irony.

word of the day: irony \ī-rə-nē\ the opposite of what is expected

In ninth grade, we read “The Gift of the Magi” by O. Henry.  In case you’re not familiar with the story, let me give you a short synopsis.  Jim and Della are a young, married couple with very little to their name.  The story begins with Della agonizing over the $1.87 she has saved for Jim.  She makes a quick decision to sell her hair and is able to buy Jim a gold chain for his prized pocket watch.  The irony enters with Jim as he returns home from work to see Della without her beautifully, long hair.  He had sold his pocket watch to buy combs for her hair, and thus, both gifts are rendered useless.   

O. Henry has something to say about that, though, and he closes out the story with his own words of narration.  He says,
Our Christmas Eve service tonight was centered on irony.  The theme was carried throughout the night as we looked at all the events surrounding Jesus’ birth.  It is ironic that the birth was foretold to a simple, peasant girl.  It is ironic that the baby was born in a dirty stable.  It is ironic that the angels announced the birth to outcasts of the town.  It is ironic that the Magi weren’t even Jewish. 

The magi were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Baby Jesus. They invented the art of giving Christmas gifts. Being wise, their gifts were wise ones. And here I have told you the story of two young people who most unwisely gave for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days, let it be said that of all who give gifts, these two were the wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.  

That’s not the irony that stood out to me though.  I was reminded multiple times throughout the service that the birth of Jesus actually happened.  An angel really appeared to Mary.  She and Joseph literally couldn’t find room in any inns.  Barn animals actually surrounded Jesus in his first moments on Earth.  The shepherds and the Magi are not just characters in fictional tales.  They are purposeful people in God’s story. 

It seems a silly epiphany to have.  Of course the birth of Jesus is real.  I just don’t remember the last time I really stopped to think about it, and to me, that seems especially ironic. 

O. Henry says Jim and Della are the wisest.  They loved the other more than their most prized possessions.  Because of the sacrifices they made, O. Henry likens them to the Magi.   My prized possession is time, and I know that I don’t sacrifice that as willingly as Jim and Della.  The irony is that I’m not willing to give up something for the One who gave up everything for me. 

And so, this Christmas I find myself especially thankful for that silent night so long ago.  For a night that actually exists in history and paved the way for the future.  I am thankful to be reminded of the irony of it all and the reality it plays in my life on a daily basis. 

purpose.

word of the day: purpose /ˈpərpəs/ something that one hopes or intends to accomplish

I taught my ninth graders about author's purpose today.  We talked about how every writer has a reason for writing, and that every writer brings a unique perspective to the craft.  We talked about word choice and the fact that writers very deliberately choose words to extend their tone.

I always love a good discussion about words.

So, here I sit, five hours after my discussion on purpose has ended as a writer seemingly without a purpose.  There's not a coherent plan in my mind, just the desire to let my fingers tap, tap across my keyboard because the rhythmic sound is therapeutic to my ever-buzzing mind.  The tap, tap reminds me that it's ok to slow down. 

It's quiet in my house right now.  Jake's headphones are plugged into his ears while he listens to the latest med school lecture, but every now and then he'll whistle whatever song is playing in his mind.  I don't really notice the whistling anymore--white noise I guess.  I'm not even sure he notices.

Jake and I are really good at appreciating breaks.  Last Christmas break, we watched two entire seasons of Parks and Recreation in three days.  We didn't reach such an impressive feat this year, but we did manage to get through twelve episodes of "Friday Night Lights" in four days. 

I'm a sucker for drama.  There's something about watching what seems to be another person's real life that glues me to the screen.  The pilot episode of FNL (what real fans call it apparently) had me crying already.  And apparently that's not even the most emotional episode. 

Good grief.

I've been trying to look at my world as Jesus looks at my world.  I've been trying to take a moment each morning in my classroom to ask Him to let me see my world through His eyes.  I'm learning that my lens and God's lens are often very different.  I'm also learning that they don't have to be.  When I look through my world through God's lens, ultimately the tone and purpose of my day becomes drastically different.

There we go.  I wasn't sure if I was going to make it full circle this time. 

My lens is clouded.  It's clouded most often, I'm learning, by pride.  Pride affects the way I look at my world because it inevitably focuses the lens on myself. 

When I view my world as Jesus views my world, the people who frustrate me are the people who need love the most.  The people who aggravate me are the people who need grace the most.  The people who would generally go unnoticed suddenly become placed at the forefront of my mind.

Because God notices the unoticeable.

It's a scary prayer to pray, "Let me see the world through Your eyes," but I'm glad my pastor encouraged me to pray it.  It reminds me on a daily basis that it's not enough to simply go through my day hoping God uses me in some form or another. 

It involves me in the purpose, it provides me with perspective, and it reflects the tone of my heart.

carry.

word of the day: carry \ˈka-rē\ to move while supporting

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                      i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

                                      e e cummings

We all carry with us someone else's heart.  And when we carry with us someone else's heart, our own heart becomes vulnerable.  My friend, Laura, always says that your heart resides outside of your body when you bring new life into the world.  While I don't understand that statement firsthand, I am reminded tonight that there are many people in my life whose hearts are aching.  They carry the heart of someone who is not with them.  Someone they long for or pray for or just can't quite reach.

I'm reassured that e e cummings isn't the only one who has something to stay about carrying someone else's heart. 

“Like a shepherd he tends his flock: he gathers up the lambs in his arm; he carries them close to his heart; he leads the ewes along.”

                                      Isaiah 40:11

And, here is the deepest secret that isn't really a secret(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than a soul can hope or mind can hide)

God carries us in His heart(He carries us in His heart).

musings.

word of the day: musings \ˈmyüz-ing\ to become absorbed in thought; especially : to turn something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively

It's a stream of consciousness sort of night. 

Actually it's an I-should-really-have-been-in-bed-30-minutes-ago kind of night, but writing beckons for no other reason than to still my mind.

There are three glass containers on my coffee table.  There is a cold mug of coffee, a warm glass of wine, and a small, empty, glass bowl that, not long ago, housed a handful of chocolate chips.  Clearly my priorities are in order.

If you could measure the rate of speed that a mind can move, I feel as though mine would measure off the charts.  Like as if it's already completely unmeasurable, mine would be even more completely unmeasurable.  Even my musings are having a hard time taking form because the thoughts are so densely embedded in every free space of my mind. 

I have rediscovered my love of learning.  Lately, I have been spending my weekend nights with a highlighter in one hand and a book on some sort of Educational topic in the other.  Grading practice.  Inquiry Circles.  School Improvement.  Alternate Assessments.  Homework.  You name it.  I've been reading it. 

Sometimes I get lost in the cloud that is my thoughts.  All the aforementioned topics float around begging to be put into practice and I find myself having to remind myself that I don't have to solve all the world's problems in a day.  Kids are learning.  I'm closer than I was yesterday.

Viruses attacked my computer this week and all those times I said to myself, "Just back up all your files next week," turned into a very real regret. 

I introduced the concepts of theme and symbol to my ninth graders today, so I suppose a current theme of my life could be, "Don't wait until tomorrow what could be done today."  The symbol, then, is probably all the perfectly organized files that are now lost in cyberspace.  What do they symbolize? For lack of a better word, laziness, I suppose.

I've been reading through Philippians sporadically this week.  I find myself continually reminded of the following:

Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.  Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.
                                       - Philippians 2:3-4

#thatonehitclosetohome

I'm getting pretty good at Twitter.

The clock just turned 11.  That means if I don't take a shower in the next ten minutes, I'll be awake when Late Night with Jimmy Fallon comes on, and it's nearly impossible for me to go to bed if I stay up almost late enough to watch his show.  Because almost late enough is basically late enough and then I might as well just stay up through the opening monologue. 

But really, I-should-have-been-in-bed-an-hour-ago, so shower it is. 

Happy musings!

why.

word of the day: why \ˈhwī, ˈwī\ reason, cause

I finally understand what a hashtag is.  My ninth graders tried to teach me awhile back, but I couldn't quite wrap my mind around the concept.  I actually had to see one in practical use before I could grasp the purpose (how's that for a classroom parallel?).  

Thanks to my recent immersion into the world of Twitter, I'm seeing hashtags everywhere.  #assessment.  #lamemathjokes.  #lovemesomecomfortfood.  #edchat.  #leadership.

The one that really got me though? #whyiwrite

Today happens to be National Writing Day, and the going thread in hashtags is an answer to the question "Why do you write?"  Some common responses I've seen today are:

Because it's the little moments in which I find a little piece of my soul.

It saves me from doing useless things.

Because I know it's what I was meant to do.

Because I discover myself while doing it.


To tell stories, hear stories, see stories, to share the stories I see behind my eyes

Because it's cheaper than therapy.

I write to reflect, learn and grow both professional and personally.

It's hard for me to think of an answer to that question because the answer changes so often.  Some days I write because it's the only way to make sense of the listless thoughts spinning around in my head.  Some days I write because all I want to do is hear the rhythms that words can make when you put them together just right.  Some days I write because I feel like my voice is powerful.  Some days I write because it's easier than talking. Some days I write because it quiets my soul, eases my mind, and slows my pace.  Some days I write just because.

Looks like I just created a few more hashtags. #whyiwrite

In any case, I can't help but overlook the fact that words come with great power, and as a writer, I suppose I have willingly become a steward of that power.   When I think of the sphere of influence this blog has, I'm reminded that I have the ability to influence at least 22 people with even the slightest word.  Shoot, maybe even more when you take into account all the people who couldn't figure out how to become a member.  Here's to the 6 of you.  #justkidding.

While we're on the subject of writing (to roughly transition), in honor of National Writing Day (or not since I only found out about it today), I have officially submitted something to be published.  I ran across a children's story publishing contest via Twitter (the common theme here apparently) the other day and decided I didn't have anything to lose.  So, "Carter, Ty, and the Rainy Day" is officially "out there."  I could care less if it wins--I'm just thrilled to have taken a baby step.

To continue today's theme, I promised a writing think aloud and I'm going to make good on that.  So if there are any teachers reading this blog, this think aloud script may be of interest to you.  I'm thankful to have been taught the value of a composing think aloud.  After only one attempt, I'm no expert, but I'm definitely a believer.  One of those personal 'aha' teaching moments I guess.  The script is a rough version--it worked more authentically than it reads because it changed with every class as I typed straight through the projector.  I only wrote the script because I wanted to get a handle on what exactly I really was thinking.  

In closing (because everyone knows that's the best way to end a piece of writing), I'd like to wish you a happy National Day of Writing (or what's left of it at least).  I'd also like to know why you write.  Even if the only answer you can think of is because you don't want to forget your grocery list. #leaveacomment.

skeleton.

word of the day: skeleton \ˈske-lə-tən\ something shameful or kept secret

I have some skeletons to clean out of my closet. 

I have been eating more Ramen Noodles than I care to admit in the past month.    Now, I'm fully aware of the fact that the Ramen should still be in the hot pot of my college dorm room, but when you have hours of schoolwork ahead of you and a husband-less house, sometimes it's just the most obvious option.   

It feels good to get that out in the open.  

I spent the last two days learning professionally about the close connection between reading and writing.  I spent the last two days feeling like a sponge; you could have wrung me out multiple times with all the information I was trying to soak in.  If only I had cared this much in my undergraduate and during my reading endorsement studies.

Skeleton. Closet. Taking my recently saturated sponge to the dusty remains.

I can vividly remember sitting in my Reading and Writing Across the Curriculum class as a sophomore in college with my fellow education majors.  I happened to be the minority as an English emphasis and most of my friends were math majors.  We had our Vacca and Vacca (names I recognize as experts anymore) textbooks out in front of us and were talking about what a pointless class it was.  I shudder at the comment I remember one of them making: "I'm a math major; My students are never going to be reading in my class." 

Fast forward four years to my work towards a reading endorsement.  I was serving as a substitute teacher at the time and had no real classroom experience to cling to.  So, the classes became something I did to push me toward a teaching job rather than something I actively engaged in to be a more dynamic educator.  Great information.  Lack of passion.  Bad combination.

So, it would seem that I've been given another chance to make the most about the learning before me, and let me tell you, it's hard to leave an experience with Emily Calhoun less than invigorated (at least if you're a part of the educational world).  

The take away point? Writing and reading can't exist in isolation from one another, and both are primarily internal processes that must be modeled out loud in order for student growth to take place.  

In layman's terms?  Looks like I've got some 'splainin to do.

I did some reflecting on my own journey as a writer today though, too, and I was reminded of the fact that I have less to say in writing when I'm involving myself in less reading..  So, it's my new goal to reintroduce reading into my life as a priority that takes precedence over the newest episodes of "Modern Family" (although that recent discovery is a good one).  

And, if you're a lover of anything related to English, education, writing, or think alouds.  Stay tuned for my next blog post: I'm envisioning a written example of my own process as a writer.  

But before, I get to that, there's one more skeleton you need to know about.

I just want to clarify that this is not a Halloween decoration. Clearly there is no better place to store something like this than right inside your front door.    

radio song.

word of the day: radio song \ˈrā-dē-ˌo  ˈsȯŋ\  the song you wish to hear every time you turn the radio on. 

 Everybody has a radio song, right?  It's the song that you don't own but hope to hear every time you flick that radio on.  I have two current radio songs: "Arms" by Cristina Perri and "All your Life" by The Band Perry.  My all time, never to be changed radio song?  "Mayberry" by Rascal Flatts.  

They are the songs that you immediately stop on or that you feel a great sense of disappointment if you only catch the end chorus.  They are the songs that brighten our days and force us to drive that extra lap around the block so we don't have to cut the lyrics short.  They are the songs that we crank the volume to and sing with abandon because, let's face it, you've got to take advantage of their presence.   

I was about 3 minutes from school on Tuesday when "Mayberry" came on the radio.  Such a small thing, but such a day brightener.  Then, when I was driving home in the afternoon I had one of those radio-karma kind of days.  You know--where you never have to change the station because great songs keep on coming.  I'm always thankful for those kind of radio days; they don't happen ALL that often.

Then there are other days where you don't even feel like you can get a song to play on the radio.  Everybody's talking instead of playing music and the sound just sort of turns into white noise.  Those are the days that you only catch the end of the radio song because you forget that the radio is even on. 

Isn't life kind of the same way?  I've found lately that I have a lot of radio song kind of days where things go my way and I feel a sense of peace about where I'm at.  But then there are those white noise kind of days where you press forward in a daze because there's so much going on around you.  

But, the white noise days don't define me. If anything, they make me more thankful for the times my radio song plays with perfect timing or force me to turn the radio off and appreciate the quiet.  

It reminds me of an excerpt from Forgotten God by Francis Chan:

"...as I write, the Spirit of the living God is inside me.  I might wake up on a particular day feeling physically tired or stressed or impatient, and humanly speaking, those things would probably define my day.  But the reality is that I am indwelt by the Holy Spirit.  And because of this reality, stress and tiredness and impatience don't have to define my day.

If you have received by faith the promise of the Holy Spirit, you are also His temple.  As you drive your children to school.  As you go to work every day.  As you embark on a new, unknown season.  As you go to school.  As you face tragedy and pain.  As you buy groceries.  As you give of yourself in relationships.  As you walk the dog.  As you make decisions.  As you life your life, the Holy Spirit is dwelling in you" (110-111). 

 I'm so thankful that the trajectory of my day isn't contingent upon the songs that play on the radio.  In the same way, I'm thankful for the constant reminder that stress doesn't have an power over me. 

I'm always interested in what other people choose as their radio songs.  Think about it...which song do you always hope to hear when you turn your car on?  I'd like to know.  Comment box is open :-)