Category Archives: Community

Teaching Fresmen is like Potty Training

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I’ve found a metaphor that has helped me relate to my freshman. It has also helped me understand why I feel like I am good at teaching fresmen. So without further ado..

Teaching freshmen is like potty-training because they really are big enough to know how to do some things. But no one has taught them. So there they are, in your class with their training pants on, making a mess of themselves. You think they should know better, but they don’t.

Teaching freshmen is like potty training because they need to be reminded to do things that older students do automatically. “Josy, remember to bring your book to class.” “Carlos, we need something to write with every single day. Bring a pencil to class.” “Do you need to do homework? Are you sure? How about now? Don’t you just wan’t to try.”

Teaching fresmen is like potty training because they need to be praised for things that they are supposed to be doing. “Hey! You remembered all your supplies!” “Wow! We got through a whole discussion without anyone saying anything grossly off task.” “You guys are awesome! Every single person turned in a project. Go you!” M&M’s and stickers go a long way in the motivation department

Teaching freshmen is like potty training because they really thrive on that praise. They try hard to please you and value the praise you recieve. They want you to be proud of them again. They care about stuff like that.

Teaching freshmen is like potty training because at some point you have to take the training pants off, and you know that there will be some accidents. So you have to be prepared to clean the mess up and keep it moving. Even though there are moments when you just want to scream “Seriously! Right now! We do not have time for this right now!” The yelling probably won’t help, the experts say to avoid it. But it can be very frustrating those messes when you thought they knew better.

Teaching freshmen is like potty training because there are a million small victories followed by some set backs and it is really important to celebrate every single victory or the set backs will seem overwhelming.

Teaching freshmen is like potty training because when the students get just a little bit older they look back at the freshmen, and they insist that they would never do that ewwww.

Teaching freshman is like potty training because sometimes you think that you are in the clear, and then you have a bad day and have to start all over again.

But mostly teaching freshman is like potty training because it feels like this big thing, and perhaps it isn’t even worth it. But you do it, and it is, and by the time the whole thing is over you can’t even believe how big the kids got. And you are very proud of them.

If I can’t win…

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Today, the technology that I was using in my classroom refused to participate and my students almost got a lesson on “colorful language in context.”

I stayed home from church yesterday. This was after going out after nine to find a neti–pot in hopes of clearing the pressure in my head. Sunday I woke up and simply did not feel good. So I sent out a mass text asking someone, anyone to cover me for kids community so that I could lay down my head and take a rest. Luckily I got some replies.

Saturday I got myself and the girls up and around in time to sign up for our trial membership at the Y. They have free childcare for members and I wanted to try this Yoga-Pilates strength class. I ended up at the class about 15 minutes late. Then twenty minutes after that I got called into the nursery because the Peanut was still crying. And she refused to be comforted by the amazing nursery workers. She wouldn’t let them touch her. But right as I got there they waved me back out. So I went back to the class. I didn’t want to. It was hard.

My body used to be pretty good at yoga and Pilates. I used to do a video three days a week or so; in High school I went to a yoga studio to get my gym credit (thanks Mom! what a good advocate!). I loved it. But now, two babies and too many years later, my body is unable to do everything it used to do even half of what it used to do. And it hurts my pride, to be on par with the white-haired woman next to me.

I know that my body, and the Peanut, need time. (Rooster however continues her streak and I was told by three different women what an easy baby I had.) In my head I get that. But that doesn’t make me want to walk out of the room any less. To just give up on the silly “in shape” notion. We are english teachers and rhetoricians in my house. We are speech teamers not swim teamers. We have a way with words, not physicality. So let’s just use those words to joke about how we are not the in-shape sort of people and please pass me the Girl Scout Cookies.

I’m not good at being bad at things. If I am bad at something I simply abandon it. I always have. It isn’t a very pretty part of me. It is prideful and selfish. There is an old family joke that our reunion t-shirts should read “If I can’t win, I don’t want to play,” But right now that doesn’t feel like a joke. It feels like me walking out of a yoga class because I wasn’t as good as I thought I was going to be. Or giving up on new technologies because I can’t get them to work right. It feels like resigning myself to the fact that I can’t get anything to grow in my yard and I should just deal with the fact that I will forever have dirt in the backyard and the flower beds or pay someone an arm and a leg to sod the mess.

It feels like me wanting to throw a big hairy tantrum right here right now because no one can give me the things that I want. And I want them NOW!

Then I get a reminder email that if it isn’t humbling it isn’t yoga. And it reminds me that if it isn’t a narrow path, then perhaps I am not on the right one. And then all the stars align and I am able to race to the Y to make the cardio-funk class. I drop the Peanut  and Rooster off in the nursery (where I remember to leave the big one with a snack) and when I think I am being all clever and sneaking out, she looks me dead in the face and waves, “buh-bye, see-ya.” Apparently we’ve adjusted.

I race to the cardio-funk class even though the only funk dance I have ever done is the funky chicken, and somehow I don’t think that counts. In the class are all shapes and sizes, and the front row isn’t limited to the clearly fit. There is a big man up front and he is killin’ it. And there is a woman right in front of me who looks exactly like my mom if she were to do cardio-funk. But the best was the guy in the back corner who is clearly a librarian and NPR enthusiast with his round metal glasses and his perfectly trimmed beard. He is having a blast in the corner.

I decide that if Yoga is only yoga if it is humbling, then Cardio-funk is only cardio-funk if it is fun. And I have a ball. I am just thinking it is too bad Jill couldn’t make it when she shows up right next to me. She still grasps choreography much faster than me. But today the goal wasn’t winning. It was fun. Which was good, because half way through I thought I was going to die. I wanted someone to come in and tell me the Peanut would not stop crying. But alas, I had to push through. And I did. And that was where the winning came in.

To Those of You Involved with Inman Middle School

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To Those of You Involved with Inman Middle School,

On Saturday I got my girls dressed and took them to see the middle school cheerleading competition. I was invited by my sister, who goes to the Bible study that your cheerleading coach, Tae Baker goes to too. Really with two under two I will take any excuse to get out of the house with another adult in tow.

I am so glad I did. The Inman girls were phenomenal. They did things that I did not know middle school girls were capable of. I could tell that somewhere along the way someone convinced them that they were capable of great things. I have coached other activities in the past, and I know that this is the hardest part of coaching, convincing the kids that they are capable of more than they are settling for. Pushing them to be even better than they knew they could be. Coach Baker managed to get the very best out of those girls.

The routine was great, and the execution was phenomenal, but that was not what I was thinking about the rest of the weekend. The moment that stayed with me this morning as I walked into the classroom that I teach in everyday, was the moment right after the music stopped. I was sitting at the top of the bleachers, and even from there I could see on Coach Baker’s face just how proud he was of his cheerleaders. They knew too. As soon as they could they mobbed him.

Those girls, in that moment, knew that they were capable of big things. They knew that they could do something of value. They knew that there was someone who wanted them to succeed, someone who was rooting for them. They were proud of themselves, and they were proud that they had made someone who cared about them proud. The bar was raised on what exactly was their very best.

I know that moment will stay with my some of those girls for a very long time. I still have some of mine from girlhood. There are so many pressures for these girls, to act a certain way, or be a certain thing. I watched a layer of protection from all of those pressures form over those girls on Saturday. “I am capable of big things, and Coach Baker thinks so too.”

I found out through a text message after I left the event, that the Inman cheerleaders took first place. I am not surprised. They earned it. But on Saturday, they took home so much more than that.  I am thankful that I was there to witness it. I know my girls are tiny, but my oldest already looks up to those Inman cheerleaders. I am proud she has chosen such good role models.

Sincerely,

Abby Norman

Notice Me

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I was sitting around a table the other day where we were talking about our church, how we could do it better. We got around to talking about visitors, what we were doing right, what we were doing wrong. A woman I have a deep respect for, she is just so genuine, started talking about her dentist’s office. I know, I thought it was a weird rabbit to chase at first too. But then she explained that everyone at her dentist’s office had been trained to be present. They were told to make eye contact, not multi task, be active listeners. This woman said she felt better leaving the dentist than she did leaving the spa. Wow. Sign me up for a teeth cleaning.

The other day a student was trying to tell me a story. At first I was listening, but then….I got distracted. I was passing out papers or looking through other papers, or collecting other papers (I teach english, I have a lot of papers.) Who knows what I was doing, but I wasn’t listening anymore. He lowered his voice and banged his hands on his desk. He looked at me and cried out “NOTICE ME!”

I suppose it wasn’t the most respectful thing to do. I am his teacher after all. And this is the south. Perhaps, “excuse me ma’am” would have been better. I guess that is why I like freshman. Both of us are sometimes missing a filter. “Notice Me.” He isn’t the most popular kid; some of his peers think he is kind of weird…so they ignore him. In that moment, that was what his heart was calling out for, please someone notice me. Hear me. Show me that I matter.

I have heard formerly homeless people say that worse than living on the streets, or eating garbage, is consistently being ignored. Having hundreds or even thousands of people walk by you and not one make eye contact makes you feel less than human. Confirms the fear that we all have that we don’t really matter.

Even the Peanut and Rooster are not immune to needing to be noticed. It seems to be something we are born with, not something we grow into. Sometimes the Peanut will shove her little face between me and my computer, put her hands on mine. “Hi!” She’ll say. Yes love, you are right. It is time to notice you. Even the Rooster, our little contented baby, will give you those two incredible dimples if you squeeze a toe and ask her how she is doing. “Oh wow” her face says, “Thanks for noticing me down here. I noticed you too, you are lovely.”

It is Valentine’s day. Here at the school I work, you couldn’t possibly miss it. A number of my kids are walking around with teddy bears or balloons. Some gifts were not from boyfriends or girlfriends. Some were simply from friends. Maybe it is silly or shallow that these things make them happy. But today they walk around with proof that someone thought of them, cared for them, noticed them.

We are half way through I Love My Neighbor month at church, where we agree to make a concerted effort to actively love those around us. I’ve baked cupcakes and invited people over. I’ve picked up coffee for a colleague. All of these things are the same. All of these things say, “Hey, I was thinking about you. I noticed you. I saw that you had this need or that want. I noticed that you exist and I think you matter.”

I think there is a little freshman boy in us all. Hopefully we smell better, but I think there is a piece of us crying out “Notice Me!” Read my blog, friend me on Facebook, tell me my shoes are cute! Please somebody notice me today. Sometimes I am so busy noticing myself, my phone, my computer, my needs that are not being met, that I don’t have time to notice anyone else.

But here is where I have found the beautiful paradox of the gospel. When I notice you, truly notice, there is a piece of my soul that is noticed too…that need of mine is lessened. We noticed each other.

The Littlest Disciples

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If you come to our church on any given sunday I hope you are not easily distracted. Or if you are, I hope you find our little distractions amusing. Because at my church, it is acceptable for the little ones to run up and down the aisles, dance in circles, crawl around on the floor, and generally giggle, coo and squeal for the sheer joy of it. Because at 1027 kids are allowed to worship as kids do. Messy and simple, but honest and pure. They sometimes bump into each other, the tiny bodies in the front, as they spin circles before the Lord. It causes a ruckus as they find their respective moms and get their little heads kissed. This is what happens when your worship leader once seriously considered being a kindergarten teacher. This behavior is accepted.

Not only is it accepted, but I know that when the Peanut has called out for “EIEIO” too loudly and too many times (I think she thinks that Jonathan takes requests) I know that his prayer will sound something like this. “Dear Lord, thank you for our children, thank you for their example to us, that they show us how to worship.” My worship leader believes Jesus when He says “let the little children come.” So he does. And they do.

As a parent it is sometimes hard. It would be easier for me if my kids would sit quietly hands in their laps. But that is not what my kids do. (Some kids seem content like this and that is okay too.) It is sometimes scary, taking people at their word and letting your kid be so kid-like in an enviroment that historically has been reserved for quiet reflection, reserved reverence. What if they are all talking about my naughty monkeys behind my back? Some one elses kid tossing a fit because they are not allowed to play the piano doesn’t bother me that much. Kids are kids after all. But mine? Terrible. Worst mom ever. Whose kid throws a fit in church. (mine does.)

Yesteday the Peanut was putting her hands in the air and spinning around on her tip-toes. I have seen this move a million times done by Elizabeth’s girl. She was runnning between peopled who loved her and squealing with glee on both ends. She was crawling around with her friend Josiah. She was worshiping with her church family by simply being a part of the body, and it took everything I had to not tell her to stop, because I was paranoid about what people thought.

Lately there have not been any 3 foot tall worship mobs running around up front. I don’t know if the kids grew tired of it, or if the parents were worried about it all being distracting, but I have heard people talking about the kids. My church family, they say “How come the kids don’t dance in front anymore?” and “I miss watching Marin dance before her Lord.” They say “It distracted me at first, but when I opened my heart, the Lord allowed me to see the kingdom there in front of my eyes every Sunday with the under 10 set.”

This week I had the privilege of sitting with some new comers. Two 5 year old boys, and a set of sisters 6 and 8. They behaved beautifully. I could tell that my new friends had been told that they were to conduct themselves in a church-appropriate manner and they did. This is good parenting, preparing your children for what is expected. But I could also see the glint in their eyes when I was bopping around with my babies and the way one little boy was carefully shuffling his feet and swinging his hips. He didn’t want to embarass his parents, but he longed to join our little dance party.

I don’t blame the parents. They have a lot on their plate lately, the effort it took to get themselves to church on Sunday was enormous. I was humbled that they would do all that, what I might not be willing to do, just to worship with us. I have been to churches where childhood exuberence is frowned upon. Jesus loves the little children who sit quietly next to their parents thank you very much. I wish his parents had been told ahead of time that kids being kids was okay with us. I pray that they come back soon and join the little mosh pit up front. It ministers to me. Jonathan taught me that.

Note: This post has been edited from the original version.

To my daughters, may you never need it.

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Dear Juliet and Priscilla,

There are people who will tell you that you are not as valuable as your brothers. They will tell you that the church, the family, your God, were designed to be experienced chiefly through a man’s experience, and only through a woman’s as a sidekick (they will likely use the word helper, or mate, or help-mate.)

When this happens I pray that you will think of me, of your aunts, of your grandmothers. I pray that you will have seen the love that I have for my Lord, the love that he has for me. I hope that the women in your life who love the Lord with abandon will be a protection against the lie that you need anyone elses help to experience God. He loves you desperately.

Think about your dad and your grandfathers too. There are so many in your life who think you are incredible. They think you are wise and have something to say. They feel very very lucky that you are girls, that you are their girls. They want to know what God is teaching you. They believe it might teach them too. It is your dad, the rhetorician I think, that will make you read the words of men like this. You will roll your eyes, but also store those words in your heart.

My loves, when you hear those lies, the ones that are meant to keep you quiet and safe with you hands in your lap, I pray that your heart is protected. I pray that those things sound so strange to you that you will think them silly. I pray that you laugh and go about your day, being the woman God created you to be.

But I know that your reaction will more likely be anger. You come by that righteous anger honestly. Your mother’s temper is famous in the family lore, and your dad has a similar story. When we have something to say, we like to be heard (we met on a speech team after all.) May you not be consumed by your anger, may the desire of your heart be Jesus, and not that the people around you say all the right things about him.

I am learning just now, why Jesus taught us to turn the other cheek. May you learn that lesson earlier. It was as much for us as it was for the people who are saying things against us.  My dear sweet girls, I pray that you would not insist on having the last word, but instead go on about your life, proving every moment that God has amazing things for you.

There is a chance that you are the one who is called to vocally confront these beliefs, and if that is the case I will pack your lunch with things that will soothe your throat, and kiss your head as you go to your work every day. If God calls you to be that voice in that wilderness I will be your biggest fan. But make sure that is what God called you to do.

It is more likely that He will call you to simply live the equality in the gospel everyday. It may seem like this is not enough, but it is. Your job is to do every day what the Lord has for you that day. If it is to speak up then do so, if not then keep moving. Trust that God will multiply that offering. You living the truth challenges those lies better than anything you could say.

Remember that the people who are saying these things are your brothers and sisters in Christ, and as I once told your grandmother at girl scout day camp “sister means even if you don’t like them, you are stuck with them and you have to be nice.” The Bible is clear sweet girls, you need to be kind to your brothers and sisters the ones who live in your house and the ones who do not. It is not kind to let lies go unchallenged. Lies about women hurt men too. But make sure it is done with a gentle spirit. You and I don’t have everything right. We wouldn’t want someone identifying us purely by the things we get wrong. We hope that people identify us by the things that point to our savior. We must give others the grace that Christ so freely gave us. Especially when they don’t deserve it. That is what makes it grace.

It is sometimes hard being a woman in this church, but it is always worth it. Sometimes when we hear hurtful words we turn our backs to the church, we reject the whole thing as hopeless. God loves his church, he calls us his bride.  He wants to love you through the church, imperfect things can love you well too. I hope I have shown you that as your imperfect mom. Don’t let your pride cheat you out of the love God wants to show you.

I love you my loves, my lovelies, my girls. I am so very blessed to be your mom. I pray that you will never need this letter. But I put it here, just in case you do.

Love,

Your mom

When the Fog Descends

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The weather has been crazy lately. Last week I went to go see the final addition in the 1027 church baby boom (welcome Ethan!) and by the time I got to Jill’s house to take her big dog and my bus-like stroller for a walk we decided the fog was so thick we didn’t want to risk even walking along the roads. It took me ten minutes to get the mile and a half home.

Sometimes in life the fog descends. You are in a familiar place and your path looks clear. You are on auto-pilot as you head toward your goal. Tra-la-la praise Jesus, I am racing closer to him on my clearly demarcated path. And then, the fog descends.

Sometimes it creeps up on you. Slowly your surroundings get muddled. You keep thinking, “this isn’t terrible, I will be fine if it just doesn’t get any worse.” But it does. And sometimes you are driving along and then BAM you can’t see a thing. The familiar looks unfamiliar and it is all you can do to just keep from running in to anything. You throw your GPS in your lap and pray that it tells you to turn at the right time. You need assistance to get home from a place you have been a thousand times before. You pray you will make it home without serious damage to you or anything surrounding you.

And the fog, it isolates you. It makes you feel like you are the only one on this path. You can’t see anyone else on the journey.

I know that these times are terrifying. You thought you knew where you were going, you thought the turns were clear. Now it is all confusing and you can’t even see the street to get home. But do not let the fog isolate you. Use your Bible and your community as your GPS. Let them tell you where you need to turn. Keep your eyes open for the other people on your journey, assure yourself you are not alone. You will pull into your driveway, and eventually the fog disappears.

I am praying for you today. That you will be safe in the fog, that it will clear up soon.

It’s complicated.

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I had a hard conversation last night. One of those conversations that you dread getting into and don’t feel any better at the end. I felt like I was supposed to speak up, but now I don’t know. I could have said some things better, not said some things better. And I find myself thinking about it today. Lucky for me the person that I had the conversation with, we value each other and our relationship more than one awkward conversation that ends in……”well, I’m glad we can be honest with each other.” And this person had the grace to email me afterward, just to affirm that this would not change the way we loved each other. Which I appreciate, I needed.

Sometimes friendship is hard, relationships are hard, community is hard. Sometimes you are caught between saying and not, going or not, waiting or not, and there isn’t a clear right answer. You can’t figure out what the most loving thing to do is. You pray for guidance, but there is still mostly grey, when you are a black and white kind of girl.

You remember the time in the 6th grade when you very sincerely wore your WWJD bracelet, and looked down at it, and contemplated the ramifications of inviting the girl who no one had talked to your entire elementary school career to hang out with you at lunch….and then play with you at recess. You were sort of on the edges of the crowd as it was and you know you are risking a very uncomfortable rest of the year if this goes poorly. But at least that was clear. At least there was a very clear biblical precedent of Jesus inviting the outcast to eat with Him. Jesus would invite this girl. Clearly. So you did, and it worked out.

But right now there are a whole host of things that you don’t know how to respond to. You no longer have the bracelet, but asking the questions embroidered onto it leaves you with a new acronym sixth graders have been using, IDK. You don’t know what Jesus would do. As much as people like to pretend that the behavior of Jesus was completely consistent; that all we have to do is follow a set of rules that are clearly laid out in the Bible, you’ve actually read that book and it isn’t so clear. Jesus responded differently to what seem like the same set of circumstances. And you are neither omniscient nor omnipotent and you don’t want to pretend that you are.

There is just so much grey lately, and you aren’t very good at grey. You just want to do the loving thing……and are afraid of unintentionally doing a very unloving thing in the name of doing a loving thing because you did in fact do the wrong thing in the name of love. And it is all as confusing and jumbled up as that last sentence. You realize that there are times that you will in fact do the exact wrong thing. But that the grace and love that you are trying to extend to others is also extended to yourself. So you rest in the knowledge that that grace is enough, even as you stumble through the grey patches.

Community and the Pack

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I’ve noticed something about the Peanut. It is remarkably easier to get her to do something she is supposed to do at Elizabeth’s house in front of her “pseudo-siblings.” Like eat her dinner and not throw things on the floor, or pick up toys, or say thank you and not throw fits. She just behaves better over there.

My mom spent this week helping out (thanks mom!) and I told her about this observation. Well yeah, she said, it is the pack mentality. The Peanut is a part of that pack, so she is going to act in a way that identifies with the pack. Lucky for me her pack is generally well behaved. So she picks up this good behavior.

I remember feeling this way as a kid, particularly at my grandparent’s lake house. There are just things that Frances do! And when I didn’t behave the way I was supposed to I felt particular shame because I wasn’t acting the way I was expected too, I wasn’t aligning myself with the pack of cousins.

The pack mentality is particularly evident when you teach in the vastly different communities that I have taught in. If you are a students, at Roswell, it is just easier to do what you are supposed to do. Because everyone else is following the rules and you will stand out for not doing the right thing. At Banneker, the opposite was true. It took a lot of resistance to the pack to consistently do what you were supposed to do.

In some ways I think this is why God wants us in community with other believers. It is easier to live a Godly life when I identify with a Godly group. Because I identify with 1027 church and one of their goals is to give generously of their time, then it is easier for me to do the same personally and not just corporately. It aligns me with the pack. Heck, one of the things my church says is important is telling my story. I’m not sure it is a coincidence that more than one of us has a blog. It is part of who we are. It aligns us with the intentions of our pack.

I know pack mentality isn’t always a good thing. I teach teenagers, believe me, I know. But if you choose your pack wisely…..I think it can be. How many times have you heard parents say “we don’t do that.” Identifying the rule as a family behavior pattern helps.

Who is your pack?

Learning to Love

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About two weeks ago I finally pulled the “I love my neighbor” bumper sticker out that the church gives out and put it on my car. As I was proudly affixing said sticker to my car my neighbor waved me over. This neighbor loves babies, and she had put in a formal request to see Rooster with our other neighbor. But I just hadn’t gotten around to it.

 
I get it God. I get it. If I am going to run around town with a car that says it, I better mean it. And really Abby, it wouldn’t have taken that much to give your neighbor some joy before this. So off I trotted to bring Rooster over to Ms. Hattie. And let the Peanut run around her front yard as Ms. Hattie laughed and commented on how busy I must be. Then she mentioned that she had no one to rake her leaves. So we got a group together this weekend and raked. Well, everyone else raked and I chased the Peanut around while wearing Rooster. And Ms. Hattie laughed.
 
I am learning how healing and comforting babies can be. And I have two! One that will let anyone cuddle her and another that will have a chat with the world. People love babies, and sometimes I am selfish with mine.I don’t want to go down the street two houses. I just don’t feel like it. And sometimes, even worse, I want these babies all to myself. To snuggle and cuddle and only want to go to me. ( I am well aware if this were the case I would be pulling my hair out and writing over and over again in this thing STOP TOUCHING ME!) 
 
But I have kids who love loving. They are friendly and funny and the Peanut would be happy to share your chips with you by stuffing them one at a time into your mouth and yelling MMMMM as you chew. And if I want kids who love their neighbor then I have to start now. which means running around the front yard more often, and letting other people hug on my kids. And answer the same questions about them a hundred times, because hey what is it going to hurt. Loving my neighbors is not convenient for me. Because it isn’t about me. And here is the crazy thing, when I love my neighbor, which isn’t about me……..it makes me better. It makes me a better mom, a better wife. It makes me feel like I did something more than input and output for the under two set. Loving my neighbor makes me love me…..funny how God designs that.