; I still have great big gaping holes where the pieces of my soul aren't quite ready to be put back in yet.  I still feel lost and broken sometimes, and every so often, I accidentally slice open the hands of those who reach out to touch me.  I am flawed and I am broken, and I know that, until the day God puts the final piece of me together and I see Christ face to face, I will always be flawed and broken.

But...

If by my brokenness, other people will see that there is a God and that He is the one who saves me from myself, then it is worth the pain.  If by my flaws, other people can see that God is real and that if He can love a person as messed up as I am, He can love them too, then it is worth it.  If my struggles and my shortcomings and my failures-- and the hope I still have in spite of them-- can show people that no situation is hopeless, then they are all worthwhile.  If my weakness shows God's strength to carry me, then by all means... bring it :-)

Day by day, piece by piece, reminder by reminder, God takes the broken pieces of my life and puts them together into something beautiful again.  Not the same as I was before... that design has been crushed and obliterated beyond recognition, and will never, ever be made whole again.  But all the same, the end result will be breathtakingly beautiful... and like my broken stained glass candleholder, I think I will love it all the more for the work that He has put into it :-D



And now, for the musical interlude part of the blog...  Here is someone else's video for a song that perfectly captures what I'm trying to say here, only in a more poetical form :-)  Lyrics are below for anyone who needs them...


"Art in Me" by Jars of Clay

Images on the sidewalk
Speak of dreams' descent
Washed away by storms to graves
Of cynical lament
Dirty canvases
To call my own
Protest limericks carved
By the old pay phone

And in Your picture book I'm
Trying hard to see
Turning endless pages
Of this tragedy
Sculpting every move
You compose a symphony
And You plead to everyone
See the art in Me
See the art in Me
See the art in Me.

Broken stained glass windows
The fragments ramble on
Tales of broken souls
An eternity's been won
As critics scorn the thoughts and works
Of mortal man
My eyes are drawn to You
In awe once again

And in Your picture book I'm
Trying hard to see
Turning endless pages
Of this tragedy
Sculpting every move
You compose a symphony
And You plead to everyone
See the art in Me
See the art in Me
See the art in Me.

And in Your picture book I'm
Trying hard to see
Turning endless pages
Of this tragedy
Sculpting every move
You compose a symphony
And You plead to everyone
See the art in Me
(See the art in me...)
See the art in Me
(See the art in me...)
See the art in Me
(See the art in me...)
 


Monday, August 1, 2011

"But I'm an A student...!" -- Part 2

Apologies all around for the loooooooooong delay between posts... I've just finished up a couple of Summer Term condensed classes in order to stay on track to graduate in April (about 9 months from now... Squeeeeeeeee!  As my little sister would say :-D), and trying to balance those with the general chaos of 3 kids (including 2 middle schoolers) at home for the summer and bored and a hubby looking for work in an economy with about 11-12% unemployment has been... a little bit time consuming :-)

But anyway...

So, time for Part 2 of my little rant...

I'm currently carrying a 4.0 GPA going into my senior year of college, and let me tell you, it's a lot tougher to pull that off in a university than it ever was in the public schools I grew up in.  However, I've noticed a really weird phenomenon as I'm attending classes with students who have grown up in today's public school system...  Let me illustrate with an example:

One of the classes I had to take last year was a class in the basics of mathematics for elementary educators.  One day, the professor was passing back an exam we had all taken, and offered to explain any of the questions that we had missed.  One girl's hand immediately shot into the air, and before the prof could call on her, she launched the attack: He had made a mistake in one of the questions, therefore, her answer was not incorrect at all, and she deserved credit for his mistake.  With a sigh, the prof ran through the problem on the overhead... and discovered that she was in fact right, he had made a mistake in the problem.  As about half of the class had given the same answer as my classmate, the professor gave an extra point to everyone... leading my classmate to begin cheering, "Yes!  100%  Oh yeah, oh yeah..."  Later on in the term, on a class project, this same student was infuriated to discover that she had only scored a 15 out of 25 (60%)... "But, I'm an A student!  You're grading us too hard and expecting too much of us!  This is just ridiculous..."

Which is what brings me to the point of this part of my rant... When we make the "A" the standard for our education system (see my previous post for more on that...), we not only discourage a sizable chunk of our student population, but we artificially puff up the kids on the other end of the spectrum... We tell them that they deserve their high grades and that their grades are an integral part of their personal worth.  We give them the expectation that they will always get high grades, and that the school system will always work with them to help them maintain their high potential.

However, there are other factors at play and systems at work when it comes to "raising the standards" in our school system.  Federal mandates for visible proof of student achievement (no, I'm not going to even start in on NCLB... way too much ink and way too many pixels have been spent on that whole hornet's next for me to add anything worthwhile... :-/) have led to a simplifying of skills and information so that more students will be able to grasp the fundamentals of a wide range of topics and perform more consistently on state tests.  This simplifying of skills to reach the majority of students makes it easier for the already advanced students to get A's... which gives them the impression that school is always going to be easy for them because they are naturally smart.

Mixed-ability grouping continues that process, since advanced students in a class often are rewarded with extra free time in class to read, work on projects, or visit while the teacher works with students who need additional help to grasp new concepts; the "smart" kids see that their classmates are still struggling and they assume that there must be something lacking in other children because they don't "get" something as simple as adding fractions, or writing a paragraph, or reading a short story for examples of irony.  And then the teachers come up with the brilliant idea of having the "fast" learners tutor the "slow" learners as a way of building community... which gives the "smart" kids the chance to demonstrate to their tutorees just how inferior they really are and how much harder their life is going to be because they have to work for something that "should" come so easily...  And the chasm grows ever wider.

By the time kids reach middle school, mixed-ability groupings are discarded (which really makes one wonder about the long-term benefits of such groupings, but anyway...) and all students are tested for placement into the classes that will pretty much determine their high school careers.  The kids who struggle are placed into the basic skills classes, and the kids who excel (many of whom have been excelling from the start for a wide variety of reasons) are placed into Honors classes, where they gain the foundational skills to help them in high school AP classes.

However, for a lot of these kids, Honors classes give them their first experience with struggling.  All of a sudden, they're not getting the easy A's anymore, and when they start bringing home B's and C's, it shakes their self-confidence and their sense of who they are.  Maybe they're not naturally smart... maybe they're just like everyone else after all.

Or maybe the class is too hard.  Or maybe the teacher just hates them.  After all, teachers hate smart kids, right?  Because it's the smart kids who don't just buy mindlessly into whatever the teacher says, and who will stand up for the rights of all of the other kids who are being discriminated against by big, mean, evil teachers around the world... or so my daughter's middle school friends would have me believe, anyway ;-)  The B's, the C's, the D's... they're all there just because the teacher didn't agree with what the student wrote.  The Missing Work Notices are only because the teacher forgot to tell the class that the assignment was due the next day... and the kids who got theirs turned in on time only did so because they're the teacher's favorites and they always turn their work in early anyway.  And the whole "only-giving-half-credit for late assignments" deal?  "Well, if these stupid teachers would just realize that students have lives too, then they wouldn't be so picky about an extra day or two... I mean, in the big picture, who really cares if I turn it in on Friday or on Monday?  The teachers should be grateful that I gave them a little extra time to enjoy their weekend before having to grade my paper... but noooooo, they only want to give me 50% so that they can feel in control!  How unfair is that?  I mean, I am an A student, after all..."

And then the report cards go home... and the parents hit the warpath.  Some crack down on their "lazy teenagers", grounding them or confiscating the iPhones until their grades improve.  Others demand to speak with the teacher and threaten to go to the District Superintendent if something isn't done to "rein in" this control freak behavior and put an immediate end to the age/gender/cultural/socio-economic discrimination.  And quite often, if the grades don't rise, the students find themselves in "regular" classes the next semester, where they very quickly regain their status as "A" students and return to their happy, bubbly, "smart" selves.

For a lot of kids, this continues throughout high school; they graduate from 4 years of classes that aren't too hard with 4.0 GPAs and are accepted to the universities of their choice... where they crash headfirst into The Real World of university professors who don't really give a rat's patooty what grades they got in high school and who actually hold them accountable for studying-- on their own time-- the material assigned in class o_O  Now, maybe I'm just seeing one small sliver of life on this topic... after all, I am in a major of study that has been labeled as "the nation's easiest college major", so maybe we get a LOT of these kinds of students.  But still, I wonder if this isn't yet another side-effect of our current public school system :-/

What if we began grading students not on whether or not they meet the minimum requirements on assignments, but on how far beyond the minimum they choose to go?  In other words, instead of giving a 100% to all students who met the baseline requirements, what if we gave 50% for meeting the minimum and then additional points for how far above and beyond they went?  Granted, this wouldn't work for multiple-choice exams, but maybe we shouldn't be using multiple choice exams as our main form of assessment anyway.

What if we began expecting more of our students-- not just our strugglers-- to actually work hard to earn their grades?  Honestly, the only way I see this working is if we go back to ability grouping at the elementary school level, where kids who need additional help are grouped together and given the assistance they need to catch up and kids who are advanced are either moved up a grade or given more challenging work to do so that they too can learn to work hard and achieve more.  And by more challenging, I don't mean just more worksheets or longer books... I mean figuring out new ways to them to use what they already know and to move on to the next level of a subject when they are ready.

Some will say that this second change would be damaging to children's self-esteem.  I would answer that by stating the obvious: children who struggle in a mixed-ability class are not blind to the fact that they are struggling, and this is also damaging to their self-esteem.  It may even be more damaging,  because the kids to whom they (and, sadly, their teachers and parents as well) are comparing themselves are often so far above the benchmark that even the average learners in a class feel inferior and incompetent by comparison.

But then again, this entire argument rests on the foundational assumption that students' self-esteem should be based upon their academic achievement... and maybe that's the gravest error of all in the whole system.  What if we could find ways to tell all of our students that they are valuable and precious no matter what grades they get or how they score on their tests?  What if we as teachers, as parents, and as friends constantly strove to reassure the kids in our lives that we love them no matter what, and that those letters at the top of the page are nothing more than a snapshot of a fragment of their lives?

The song I'm ending with here is a (relatively) old one called "Stupid Kid" from Caedmon's Call... It may take a little bit to find a YouTube video for it (no luck so far :-/), but I will add a link if I find it :-)  Until then, here are the lyrics...

I think this place is swell
There’s much familiar here
I get my laundry done
And I get home-cooked meals
And when I’m feeling tired
I can turn off all the lights


Ignore the knocking on the door

Pretend I’m not alive

Daddy, it’s Saturday


And I don’t want to go outside

And mow the grass today

So, would you love me just as much

If I was just your stupid kid?

Would you love me just as much

If I was just your stupid kid?

They tell me that I’m bright


Sometimes I think they’re right

But I guess I’ll never know

‘Cause I won’t go outside

Some days it’s just so hot

And others it’s so cold

Too much exposure to the sun

Would just make me look old

Daddy, it’s Saturday


And I don’t want to go outside

And mow the grass today

So, would you love me just as much

If I was just your stupid kid?

Would you love me just as much

If I was just your stupid kid?

Well, isn’t this Saturday?


It sure feels like Saturday

So, wake me Saturday

Daddy, it’s Saturday...

And my mind wanders off


To things I’ve never seen

Are these walls higher than the cost
Of opportunity?


'Cause I’m too big for my bed

And I’ve outgrown my shoes

But my fear of leaving

Is the one thing I just can’t lose

Daddy, it’s Saturday


And I don’t want to go outside

And mow the grass today

So, would you love me just as much...

If I never got a job?
If I never left your house?
Would I be of use to you
If I never amounted to much more
Than just your stupid kid?


So, would I love me just as much

If I was just your stupid kid?

UPDATE (8/2/2011): OK, so here's a video for the song so you can all sing along... Just kidding, no singing necessary-- I figure if I can't carry a tune in a bucket, I have no right expecting anyone else to either :-D



Saturday, June 4, 2011

"But I'm an A student...!" -- Part 1

About a week ago or so, I had a couple of conversations with a couple of different friends about their kids and those kids' recent experiences in school... which got me thinking (once again) about the way we've set up our school system.  Or more specifically, about what we've turned it into over the past few generations...

A little bit of context before I jump up onto my soapbox...

One of my friends posted on a major social networking site, in frustration, about how her son came home with D's and F's on his most recent report card... after multiple emails, phone calls, conferences, and whatnot about how he's perfectly capable of getting As and Bs but just doesn't seem to care.  I know this kid, and he's not a dumb kid in any sense of the word... granted, there are days when he'd forget his head if it wasn't attached, but hey, we all have days like that, right?  Having been that kind of student at points in my own life, I tried to be encouraging: middle school's not all THAT big of a deal, and even if this kind of thing continues into high school, it's not the end of the world, etcetera etcetera.

Later that day, I ran into another friend at the grocery store, and we started talking about her first grader, who is in the middle of the IEP process at the elementary school he and my younger son both attend; because he struggles with behavioral issues and decoding skills, his teachers get frustrated with him because he has trouble completing his work in the same time frame as his classmates... even though he can talk circles around them and demonstrate his understanding of the concepts just fine.  The usual first impression that teachers, specialists, and other kids seem to have is that my friend's son is a "slow learner"; once the IEP process is finished and he starts receiving special education services, this may serve to reinforce this misconception.

OK, so this is probably the point at which I start soapboxing... consider yourselves warned :-)

For those who don't already know, I'm an elementary education major, with one more year left until I graduate and apply for my Initial Teaching License.  Before I transferred to my current school, I was working towards an Associate's Degree in Paraeducation, with an emphasis on Special Education; in my days of running a day care center, I worked with several students designated by the school system as having "special needs", ranging from ADHD to ODD (Oppositional-Defiant Disorder) to PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder).  The kids I know with these alphabet-soup labels are actually the reason I wanted to become a Special Ed teacher in the first place; these kids are people, not disorders.

Which is in part the whole reason for this post.

Where along the road of American Education did we get the idea that the "A student" is the standard, the ideal?  Why do we beat ourselves up whenever our kids don't get straight As, or when they're diagnosed with learning disabilities, or when their test scores come back placing them in the 50th or 60th percentiles instead of the 90th or 98th?  Why, when our kids start failing things at school, do we automatically assume that there's something wrong with them, something broken that needs to be fixed?

Maybe the problem isn't them at all... Maybe it's us.

Our schools and our educational system are designed for maximum instructional efficiency... How can we educate the largest number of kids in the most effective way possible so that as many kids as possible score at or above the minimum required benchmarks?  We seek to streamline our educational practices so that we can fit more information into a shrinking amount of time (as more and more districts cut school days to keep their budgets in the black), and then we worry and fret about whether or not they will get enough of the answers right on our state's standardized tests for us to keep our jobs.  We align our curriculum and our daily lessons with our state's Dept. of Ed. standards, and make sure to cover the items that we just know are going to be on the upcoming OAKS (or ITBS, or CTBS, or whatever they call them in your state) tests.  We focus on getting as many of our students as possible to Benchmark, and then hope that someone later on will have the freedom to teach them how to postulate, how to ponder, how to seek, and how to discover.

And then we wonder why some of our students don't seem to be "getting it", and why others don't seem to care.  We wonder why our middle schoolers agree via Facebook that school is boring, and that it's a waste of time that they can't wait to leave.  We wonder why the drop-out rates don't seem to be dropping, even with all the Positive Behavioral Supports, effort incentives, extra privileges, and other bribery systems we've put into place for motivation.  We wonder at the fact that the diagnosis rates for specific learning disabilities are skyrocketing, and why ADHD is diagnosed 3 times more often in boys than in girls.  We wonder at the increasing violence in our middle and high schools, and we wonder why our anti-bullying programs don't seem to be making a difference.  And we wonder at the rising numbers of teen and young adult suicides, especially among those diagnosed with learning or behavioral disabilities.

What if the problem is that, by aiming our instruction and our behavior management plans at the 68% of students in the middle of the bell curve, we have created an environment where the other 32% of our students are allowed to fall by the wayside?  In a classroom of 30 students, that means we accept that at least 3 out of every 10 of our students-- at least 9 out of our whole class-- are going to fall short of the mark in some way... and we consider that to be an acceptable casualty rate.

Who are these 9 students that we're not aiming for?  Maybe they're the kids who already know the material we're teaching, or who learn it quicker than most students, and they're the ones sitting at their desks bored and looking for trouble.  Maybe they're the kids who, no matter how hard they try to focus and make sense of our teaching, just don't understand what we're talking about.  Maybe they're the kids who have so much other stuff going on in their lives outside of the classroom that our exciting new lesson on phonics or slope-intercept form just really isn't all that important to them.

Does any of this make them stupid, or disabled, or defective, or broken?

We and our multi-billion dollar educational system seem to keep telling them that it does.

When kids start pulling in Ds and Fs, the first thing we do is try and encourage the kids with incentive systems such as Friday Fun Day or punish them by keeping them in from recess.  When that doesn't work, we call in the parents for a conference, where we ask them to tell us what is wrong with their child that keeps him from doing his work (and where we surreptitiously watch to see if the problem is perhaps with the parents instead of the child).  When that still doesn't work, we (and/or the child's parents) lecture the kid about how they're throwing their future away, and how when they get into "the real world" (as if their own world is somehow imaginary or something...), they'll find out how important slope-intercept form, the Pythagorean theorem, and the life cycle of a frog really are.  When all our impassioned lectures, our wheedling, our nagging, and our screaming doesn't work, we sigh and shrug and either place them into a lower skill group (where maybe they won't mind doing the work as much because it will be easier), or else refer them for Special Ed evaluation in the hopes that someone, somewhere will be able to figure out what to do with them.

The key problem with this whole scenario?  It focuses on the kid (and the parents, if we're feeling particularly generous that year) as the source of the problem.  It never stops to consider that maybe we-- our classrooms, our schools, our districts, and our American public school system as a whole-- are contributing factors to our students' struggles.

What if our students aren't motivated to turn in their worksheets and comprehension questions because they don't see the point in jumping through hoops to prove to us what they already know?  What if they don't see why they need to learn slope-intercept form when their graphing calculator and computer can do the work for them?  What if the reason that their homework isn't done and their library books keep disappearing is because they were stuck riding around in the car all afternoon while their parents are turning in job applications or babysitting their younger siblings all evening so that their parents can work and pay the bills?   What if they're tuning out because we're teaching on something they already know or because we've lost their interest 7 minutes into the 15 minute lesson?

I guess my point here is that maybe, when our students aren't performing (which may be the most accurate word for the process in this whole blog post) to our expectations, we should first look to see if the problem is something we can fix before relegating the student to our academic Island of Misfit Toys.  Perhaps by telling students that their academic problems are something broken in them that they need to fix to earn our approval, we have created the monsters that we identify as the biggest problems in the public school system today.

But then again, there's the other side of the story... which, considering the length of this post already, I think I'll post another day.  I'm sure there's enough here to tick enough people off for one day :-)

I like to include at least one song in each of my posts... a bit of a shout-out to those of us (not me, unfortunately) who are musically inclined, I guess.  The only song I can think of at the moment that even remotely applies to the topic is this one, but hey, it's Switchfoot, so it works if for no other reason than that :-)

Sunday, May 8, 2011

10 Reasons Why It Sucks To Be A Skinny Girl...

OK, so, once again, I'm sitting here thinking about how our lovely Oregon May (sunshine, blue skies, highs in the mid- to upper- 60s) seems to have turned so suddenly back into a not-so-lovely Oregon March (wind, clouds, showers... yeah, you get the picture), and somehow that gets me thinking about the past, and that somehow (yes, my thought processes usually are this random...) leads me to put together my "Top 10 Reasons Why It Sucks To Be A Skinny Girl":


10.  We're always cold.  Always.  Not just in October, or December, or January, or March, but always.  When it's 87 degrees out and the rest of the world is lounging around in their shorts and tank tops, we will be the ones shivering and wondering when summer will finally arrive as we grab our favorite GFU hoodie and bury our heads and hands in its folds.  Oh, and this would be in July or August, mind you... because here in Oregon, that's about the size of summer as we know it :-)

9.  We have the dubious privilege of being able to shop in at least 3 different sections of any department store: Women's, Juniors, and Girls 7-16.  It's very difficult to find work-appropriate clothing that doesn't require a shiny pink patent leather Hannah Montana belt to hold them onto us, and it's even more difficult to earn the respect of your fifth graders when you're wearing the same outfit as three of them.  Just trust me on this one...

8.  Every time we go to any grandmother's home-- whether it's our own grandmother or not-- for dinner, we always get clucked over and served double helpings under the mantle of "fattening us up".  Which isn't so bad, for the most part... unless of course the grandmother's specialty involves pork, leftover goulash, or Spam and green beans.  Or all of the above... together.  Then things get scary...

7.  Every time we go home to visit, our mothers shake their heads at us and mutter under their breaths about how "college cafeteria food just isn't what it used to be and if only we would just live at home things would be better..."  Which is really sad when you're 35, married with several small children, and you can't even afford cafeteria food.  Which then moves right into Reason #6...

6.  People assume (especially if any of the aforementioned small children are as skinny as we are) that we simply CAN NOT COOK.

Okay, well, I guess in my case they would be right... I'm not a creative cook, or a particularly good cook.  I don't really even LIKE to cook.  But I can sure microwave stuff really well, and I LOVE to bake :-D  Actually, I'm getting better at cooking stuff that everyone in my family can and will eat, and I do eat what I cook, so the implication that I'm incapable of cooking actually does chafe a bit, the more I think about it...

5.  A lot of women automatically assume that their boyfriends/fiancees/husbands are looking at us and wishing that they (the girlfriends/fiancees/wives... not the guys doing the looking) were skinny like us.  Given my personal dating history and that of the other skinny girls I know, I can most assuredly tell you that this is simply NOT the case... or if it is, those women do a really, really, REALLY good job of keeping their men-- and any others in about a 15 foot radius, for that matter-- from showing any interest in us whatsoever.

4.  When we go out to lunch with a group, the first thing that the host or hostess at the restaurant does is point us to the salad bar.  I really despise the salad bars at restaurants, because honestly, if I wanted to eat lettuce and veggies, I'd spend the 3 bucks for a bag of Fresh Express and a bottle of Catalina and pig out at home.  When I go out to eat-- especially if someone else is paying-- I want REAL food and plenty of it... nom nom nom :-D

3.  Women who look just fine to us feel that they're perfectly entitled to begin conversations that involve food with, "You're so skinny... I hate you."  And then they smile and say they're just kidding... usually.  But still, the damage is done.  No one likes to be told that they're hated for something that they can't control, and it's especially damning when, if we were to turn the tables and say, "Wow, you're a bit chubby... I hate you...", it would end the friendship right then and there.  It's also hard when all the while, we're looking at them and wishing that we had those kind of curves, and remembering all the times that our husbands or boyfriends have looked at women with curves and tried to gently suggest that "it would be OK if we had curves like that too..."  Constructive criticism be damned, it hurts to be told you're not good enough.

2.  Nothing ever quite looks right on us.  Even when we think we look fine, we constantly have friends and relatives looking us over when we walk into a room, shaking their head at us, and suggesting that we just need to get more rest, we just need to eat more and eat better, or we just need to stop working so hard.  They ask if we're feeling OK, compare our arms to toothpicks and wonder aloud if we really do disappear when we turn sideways.  (The answer to that last one, BTW, is that no, we don't, but right then and there, we wish we could...) What they don't see is that the mirror at home points out the roundness of our cheeks and the way our chins get wider when we tilt our heads just so, and that it laughs at us when we suck it in to make ourselves look slenderer.  What they don't know is that we are trying as hard as we can to eat, to rest, to look normal, act normal, be normal.

1.  People always assume we have an eating disorder.

Which is sometimes-- not always, but far, far too often-- true.

For some of us, at some point in our lives, someone told us that we would be happy if we were just a little bit thinner, that we would then be pretty and that people would finally love us.  Sometimes that person is a parent, or a boyfriend, or a so-called friend at school, but more often than not, it's an invisible voice that we can never quite trace, a voice that seems to come from all sides and always pops up when it's least wanted or needed.  We see other girls who seem to have it all together, and whether they're skinny or not, we assume that, if we were only prettier like them, we would attain what they have naturally.  What we don't see is that they are scrambling just like we are to pretend that everything's fine and that inside, they're often thinking that if only they were pretty like so-and-so, then they would be happy too.

I struggled with anorexia from the time I was 13 until I was 19;  it took me another 3 years and placing my unborn daughter at risk to finally break its hold over me.  I honestly believed that, if I could just stick with 3 pieces of bread and a couple of glasses of milk each day, I would finally be slender enough that my face wouldn't resemble a potato and my thighs wouldn't wobble like beached whales when I walked.  Of course, I always ended up eating more than that and cursing myself for being such a failure... everything in my life always seemed to come back to my inability to control myself and the inescapable fact that I was, and would always be, a failure.  The most ironic thing?  At my heaviest, I weighed only 131 pounds, which is completely normal for a 5-foot-6 teenager.  More often, my weight hovered around 114... nowhere near overweight.

When I was 19, I finally admitted that my not eating was a problem and resolved to make myself eat more.  Funny thing, though... suddenly, my appetite all but disappeared.  Even after Jesus Christ saved me at the age of 20 (which is yet another long story that I may or may not go into at another time), it just didn't seem like my eating was all that important in the big scheme of things-- I mean, after all, aren't Christians supposed to force their bodies into submission and show self-control in all things and avoid gluttony and all that "be holy as I the LORD am holy" good stuff?  (Yes, I'm being sarcastic here... please don't start posting comments about how I'm misinterpreting the Scriptures and making Christianity into some sort of ascetic self-mutilation cult.  Thank you... o_O)

What finally gave my the wake-up call to start actually doing something about my anorexia was when the doctor who was to deliver our first child became concerned because, at 8 months of pregnancy, I had stopped gaining weight; she feared that my inability to eat enough had caused the baby to stop growing entirely.  Two  additional ultrasounds were inconclusive; there wasn't enough detail to tell anything other than that our soon-to-be born daughter was alive, but not moving as much as she had been before.  For the first time, my eating disorder was endangering someone other than myself, someone I had been charged by God to take care of and to protect-- not to starve and cripple.  Our daughter was born nearly 2 weeks past her due date weighing 8 lbs, 2 oz and (after spending a few additional days in the hospital for unrelated issues) perfectly healthy, so it turned out to be just a scare for all of us.  BUT... I guess I needed something like that to shake me out of my stupidity and motivate me to actually conquer my eating issues.  To this day, though, I have trouble gaining weight and keeping it on, and even though I eat and eat and eat, I never quite make it to the point where people actually believe me when I say that I'm fine.  So I guess I will always be one of the "skinny girls"... and at this point, I'm OK with that :-)

There is a song I've always loved that helps me to put an image to this struggle with myself; maybe I like it so much because I have no innate musical talent of my own BUT if I did, I wish I would have written and sung this song myself :-)  Anyway, here is a video that someone else made for the song, followed by the lyrics...


"Piece of Glass"

Can’t believe that I did it again
Wake me up from this nightmare
‘Cause this monster’s wasting me away
Taking my days

Every day, I live a bit less
One night leads to another
Even if I went back
Would they recognize me?
Or criticize me?

Who are you that lies when you stare at my face?
Telling me that I’m just a trace
Of the person I once was
‘Cause I just can’t tell if you’re telling the truth
Or a lie
On you I just can’t rely
After all, you’re just a piece of glass

Still I control this nightmare
When I call, it answers
But I can’t tell it when to come or
When to stay

Who are you that lies when you stare at my face?
Telling me that I’m just a trace
Of the person I once was
‘Cause I just can’t tell if you’re telling the truth
Or a lie
On you I just can’t rely
After all, you’re just a piece of glass

“Don’t talk… listen.
Hold Me tighter
Stay with Me just for a while
Until the sun shines
Stay with Me
Just give Me one more day…”

Who are you that lies when you stare at my face?
Telling me that I’m just a trace
Of the person I once was
‘Cause we’re not the same
You’re just a picture of me
You’re gone as soon as I leave
You’ve lived my life for me
And you’re no more than just a piece of glass

You’re no more than just a piece of glass
    -- Danielle Young & Derek Webb

Anorexia is something that never completely goes away; it's always at the back of your mind, whispering in your ear and calling you names like "fat", "ugly", and "cow".  It laughs along with the jokes about ugly people and pokes you in the ribs to tell you that, hey, they're laughing at you too.  It tells you that no matter how hard you work or how far you go, you will never be pretty enough, attractive enough, special enough, or good enough for anyone to love you.  And when someone finally does tell you that you are enough, you are special, and that they do love you, it calls them a liar.  Anorexia is the enemy within; its weapons are the mirror and the scale, and it seeks to destroy us from the inside out.  We are not strong enough to battle it on our own and win because it is us; this is why we need God's love and His strength to fight it on our behalf.  And now, well into the second decade of this war against myself, I can at least say that I'm not losing nearly as often anymore... and that gives me hope for tomorrow :-D

And now that it's almost 12:30 in the morning, I think I'll be signing off for now... until later :-)