Reference Points & Final Words: What makes this Friday… Good?

Have you ever noticed the best stories have elements of redemption and hope? Have you ever felt like the world is screaming for rescue or a place of ultimate refuge? If there’s one thing I’ve noticed lately as I sprint from one awesome TV show, podcast, or news story to the next, it’s that humans crave redemption. Do you know why we resonate so much with a great movie, book, show, podcast, story, blog, etc.? We crave these outcomes in our own lives. We are searching for a reference point, something that stamps our lives ultimately worthy, hopeful, impactful maybe. We are looking for… well, someone to tell us our striving is enough. Or worth it. Or decent. Or meaningful. We long for a source of all-encompassing freedom that seems so damn hard to come by. This search is why, according to a study in 2015, more than 60 million people worldwide watch 11 billion hours of Netflix-watching every month… 11 billion hours. Every month.

This is why I cried alone in my bed as I finished the series, The Killing, about two months ago. It’s why more than half of the people who read this are taking a break from binge-watching Bloodline, This Is Us, or another fantastic show or movie they resonate with. It’s why I continually watch the viral video of that man who broke up the teenage fight, offering them a better way. This longing for hope is also why I am staring blankly at a wall in my room, on Good Friday, trying to make sense of what makes this day ultimately… good. I’m going to compare the final words of some famous people who set out to answer some of these questions and longings for us.

The final words of Buddha were “Behold, this is my advice to you. All component things in the world are changeable. They are not lasting. Work hard to gain your own salvation. Strive without ceasing.”

“Work hard to gain your salvation. Strive without ceasing.”

In painful admission, I must say I resonate so intensively with this mindset and way of seeing the world. What now? What am I supposed to do next? Who’s watching? Does this matter? Am I doing a good job? How do I look? What is meaningful about my life? Does anyone notice? Does anyone care? Am I good at my job? Do I appear happy to others? Can I be trusted? Can I trust my friends? What’s next on my to-do list? I can hardly go five minutes without these questions lingering in my heart and mind.

These are just a handful of ways I see my mind and my strivings play right into what I would deem an empty search. To strive without ceasing sounds like a lifetime of exhaustion to me. To work hard to climb up to the gates of salvation or fulfillment… I don’t think I have it in me. I don’t think any of us do. While I see the value in working hard or striving wholeheartedly towards meaningful things, I can’t help but see how quickly that life philosophy can morph into a desire to please others, receive praise for accolades, and compare myself to others. It’s not enough. We’re worthy of more; we have to be.

The final words of Thomas Hobbes, an English philosopher who is considered one of the founders of modern political philosophy, were, “Now I am about to take my last voyage, a great leap in the dark.” He also said something along the lines of wishing he could trade everything in the entire world, every grain of sand and ounce of water in the ocean, for just one more day to live and search for purpose. Wow.

A leap into the dark. The great unknown. Just one more day in this maze of an existence. This philosophy gives me chills… and not the good kind.

I can’t help but resonate with Mr. Hobbes as well if I am honest. With so many different belief systems, cultural messages, and opportunities, I see in myself a desperate longing for ultimate purpose and concrete answers to all there is around me. I see it in everyone. I actually think this plays into our love of a great story as well. We want to see the kind of redemption that has us sleeping well at night, feeling like we have life figured out. We don’t want to continue the trend of deathbed quotes begging for one more moment of life, one more day, or one more thing to contribute to the great mystery of our existence. And we certainly don’t want to feel like we’re launching into the dark after our brief life on earth… into “the great unknown.” I know I don’t. This brings me to my most favorite dying words, the ones I hope to most identify with, the ones that make this day Good.

They came from the lips of a Middle-Eastern Jewish carpenter, born in a cave to a teenage mother and then nailed to a tree at his dying age of 33.

“It is finished.” (Tetelestai in Greek, which had to do with fulfillment of finality, particularly of a Godly mission).

The final words of Jesus of Nazareth, the guy we hear regularly about some 2,000 years following his death, offered what I would say are the most profound final words of anyone who has ever lived. They are unmatched in their mystery yet staggeringly peaceful at the same time.

It is finished.

Finished?

Quite frankly, I think there are a lot of things on my list of what I really wish could be finished and over with. I’m not even talking about my daily task to-do list; I’m talking about the lingering questions in the depth of my soul that yearns for peace and purpose. I feel a desire to combat the lie of the ages that our lives should consist of striving without ceasing. I feel the need for clarity that there is much, much more after this brief life that isn’t darkness, the great unknown. I think we spend a great deal of our life wondering what we are supposed to do, and I think there is one person in history who did it for us, the one thing we couldn’t do.

What now? What am I supposed to do next? Who’s watching? Does this matter? Am I doing a good job? How do I look? What is meaningful about my life? Does anyone notice? Does anyone care? Am I good at my job? Do I appear happy to others? Can I be trusted? Can I trust my friends? What’s next on my to-do list?

It is finished.

The implications of Jesus Christ being crucified are as wide and deep as the last ocean you stared at. We are totally helpless in our efforts to relate to God without an infinite reference point, without someone to atone for our instinctive rebellion against our creator and our denial of his ways in the depths of our heart.

But how about God knowing that before there was time or money or Netflix or romance or college or drugs or workout videos or self-help books or jobs or debt or pain or boats or Twitter or scandals or lies.

How about God… reaching down low, and saying, “It is finished.”

How about that for an answer to my questions and an avenue for ultimate peace?

The ways of trying to relate to God through what we do, what we achieve, the shame and guilt we carry…

Over with.

How’s this for the ending of the story? The shame and guilt you have carried your whole life can die on the cross with Jesus. Your entire personhood can identify with Him who promised to bare it all in your place. I think He communicated on that day that He never intended for us to carry what we do not have the capacity to carry.

Finished.

But what is all that good about a dead guy on a cross? It’s what happens in a couple days, when the check clears. That’s what I want to think about from now until Easter. But I’m really glad I don’t need to have all the answers or achieve perfection from now until then… because, after all…

It is finished.

This Is Really Us

There’s something so beautiful about art that can make a grown man weak behind the eyes and quivering at the lips, pondering the meaning of life itself. So I guess I already gave away the fact that I just finished season 1 of the tear-jerking show of the century, This Is Us. Anyone else?

This Is Us season 1 captured just about every string of my heart. If my fiancé’s episode-long weeping is any fair measure then it definitely did the same for you. I’m going to try to summarize a little bit of where this show took me, but this is only an invitation for some to read. If you haven’t watched yet go try and binge watch it now. The only problem is you won’t be able to. Here’s why.

There’s no bigger fan than me of the gripping, dramatic, thriller of a show you can’t seem to walk away from. For me this year, that was The Killing, The Night Of, Stranger Things, and The People vs. OJ. I loved all of these shows so much that I nearly watched them all start to finish in one breath. With This Is Us I had no such luck. It’s the first show I’ve ever needed a painful step back from, the first show I’ve actually been grateful for a week in between episodes. Why? Because it took me to the depths of my aching heart during and after each episode. I needed AT LEAST 7 days to recover from the previous episode’s display of human frailty, vulnerability, and redemption.

What makes a show beautiful? The places it takes the viewer. The things it makes the viewer want to do. Who it makes the viewer want to call. When I realized this show was doing this for me, I knew I needed it like I needed my fiancé to bring me a bottle of NyQuil to my apartment last night.

Remember the scene when Kevin runs out of the theatre to go find his brother, at the pinnacle of his career? It’s opening night for the production of his first play as a stage actor. The New York Times reviewer guy is sitting in the audience! Kevin gets off the phone with his brother who called to wish him luck, but he can hear the distress in Randall’s voice. Kevin thinks out loud, “What would Jack (his father) do?” The answer comes to him and moves him… so much that he flees the play to hold his brother in the pit of his anxiety. How beautiful it is to be struck by your own humanity. This scene invites you to empathize with Randall… and soon you feel the weight of his anxiety on your own frail human chest. It made my fiancé cry out as she was reminded of her own battle with anxiety, not wishing it on anyone, even this fictitious character on the screen.

This episode made me want to go play pool in a shitty dive bar with my brother and talk about life. Talk about nothing, even. Just enjoy being together and near to my brother. Quoting an episode of Seinfeld, probably. My only big brother. I want to see his band play again so soon.

It makes me look forward to next Tuesday afternoon when I get to be with my sister for half an hour at the school where she works with underprivileged kids. I can’t wait to read with a group of them while she tries to manage the chaos of the rest of them in one small classroom… by herself. You should see how much they love her (even when they’re defiant)! Social work… what a calling she is answering.

And then I watch another “sode” and am struck once more by the rawness of life displayed within one hour. The love story between Jack and Rebecca? Randall and Beth? Their strikingly beautiful kids. Kate and Toby? His heart attack that rocked us all to the core… because all of us knew that Kate’s heart could just break right alongside his.

I need to step away for a few minutes though and send a text to my fiancé who is currently at work. I need to remind her how much I love her and can’t wait to eat Chinese takeout on the floor of our future apartment, make photo albums together, watch season 2 together (duh), take trips, have a garden, and raise kids. They’ll have her eyes. Oh, man. She’ll be such a fantastic mom. I need to step away and finish a few things on my to-do list for our wedding in less than 3 months. I need to step away and marvel at the fact that there’s a wedding in less than 3 months and it involves her and me. I need to step away and remember our love story. Two years ago she was a stranger and now we’re looking at where we will live together. We’ll both have rings on a specific finger of our left hands. I need to write more things down. How beautiful is life?

Remember the scene where Randall’s dad died while staring into the eyes of his lost-then-found son? The paradox of devastation and hope brought me back to a few hospital bedsides where I once knelt. I’ve held too many hands for only being 25, stared into too many eyes with a wet lens of my own, experiencing the pain of loss yet holding tightly the hope of a future glory. This is too fresh, though; I won’t be able to finish this paragraph… yet.

I think just about everyone knows the pain of loss. I’ll let your memories speak for themselves. I found a sense of gratitude in that moment though. The life of William began with beauty and wonder just like yours and mine. In the middle were grave mistakes that would cost him the privilege of raising his only son. He would find redemption with NA (Narcotics Anonymous) and even romantic love. And then he would receive a second chance at a relationship with Randall and the beautiful blessing of being a grandfather to his young daughters. In the end there was love. There was only redemption and love to receive as he passed. That’s where we want to be. I’m done for now because I’ve got a few memories to revisit myself, a few bedsides to return to in my mind.

I need more than a week until the next episode. I need 10-11 months. I have some things to take care of until then. Thank you, writers.

I need to step away and laugh at how I put on my Chapstick the exact same way as my father. We hum similarly, too. He always hummed while washing dishes in the kitchen and I think I do it now also. I need to call my mom and apologize because none of her kids ever return her Tupperware. I need to remind her how to fill out a March Madness bracket online, then I need to call my dad and remind him to help her fill it out later tonight. I need to tell them both how much I love them and how grateful I am to still call them with important adult-life questions I probably should’ve found the answer to independently. Thanks, dad, for knowing about cars and taxes and so much more.

I need to call my siblings and talk about our bonus room and childhood bike rides, sporting events, and trips to South Carolina. Ellen played video games with us and was deemed coolest little sister ever for it. She never gave up that title. We both look up to Drew so much; I know it.

I need to call my fiancé and thank her for the NyQuil again. I need to remind her how proud and grateful I am for the woman she is. Her name is Kallan and she’s such a Kallan. She’s so lovely. Our story is just beginning. I want to argue with her then laugh about it later; I know we’ll get to because she’s so gifted at conflict resolution. I’m bad at it, so I need to call and thank her for that, too. We need to revisit our inside jokes, laugh about them some more and then write them down. I didn’t know I could love someone so much; I can’t wait to marry her.

I need to step away. I have some things to do. Then I have another season to watch. Not for a while, though. I have some calls to make and people to hug. To Dan Fogelman, Donald Todd, Kay Oyegun, and Aurin Squire, thank you for writing this show. Thank you for reminding me of these things. Thank you for capturing the beauty of humanity and what ties us all together.

This show isn’t just for us… This Is us. This is really us.

You don’t hate math, and you don’t hate God; you just don’t love them yet!

I recently read Pete the Cat’s Got Class to my second grade class. Pete the Cat… A crowd-pleaser every time! This particular one was about Pete’s friend who thought he hated math because he didn’t understand it. But Pete, being the wise kitty and great friend he is, showed him that he didn’t truly hate math, he just didn’t love it yet. He wasn’t seeing it work the way he knew it should. He needed real-life illustrations to believe, so Pete showed him. Pete used race cars, something his friend loved, and inevitably he came to love math. He needed to see somebody love it first, someone who understood it. He needed to see a friend experience it, trust it, see it resolve, see it make sense.

For me, it was history. I have to say, some of my best school naps came in middle school and high school history class. I didn’t care to read the textbooks. I didn’t think it mattered. Then, I had Mr. Smith for two years. His AP classes were tough and (at times) a little boring… Sorry Mr. Smith if you ever see this! But, he loved history. To him, it mattered. It made sense. It gave him a better understanding of what to do in life, and what not to do. He cared about human beings heading a better direction and not repeating our mistakes. To Mr. Smith, history was about changing the future. Watching Mr. Smith love history made me, at least, appreciate it.
Then, in college, I had Matt. You know a professor is cool when they just go by their first name. Matt loved history so much. He spoke with such passion and intensity about things that happened hundreds of years ago. It was so fascinating for me to watch, I had to get coffee with him. We met after class one day and talked for hours. We swapped life stories, interests, and big life questions. Studying history changed his life. It shaped how he approached his marriage, his job, his interactions with people, and more. His love for history changed him. It changed me, too. I cried at my laptop reading an email he sent us at the end of our semester saying he would be moving to Maryland for another job. I knew I’d likely never see him again anyway, but the impact he had on me on Ohio State’s campus was enough to move me to tears, thinking about him being elsewhere. Mr. Smith and Professor Matt showed me how to love history. Not so much with their impressive memorization of specific dates and events, but how it changed their lives. Watching them love history, though I didn’t necessarily share the same passion at first, made loving history make sense.

For me, it was also this way with God. I attended church as a kid and thrived in Sunday School. I felt like a good person there, even though I was dying to be dismissed to go watch the Browns play each Sunday. I never really loved or understood God, though, because I felt like He didn’t make sense. Or care. Or have room to make an impact on my life. I saw him as a grumpy grandpa sitting on a recliner in the sky, telling me not to cuss or have sex or I’d burn in hell. So as I got older, I didn’t care much for God. I didn’t think he would approve of me listening to Green Day or Blink 182 or saying the ‘F’ word, so I didn’t give him the time of day much anymore. Plus, I would pray superstitiously for years, asking for good things to happen to me. When I felt like they weren’t, I didn’t really trust God. He didn’t seem to really look out for me or to be hearing me. So I threw in the God-towel for a while.
Then I met John, Phil, Chris, Jeff and Jake. These guys were Young Life leaders at my high school and (Jeff) a youth pastor at my friends’ church. I happened to stumble into the occasional youth group or Young Life meeting, willing to listen but not totally engaged. I actually remember praying (for the first time in years) that I would not be called on to answer a question, because I had no idea what we were reading or talking about. The bible didn’t make any sense to me yet. But, I was struck by the way those guys spoke about Jesus. It was as if they had sat in a room with him. They truly knew him, trusted and loved him. And their lives were different because of it. It made me think of what it would be like to witness a miracle or something, and rush back home to speak passionately and quickly about what they had seen and heard. It made me think God was lovable after all, that I could trust him, and that maybe he was a lot different than the image I had created in my head.

I needed to watch people love God to believe He cared about me. I left many bible studies my senior year of high school not having a clue what was talked about, but feeling like I was being changed from the inside out. I was being pursued by God. He was nudging at my heart, letting me know it was safe to come near to him, to consider a life with him. It didn’t make any sense yet, but at the same time… it was the only thing that made sense.

It quickly started to seem like God could speak into every insecurity I had, and every skeptical thought about him even existing. I didn’t feel like I was owed anything anymore; I just felt loved. 8 years later, I still think about the rides home from these bible studies with tears in my eyes. It was like tasting food for the first time, hearing beautiful music, meeting a best friend I didn’t know I had.

In some way or another, I believe God is placing things on your heart that will lead you towards Him. Maybe He is letting you watch somebody else love Him first, so it can make sense for you.

The ultimate yearning in the depth of our souls is not for a “perfect” life, for “good” things, but for fullness in our hearts. For God. It reminds me of the verse that says “He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end” [Ecclesiastes 3:11].

You are stamped with eternity. You are loved beyond imagination. Maybe, today, God is calling you home. Go!

Do it for me, Cleveland Indians

Do it for me, Cleveland. Do it for the kid whose first Major League Baseball game was on a school night in 1999, under the lights. C.C. Sabathia pitched. I brought my glove and a grin and left a die-hard fan. Do it for the kid who used that same glove to pitch in the front yard before all of his little league games. My dad was Victor Martinez; I was a right-handed Cliff Lee.
Do it for the kid whose love for the Cleveland Indians was born into a love for baseball in general. Do it for the fans who will ALWAYS call home field “The Jake.” Always.

Do it for the kid who witnessed your 5-for-5 coming out party several years back, Jason Kipnis. Do it for the kid who got his mom a Ronnie Belliard bookmark for Christmas in 7th grade. Do it for the kid who preferred Friday nights watching the Tribe with his parents on the back porch.

Do it for the kid who grew up a loyal Cleveland fan. And when I say loyal, I mean the kid who became a young man, choked up after the 3-0 Tampa Bay elimination loss a couple years ago in his college apartment. Do it for the young man who turned to his friends watching and commiserated, saying, “We’ll be back.” Do it for the young men wearing Indians jerseys to work today and calling it “business casual.”

Do it for US, Cleveland. Do it for us, who shed tears during the Cavs heroic championship win and would shed just as many seeing it happen at The Jake. Do it for us who have switched cable providers to make sure we have STO. Do it for me, for us, Tribe, because we’ve been saying, “It’s our turn” for enough years now to make it true.

The Hope that is(n’t) here: some jumbled thoughts on social pain and suffering

I write this, looking at my tear-spotted phone screen. Thoughts swirling about events that have happened all across our country and world recently.

This summer, my free time was a blessing and a curse. I watched closely as it appeared our country crumbled under the tensions of racial discomfort, violence, hatred, and division. It felt bleak, hopeless. I wrestled with the kind of voice I want to have, where my place is, what kind of hope I could truly offer to people hurting, to a country seeming to be screaming for change, screaming for something.

It calmed down as school started in late August. I have watched the news less, felt less invested in the upcoming election, paid attention less. Re-focused, in a sense. Then, last week, Tyre King, a 13-year old kid got shot and killed by a police officer in a neighborhood a little closer to home. That’s when part of me… gave up.

I felt angry, confused, devastated.

Mad at people making up stories about a young boy who had just died.

Distrusting of police officers and their “investigation” that’s “going to be thorough.” I felt myself not buying it. I’m sorry. Part of me can’t. And part of me is angry at people who are angry at cops. Angry at myself. Confused about my lack of trust. Annoyed at everyone, even myself. Can’t stand to look at the slums of Twitter, to the conflicting reports on different news outlets. To the hypocrisy and brokenness in the world, in my city, in my own heart.

My verbal wrestling matches with God, conversations with my lovely fiancée, and my jetting, back-and—forth thoughts lately, have led me to a quote I have always loved:

“If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.” – C.S. Lewis

There are issues currently plaguing our country and our world, many of which I can’t even see or begin to understand. And part of why I have felt hopeless lately, is because I long for justice that I will likely not see fully in this lifetime. Things happen, and I quickly scramble through ways we can see change, can fix things, find truth, bring healing, etc. In all situations, not just some. I see this desire everywhere.

I want harmony. I want peace. I want to see politicians care about people rather than politics, more than agendas. I want to see racial divides come crumbling down, silent and tearful hugs rather than pointed fingers, statement-posters, opinions. I long for perfection in a world that is… well… far from perfect. In some ways, more shattered than put together.

“If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.”

I find in myself a natural longing for justice and perfection, which simply will not be satisfied fully in my vapor of a life on earth. Your hope and mine, for justice and peace, is the breath of God whispering a hope to us about a future glory. An anticipatory hope, beyond our worldly understandings. Hope, after all, is the confidence about something that is not yet seen. Our projects, though they are strong and necessary, will cease. They will bring change, but they will never fully satisfy. They should and they will continue, but they will not always deliver to our expectations. We’re seeing that every single day; just turn on a TV or pull up the internet.

I am not satisfied with lack of truth in our world. I am not satisfied with continued racism, violence, pain, hatred. I am not satisfied with injustice, with suffering.

“If I find in myself desires which nothing in this world can satisfy, the only logical explanation is that I was made for another world.”

The sobering, yet hopeful reality is that we live in a temporary, fleeting world that over-promises and under-delivers. Our longings for good things: peace, equality, harmony, unity, fulfillment, are heart cries for something eternal, a hope that is beyond us. A hope that we, left to our own devices and convictions, cannot muster up perfectly. Not by ourselves.

While it often feels out of reach, it is not far. Jesus talked about a future kingdom, a new earth. The beautiful thing is that our rally cries for hope are an echo of what is promised to come. I want to have the kind of hope that doesn’t end with an election, doesn’t under-deliver, and refuses to leave people hurting and alienated. A hope that stretches beyond our passionate projects and opinions, beyond even our short time here on earth. Hope that promises to leave us without another tear in our eyes. Longings and desires that will, one day, be fulfilled.

“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.” – Romans 8:18

The First 3: Lead With Love

To all teachers, administrators, and public service workers of any kind- you’re heroes. With the new school year abruptly approaching (or already having started for many), I hope it is a great one! Thank you for what you do. Chances are, many of you see your students more than their parents do for the next 8-9 months. You have a huge say in the growth of their character, attitude, and academics. What a privilege.

Last year at this time, I was entering my first year of teaching. Mortified wouldn’t be a just description to the amount of nervous pacing, lack of eating, lack of sleep, mind racing anticipation I experienced. I think I arrived at school before 7am each day the first week, spending most of my time pacing around frantically, moving things and chugging coffee until my students arrived around 9. I was a wreck. To all first year teachers, you’re not alone in your nerves and anxiety. You will be fine, but you won’t feel fine right away and that’s okay. And if you teach at a school anything like mine, you’re surrounded by people who can’t wait to help you. While I still have some jitters and anxious excitement with this school year looming, I feel a sense of comfort and peace having one year under my belt. I hope my philosophy for my first three days will encourage some fellow educators as your year begins too!

The school where I teach, Colerain Elementary, is an incredibly beautiful and diverse mix of students with disabilities as well as kids in general education. The Special Ed. model at Colerain is as good as it gets, in my young opinion. We have three school rules we expect all students to follow, and I will cater my first three days around implementing those, from the teachers down to the students.

1. Be your best self.

School is hard. The back-to-school adjustment is difficult for students, teachers, and parents. I’ll admit it; we’re spoiled with our summer break. This makes the adjustment into new routines, new expectations, and more responsibilities very challenging and daunting. It’s important to immediately model being my best self to my students, if I am going to expect it from them. And here’s the thing: I won’t always be my best self. I will try. I will fail. Teachers, we will all fail. I want to communicate to my students that being their best selves doesn’t mean being their perfect selves, but trying their best to be their best selves. The classroom can only be an arena of success and growth if it also has room to be an arena of failure. I will be disorganized. I will mess up paperwork because I don’t understand it. I will hit my head on the Smart Board (often). I will forget things. I will feel impatient. But, I will try my best. I will give my best to my students every single day, but my best will never be perfect. Teachers, I think a big part of being your best self is being okay with failing. When I do fail, I will accept critique and use it as opportunity to grow. This is what I will model to my students. I also think being your best self is not trying to be your best self based on somebody else’s best self. Comparison is the thief of joy, someone wiser than me once said. This year, I am determined to be my best self based on what is within my capacity to be my best self. We all have different and unique gifts. No more looking over my shoulder and trying to line my best self up with someone else’s, especially when they’ve been doing this way longer than I have! My best self is enough, and so it is with my students. I want my classroom to be a safe place where it is okay to fall short, where failures from myself or my students become opportunities to grow. So on day one, I will read my students a story about a little cat going to his first day of school, a little cat who was scared, intimidated, and insecure. Because that’s what I was on my first day of school, as a student and as a teacher. We will laugh about the silly ways he tried to fight these feelings, and celebrate the ways he conquered them. We’ll think about ways to adjust to and embrace school. Hopefully, we will cultivate an environment led with love, filled with room to try your best and fail, which will lead to even more room to succeed.

2. Be respectful.

This one is huge for my kids, as many of them are medically fragile. Last year, within 15 seconds of my teaching career, I was smacked in the mouth by the first student I ever met. He then hurled my glue sticks into the hallway as I showed him around the room. He didn’t do it maliciously, he just wasn’t fond of the up-close high five I wanted to greet him with. Plus, he wasn’t loving my “classroom tour” of every square inch of the room and what each station was to be used for, which as I look back on was overwhelming for both myself and the students! One way we can model respect is by knowing our students well. Knowing their limitations as well as their strengths. Knowing what they love, how they feel safe, how they work best. Knowing their physical boundaries and comfort levels with proximity (learned that one the hard way)! Respecting and building positive rapport and friendship among staff members will also trickle down to the students. What we say and teach is validated by how we act! Live out respect for co-workers, yourself, and your students.

3. Be a kind friend.

My closest friendships are the ones I feel safest in. The ones I can count on, open up to, knowing I won’t be judged or thought of differently. The ones I can be vulnerable with. The ones who communicate love for me no matter what, celebrate with me in joyful times, console me in difficult ones. Lead with love in your classroom. Teachers are teachers, but how often do they also become a students’ best friend? Many students don’t know what a good friend is supposed to be. Model that in the way you teach them. Believe the best. See them for their strengths and their potential, not their limitations. Communicate love and care, that you can be trusted. Let them know with word and action that you’re their advocate from day one. Be all about your students, their biggest fan! Sometimes they need that because they don’t get it in the places they’re supposed to. My class will work on “All About Me” posters for the first three days of school. They’re the stars. The classroom can be their safe, respectful, life-giving domain to thrive in together. We will read books about friendship and communities early in the year, and practice ways to build up and encourage one another.

We’ll do our best this year in room 11, and our best will be enough. I can’t wait to meet some new all stars, and friends!

Stranger Things, Familiarity Rings

If you’re like me, or 90% of the people I have recently talked to, you’ve found yourself watching the newest Netflix hit, ‘Stranger Things.’ If you’re flying through it like me, you’re nearing the end and desperately wanting more. Stranger Things strikes some of my childhood heart strings and takes me to a place of skinned knees, popsicles, and bike rides on summer nights. There’s just something about it.

Something so new, yet so comfortably nostalgic. When I’m watching, I feel part of it. In most shows, I can separate my present reality from the screen I’m looking into. In Stranger Things, I hear my mom calling my siblings and me in for dinner after running around in the yard, playing kick the can and capture the flag. My friends are hopping on their bikes and heading home, shouting high-pitched plans as they pedal away about which basement we will play Xbox in later that night. Sleeping bags, AOL Instant Messenger, and unhealthy snacks are a given.

In Stranger Things, I’m not just watching from a distance. I’m right there with them, scuffing my feet through the leaves and skinning my knees. For 45-50 minutes at a time, I’m not in my mid-twenties with a full-time job and a pinging sound reminding me of something I should respond to. I’m exploring in the woods with my best friends; I don’t own a cell phone yet. I’m walking in creeks with chilly water up to my shins. I’m more worried about bed times than deadlines, more concerned with my CD player having batteries than my monthly Spotify fee staying on the student rate.

The strangest thing about Stranger Things is the place it takes me, or maybe the place I never left. I’m watching a show, but it feels like I’m playing neighborhood kickball games that mean nothing at all yet mean everything in the world all at once. I’m knocking on Seth Miller’s door and asking his mom if he can “come out and play.” I’m calling Daniel’s landline phone to see if we’re riding bikes to CVS or watching The Goonies on the new and exciting DVD player. I’m watching, but I’m really eating Smucker’s Uncrustables and drinking Welch’s grape soda. My drawstring bag with my bike lock attached is sitting on the table next to my bag of Doritos and my baseball cap.

I could rave about the show for pages. Maybe after season two.

For now, I might finish the last two episodes of season 1. Then again, I may not. My family is going to Blockbuster tonight to rent Stand By Me and America’s Funniest Home Videos is on, too. We’re making homemade Chef Boyardee pizzas and I’m pretty distracted by my brother’s new Beanie Babies and my sister’s Polly Pockets. Tomorrow we’re going putt-putting. There’s only thing strange about Stranger Things- how perfectly normal I feel while watching. Feels like home.