words.

 

word of the day: words \ˈwərd\ something that is said

As someone who prides myself with the ability to put words together, I have had surprisingly few in the past year.

At least, I have put surprisingly few down on 'paper.' Truth is, I've had more words spinning around in my head this past year than I've known what to do with.

There's quite a bit of pressure that goes along with being a new mom. It's self-inflicted and primarily irrational, but it's pressure nonetheless that makes your words suddenly all the more vulnerable.

And so I let my words spin. They tossed and turned inside my mind, and I hardly allowed myself to put them in order. But here I sit. The tap, tap of the keyboard calls to me as it generally does. It whispers its calming effect and makes me wonder why I haven't been processing this way all along.

People describe childbirth as a euphoric experience.

"It's the hardest thing you'll ever do, but it's so worth it when you see your baby's face."

"She’ll teach you what love really feels like."

"You'll immediately forget about all the pain because of how much joy your baby brings you."

This was my expectation. I anxiously awaited the emotion that would engulf me the first moment I laid eyes on my baby. The joy, the love, the magic of it all.

Lily Jean made her grand entrance on May 28 at 1:35 a.m. She decided in quick fashion that she'd had enough in vitro and ten days before she was scheduled to arrive, she made her way into our world.  I had anticipated that moment longer than I’d even known about her existence.  I anticipated the joy and the instant connection that I would feel. 

Instead she felt a stranger to me.  She was ours and we loved her, of course, but she was a person nonetheless and one I found myself knowing very little about.  I was surprised to find that the feelings of joy I felt were overshadowed by feelings of inadequacy, fear, frustration.  And because of the inadequacy, fear, and frustration, I generally succumbed to an overall feeling of guilt.

And nobody warned me about the guilt. 

It was just as the guilt set in that everybody I met exclaimed, “Don’t you just love being a mom?”  And, in turn, I would smile and nod because that’s what you’re supposed to say when, in reality, I didn’t really. The honest answer was, “No.” 

I had been entrusted with the task of keeping a small and very fragile person alive. I was in survival mode and generally focused on both of us living through another day.

It's perhaps the most humbling experience I have ever gone through.  But like any experience, it has begun to shape and refine me.  It has begun to teach me a better understanding of God’s love.

People prepare you for that one too.

“When you first look into your baby’s eyes, you’ll start to understand how much God loves you.”

 It wasn’t, however, the joy of the moment that showed me God’s love.  Instead, it was at the height of my frustration—a crying spell that I couldn’t seem to fix when Lily looked up at me completely helpless.  It was in that moment that I realized her complete dependence on me.  I’m the one at this moment in time who can meet all her physical needs.  She cannot survive alone.    

And it was in those moments that my heart began to change.  That I began to embrace the role of “mom” and this baby who so greatly needs me.   

It was in those moments that I was reminded of what Paul says in Philippians:

Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me (4:11-13).

I often use the phrase 'the new normal' as Jake and I continually enter new phases in our marriage. Just like anything new in life, this one took and is taking some getting used to.

But I'm comforted by the fact that that's ok.  That I’m not the first person to feel this way and, most certainly, not the last.  That in my lowest moments, the ones where I am completely helpless,  I can look to God and He meets my needs.  I cannot survive alone. 

I now, as ee cummings said far more eloquently than I ever could, carry Lily's heart with me. This fierce little blue eyed lady has changed my world.  She has given me a new perspective on love and reliance, and for that I am so very thankful.  For that, the words feel worth sharing.

 

decision.

word of the day: decision \di-ˈsi-zhən\ a determination arrived at after consideration

The following post was actually an entry into an essay contest that Real Simple Magazine puts on every year.  I was supposed to be notified by January 7th if I had won.  Now that it's March 3rd, I think it's pretty safe to publish it here.  The theme is similar to something I wrote last summer upon our return from Africa if it sounds familiar.  This was the prompt:

 

If you could change one decision that you made in the past, what would it be? No, you can't go back in time, but here's the next best thing. Think of a decision that you regret—anything from a ridiculous choice of prom date to a serious lapse in judgment—and tell us what the mistake taught you about yourself.

I was four. I stood in my Minnie Mouse overalls, looking at the first major milestone I can remember: a bicycle with two wheels. I had already learned to roller-skate, but this was the true test of independence. I sucked my thumb in nervousness as I listened to my dad's instructions. He patiently explained the mechanics of starting and stopping and held on for the first few rides as I gained my sense of balance. Then, suddenly, I was on my own. I imagine he let go, unbeknownst to me, because he knew I would never have asked otherwise, but, nevertheless, I was riding solo. I slowed to a stop, moved past a brief moment of panic, then grinned proudly. I'd done it!

Learning how to rollerskate in the Minnie Mouse overalls.  They must have been my favorite outfit.  What I'd like to know is whether or not my parents ever made me put a shirt on underneath them...

I rode my bicycle for weeks following and then made an interesting decision: I asked my dad to reattach my training wheels. I continued to ride for months with them until I eventually went back to the higher level that I had already mastered.

My dad often tells this story as an illustration of what kind of child I was, but only recently have I come to realize that this small decision does more to explain the kind of adult I turned out to be. Nothing happened that should have caused me to want my training wheels back. I never fell off; I was never scraped or bruised. My hunch is, knowing the person I am today, that I realized I could fall. I could scrape my knee. I could bruise my hand. I could explode my front tire and fly into a fence. Irrational, yes. Enough to change my mind, no.

I have followed this logic throughout most of my life. You give me a situation, and I will think through all the possible consequences. I never had a hard time turning down adventures growing up because often the thought of getting into trouble or hurting myself was enough to give me no sadness in rejection.  I can think of multiple occasions where I stayed home alone in my adolescence because the idea of risk made me sick to my stomach. 

The great irony of my life came when I married my husband, a man who is my opposite in almost every way. He is a daring risk-taker by heart and fairly fearless in most situations.  At the mention of adventure, you will see a bright twinkle in his eye, because he’s never one to pass up something even remotely exciting.  

I knew early on that marrying Jake would eventually pull me out of my comfort zone. 

That moment came when I was 25-years-old.  I sat in the car on the way to church, nervously chewing away at my fingernails (a habit that, thankfully, replaced the thumb-sucking).  Jake and I were discussing the prospect of taking a cross-cultural trip to a country with risk of danger.  I was forming some foolproof arguments against the trip, but when our Pastor chose that Sunday to preach on the five excuses Moses used in the desert, I considered all my points moot.  I agreed to go but kept my “risk calculator” out at all times.

This trip had the potential for more than just scrapes and bruises.  Planes might crash, diseases might be contracted, and hostages might be taken.  You name a completely irrational worst-case-scenario, and I had already reasoned through how I would deal with it.  Suddenly, I was the four-year-old again, desperately wanting my training wheels back on.  This time, though, my dad and his screwdriver weren’t going to solve the problem.

We embarked on our adventure in June, and my irrational fears were always near.  They whispered in my ear as we walked down the street and crept up my neck in the middle of the night.  They paralyzed me at times, and I found myself frustrated to be so mastered by them. 

Then, I had a rather profound experience.  I was riding in a car with the other women on our trip.  We were coming back from an evening in the desert.  It was dark, and the streets were lined with people.  In the midst of the chaos of that night, our vehicle started acting up.  Each time we stopped, the car would die.  I began to pray fervently that our car would work long enough to get us home.  It didn’t, and as we rolled to a stop on the side of the road, I was frustrated.  It seemed such a simple prayer to answer, and here we sat, five women, alone, far away from any person who could help us. 

That’s when our car was surrounded by local people.  They practically swarmed us, and when I surveyed the scene, I realized they were smiling.  Smiling.  All they wanted to do was help us.  They brought us into their home, served us tea, and just kept smiling until a car arrived to take us home.  It was such a lovely picture of hospitality and an answer to prayer that I wasn’t expecting.  I saw in that moment what a blessing our broken down car had been because it allowed me to see the great kindness of the people and shattered the misconceptions I had projected through my own fears.   

I learned during the rest of our time overseas that the benefits of such an experience far outweighed any potential risk.  Sure, there was a possibility for something to go wrong, but had I listened to that inner fear, I would have missed out on all the beautiful things the country had to offer—which, in my experience, were the people.

I’ve been thinking about my four-year-old self lately—wishing I could go back in time and convince her that it wasn’t worth putting the training wheels back on.  That a scraped knee or even an exploded tire is only a big deal because it’s during those times that we are shaped and molded and bettered as people.

I’m thankful to have learned from that small childhood moment; to have realized that all the hundreds of possible risks aren’t worth missing out on the one experience at hand—that situations, once you’re in them, are never really as scary as you think. 

Four-year-old me may always linger, sucking her thumb in the in depths of my being and reminding me of all there is to be afraid of in life, but the screwdriver and the training wheels are nowhere to be found.  I see now that it’s not worth it.

freeze

word of the day: freeze \ˈfrēz\  to become fixed or motionless

I’ve been wishing I had the ability to freeze time lately.  Take a moment and live in it for as long as I want.  Soak it in.  Savor it.

 Life doesn’t really work like that though, so I’m left with taking mental pictures.  Memorizing the room the first time we heard baby’s heartbeat, so I can close my eyes and return to exactly that place.  Sinking lower in my chair the first time I feel baby kick, so I can remember exactly how it felt.  Staring at myself in the mirror before our ultrasound, so I know that no detail goes unnoticed.  The color of my scarf.  The curl of my hair.  The feeling the first time that face popped up on the screen.

 I’m very aware that no other pregnancy will be like this one.  This is the baby who changes things.  Who teaches my heart a different kind of love.  Who, like my friend Laura says, pulls my heart on the outside of my body and asks it to reside there.  Who changes the very nature of who I am.

 This is the baby who makes me a mom.

 The idea is hard to digest.  That these moments, often miniscule in time frame and fleeting in nature, will never come back again.  Well they will, and they’ll still be grand, but I know they will be different. 

 And so I continue to do my best to freeze time.  To throw my head back, close my eyes, and revel in the amazing things Jake and I are blessed enough to experience right now. 

 

tradition.

word of the day: tradition \trə-ˈdi-shən\ the handing down of information, beliefs, and customs by word of mouth or by example from one generation to another without written instruction

 I came to a realization about myself this holiday season: I don’t love tradition.  It happened on Thanksgiving.  I was sitting at the table looking down at my plate of turkey, sweet potatoes, corn casserole, bread, cranberry relish, and mashed potatoes.  In that moment, I realized that I could do without all the foods on the plate.  Except for the mashed potatoes.  Because anybody who knows me knows that the way to my heart is with a well-cooked potato.

 Everything was cooked to perfection.  Everything was delicious; I just decided in that moment that the traditional holiday meal doesn’t have the same allure as it once had. 

 I suppose that probably makes me sound like somewhat of a scrooge, but I’ve been thinking a lot about it since.  As Jake and I look forward to Holiday seasons to come, I look forward to writing my own traditions.  Things our children will remember in the future and tell fondly of as they sit around the table reminiscing.  But in my mind’s eye, those traditions look different every year.  It’s a Christmas dinner with a big pot of soup one year and eating at a tacky diner the next.  It’s a Christmas morning where presents are opened immediately upon waking while the next year we wait until after the enormous breakfast feast.   It’s more about family and what each year has brought and less about the things we do just because we’ve always done them.

 Jake and I stepped out into the non-traditional this Christmas and ventured to the world of the Bed & Breakfast.  We decided to make the most of our last Christmas sans kids, and I’m so happy we did. 

 We left Christmas Eve and traveled to Plano, IL.  We pulled into the Homestead Bed and Breakfast early evening and enjoyed every moment until we checked out the following morning. 

 Hindsight, I suppose it was risky to choose to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas morning with complete strangers.  I suppose we could have chosen a B&B with awkward hosts, but thankfully we were welcomed in like we were old friends.  Mary Kay and Chet made Bed and Breakfast believers out of us although I’m not sure we’ll ever stay at another.  They set the standard pretty high.  They cooked us delicious food, made us feel right at home, and offered us a bed that I think Jake will talk about for all the years to come. 

 It was non-traditional.  It was exactly what we needed.  The only thing missing were the mashed potatoes, but luckily my in-laws had left-overs that I have been consuming like ice cream.    

 As I look forward to Christmases to come, I look forward to the constants: family, laughter, card-playing, and gift exchanges.  But I also look forward to the unpredictables.  The things that only each year can bring.  The things that keep us on our toes and make each holiday season something worth remembering.

normal

word of the year: normal \ˈnȯr-məl\ a.) conforming to a type, standard, or regular pattern b.) occurring naturally

 2012 has been one for the record books, but I’m starting to feel like I say that at the end of every year.  As I think back on the four years that Jake and I have been married, each year has brought us something new.  Something that has altered our perception of “normal” and changed the way we’ve always done things.  When all is said and done though, I always find myself thinking, “Hasn’t it always been this way?”  That’s the nature of newness though, I suppose, and I always like to take time at the end of each year to reflect upon the things that have become our “new normal.”  To update the people we love about what exactly we’ve been up to.

 I was reminded this past year, more than a few times, that Jake and I have different perceptions of “normal” as he continues to drag me out of the cozy comfort zone I create for myself.  We spent three weeks in West Africa in June—an experience that is hard to put into a brief summary.  For us, it was a great glimpse of the beauty and hospitality and love that exists in a place with little hope.  A place where people consider you family after a 10 minute conversation and will spend what very little they have to make you feel at home.   We are beyond thankful to have been able to write the experience into our own story.

 A week after we got back from Africa, we traveled to New Orleans to work on staff at the Evangelical Free Church’s national youth conference: Challenge (in which I think Jake was slightly pulled out of HIS comfort zone).  We spent a week with walkie-talkies glued to our ears as we helped keep track of thousands of high school students.  It was quite a different vibe than our three weeks in Africa. J

 This fall, Jake started his second year at Des Moines University. He’s still busy studying for test after test and looks forward to the rotation phase which comes next year.  Everyone wants to know he’s going to specialize in, but the jury’s still out on that one.  I know that once he decides, I’ll nod my head as though there was never any other option.

 I’m enjoying my third year teaching 9^th grade English in Ankeny.  Each year becomes a little easier in the swing of things, and I’m thankful to have a job that allows me to do so many things that I love all at once.  I wouldn’t choose anything different.

 And then there’s the issue of the third stocking that hangs by our Christmas tree.  The stocking that’s a bit smaller than the other two and reminds us daily that this normal isn’t going to stick around.  The new normal hits in June when a baby arrives to shake things up a bit.   Are we excited?  Totally.

 That’s 2012 in a nutshell.  From world travelers (did I mention we also got to stand underneath the Eiffel Tower?) to parents in a 12 month span.  Change is always the constant, and we continue to be thankful to serve a God who stays the same.  Who promises to meet us wherever the new normal takes us.  Who calls us to love above all other things.

 May that love reach you and your families this Christmas season!

Whom have I in heaven but you?  And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.  My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.  For behold, those who are far from you shall perish; you put an end to everyone who is unfaithful to you.  But for me it is good to be near God; I have made the Lord God my refuge, that I may tell of all your works.                                                              Psalm 73: 23-28

In case you were wondering, Ginny's doing fine too.

 

theme.

word of the day: theme \thēm\ the author’s message or main idea of the story

In my classroom for the last few weeks, we’ve been discussing the concept of theme.  The fact that every author has some sort of purpose for writing his or her story.  Something the reader is supposed to walk away having learned or at least pondered.  We talk about the fact that authors don’t explicitly state their intended theme, for that would be far too easy.  Instead, they give us, as readers, clues and rely on our human insight in order make accurate inferences. 

So, wouldn’t you know that when I saw Les Misérables on Saturday with my family, I spent a good amount of time thinking about theme. 

It didn’t strike me until the end about what a strong message Victor Hugo was sending.  Sort of the ultimate pay it forward.  The world turns against the title character, Jean Valjean.  He can’t catch a break and uses that as license to abide by his own code.  It is the Bishop who shows him incredible kindness and sends him on his way with these words:

But remember this, my brother
See in this some higher plan
You must use this precious silver
To become an honest man
By the witness of the martyrs
By the Passion and the Blood
God has raised you out of darkness
I have bought your soul for God!

Valjean indeed becomes an honest man.  The remainder of the story is filled with moments of his self-sacrifice and love.  Of doing what’s best for another person regardless of the danger it places on his own life or how that person had treated him previously.  

Towards the end of the musical, I found myself thinking about what Victor Hugo’s overall theme was and literally two seconds later (no exaggeration there), Jean Valjean answered my question himself:

And remember
The truth that once was spoken
To love another person
Is to see the face of God.

To love another person is the see the face of God.  

That’s it.  There’s nothing else profound for me to say because it’s all summed up in that statement.  All that’s left in my mind are the voices of the chorus:

Will you join in our crusade?
Who will be strong and stand with me?
Somewhere beyond the barricade
is there a world you long to see?
Do you hear the people sing?
Say, do you hear the distant drums?
It is the future that they bring
when tomorrow comes...
Tomorrow comes!

Something tells me that their crusade transcends the time of the French Revolution.  It is today.  It is now.  Their drum beats the reminder that tomorrow is here.  

roll with the punches.

[phrase] of the day: roll with the punches; to adjust to things as they happen

Fall is truly one of my favorite times of the year.  I find that as soon as the first football game hits television I suddenly want to bust out my crock pot and drink chai tea lattes every night.  Fall also means a new batch of students that arrive on my doorstep.  A new batch of kids to enlighten, inspire, encourage.  A new batch of kids to convince that Nicholas Cage really is the worst actor ever and that Harry Potter will change their lives if they can just make it past the second book (the important stuff, you know?)

I'm now 16 days into the new school year.  I've already caused one uproar over my disdain for the guy with the phony accent in Con Air and pushed Harry Potter onto at least 3 kids.  My carpets are now littered with paper scraps, my chalkboard is coated with a thin layer of chalk, and I've broken one mechanical pencil (which, my fellow teachers may know, is the real tragedy so far).  

It's in these moments, when I'm sifting through 30 emails during my plan period and sorting through piles of papers on my desk that I wonder, "Hasn't it always been like this?"  When did I go from summer Molly to a crazy person?  It seems to start as abruptly as it ends.  So, 16 days in, I wanted to remember a simpler time. A time when there were no student desks in my classroom.

My new student desks were set to arrive a week before the first day of school.  The chairs came.  The desks didn't.  Teaching has taught me the importance of rolling with the punches though, so the picture above is of Tess and me standing in the middle of my kumbayah circle on day one.  Who wouldn't want to start out the first day of school in a giant circle talking about their summer vacation? 

(By the way, that's not really a fair question considering very few 9th graders actually want to be in school on the first day).  

I enjoyed the kumbayah circle.  The kids did too (even if they'd never admit it).

Student desks were set to arrive by the last week of August (which as you can guess didn't happen), but Thursday of this week, lo and behold, there they were.

What does it say about me that A.) I've already dedicated an entire post to student desks or B.) I woke up Thursday morning in the middle of a dream that my new desks had arrived?  

Desks aren't really the point, though.  The point is that sometimes, instead of going in the direction you thought things would go, you've got to roll with the punches.  Adjust to the new normal. I thought I'd have new desks on day one.  Instead, we made do until day 15. But we made do. 

Have you ever noticed that life doesn't always just flick you on the nose and send you on your way unscathed though? That sometimes it up and punches you in the stomach so hard that you lose your bearings a bit and forget which way is forward?

When you roll with the punches, once you catch your breath you keep taking steps forward.  You put one foot in front of the next even if the sidewalk is covered in fog.  You take a step onto a staircase even if you can't see the last stair.  You write analogies even if they lack a clear purpose.

Or something like that. You keep moving.

You should know that I didn't go two weeks sans desks.  We made do with tables in the interim, and I think the start of our year was better because of it.  

With my desks now soundly in place, I felt like now was as good a time as any to give you the virtual tour of Classroom de Flinkman or "The Room of Perpetual Learning" as I just decided to start calling it.  I think it will catch on real nice.  Welcome!

Just a part of my quest to teach kids that struggle means growth and failure leads to learning.

My formative assessment grids.  I'll never go back to the old way of collecting exit cards.

This week's Word of the Week? "Pretentious"

The reading corner.  My personal favorite space of the room.

Great words from some great literature.  Thanks for this one, Aimee!

Desk against the wall?  Smartest decision I ever made.  This is in the pre-school, pre-clutter, pre-student phase.

And last but not least, the newest addition to my classroom: Primrose.

Thanks for touring!