The Gift of Christmas

Her name is *Eva. Her frame is slight, her hair generally tangled chaos (I have literally pulled debris from it on more than one occasion), and her untied laces drag behind her, like the wake of a rowboat.

Her world outside of the classroom matches her hair. It is full of upheaval, chaos, uncertainty, and crushing disappointment. The burden of her day-to-day realities are a boulder she staggers under daily.

I met Eva in my role as a Title reading interventionist. She and I meet daily to work on reading strategies to strengthen her fledgling skills. More days than not, her mind and heart are busy trying to process the life waiting for her at the end of the day. She cares little for my supports and strategies. It is not unusual for her to lay her head on my work table and sob great tears of frustration. Frustration because she cannot decode the words in my book. Frustration that I want her to. Frustration that life is hard. I would love for her to read at a level of proficiency, but more than that, I would love for her to love life.

I had small Christmas gifts ready for each of my intervention students, this day. Small baubles and inexpensive items I purchased at the school book fair a few weeks ago. Small gifts mean a lot to these students. They have so little.

I allowed Eva to pick her items from an array and she carefully considered which to claim as her own. She finally chose her items and her face broke into a heartwarming grin. We exited my office and headed down the hall toward her classroom.

Impulsively (and uncharacteristically), she grabbed my hand and pulled me forward. I tried not to register my surprise and allowed her to steer me toward her backpack in the hallway, where I had indicated she should deposit her gift before reentering her classroom.

She dropped her items into her dirty pink backpack and fished around in the bottom for a few moments. Finally, she brought her hand up close to my face, holding a grimy coin with both hands, as if she were afraid she would drop it. “I have a quarter,” she announced quietly. A pause. “You can have it.”

I realized what she was doing. I had given her a gift. She wanted to reciprocate. She had one item on her person she felt would suffice. A coin dulled by layers of dirt. I had a swift mental argument about whether I should accept it.

“Oh, sweetheart,” I said, pulling her close, as my heart began dripping like hot wax. “That is so sweet, and I am so grateful, but why don’t you keep it? You might need it for something. But, THANK YOU! That means so much to me.”

She nodded, relieved. She carefully placed the precious coin back into her backpack, then stood, unsure what to do next. Suddenly, I felt thin arms wrap around my waist, and found myself looking down at the top of that chaotic hair. I wrapped my arms around her and whispered in her ear, “Merry Christmas, Eva.”

Without uttering a word, her arms dropped. The moment had passed. She did not look at me again. She grabbed the door to her classroom and entered, without looking back. The heavy door shut behind her and I stood, transfixed by what had just transpired. It felt a little miraculous, somehow.

This is essence of Christmas, is it not?

A gift offered to mankind. God gave the most priceless gift he had on that first Christmas, two thousand years ago. He gave his only son, Jesus. Heaven came to earth in the form of a baby.

I will forever have a mental picture of that little face, with the quarter held up in front it. Eyes searching mine. An offering of all she had, held out to me with love and affection. It makes my eyes leak a little to think of it.

I see God the same way. Standing there, holding out a gift of salvation and eternal life, through the gift of his Son, Jesus. Looking at me with absolute love. A love I have not earned. I do not deserve. Incomprehensible Love.

God, please bless my little friend, Eva. Grant her a Christmas of peace and HOPE. Let her feel your love the way I felt hers today.

Merry Christmas, Eva…

_{*Not her real name}

What Do You Do with an Idea?

This poor blog has been sorely neglected by me.  Like a forgotten toy in a child’s bedroom, this brainchild of mine has been tucked into a dusty corner, out of view and out of mind.  I thought with a new school year imminent, perhaps I should update my digital diary.

I’ll begin with my job.  I am entering my second year in a dual position within the Mandan district. Truthfully, I wasn’t entirely sure last year at this time what the specifics of what “Instructional Strategist” would entail.  I had a pretty good idea of what the other half of my duties meant.  I at least had some background with Title I services. As it turned out, I had a lot to learn about both.  Still do.  I won’t bore you, dear reader, with minute details.  I will just summarize with my overall experiences and impressions.

I spend every morning at Mary Stark Elementary school.  I work with a Title I team of two other interventionists that, I must say, have been incredibly patient and helpful as I muddled my way through the first months of school.  I have fallen head over heels for those ladies.  It’s pretty wonderful to wake up each work day and eagerly look forward to getting to work, interacting with people I genuinely like, and growing professionally.

And the children of Mary Stark… Oh, those precious children.  Our students are among the poorest in the twin-city region.  The needs are high, both physically and academically.  Class size is small here. This allows more intense, direct interaction between student and teacher. I spend my mornings doing small-group instruction with the lowest performers, and one-on-one direct interventions.

At my lunch break, I head across the bridge to the other side of the tracks – both a figurative and literal analogy. I serve in a quasi-administrative role as Instructional Strategist for Roosevelt Elementary. My job is to ensure that all Title intervention services are administered with fidelity, that all clients with needs are services, that teachers and interventionists are on the same page, and that there is the necessary assessment and other data to drive and support decision-making.

I feel right at home there, as well.  Everyone is so darn nice! I am thankful that my new job has not deprived me of interacting with children.  How bereft I would be!  I still teach.  I just am no longer responsible for lesson plans or grades.  All the fun with less paperwork.  I can’t say that I miss those things, which is a little surprising to me. Or not.

So that’s the 4-1-1 on the job front.

This last year I also became a student (again). This time I am shooting for the academic stars – a PhD in Teaching and Learning, through the University of North Dakota.  It’s challenging.  Oh, who am I kidding? It’s downright H-A-R-D! I have asked myself at least a hundred, million, katrillion times in the last year if I think I am up to this challenge.  I honestly do not have the answer to that.  I have done well with my course work thus far, but the really tough courses lie yet ahead.  Time will tell.  If I can’t make the cut, it won’t be because I haven’t given all trying.  Stay tuned…

And now for the best part of my year.  The VERY BEST part.

A few weeks into the school year last fall, one of my administrators mentioned during a meeting that some of our students were residents of a local homeless shelter. I was amazed to learn that just three blocks from the school sat a homeless shelter. I could not stop thinking about that shelter, the kids that live there, and my place in this world.

I ended up calling the shelter a week or so later and asked if they would allow me to come in and read to kids once a week or so. I felt even then that it was important that the children are empowered with choice of text, and after reading, gift the book to the child. The shelter folks agreed and I was excited to embark on a new adventure.  My husband suggested I call the local hospital and see if the pediatric floor would agree to my services there as well. “Enthusiastic response” is something of an understatement. The Volunteer Services director nearly pulled me through the phone receiver so that I could begin immediately.

After many weeks of required volunteer orientation, blood work, background check, etc., etc., I was reading to kids in the hospital. Then some of my coworkers wanted to join me.  So I called Jane, the Volunteer director, again. Long story short… Project Armchair was born. In the year since that first phone call, there are now twenty volunteers, with more interested.  We have had almost two-thousand books donated to our organization, we have an advisory council, we have been featured on the local news, I have been guest speaker at several civic organizations and more scheduled, and we have three other cities interested in starting chapters.

Wow. 

It makes my head spin a little. I am so humbled by the interest other teachers have shown in wanting to also volunteer their precious free time to read to children in crisis. I do not know what the end-point is to all of this.  I don’t think about that too much. Time will tell and God is in control.

In other quadrants of my life, my children are settled and doing well. My husband and I eagerly look toward our newly-emptied nest. I have lots on my plate to keep me happily challenged. All of those years I spent at home, raising children, growing a garden the size of Central Park, attending elementary/junior high/high school sporting events (sometimes all on the same day), and wondering what my life would look like post-children, I could not have foreseen such a wonderful career so late in my life. Let me assure you, there is no boredom here. I am THANKFUL for the opportunities my Creator has handed me. He knows me so well.  Knows what energizes me. What makes me tick. What fulfills me. In short, life is crazy-busy. But I think I am happiest when I am going a hundred miles an hour, hair on fire. I must, right?

I found a book recently. Or rather, it found me. I saw it on the shelf and it willed me to pick it up. It had a rather simple-looking cover and the intriguing title, “What Do You Do with an Idea?” by Kobi Yamada. This book is my new favorite children’s picture book. I won’t spoil it for you – find it and read it for yourself. But it closes with these appropriate words, “I don’t know how to describe it, but it went from being here to being everywhere. It wasn’t just a part of me anymore… it was a part of everything. And then I realized what you do with an idea… You change the world” (Yamada, 2013).

I don’t need to change the world, just make it a little better. 

Here’s to a new year, new challenges, and new ideas.

(If you are interested in reading some entries from my blog journal and meeting some of the children I read to, please visit our blog: http://projectarmchair.blogspot.com and find us on Facebook and Twitter).

I Just Said Goodbye

I send her off to college for the second time. The cacophony in my heart is distracting.

I already miss her.

I am glad she is going.

She is happy, so I am, too.

The summer flew by.

I’ll see her next week.

The house feels quiet and empty.

Really, really empty.

I watched a hawk the other day, training its offspring to fly.  They were high in the sky, but not as high as a grown hawk is capable of flying. The tiny bird flapped its developing wings mightily and was truly held aloft by sheer effort and wind current.  The parent did not interfere with the machinations of the young. Rather, it hovered just behind the tiny bird. Not close enough to help the bird fly, but not so far away that, should the young grow weary and tumble to the earth, the larger bird could not intervene.

That is us, my daughter and I.

She is flying. No, she is soaring. She rides the wind currents with ease and the flap of her strong wings bring power and independence. And takes her further from me.

I am there, but not too close. Neither am I far away. If she should feel herself falter, I am just a heartbeat away. I know it is best for her if I watch from a calculated distance. Her wings cannot gain strength if she does not exercise them. Her instincts will not become honed if I dictate decisions for her.

I say goodbye to her once again.

This time I will not accompany her to help her move in to the dorm, get her bearings, or navigate financial aid. She will drive away with a bulging vehicle, the earnings from her summer job(s), and a greater sense of what lies ahead. Of who she is. Of what she wants. Where she is going.

She is gone, but she is not alone. She does not see me, but I am there.

I am behind her,

watching her soar.

My Nest is Empty, My Plate is Full

For those not in the daily orbit of my life, I thought I would provide a quick recap (and I am fully aware that I may be the only one that will read these words – or care, for that matter).  But every once in awhile, there is the virtual visitor from Russia, or Germany, or other places I dream of visiting before my quasi hippie life is done.  For those guests, I will provide an update.

As the 2014-15 school year ground to a close, I found myself applying for a job in a much larger district and at some distance from my home.  Miraculously, I landed the job(s) and have been happily learning the ropes of my new split position.  I spend mornings at one school doing reading interventions, then (literally) drive across the railroad tracks to my second school, where I oversee the intervention process for that entire school.

I love my job(s).  Truly.

This fall my youngest Baby Bird flew the coup and is a freshman at the University of North Dakota, not far from the North Pole and Santa’s workshop.  Grand Forks is notoriously cold. 

I am not lonely.  Frankly, I wouldn’t be lonely in the middle of a remote forest.  I really am my own best friend.  Solitude is always welcome in my world.  Don’t get me wrong.  I love people and love time spent with people, but I also embrace the rare moments of complete solitude.  So facing the Empty Nest years has not been intimidating for me.  My children all live within easy driving distance of Rose Hill (our farm).  I see them quite often.  Those times are filled with feasting, laughter, and catching up on one another's lives.  I have, however, wondered as I approached this season of my life how I might go about staying busy.  Would I find good uses for my time with no tournaments or concerts to attend?

Near the end of September, I heard my principal casually mention that we had several students in our ranks that were residents of the local homeless shelter.  Homeless shelter?  Here?  As it turns out, the homeless shelter is literally just two blocks away from my school.  I had no idea. 

I couldn’t stop thinking about it.  I thought about it as I lay in bed at night, as I stood in the shower, and as I drove to my dream job(s).  I wanted to help.  I was sure there was something I could do.  What could I do?

What?

I am pretty sure the idea came to me in the shower (all the best ideas do).

I ran my idea by Mr. Dishy, who is the most logically inclined person I know.  He was encouraging and (almost) enthusiastic (if you know him you are laughing right now).  “Why stop there?” he encouraged me.  He was right.  There were other places that might welcome my services. 

And Project Armchair was born. 

Calls to the volunteer directors of both the hospital and the family homeless shelter resulted in enthusiastic responses.  They would love to have a certified teacher read aloud to their clients. 

My objectives are fairly simple:  give a child in crisis a moment’s reprieve from distressing circumstances through the power of quality children’s literature.  My desire as a reading teacher would be fulfilled in furthering my love of reading to a variety of children, in a variety of ages.  How much better if I gifted the book to that child so that literacy concepts are furthered even more?

And so…

Since the first week of October, I have been reading aloud once or twice a week to children in both locales.  I purchased several large boxes of Scholastic books (the absolute best deal in town) with my own funds and the blessing of my wonderful husband.  And in only two-and-a-half months, I personally have given away 50 books.

It gets better.

As I began to share my adventures with colleagues, many expressed the desire to join me in my mission.  I warned that the hospital volunteer process is not for the faint of heart – hours of lectures, immunizations, blood work, etc., then secretly crossed my fingers that they wouldn’t walk away, disheartened.  They didn’t.  Teachers are pretty spectacular, you know. 

And so, the first week of January will find nine other teachers beginning their own volunteer orientation journey, as they prepare to enter a new world of volunteerism. Volunteer Heroes, I call them.  There is no mandate to give of their precious, non-paid hours.  And yet they want to.  Many have young families and very busy lives.  I am humbled by their willingness.  Their lives will no doubt be changed, as mine has been.

Intersecting in the life of a child, either gravely ill or homeless, is a high honor.  Their young universe is fraught with uncertainty, disease, fear.  But when I begin a story, and I see the light come on behind feverish eyes, I know I have done something worthy.  A smile, a giggle, a look of surprised joy from an anxious mother, and the sun comes out and birds start singing.

I do not know where this journey will lead.  God does.

And so I thank Him, maker of all children, and big-hearted teachers, and gifted children’s book authors.  He will lead and I will follow.  I am so utterly grateful for an opportunity to touch lives, to find purpose even while the flap of my children’s wings disappears into their futures.  My life is full and beautiful and filled with purpose.  Blessed am I.

Please visit Project Armchair’s blog site and learn more about it:

http://projectarmchair.blogspot.com/