A Glimpse Into the Future

It has been cool to be able to observe in a classroom with a student teacher. Gina is in the Mascot program, so it will be a little different when I go into the student teaching program. I won't be teaching as much right off the bat, and I'll switch classes and possibly schools at the semester. I'm sure there are more differences, but those are the big ones that I know at least. But it is still really nice to talk to her about her experience so far. She has been reassuring in telling me that though it is a lot of work, she's having a lot of fun. And I can see that in the way she interacts with the students. They ask her if she is going to the football game that week. They try to give her nicknames like "G Spice" (Gina Spadorcio is her name). Not only is it evident that she likes her students, but they also really like her. There is a lot of laughter in the classroom. She helps build that family that Chris talked to me about.

I know that I am not going to have the same experience as Gina. I'm not Gina; I'm not in the Mascot program, and I'm going to have Chris as my master teacher. But it is still nice to observe someone who is just a semester ahead of you on the journey. It's encouraging. And I look forward to becoming more a part of Chris and Gina's classroom as the semester goes on. I can feel myself becoming more comfortable around the students, and I hope that there are more lessons that I am able to help out with in some way.

The Unique Creature Known As a "Freshman Boy"

I got the chance to observe one of Chris' regular freshman English classes. Not only was this class not the honors class, but I came for 7th period on a Friday. The difference between the honors class and the regular class was to be expected and though a little nuts, not as frightening to me as I thought it would be.

At the beginning of class they were to write down definitions of words that were going to show up in the book they were about to read: Narrative of the Life of Fredrick Douglas. Chris and her co teacher Gina had to work so hard to get the class, specifically the boys, to quiet down and write their definitions. I thought this was a really good idea though because it would help with their comprehension of a pretty heavy book. Later they began reading the book out loud, and whenever a vocabulary word was read someone would say "ding ding" and point it out. They finally quieted down as Chris read the first part of the narrative out loud, and some even had some interesting questions to ask about slave laws at the time.

All in all I think Chris and Gina did a good job and managing the students, but I think I would have to do something different. It took them a really long time to get started, and too much chaos stresses me out. It also really bothers me if someone makes light of something so serious, and sitting where I was I heard a few inappropriate jokes about whipping and abuse. I plan to make it really clear that my one rule is about respect - respecting others, your surroundings, and yourself. But I also understand that the freshman boy is a unique creature of whom I have little understanding. And I might be lucky to get as far as Chris has gotten in managing them. I find them hilarious, frustrating, and ridiculous all at the same time. Gina told me she has a word document where she writes down the different ridiculous stuff they say. I love that. And as crazy as that 7th period class was, I look forward to getting to interact with students like that. I'm sure there will be many days that I do not look forward to it, but I hope to keep my sense of humor with me and am able to laugh things off and start over the next day.

I also got the chance to do some paper editing, first with the honors class papers and then with a regular class paper. The paper from the student in regular English 9 was pretty bad. I didn't really know where to begin. That is honestly going to be the hardest part of teaching for me I think. I'm going to want to have one on one meetings with every students to go over their papers, and I don't know if I would have enough time for that. But I have time to figure it out. And I'm glad to be observing in a class to see how Chris deals with it.

Becoming a family.

Chris leaned over to me, "They're bonding- having fun like this. They're becoming a family."

I got to observe for the first time this week in Ms Chris Perrson's classroom at Chico High, and I have been shocked and blessed by what I have been able to see. The emphasis that Chris puts on relationships with her students and the students with each other is beautiful. Every student loves her, trusts her, respects her. Granted, I was only able to observe her Freshman honors English class and her film class (where we watched Pretty in Pink. Love that movie). She informed that if I really want to see a classroom management nightmare to try to come by around 2pm for 7th period. Hopefully one of these days I can fit that in.
All that said, when looking from the outside, Chris' class seems kind of chaotic. She's super kooky; students are eating and super chatty as they walk in. But then they start taking roll with the co teacher, and begin playing this game where they try to call out their names in alphabetical order as fast as they can. They're awful at it. In the midst of laughter and competition with their last recorded time, they attempt three times at their roll call game. This is when Chris leans over to me and whispers, "They're bonding- having fun like this. They're becoming a family." Before this, it was obvious that Chris is a loved teacher, but when she said this it dawned on me that her lax demeanor, the fun she has with her students - it's all for a purpose. She knows exactly what she's doing when she jokes with her students, tells them funny stories about her life, allows them to be a little crazy before they settle down into getting started with class. She is cultivating a family atmosphere- an atmosphere where they can trust their teacher and their peers, where they want to work together to learn, to discuss, to grow.
If I asked one of the students about Chris' class, I don't know if they would be able to articulate why they like the class so much. They would probably answer: "She's funny;" "She let's us eat;" "She's nice." They don't realize how she has orchestrated this family atmosphere for them; they just know she's their favorite teacher.

I'm really looking forward to the things I can learn from Chris and her students this semester. I know that I'm not as kooky as Chris, and it might take me a long time to become such a loved and respected teacher. But I hope to glean some wisdom on how to keep relationships at the forefront, while teaching students MLA format and to think critically about literature and life.

That Chico Life.

Four weeks into getting my pre reqs done at Chico State while applying to the credential program- I feel as though I've been here forever and like I got here yesterday. It would be a lie to say I didn't miss San Diego in the worst way. But it would also be a lie to say that I have not been welcomed home by not only my family, but my brother in law's family in such a loving way.

I've never been super good with transitions, but who is really? But I've been talking to my friend Adilene, who is in Connecticut going to grad school, a lot and this transition for us has really made us realize how grateful we are for our church family in San Diego. The last year in San Diego was a time of being filled like I never have been before. Sure there were times that I got upset about whatever frustrating thing happened, but I felt a part of the strongest community I think I've ever had. We sing "fill us up, and send us out" so I guess that's what I got. Though I don't think I can say I feel like God "sent" me to Chico. It sounds pretentious to me. I'm not a pastor. I'm going to school here. But I know God filled me up before I came.

Looking for a community like the one I had is hard to find. And replacing the what I found in San Diego First Church of the Nazarene is impossible. But I'm looking for a new community. Not the same one, a new one. Not forgetting the people who loved me so well, and who I love so much. But finding new people to love. And I'm praying that God uses me while I'm here; that I'm sent out in some sort of way.

I'm beginning to observe in a high school English class at Chico High next week, and my professor is asking us to blog about our experiences. So instead of making a new blog, I'm just going to write in this one. Hope that's ok with you, Mom.

A few of my people in SD.

Ancipation and Hope: A Year In Review

We've been singing this song in youth group lately. It's called Oceans by Hillsong United. And whenever the bridge comes, I can't help but wonder if the people around me are as scared of what they are singing as I am.
The lyrics go like this:

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders.
Let me walk upon the waters,
Wherever You would call me.
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior.

After a year like 2013, I don't know if I want to go deeper than my feet can wander and where my faith will be made stronger because what if that involves another affair? What if my life as I know it comes crashing down again? What if it is something within my own family? I can't do it. I've told God, if something happens to my parents' marriage I will not be able to handle it.

And I know this is crazy because God has shown Himself so incredibly faithful these past 12 months. From people on the camino to people at home and church to Amy's commitment to Christ and her marriage, I have seen God's incredible redeeming power. But the past 12 months have been incredibly painful.
I thought I would be completely healed after the camino. I mean the camino is a metaphor for life, Santiago is heaven - we are healed in heaven. My blisters were healed by the time I arrived to Santiago, why wasn't I?

But Santiago isn't heaven. It was just a glimpse of what is to come. And returning to the wounds of this world may be necessary, but that doesn't mean healing isn't coming. Pastor Dee talked about Haggai in a sermon last month and a couple of his points hit home. He said that we have to "acknowledge what has been so we can look forward to what is to come" and "The hope has not been met, but that doesn't mean the prayers should cease or the work stop." I cannot ignore what has happened, but I have to move on and cling to the hope in what is to come. And just because I don't feel completely healed, that doesn't mean I should stop praying or stop working to bring the Kingdom of God to earth.

My wounds have scabbed over, but I am still afraid of the scab getting torn off too soon and beginning to bleed again.
So as we celebrate the coming and anticipation of the return of Christ tomorrow, my prayer is one that Paul prays for the people of Ephesus in Ephesians 1:17-18

"...that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him, having the eyes of your hearts enlightened that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you"

Camino Tales: Reaching Santiago

Originally written on July 11, 2013 at 2am.

The last night before Santiago was one of anticipation. We stopped in at town called Arco that night with about 20km left to Santiago. We planned to wake up at 3:30am and out by 4am to make sure we got to Santiago by 9am. It was Sunday the next day, and mass was at noon. So despite the heat, it being light outside still, and everyone out and about, I tried to go to sleep at 7pm. It didn't work. I estimated I got about two hours of sleep by the time my alarm went off at 3:30. Walking in the dark we walked through Arco and into a Eucalyptus forest. I had the thought of how beautiful it all was conflicting with how stupidly tired I was as I laid my head back on my backpack and tried to sleep walk. I could sense Adilene's urgency as she walked and kept looking behind as if telling me to hurry up. If you know me well at all, you know how much I am not someone who deals well with lack of sleep. I could have punched her in the face every time I felt her looking at me.

But there was about half an hour of awakeness from 4:20 to 4:40 in which I couldn't help but sing to myself as I looked at the stars a worship song that goes "Tonight the starts speak of your infinite love, and it serves to remind me that what I have means nothing at all compared to your glory, oh Lord." And as I look back, I think that is what the Camino has taught me - that what I have means nothing at all because God's infinite love doesn't care. The best part is about me singing this song is that usually the song is a grieving song for me because the chorus reads, "How long until your voice speaks clearly? How long till your arms envelope me? I cry: be my strength when I am weak. Oh Lord, have mercy on me please." But those lyrics didn't fit any more (except for maybe the "have mercy on me" for my angry thoughts every time I saw Adilene look back at me). During the entire Camino, I felt God's arms enveloping me- through all of the crosses we walked by each day, through meeting new friends and laughing about our pain and others' pain or just life, through our French parents, through Jael and Adilene at times, through my actual parents thousands of miles away. I was never alone on the Camino. I was never crying "be my strength," because God was already providing it before I even could think it.

By the time the sun rose fully we were only 4.7km away from Santiago and a small cafe was open. We stopped for 20 minutes and I was able to get a tiny cafe con leche and change my socks. I finally felt awake (meaning I finally walked fast enough to keep Adilene from annoying me). As we saw the first signs of the Cathedral, we past am older Yorkshire couple we had met a couple weeks earlier. We said hello, the husband made s joke we didn't quite catch, and we hurried on by. As we entered the square in front of the cathedral, I felt as if I were dreaming. Thirty three days of wandering around Spain, and now it's over. And then we turned and saw our French mom and dad hugging each other and crying. They had started from Le Puy, France - walking so much farther than us. We waited a little before walking about to her, not wanting to interrupt their moment. But as soon as she saw us, she embraced us calling us her girls/ daughters in French. We took a few pictures with them, and I was able to tell her that my feet were completely healed. After we saw them in Leon, almost two weeks before that, I thought we would never see them again. She had told us then that she would see us beautiful and healed in Santiago. I think we were more sweaty than beautiful, but I was definitely healed.

Camino Tales: The Kindness of Strangers and The Perils of Sweaty Feet

Originally written on June 22nd 2013, day 18 of walking.

I left my last post with the hope that I would regain feeling in my toes. This hope has been greatly undermined by the blisters forming and bursting on my feet, and producing many tears. The "hilly" hike of day 11 resulted in a chance meeting of a French couple to whom I will always be grateful for. After the first 15km of that day, we decided to stop at some picnic tables at the top of the first big hill. I took my shoes and socks off to dry out my feet. There was a French couple at a picnic table nearby, and the woman asked me in French if I had bad feet (two words which were similar enough to two Spanish words that were in my limited Spanish vocabulary). When I replied in the affirmative, she came right over to our table to take a look. The gasps of concern were humorous and really quite touching. With Adilene translating, she asked for my needle and thread and used her own gauze, tape, and betadine to clean up my feet. Blister after blister, with gasps and swears coming from her husband standing behind her, she cleaned my feet, unfazed. The blister underneath my big toenail even squirted out onto her at one point. "She wants to know if you have any more," Adilene kept telling me. Two days later we saw her again in Burgos and she immediately asked to see my feet. Unfortunately for me, some blisters were infected. Marielle, whose name we asked later that day, said that if it were her daughter, she would tell her to go to the hospital to get cleaned up and advice.

The hospital incident was unfortunate to put it lightly, but the kindness of Marielle is something I will never forget. She gave us her information and invited us to visit her in France. And with a big hug we said goodbye. The nurse advised I take one to three rest days - so we stayed one extra day in Burgos.
It's interesting how we can be dealing with something so painful and Christ shows up to comfort us through the love of other human beings. It's easy to miss his presence when we are in such pain. On the way into Burgos, before the hospital, after our first meeting with Marielle, we decided to leave at 5:30 am. We knew Burgos was supposed to be a cool city so we wanted to get there before noon. The first 5km consisted of an extremely rocky terrain - big white rocks sticking out of the ground with no relief in sight. As we climbed a hill of these rocks I kept thinking "Why is it so rocky? This is so painful; God, why is this path so rocky?" At the top of the hill Adilene and Jael stood waiting for me. Seeing my face, Adilene asked if I was ok - I burst into sobs and cried in Adilene's arms for about thirty seconds, barely able to get out that it was the rocky path and my blisters that were causing the tears.
At the top of that hill there was a big cross, and I vaguely thought about the fact that it was not comforting at all as I cried in Adilene's arms. And as I whimpered down the hill and for the next 5km, I barely noticed the beauty of the sun rising and the reflecting lights of Burgos in the distance. C.S. Lewis wrote, "It's hard to see clearly when your eyes are blurred with tears" in his book A Grief Observed. I resented that comment when I first read it. I felt like he was sying that I needed to stop crying or that if I could see the situation clearly, I wouldn't be crying. I still think that it is alright to cry, but I've come to realize that it is the reflection and acknowledgment of Christ's presence that begins to bring healing. If we are only focusing on our pain, we cannot do that. Sometimes there is a huge cross right behind you, representing all the pain and suffering Christ endured, and you're too busy crying about the wounds you've gotten along the way to acknowledge it. But then Marielle shows up again and points you in the right direction, which might be the hospital - sometimes we need a little more direct kind of healing.