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.