This is a guest post in a series Jesus At the Blackboard. School decisions are high pressure, and different people are called to different things. In an effort to honor those choices and have a healthy conversation about education I have invited people to share their story here. Please welcome Melissa Thomas and check out her blog. You can find the rest of the series here.

Choosing School by Melissa Thomas

Choosing school is such a daunting task.  Who will be responsible for the education of our boys?   Where will we send them for seven hours a day where they will feel safe and loved.  These questions started when the boys were three and two and fortunately for us, there was an easy answer.  The most recommended preschool in a neighboring town.  So, for preschool, it was an easy choice.

For Kindergarten, not so much.

My husband and I come from varied educational backgrounds.   My mom was a teacher and I attended catholic School from Kindergarten through College.  When I graduated college with a B.A. in Special Education, I spent two years teaching in a Public High School, four years in a Catholic High School, one year at a Catholic elementary school, one year teaching High School age adjudicated youth at a Day Treatment Center and then half a year teaching Middle School at a Catholic School.   My husband attended public school through High School and then joined the United States Marine Corps from which he retired after twenty years.  I always felt like the boys would attend Catholic School, too but we decided to look into all of the options.  The one thing we didn’t want is for the boys to have to change schools.    Even though the task of choosing a school for the boys to attend was our decision, the research, etc mostly fell to me.  Obviously, public school was an option for us.  It made the most sense from a financial perspective.   It’s free to attend and the boys could ride the bus to school.  Other options included a Montessori School, a Charter School and Catholic School.  It’s important to note that we live in a town of about 5500 people so quite literally, every time we leave the house we have to drive at least 20 minutes to “go anywhere” except for the Dollar General and a gas station which are two miles from our home.   Even choosing to drive the boys to the public school would be at least a 15 minute drive.   In order to go to the mall or Costco we have to drive at least 30 minutes.  So, making a drive to take the boys to school wasn’t really a huge consideration.   We also lived in our town for about five years before our oldest started Kindergarten so we had “heard” from various sources the good and the bad of school choices.   Homeschooling was not even an option because although I do believe it is a great option for those parents who want to do it, it is not for us. 

Our biggest issue was finding a school that would suit both of the boys’ academic styles and personalities which are pretty much complete opposites of each other.  Our oldest son thrives on structure and is very analytical and truly sees things as either “black or white” with not much give either way.   Our youngest son, only 13 months younger than his brother, is very creative, spontaneous, dramatic and lives in a world that is “gray”.  In a perfect world, the oldest son would go to a school with a military type academic setting and the other would go to Montessori School. 

Unfortunately, sending them to two different schools was not an option.

Very early on, we eliminated the possibility of sending them to the local public school.  Upon doing some research, the end of year test scores was just not great and we had heard from others that they were not happy with the school.   (Note:  We have since heard good things about the school and know parents who are very happy with it.)

We then took the Montessori School option off the table for a variety of reasons.  The most important one being that our oldest son would just not do well there.   I felt sure that I could find a school where our youngest son would fit in well or at least have a teacher who could accommodate his learning style.

Our final two options became the Charter School which is 25 miles from our home or the closest Catholic School which was the same distance away but in another county – which meant crossing a drawbridge that spans the Cape Fear River.   The bridge that rises at random times of the day depending on river traffic (i.e. those huge shipping container ships).   Both schools are similar in that they have high structure and high academic rigor.  They require students to wear uniforms. Each has more flexibility in expelling students for repeated classroom disruptions.   Both require at least a 30 minute drive one-way to school as there are no buses for students.   The similarities didn’t really sway our decision one way or the other.  But the differences did –

The Charter School is free, the Catholic School requires monthly tuition.  (Which we could afford but not easily).  The Charter School operates on a year-round schedule while the Catholic School is traditional.  Students get in to the Charter School on a lottery system whereas the Catholic School requires only a simple application which makes getting in to the Catholic School a bit easier.  The Charter School population is larger than the Catholic School.  

After some discussion, we decided to take the chance on the lottery system for the Charter School.  If our oldest son got in, our youngest son would automatically have a spot for the following year.  The lottery entry basically consists of filling out an application.   Then someone makes a list of all the students going in to the lottery, cuts the list into strips, folds the strips and places them into a clear plastic container.   Quite literally, if the name is picked out of the container ( in front of a large crown of anxious parents), then your child has a spot.  Once all the spots are full, a waiting list is created.  At this particular school, there is a waiting list every year.  Our oldest son was the last name chosen to fill the last spot!    So, our decision was made – the boys would be attending the Charter School. 

They are now in 2^nd and 1^st grade, respectively, and we continue to be so pleased with the decision.  For us, the Charter School works for various reasons.  Both boys have had teachers that are wonderful to work with and very accommodating of their learning styles and personalities.  They wear the same thing to school every day.  They have a set of school friends and a set of home friends which has given them each different perspectives on families other than their own.  The driving is a lot ( 100 miles round trip everyday) but we have a lot of good conversations in the car.  The boys also use this time to practice reading aloud.   

The greatest result of our decision is that the boys love their school, too.  THAT is probably the most important part because it’s not fair to make them go somewhere they hate for seven hours a day.  Not when getting a good education is SO crucial to their future success.

This week has been hard. Hard. Like, standing in your supervisor’s office as you ugly cry, loose your keys for three days and still not have time to look for them, feed your kids fast food because you know it isn’t great for them but it is honest to God the best you can do, kind of hard. Because sometimes, being a mom is hard.

It is hard to be in charge of the feeding, and the cleaning, and the sleeping, and the watching of tiny human beings you love so much you are sure they are walking around with your heart beating in their chest. It is even harder to do all that when every decision you make is being questioned by the society you live in. Mom’s who work, Isn’t it terrible you are missing all those precious moments of your kids lives? Stay at home moms, Don’t you worry you are wasting your degree and sacrificing your career potential for diaper duty? What are you feeding your kids, don’t you want them to be healthy? What are you denying your kids, don’t you want them to learn to indulge without guilt? What is wrong with you moms, why can’t you enjoy every single second of every single day they won’t be little forever you know!?!?

The church isn’t helping this impossible situation. Much like a spoon full of sugar helping the medicine go down, wrapping those lies of “not enough” in “Jesus wants you to” and “the Bible says so” only make me open my mouth that much wider. Because I desperately want to do the things Jesus and the Bible want me to do.

Here is the reality of the moms sitting in the pews every Sunday morning. Choose isn’t really the best verb for the way they are running their little families. The working moms are likely working because if they don’t they won’t have a home to make. It isn’t that they don’t love their jobs, it isn’t that they don’t feel called to their jobs, some do, some don’t. We could talk all day about if given the option would they still work, but the fact is, that discussion is strictly hypothetical. Most working moms don’t have the option, we work to make the ends meet.

The same is true for stay-at-home moms. The decision to stay at home is never one that is made lightly. Some do it because they know they are called to it, some do it because the cost of day care is more than they could make while the day care is being used. Some are thriving, some are struggling, and most are both of those things multiple times a day. But to call what care-giver situation a families makes a choice, and then raise one up as holier than the others (and I have seen both raised) is ignoring the reality of the vast majority of American families.

When a mom sits down in a church in America, she has likely spent the last 6 days being pulled in every direction but up. What she doesn’t need, is a laundry list of all the ways God is unhappy with her. Your house isn’t clean, how are you supposed to practice christian hospitality with toys all over the floor? Fall in to bed exhausted every night after days that start at 6 am and don’t end until 11, you know godly wives are available to their husbands. Being a mom is your highest calling, don’t screw it up!

It is hard, when you have taken the last of the reserve and poured it out to get everyone to church on time to hear that you are on shaky theological ground because a family shared sinus infection, deadlines for your husband, and the most important week of the year for your job lined up perfectly to prevent you from opening your Bible for the week. It is harder to hear that amidst everything you have to do, there is yet another need that the church you love has, and Jesus wants you to volunteer, join the committee, go to the Bible study, or cook the meal.

I’m not saying opening your home, your relationship with your husband and kids, or regular reading of God’s word isn’t important. I think it is important for the church to serve each other. But the moms who are in the church already know those things. What we need to know, is that we are enough even if we don’t measure up to any of those ideals.

My oldest turned three on Wednesday, and the mommy guilt was in full effect on Tuesday when I realized that I hadn’t planned a single thing for her third birthday. We are having a very small party on Saturday, but the day of, nothing. I had nothing planned, and maybe she is only three, and she wouldn’t remember and it doesn’t really matter, but the moment I admitted it to my friend at work with tears spilling out of my eyes, it did matter. It mattered a lot.

That night when I picked the kids up from the babysitter they were playing with balloons reading “Happy Birthday Juliet.” When I checked my phone there was a picture of my kiddo eating a cupcake with a hat on her head. Angela, our baby sitter and dear friend,  had remembered and they had spent the afternoon celebrating. On the way home Juliet made me sing Happy Birthday to her, to all her imaginary friends, to her sister, and to herself. It is her new favorite song.

The next day, when I walked into my classroom, my first period sang Happy Birthday to me which was weird because my birthday is in October. They had picked up the wrong cues because the same friend who I had cried to had dropped off a pink bag tied with a Birthday Girl balloon filled with two cupcakes, two squishy balls, and two bubble wands. Presents for the birthday girl and enough to share with her sister.

In the evening my small group sang to Juliet and we ate those cupcakes. Everyone snapped pictures as the girls played in the bubble machine we had given Juliet for her birthday, until the floor got too slippery with soap film (whoops, I guess that is an outside toy). It didn’t matter that I wasn’t the one snapping the pictures. The good ones ended up tagged and on my Facebook wall.

This morning Angela texted me, she had originally said she could watch the girls today so Christian could write, but she thinks she is coming down with an ear infection. She told me how sorry she was, and I could hear the mom-guilt leaking in. It seems to be the equalizer between stay at home and working moms.

The truth is the Bible has a lot to say about mommy guilt. It says that you are worthy, it says that you are enough, it says that God is for you. When you add Jesus says you should! to the already impossible list, the mom guilt grows. But the body of Christ, the true church is the solution to it all. When I was not enough this week, the church came around me and acted as the body of Christ. They did what they could, and my family was yet again, remarkably loved.

Dear Juliet*,

Yesterday you turned three. You were supposed to go to the doctor, something you have been talking about all week, but I took the car seats with me to work (again) and we will have to reschedule. I suppose it is best you learn now that we all are doing the best we can and we all need grace, even your mom. Especially your mom.

Today, and for the rest of your life, this is what I need you to know: I delight in you. I think that you are amazing, I think that you are incredible, I am blessed every single day I get to be your mom. I delight in you.

This is the year that you have grown from being my baby to being my girl. “I not a baby” you tell me. I suppose you are right, but you are my baby. This is not the only thing you tell me. With the parents who are raising you it is no surprise you have a constant stream of words. Sometimes, when running errands with Aunt Jill, she turns to look me and says “your kid has no off button.” It is true. You fall asleep talking to your teddy bear and wake up talking to your sister.

I know a little something about having a lot of words, and I want to tell you now, before anyone tells you differently, that you are not too much. Your words and love and joy and laughter, and sometimes your howls of injustice and discontent, they spill out of you freely and boldly. Some will tell you to pipe down, to be a little less, to fit yourself into a shape that other  people can handle. Please don’t do it. Please don’t construct dams that hold yourself back in order to somehow shape yourself into something else. You are already the right shape, you are not too much.

On your third birthday, I want you to know how proud and amazed by you I already am. You care so deeply, you find joy in everything, you are smart and kind and funny. You don’t ever have to try to be valuable. You don’t ever have to try to be loveable. You don’t ever have to be worthy. You already are. You are a delight, and I delight in you.

Love,

Mom

*programming note: I have decided to ditch the nicknames for my kids. I couldn’t tell you why exactly, it just feels like it is time.

This is the first post in the series, Jesus At the Blackboard. Check back every monday to discuss how different people came to different decisions in regards to education. If you are interested in contributing to this series, please contact me.

I’ve been talking about school choice since my freshman year of college. Back in 2002 charter schools were a new frontier of education that were just getting started. Magnet schools had already cropped up, but just barely. The choices families could make about schools were pretty much, public, private, or home school. That was it.

To say things have changed is putting it mildly. With the No Child Left Behind Law came not only testing, but a decree that no student should be forced to go to a school that could not meet the required testing bar. If a school didn’t make the right number for two years in a row it became a “school of choice” meaning the parent had to be given other options for the education of their child. Sometimes that means a charter school, sometimes that means a different school in the same district, sometimes that means a school in a neighboring district, sometimes that means the public school district has to pay private school tuition through a voucher. This is putting it simplistically, but that is pretty much the way things currently stand.

The first three years I taught were at a “school of choice” (which sounds like it is a school people choose, but remember that actually means it is a school you can choose not to go to due to low performance on test scores). I understand why this is an important rule. As a parent I don’t want to have to send my kid to a sub par school. As a teacher, this rule made my job near impossible. In order to get out of the failing school category, our school’s test scores had to improve. At the same time that our schools had to improve, our kids with the most educated and involved parents were deciding to take the extra time and effort to fill out the forms, go through audition processes, and ensure transportation to schools other than the one I was teaching at. We were left with the kids who did not have the resources to make these other choices, unsurprisingly these were the kids with the lowest test scores. At the same time we were expected to significantly raise our scores, the students with the best scores were leaving our school.

This put us in an almost impossible position, and made me so angry I could cry every time someone mentioned how awesome charter schools were. Even when a charter school doesn’t “cherry pick” and accepts everyone based on a lottery system, you still only have the kids in the lottery whose parents were willing and able to fill out the form. This is a major advantage. (Weirdly, charter schools are faring no better than public schools as far as test scores are concerned.) Schools are a product of the local community and putting all the active parents in one place is going to hurt the other school. When working in a school with a PTA with literally one P, I learned that what my parents used to say is accurate. “The best way to support your local school is to send your kid there and get involved.” When I had kids, I didn’t care where I lived. I was going to send them to the local elementary school and make it great!

Then I had kids. Suddenly, the thriving charter school within walking distance of my house looked very appealing. A friend from work had children who went there and the perks were pretty incredible. Her kids got African-drumming lessons on Fridays with the local drum circle, golf lessons with Tiger Wood’s golf instructor, access to technology I didn’t even know existed, all because she had chosen the charter school that I passed anytime I went anywhere. Was I willing to deny my kids all these perks to support my community elementary school? Was that fair to my kids?

When a friend’s rental went up for sale, I started seriously researching the schools in my area in the hopes that she would move into my neighborhood. It was then that I found out that my family did not qualify for the dream charter school down the street. While located less than a mile from my home, it was on the other side of the crooked county line and technically in the district next door. While hypothetically if there were spots available after all of the kids in the district wanted in then my kid could go there, I knew that there was a waiting list every year since the advent of the school.

It was then I started thinking seriously about homeschooling. My husband is in PhD school right now, and according to my calculations, if everything went perfectly and he was immediately offered his dream job, I could start homeschooling right as my oldest started Kindergarten. I have extremely strong opinions about education and they aren’t in line with the current political atmosphere. Maybe it would be better for everyone if I handled my kid’s education. The perks seemed pretty great to me too. I had visions of everyone in my house getting up when they felt like it and hanging out in our pajamas over breakfast while we learned. I thought about how college has extended Christmas breaks and we could just follow the college break schedule and home school on the road. I thought about amazing and educational vacation spots and being able to say yes to September weddings. Maybe homeschooling was the answer to all of my problems.

The more I prayed about it and thought about it, the more I was convicted that, for me, I wasn’t attracted to homeschooling for the benefit of my kids, but for the benefit of myself. If I am being brutally honest, I liked homeschooling the most on the days I was fed up with my own life, my own job. My kids already love the one school environment they are in for a few hours a week. Homeschooling is the right choice for some, but probably not for me and my brood.

So that pretty much puts me right back where I started, only with more information. My oldest turns three on May 1, she already knows much of what she needs to learn in pre-school, so for now we have decided it isn’t quite time for that. Next spring we will figure out which pre-k program to apply for. Looking ahead, I think, for my family, we have two options.

The local elementary school looks like it is headed in the right direction. If a school can reach an 80 percent pass rate, it is good enough for me. My concern is how the school is going about improving their pass rate. I would rather send my kid to a school with a holistic approach to education where less kids pass the test, than send my kid to a school where everyone passes the test because all they ever do is drill and kill. For that information, I am going to have to actually go into the school and observe some classrooms. Principals are surprisingly willing to let you do this. Most schools have some great things going on, and the principal wants the kid of the parent who is taking the time to tour the school to come there. Also, if your local school is great, your house is worth a lot more. There are some financial incentives to investing in the local elementary school, as much as we want to pretend this is purely a benevolent decision.

The other choice I have is a local charter school, one that I didn’t know about until I started doing the research for my friend. Just as close to us as our local elementary school is a charter school with an arts focus. Weekly piano, art and dance lessons that I don’t have to pay for seem like a deal that is too good to pass up. I am drawn to a school that uses the arts as a vehicle for teaching all material, and think it might be a haven in a world where more and more schools are completely testing focused (mostly because they have no other choice).

I am aware that this last sentence seems a little hypocritical considering the number of sentences I have dedicated to testing, but it is where we are at right now. I think testing data gives us important information, but I hate the way it is being used and how those numbers are driving the climate of the schools. So for now, we are watching and waiting and crossing our fingers that testing the life out of our kids gets chucked rather than tweaked as it pertains to educational policy. Which school will my kids attend? I guess we will know when we get there.

Tomorrow, in the state of Georgia, High School state testing begins. All across the state High schoolers will be taking the state tests for various subjects. In Georgia, after certain core classes a state created end of course test (EOCT) is given in lieu of a final. Ninth grade English is one of those classes, and Ninth grade English happens to be the love of my teacher soul. Before my students take this test, before my numbers are run, there are some things I want said, some things I want you to know.

The teachers are already doing everything in their power to ensure their student’s do well. Even when a teacher disagrees with the validity of the test, even when they wish that they could skip this test prep stuff to teach an extra novel, they don’t. They taught the things the state has mandated every way they know how. Lately, with states clamoring to get federal funding and Obama’s race to the top, a teacher’s pay is being linked to student test scores with the expectation that this will somehow improve test scores. This expectation of improved test scores is based on the assumption that teacher’s aren’t already doing everything they can think of to make sure our students succeed. I need you to know we are.

I need you to know about everything the tests aren’t going to tell you. You see, I am in an interesting position. When I taught at schools that are likely to be far below and just below the lines, I taught tenth grade, a grade that isn’t tested. It was not until I moved to a succeeding school that I started teaching a subject with a test. It would be so easy for me to shrug my shoulders, show you my test scores, and tell you that I am in fact an amazing teacher, that my colleagues at the schools I left behind are simply not as good as I am.

This would be easy, and this would be a lie. The colleagues I left work harder than you could ever imagine. They turn around entire sets of 100 plus papers in 24 hours, they track the strengths and weaknesses of their kids week to week, they offer tutoring sessions before and after school. They are doing more than you can imagine to give their students a chance, and their scores will not be as good as mine. I work in the suburbs now. They’re still on the front lines.

But theirs aren’t the only stories that aren’t told in the testing data. I think of my colleagues who teach ninth grade honors three doors down from my on-level class. I think about what a hard year it has been for them. Their job, as ninth grade honors English teachers, is to challenge students who have likely never been challenged in their entire academic careers. Students who expect A’s don’t take their first C lightly, often nor do their parents. Students who have never been pushed before sometimes resist the push these teachers give.

But these are students who could have passed the EOCT the first day of class, and they are students who have come so far. Yet the tests won’t show the challenging questions my colleagues come up with, or the meticulous way they grade papers. It won’t tell you how many drafts they grade in the interest of making their kids better. Writing isn’t even tested.

The test is not going to tell you about my English as a second language kids. It won’t tell you how their first year in ninth grade was also the first year in the general population of the school. It won’t tell you about the way they work twice as hard as everyone else, complain less, and watch out for each other. It won’t tell you about the poetry they can write if you just give them permission to use five words in their original language. It is beautiful.

And the test is not going to tell you about my favorite triumph this year. It won’t tell you about my student on the autistic spectrum who says hi to me in the hallway. It won’t tell you about the way he works in groups voluntarily. It won’t tell you about his peers who accept him for who he is and how he won their hearts by fixing their cell phones. It won’t tell you about the peace of mind his mother now has, because of the work he and his teachers have put in this year. It won’t tell you anything about him or the mountains he has climbed. The test will only tell you that he is proficient in English. There is so much more I need you to know about him and how hard he tries.

Some will argue that the EOCTs are on their way out. In two years in Georgia we will have a state test that is designed to track growth and not just proficiency. That my concerns are already being addressed. While I think we are headed in the right direction, if the answer to this country’s educational woes could be found in something that makes a profit (and make no mistake, these tests are making some  people very wealthy) it would have already been found. Unlike the tests we hand our kids every spring, there are no easy answers.

I’m not against testing, or holding teachers accountable. I am not against common standards being set. I am against using one set of data to determine the worth of a teacher and her students.  I am a teacher, on the eve of testing, who wants to make sure you get the whole story. Before the kids sharpen their pencils, before the numbers come back, these were just some things I needed you to know.

If you think that meeting up with someone you only know on twitter is weird, try doing it with your kids in tow! I should have known that Sarah and I had a lot of the same views on parenting when she agreed to it. Lucky for us, it worked out well. Sarah has some really smart things to say about immigration and raising a bi-cultural kiddo. Today I am guest posting at her place about one of my students who happens to be bi-cultural.

I ask them to write poetry in the style of Walt Whitman. We read his poem “I hear America Singing” and I ask them to copy this famous poet’s form, but find a subject matter that is all their own. I get ten poems about the football team, another three about the song on the lacrosse fields, a few about soccer and basketball. My 29 student class has only one girl. Most of the boys are of the athletic variety. The boys who don’t love sports love music. They write guitars and famous musicians. They wear heavy metal t-shirts. All of my students fall neatly into the two categories, except for Emmanuel.

Emmanuel immediately has a problem with the assignment. Walt Whitman wrote about America, and I have asked him to change the subject. He wants to write about America too. Emmanuel loves America. Read more about Emmanuel here.

The Peanut had a nightmare a few nights ago, and the next night I held her in my arms as she told me about the man and the monster who were coming to get her in her bed. Tears were streaming down her face and her mouth was curled just exactly the same way I know mine curls when I am truly overwhelmed.

“You don’t have to be scared.” I told her, “It is not scary.” She gulped in air and her bare tummy leapt. “But I AM scared.”

Isn’t that always what matters, what we are not what we should or should not be? I wrapped my arms around her and buried my head into the head of hair that I once fretted would never grow. It now cascades down her back and catches and holds the sun in its beauty. “Of course you are scared. You are allowed to be scared, and I will be there to hold you.” Slowly her tears subsided and her breathing became even enough to have her get back into her bed. I promised to sit on the floor in her room, click and clack the keys on my laptop until she drifted off to sleep, until I was sure she wasn’t scared anymore.

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About a week ago I got some bad news via a phone call on my way home from work. I sat in traffic and spoke calmly as tears streamed down my face. It wasn’t the kind of news that directly affects the moment to moment of my family, as least not yet, possibly not ever, but it puts giant question marks in the lives of people I love most, people I want to protect and take care of.

Somehow I managed to take this uncertainty, knit it into a garment and wear it as a robe emblazoned with the phrase, “if only I were enough.” If only I had better stats or a bigger platform. If only I were better at sleeping less and blogging more often. If only I could write the perfect book proposal on the first try, I could have already had a major source of second income lined up and I could take care of everything.

I know these feelings are irrational. I know they are lies. I tried to ignore them and fight them and tell myself that I didn’t feel all of those things, but the truth is, even if there is no monster or man coming to get me. I am scared. This is scary.

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I’m writing a book. Not like I have been writing a book in the past, like I had a document on my computer that I would open every six months and look at and type a few hundred words. I am actually doing it this time. I have a completed proposal. I have a query letter. I sent those things to people I think are very smart and they edited them for me. I have been sending emails to agents asking that they consider representing my work. My hopes have already been peaked and dashed once, and it is likely to happen again.

People lately have been telling me my words are brave, but they don’t feel brave. Whether book or blog, when I write I vacillate between thinking I am brilliant and bold, to being sure this is the stupidest thing I have ever done, thinking I a capable of being published. Clearly I am delusional. But this time it won’t leave me alone. It just won’t, so here I am scared. Scared, but doing it anyway.

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A nasty sinus, cold, allergy thing has descended upon my house. A few nights ago I laid with my oldest in the extra bedroom because she kept waking up miserable and unable to breathe properly, and I was so miserable I could not bear to climb up and down the stairs every hour or so when she woke up. I rubber her back as she drifted off to sleep, but quickly realized the glaring problem with this plan as I immediately was gifted a pair of sleeping, thrashing toddler feet to the ribs.

Sleeping wasn’t really an option, as I laid there at two in the morning sick and too tired to get up. My mind drifted to something I had heard once, that sinus problems can be rooted in issues of fear. I don’t know whether or not I believe that exactly, but I recognized the truth that I had been collecting my fears and keeping them quietly to myself. So one by one I released them to my God. I know I shouldn’t be sacred, I said but I am scared, can you fix that? In the corners of my mind I heard an ancient prayer echo: I believe, help my unbelief.

Yeah, I thought, that.

When I was 18 and wanted a tattoo I decided I simply was not old enough. So I gave myself a future date. If I turned 30, and still wanted a tattoo, then I could have one. Looking back this seems like a very mature and even thing for an 18-year-old wanting a tattoo , but I have in some ways been 30 since I was 15. This probably explains why, just 6 months shy of thirty I often feel like I am still 15. It seems to work the other way too.

I had always said I wanted an Ichthus, a Jesus fish. Two simple lines together to form an ancient symbol of the body of Christ. It was in fact, a non-believer who first pointed me to the problem with my plan, 12 years in the making. “Abby,” she said frankly (the frankness in her speech is something I hold dearest about her) “You can’t get a Jesus fish. When I was in New Orleans every douche bag frat boy who came down for a mission trip got drunk and ended up with a Jesus fish tattoo. Your faith means more to you than that. You can’t just get some generic tattoo” Later she would point out the deeply personal nature of my faith, personal is the way this God was passed down to me. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

This revelation was good for my soul, but difficult on my tattoo plans. It took me a year to let go of the Jesus fish entirely. I kept trying to incorporate it into various designs. I have blogged before of tricky church labels that never quite fit, about the desire of my heart to simply be a Jesus Lover. I even said boldly on this very blog that I would get those words, scrawled across my left foot in my own hand. I would label myself. But somehow, that isn’t enough for me either.

I have considered my “life verse,” the one revealed to me at Christmas two years ago. “Blessed is she who believed that the Lord would fulfill His promises to her.” Or recently, the thing I hope is one day said about my writing “Abby tells stories that are true.” Neither of these is enough. Either of these is too much.

I have considered an owl, (my dad tells me) owls are the new sign of the prophetic. They can see into the darkness. There is something mysterious and beautiful about this symbol, and I even had an encounter with one the day my oldest daughter was born. Am I really ready to explain to all who ask that I have marked myself as a prophet, one who hears from God? Recently i have heard talk of the modern-day prophet being one who imagines and speaks a better way into this world. I aspire to do that, here, with my girls, in my classroom, in the book I am finally getting around to writing. Speaking truth into existence, oh if the Lord could use me that way.

Ask my husband, my sisters, my bible study, my students, speaking in metaphor is a trademark for who I am. But for someone who speaks in metaphor as often as I , I am remarkably bad at thinking visually. I struggle to remember to accompany posts with pictures, I can never remember that my students think better with a chart in front of them. I am built for words, yet it is a picture I am craving to become a permanent part of me.

Six months from now, on my thirtieth birthday, I want the tattoo I have been dreaming of, But what exactly is that? I keep searching the internet looking for someone who could look around on this humble space, dig into the words here, and out of them create something that is beautiful. From blog to tattoo is apparently a market untapped, but it is the metaphor I want to wear for the rest of my life. It is something I am just beginning to believe: God can take my humble words and out of them create something that is beautiful.

Surely, one of you knows someone who could make this come true. I would appreciate you putting this into the right hands. Surely my life verse also applies to my tattoo. If you want to know about more Jesus people with tattoos check out the Deeper Story Synchroblog.

The more I write about my experiences as a public school teacher, the more a strange thing starts happening. People ask my advice on where they should put their kids when it comes time for kindergarten. Deciding about the formal education of your kid (or future kid) is a big decision that is scary to navigate. The way we talk about these decisions isn’t helping anything. There is in fact no single answer to “How would Jesus learn?”

Enter my new series “Jesus at the Blackboard.” The truth is there is not one best way for all people to be educated. This isn’t about people persuading other people to make the same decision they did. This is about sharing our stories about what worked for us and being honest about the reservations we have, the circumstances that lead us to these decisions, and the assumptions that proved false about the choices we made.

So what exactly am I looking for?

-Stories about your own educational experiences and how they shaped you

-An explanation of what you chose for schooling for your family. Why does it work? what is hard about it?

-A story about how you got to the decision you made. Many of us have winding roads in and out of various educational experiences. Maybe you home school two out of three kids. Maybe one of your kids goes to private school. Maybe you swore you would never be a crazy home schooler, and now you love it. Maybe you think dropping out and getting your GED was the best decision you have ever made. I want to hear all of those stories!

If you are interested in participating, email me at accidentaldevotional (at) gmail (dot) com with a desired Monday, and I will let you know if it is available.

I am excited about this conversation, and with an almost three-year-old at home, cannot wait to hear what you all have to say!

 School Choice: Why I hate it, why I need it by Abby Norman (Me)

 Choosing schools by Melissa Thomas

Understanding the Educational Smorgasbord by Laura Jacobs

A Journey through Homeschooling by Elissa Peterson

Choose Wisely by Lisa Bartelt

Education Decisions 1-2-3 by Jenn Lebow

You can only do your best by Sarah McCarten

Sarah and I met on twitter, and decided to meet in real life when we realized we were both in the same city. Our families thought it was a little weird that we would have a play date with a stranger, but our girls can concur it worked out swimmingly. I am excited to have her thoughtful perspective today.

Pretty much since I graduated high school and my decisions became “my own,” I’ve been in some kind of life transition. Choosing a major or career… Relocating or contemplating a move… figuring out who to marry… changing jobs… deciding if and when to have babies.

The season of the 20’s is an exhilarating and exhausting time. The world was my oyster, and that was a little (okay, a lot) overwhelming.

With both feet now firmly planted in my 30’s, the last two months of my life have felt more “settled” than I have known in years.
I’ve already chosen my husband. And after four years of job searching, he was recently hired at a great company that he truly enjoys. This development eliminated any lingering thoughts of “Will we need to move?” I’m in a groove with my own job, and we’re eagerly awaiting the arrival of our second child.

Suddenly, I find myself with fewer questions about the future… at least the immediate one anyway. There are no big decisions looming that I know I need to address. For the most part, I can kind of guess what my life will look like in six months. That has rarely been the case.

This sense of stability and rootedness has been freeing. I find myself full of enthusiasm and capacity to engage more deeply in my community, friendships and work. My mind feels clear to dream in more concrete terms since I have some general sense of the details.

However, something unexpected has occurred in my faith life. I find myself “out of ideas” when it comes to things to talk about with God. Wait… what?

Is it possible that all these years I’ve mostly been talking to God about “what’s the plan for my life?” Where should I go to school? What should I study? Who should I marry? Where should I live?

Somewhere along the way it seems I relegated my relationship with God to be that of “life coach.” I searched the Bible for passages that guided my next steps. I prayed fervently, waiting for peace around a decision to descend in my heart.

I sought advice about the directions I was traveling, but I may have neglected to nurture a deeper relationship. In my mind, seeking God in these important decisions and transitions was equivalent to “putting God first” in my life.

But now I am forced to reexamine this assumption. If I had a human friendship that I only pursued for advice, is that really intimacy? I’d say no.

So what does it look like to follow God when I’m not talking about the destination? Maybe the real question is what does it mean to be in relationship with God when I’m not only thinking about myself or how anything and everything affects me?

I’ve been convicted of my self-centeredness in my relationship with God. Do I know how to sit in the stillness and simply worship God for who He is? Have I learned how to truly intercess on behalf of others? Do I create space to pray and dream and ask what God hopes for my community, my neighbors, my friends?

I feel a little nervous. I had no idea I was relating to God in such a one-dimensional way. And I feel a tad lost with no pressing life decision questions. On the other hand, I am excited. My faith has sometimes felt like it’s on a one-way path towards dryness. Now I realize that could be because it was focused on me instead of God.

Perhaps this new season is one to discover a new face of Christ… to experience faith outside of simply how it benefits, directs or guides me. It’s tantalizing. And I’m eager to see where it may lead.

What patterns or ruts do you fall into in faith? How might they be limiting your full experience of the Divine?

Sarah Quezada lives in Atlanta, Georgia with her husband Billy and daughter Gabriella. She blogs about their multicultural family life at A Life with Subtitles. She is the Director of Operations at Mission Year, a year-long volunteer program. You can connect with her on Twitter @SarahQuezada.