Trying to process

I finally had to turn the news off this evening. My heart could not listen to one more minute of the school shooting. My head could not comprehend what I was seeing and hearing. And then I think of all of those moms and dads who have lost their world today – and they can’t shut it off. My tears blur my eyes even now as I type these words. As I try to process this horrific tragedy.

I think of the families who have lost small children, but I also think of the entire school community, and the town. I think of my own children and the world that they live in – so confusing and sad. And I think of my students. My classroom family. Those 50 children with whom I have shared the last nine months of my life with.

I picture their faces and try to begin to fathom what those teachers are feeling right now – the ones who made it out alive. How are they even beginning to process any of this? How will all of these classmates who lived through today’s hell ever, ever be able to walk into a school again?!

This time of year is always hard on me. One the one hand, I am very excited for a little break and some relaxing. I already have my summer “to be read” stack of books piled up. But one the other hand, I have a very hard time saying goodbye to my students. We have spent so much time together since last August. We have laughed and cried. We have learned so much about each other and about ourselves – together. There have been days when I just didn’t think I could make it – it has been a very challenging school year – but I did make it. I am not ready to let them go just yet. People don’t realize how much our classroom, our students, become like a family each year. And each year, we have to say goodbye. Goodbyes are hard.

And yet, next year they will poke their heads in my classroom and say hello and run and hug me when they see me in the hall. Those poor eighteen students who senselessly lost their lives today will never have that chance. Those teachers who were excitedly counting down to summer break with their students will not be going home tonight.

I just can’t understand why these innocent lives were lost. I just can’t bear this pain. I feel so helpless. All I know to do is to pray for peace and healing for these families and for this entire community. I pray that God will provide them with the will and the strength to go on. I pray for our country and our world.

I have two days left with this year’s class. You’d better believe that I am going to hug them tightly. I’m going to make sure that they know that they are loved and that it has been my honor to have shared these last nine months with them. And then I’m going to cry some more.

Margin

I have been thinking a lot lately about the word margin. Most of us probably think of the blank space around the edges of a page when we hear that word. While my recent thoughts on that word have not really been about paper, they do have a lot to do with space. This school year has already been filled with challenges that I had not anticipated. I knew that being in a new building, teaching a new subject with a new teaching partner and more kids in my home room than I have ever had would be an adjustment, but these circumstances have all been accompanied by things that didn’t even know to expect. On top of going back to school, I am in the last month of my Principal Internship and my Master’s program. This has added hours of work and assignments to my work days. And on top of all of that, I am raising three girls (my older two are off the payroll) – two of them teenagers, managing a household and attempting to be a good wife. I point all of this out not to garner pity or to even really complain, but rather to illustrate the absolute lack of margin in my life right now. There is no blank space. And that lack of margin is taking its toll on me.

Margin is defined as “a spare amount or measure…” For me I am feeling that there is just no spare amount of time in my days. Not only that, I am feeling that there is no spare amount of ME left for anything right now. My constant busyness fills my days, but leaves me feeling empty. I know that I have to make room for those things that fill my soul and light a fire in me. I am tired. Bone tired and soul weary.

Even as I type this though, I feel a little spark. I am remembering the little things that bring me joy. Expressing myself through words. Sitting in the stillness of the morning. Hot coffee. Though they may be small things, they are in my margin. I need to cling to them and find room for them as I navigate this busy season. I encourage you to find some space in your life to do the things that make your heart happy. Find your margin.

Thank you Teddy

I’ve adopted these words as my motto as I navigate this season. Last Tuesday I was told teddythat as a district we would begin online teaching/distance learning/teaching from home on that Thursday. Thirty-six hours to wrap my head around teaching my curriculum to sixty-four students in a way that I had never done before. I went into overdrive and spent some much energy trying to figure it all out that I pretty much accomplished nothing. At the beginning of every school year I make a promise to myself to do all that I can for each and every one of my students for the 180 days that I have them. And here I have been told to “teach” them from behind a computer screen. I have worked twice as many hours a day since we have been closed then I normally do when we are “in school.” I have not slept a full night. I have worried myself sick. I have eaten a whole lot of comfort food (why can’t I be the kind of worrier who can’t eat…?).

Today, I am having to slow down, take some deep breaths and accept the fact that the remaining time with my kiddos this year is just going to be different. That doesn’t mean it is “worse” – just different. And all I can do is what I can do with what I have right now. I won’t be able to share the laughs and high-fives, but I can send messages letting them know I’m here. I won’t be able to read the books to them that I had planned – with all the voices and animation, but I can record myself reading some of the stories and send them with love. All that I do is what I can, with what I have, right here where I am. And I hope that my kids know that it’s all for them! I encourage everyone reading this to do all that you can for those around you and help them through this season of panic and fear.

Much love