Skip navigation

Category Archives: Uncategorized

EFFING TIRED. WORK WORK WORK WORK WORK WORK.

How are teachers also parents? sons? daughters? uncles? aunts? lay members of church? leaders at church? husbands? wives?

…alive???

The fear of taking on any of the aforementioned roles while teaching simultaneously scares the _____________ out of me.

In other news, whenever someone asks me about my job I always respond,

“I LOVE IT”

why might you ask?

“I DON’T KNOW.”

Okay done complaining.

I must remember to rewatch this about systematic reform: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuB_B7z0Ngw

The problem is not always people, or lack of motivation, or whatever. It’s the SYSTEM of a downnnn

 

 

Advertisements

okay. I don’t know how else to describe it. My job is challenging, as always. Every aspect of it. The intellectual side – planing, thinking, reading, designing, wording – is still a challenge for me. The human side – managing, coaching, encouraging, disciplining, loving – remains ever a challenge. Sometimes I wonder if I am cut out for this job. I know I can survive…but can I thrive? Can I, as selfish as this sounds, make a difference?

I have to remind myself that teaching isn’t purely a numbers game. Ideally, I’d love to see my students drink Progressivist Kool-Aid and go to college. I’d like to see them become more nerdy and stop obsessing over their phones, football/basketball, or high school fights (overgeneralizing here). I’d like to see the majority of my classes learn to love reading and discover their writing “voice”. I’d like them to score well on standardized tests.

In my 7 years of teaching, including Turkmenistan, I’ve had:

  • 1 student pass an exam to participate in a State Department sponsored exchange program.
  • 1 student graduate from university and become an English teacher.
  • 4 students enter some Turkmen university. All still speak (er..text) English rather well.
  • 2 former freshmen students enter college.
  • And I’m hoping for a slew of other students go on to college next year.

Not bad. Not quite the numbers that any teacher or admin would hope for, but there’s always Henri Nouwen to encourage me:

God rejoices. Not because the problem of the world have been solved, not because all human pain and suffering have come to an end, nor because thousands of people have been converted and are now praising Him for His goodness. No, God rejoices because one of His children who was lost has been found. What I am called to is to enter into the joy. It is God’s joy, not the joy that the world offers. It is the joy that comes from seeing a child walk home amid all the destruction, devastation, and anguish of the world. It is a hidden joy as inconspicuous as the flute player that Rembrandt painted in the wall above the head of the seated observer.

I have to remember that God loves every individual, and that, while he is the architect and designer of the cosmos and is thus necessarily invested in his creation on a statistically significant scale, he also is the God who paints parables of himself in which he leaves 99 sheep to find the one stray one. This is a God worth knowing.

How Nouwen’s insight about God’s character connects with my less than exemplary teaching stats is not clear. I think I am trying to console myself with dismal numbers by noting that I have made a difference in at least a few students’ individual lives.


Today I read a blog post on the differing perspectives of Muslims and Christians on the Eid-al-adha, or the Feast of Sacrifice. For Muslims, they commemorate Abraham’s obedience to Allah as he was willing to sacrifice his son (Ishmael). His obedience earns him righteousness, so to speak.

But, for Christians, Paul’s reinterpretation of this Jewish story emphasizes Abraham’s faith that led to his credited righteousness (Romans 4). Abraham’s belief, not his action, merited him righteousness.

Now, for Christians, a faith in the perfect Lamb of God results in eternal righteousness that does not fade or need continual sacrifice. For Muslims, however, Muslims must continue to sacrifice for atonement of their sins. Well, that’s according to the blog post anyways. I don’t know how accurate of a statement that is because Eid Al Adha is a commemoration, not quite a sacrificial offering. Nonetheless, the distinction remains – obedience = righteousness for Muslims while faith=righteousness for Christians.

 

After a long discussion about how I feel like teaching is a Sisyphian task, I run across a poem by Emily Dickinson while researching diagnostic tests for my English Language Learners. And it is strangely liberating.

I’m Nobody! Who are you? (260)

Emily Dickinson1830 – 1886

I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there’s a pair of us!
Don’t tell! they’d advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –  
To tell one’s name – the livelong June –  
To an admiring Bog!

the teacher did not rise again because he stayed late at work again. Tomorrow is the third day of school, and I am exhausted and genuinely fear that I will not wake at the usual 5:45am to go to the gym. I’ve done it for a good 2 weeks going on 3, so I hope I can just keep it up. I’ve lost at least 4 pounds as well, so I’ve got to keep it up.

I keep trying to convince myself that I love this job.

I do, but I’m being worn down these days. Too many responsibilities. Too many needs. Too many poor kids with absent parents causing problems in my classroom. Too many emotions. Too many new teachers. Too many students. Too many chairs in the classroom.

Too few serious students. Too few parents involved in their kids’ education. Too few copiers. Too few working printers. Too few books. I can’t even tell if this is grammatically correct right now because I am exhausted.

A student’s warmth can glow in you for a while. Just being around the kids one cannot help but warm yourself by their energy and hope. Many of them feign cynical, but they all carry secret desires and goals. They’re too young to not have any fantasies.

While the youth are ignorant of the trials to come, the “mature” and “seasoned” adults grow dim and cynical. It’s not their fault. Adults experience failure, disappointment, and loss in their careers and their relationships and their families.  Their youthful dreams remain in the ether, and their realities remain stubbornly grounded.


I read Mark Lilla’s op-ed piece on how the democrats can revamp their party by relinquishing identity politics and refocusing on a message that appeals to a wider swath of Americans. He acknowledges diversity’s role in making America, well, more diverse than their European or Asian counterparts. On the other hand, he also warns against celebrating too much “difference” as that dangerously undermines the unity of American identity and culture, which will break the solidarity of common people. He quips that while celebrating difference may sound like good “moral pedagogy”, ultimately will spell disaster for politics in an “ideological age”.

Why? Because if you focus on LGBT, Latinos, Asians, African Americans, then you will inevitably leave out the biggest contender in the room: whites. By choosing to focus on diversity, inclusion, intersectionality, Other groups, one must necessarily neglect still other groups and the systems of government.

Lilla offers an interesting observation of the last election: “Mr. Trump won in large part because he managed to transform economic disadvantage into racial rage — the “whitelash” thesis. This is convenient because it sanctions a conviction of moral superiority and allows liberals to ignore what those voters said were their overriding concerns”
Source: The End of Identity Liberalism

Identity politics is primarily about outrage. Outrage at systemic injustice. Outrage at whatever ceiling. Outrage at the white dude.

In other words, outrage transforms into dehumanization of the other Other, or the so called oppressor. Trump won because he tricked fellow poor whites into believing that immigrants are the problem, therefore, we can still snub our noses at poor whites because they’re morally unsound.

Well, Charlottesville definitely seemed to justify such snubbery. However, as my roommate reminded me once, such feel-good snubbery will not do much in the way of healing our nation. I think Paolo Freire said as much when he said that the oppressed usually take on the tactics and attitudes of their oppressors, which further produces more dehumanization and violence.

Okay, enough for the day.

quite a few months since my friend stripped my lodge logic dutch oven. Today I’m finally reseasoning it with flaxseed oil per this link.

It’s quite frightening because it requires you to heat the oven up to 500 degrees for long periods of time. 1 hour each time you apply the oil. 2 hours for rest in the oven.

1:00pm – first coat on, baked for an hour, then rested.

3:15pm – second coat on, now in baking

4:15pm – taken out to cool

— edit 3/26, sunday —

3:15pm – 3rd coat and put in oven again, 3 more coats to go.

6:15pm – 3rd coat finished, cooled.

–edit 3/27 —

9pm – finished 4th coat

 

Posting a lot today on fb. Which probably means I’m procrasting.
I’m attempting to read Niehbur’s Moral Man and Immoral Society, and while it being highly theoretical, it has illuminated for me how sinful we really are as a society. This article briefly takes us through the major themes and conclusion of this book, of which I will leave you with one excerpt:
 
While individuals in their personal dealings often transcend self“interest (hence “moral man”), nations dealing with other nations, or social classes with other social classes, have little or no capacity for self“transcendence (“immoral society”). Nations and classes have limited understanding of the people they harm by their unjust self“assertion; they lack appreciation for the often complicated laws and institutions through which such injustice is perpetuated; and they are more inclined to embrace rationalizations of self“interest than prophetic denunciations.
 
I have witnessed friends and family members perform remarkable acts of selflessness (hence, “moral man”), and yet these very same kind people may add to a collective oppression of others. I think about how even an innocuous event like gift-exchanges at christmas or humorous white-elephant gift exchanges can serve up both a moral and immoral effects. We can solidify our bonds and communicate love to others with these gifts. But these very same gifts gather dust and add on to the already large pile of shit in our closets and basements and attics and car trunks. They are a hazard to our environment, and perhaps unjustly wrought by children’s hands or by underpaid workers who work on Christmas day. That money used to solicit a little laugh from others or to impress your girlfriend could have been used to purchase a life-saving cow for a family in a third world country.
And, if Wolterstoff is right, our privilege to enjoy security and the luxuries that come with it (e.g., useless gifts during holidays…which I enjoy), actually translates as theft from the poor. (“You who have two tunics, the extra one belongs to the one who has none”, or something like that).
If I am serious about becoming a disciple of Christ, should I not, in all my tiny power (economic, social, political, etc.), continue to strive to live justly a la Micah 6:8? And how does one do this from a point of a justified state? That is, how do I live a just life with the purpose of discipleship rather than earning salvation? How do I urge myself and others to understand the importance of living justly as part of our Christian calling with a gentle tone rather than a self-righteous and self-justifying one?
I’m tired. I can’t continue this train of thought.
etc. etc. etc.

Foundations of Christian life:

  1. You are created in the image of God.
  2. You/Satan/fate/God corrupted your image via temptation -> sin.
  3. Sin reigns through your body. Result: death
  4. (Insert something about law here.)
  5. Christ became man in flesh (in likeness of sin and in sin – Ro 8). Aka, sin reigns in his body.
  6. JC experienced the wages of sin (i.e. death)
  7. He rose from the dead…conquering it? So he paid the wages (death), but then now he rises so he can save others from the wages of sin? What’s the purpose of resurrecting? So he can show what we have to look forward to? So we can live resurrected lives? As a sign of future glory? etc. etc.
  8. You died, like Christ, in baptism, with Christ in 33 AD.
  9. Christ rises in you. (Does this mean sanctification is about letting go of your identity? Or at least the parts less savory to God?)
  10. You have been predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son. This means returning to the pre-corrupted, or uncorrupted state of man in Gen 1. (Ro 5)
  11. Therefore, your uncorrupted self is justified/state of grace/state of righteousness/free of sin.

I am someone who bathes in grief and remorse. I soak it in and enjoy the sickness because I can feel something. Better pain than numb. Don’t want to be numb because then I can’t remember. Or I won’t remember. When I returned from Tstan I remember dwelling on how much I missed and loved my host family and students. I dwelled and dwelled and still dwell. I prefer this captivity to sickness because I think without the infection I shall wander about in homeostasis unaware of the people who loved me and whom I love. I hope this longing never leaves, even if it debilitates a little, because to me then it measures how much I loved.

Jesus wept when he learned Lazarus died. The onlookers remarked that it was a sign of how much he loved him. Others wondered whether Jesus could have prevented his death. There is much speculation as to the motive of God’s sobbing – after all, he knows that he will raise him in a matter of moments. He knows that this melancholic moment, like water to wine, will be transformed into triumph and glory for himself and life for Lazarus. Why does he weep?

This question could be asked of any Christian as well, I suppose. With faith we know that our mourning will turn into celebration, our tears to smiles, and our lethargy into dancing. And yet in this inaugurated-but-not-yet interim period between his coming and his coming, I still struggle to have faith that we will be reunited again. The tomb’s rock is rolled over, still and unmoved by human tears or earthly hope. And realizing that the rock that guards the body or the soul or both of a loved one will not move any time soon, I now must pray and hope that it does one day. And what is there to do otherwise? You cannot walk away from the tomb. Even if you did it will roll with you.

This last month has been a whirlwind. Taking care of mom 24/7 entailed learning about medicines, bed positioning, terminal symptoms, and emotions management. There was so much to do, but at the same time I felt I wasn’t doing much of anything. There was a lot of down time, to be sure. I sat around reading, surfing the web, watching boring and uninspiring television. But while doing those things I was still “on call”, and there’s just an unsettling feeling lingering in the back of your mind while doing the most mundane things. An edginess that prompts you to spring into action whenever she calls.

And truth be told, I still wish she did.

The initial feeling is that you feel relieved.

But then the next feeling is, well

I don’t know. loss? disorientation? confusion? It’s like floating in space with no sun or stars or planets or reference point. Just black.

 

…had me search up Brock Turner’s father’s letter to the judge. In case for the unacquainted, Brock Turner is a 20 something freshman who attends (or attended) Stanford on a swimming scholarship, and was recently convicted of rape. Social media is brimming with vitriol as a result of a light sentencing given by another white-male judge, Persky. Friends are digitally circulating a petition to remove him.

I wanted to see what the other side looked like since I have been encouraged in my MA studies to learn to read “charitably” or openly. I had read A Theology of Reading by Alan Jacobs – another white male – who advocates for an openness to reading all sorts of texts from all sorts of people, friend or foe, and I thought I’d try to practice that by reading Turner’s father’s letter. Facebook friends are posting and reposting a short phrase from his father’s letter, which states that his son’s imprisonment is far too harsh for “20 minutes of action”. The angry bloggers and facebook friends post articles that characterize the father as a father who reinforces rape culture and general white male privilege douchebaggery. I was hoping that by reading the father’s letter I could correct my own social mediated perception and try to relate to the father because demonization is another path toward another type of hell. What I mean by this is that forgiveness and redemption forge a better character than one of perpetual righteous wrath and moral outrage. Well, that’s my opinion anyways. I’m not a rape victim, so admittedly my perspective is limited.

Reading Turner’s father’s letter, however, failed to elicit any sort of sympathy from me. My friends’ FB posts claiming that his father’s letter oozed of white privilege did not seem, after reading the letter, seem so far off the mark. His father did not even seem to apologize for his son’s actions, instead opting to reflect on his son’s character attributes and accolades. In one part of the letter, the father reminisces about how he and his son visited Stanford and exclaimed that it would be swell for his son to attend a college with a history of Olympic swimmers. Look, jury, he has worked hard his whole life to achieve the academic and athletic achievements that have brought him thus far – we should not dole out too harsh a sentence for his “20 minutes of action”! He still has a bright future!

I am devastated by his father’s moral myopia. Where is his remorse? Where is the deep sadness of seeing your own child go astray from goodness and responsibility? He pleads for mercy by appealing to his son’s laurels and immaturity, whereas he should plead for forgiveness for his son. The father was so proud that his son could spell, swim, and maintain congeniality with others, but why did he not teach his son to avoid debauchery and to respect women?

Anyways, I could go on. I looked to the letter as an opportunity to soften my heart, but instead I find it steeling itself more than ever.