goals and plans.

I learned a lot of things during my student teaching. Some things are obvious - like how to take attendance, count lunch money, and facilitate morning routine all at once - and others are more subtle - like the value of showing your emotions as they happen.

Without a doubt, I learned (and mastered) lesson planning during my four months in room 104. I wrote lesson plans for observations, lesson plans in bulleted lists when I was pressed for time, and lesson plans on the fly when something went awry with my kids. These days, it seems I could write a lesson plan in the blink of an eye. I can tell you with confidence that the best way to plan for instruction is to start broad and work down (using the principles of Backwards Design). Start big picture and take small steps to get there. You start with a goal and work your way down to the plans.

I taught a unit on community helpers a few months ago:

My goal? Students will understand the roles of various community helpers. Goals tend to be broad, big picture, and somewhat abstract in nature.

My plans? They varied day to day. Plans are the specific details, procedures, and how of execution. In that community helpers unit, we cut, matched, and pasted pictures. We dressed up as various community helpers. We read books and watched movies. We used puppets. We played games. Sometimes all on the same day.

Lesson plans can look a multitude of different ways, but they all end up working toward that preset goal. 

So often I use the goals and plans interchangeably in conversation; assuming that goals are the same thing as plans, but they are not the same. Goals are the big picture, broad ideas I have for my life. My goals include things like being a teacher and having a family someday. Plans are the specifics, definites, and concretes. My immediate plans include things such as going to the bank and packing a few boxes tomorrow.

I am coming to terms with the thought that goals and plans are different; with the idea that I have may have a goal, but that doesn't mean I have only one plan. Student teaching, and life, are showing me that it's good to have a goal, an end in sight. But, there is more than one way to reach the goal. There are many different plans and paths that can get you to the goal. Maybe it's my responsibility as a teacher to make a few plans, go for it, and see what happens.

My most recent goal? Become a teacher. Inspire. Empower. See differences as beautiful. Include. Be a committed and dedicated teacher to the students entrusted to me.

My most recent plans? Who knows. Open. Undecided. Unknown.


What are you goals? Your plans? Do you think there's a difference between having goals and having plans? 

"When will it get easier?"

Wow. It's been awhile! The past month of life has been crazy, an absolute whirlwind of life and change, parties and celebration, hellos and goodbyes. I've sat down to write a handful of times, never certain of how to start or what to say. Notes and ideas for blog posts abound in my journal, I just haven't been able to get anything out. I think that's okay. It's a lot to process. I think I am ready to start writing again, at least for tonight.

I spent the majority of yesterday in Milwaukee with my sister, brother-in-law, and sweet new nephew Dane. Have you met Dane yet? Allow me to introduce you.

He's adorable, I know. Don't let the sweet sleeping picture fool you. He is adorable, I'm not denying that. But he can be, according to my brother-in-law, a crying fuss bucket. I spent the majority of yesterday with my little Danish, and he spent a lot of that time screaming. Hungry? Cold? Tired? Cranky? Sleepy? We're not too sure. It was a guessing game to figure out what he needed and how we could give it to him. 

At some point during the day, my sister asked in defeat and desperation, "When will it get easier?" Honest. Tired. Real. She was unfiltered and uninhibited, exhausted and straightforward. 

When will it get easier? When will it feel real? When will it stop? Go? Move? When will I understand it? When will I feel like I have a handle on it? 

You could be asking these questions about parenting, about changing jobs, about graduating college, about saying hello and saying goodbye, about a thousand things in life. 

As I move through a particularly tumultuous and uncertain season of life, I am starting to realize that it may never get easier. I may never fully understand the roles and spaces that I enter into. I may not ever have a handle on the fact that life, whether in this season or another, is uncertain and uncanny and unknown. Life is not static and just as I figure out one thing, another thing gives way. Life doesn't stop and doesn't give us answers. 

Luckily for Katie, I think it will get easier. I think as the days and weeks pass, she will get into a rhythm with Dane. They will learn one another; she will learn his cues and he will learn how to communicate his needs more effectively. He will learn to sleep, and it will get easier as she and Mark become more rested. I do think that as some things get easier, others will become more difficult. As Dane grows, Katie and Mark will become comfortable but will still daily face the unknown paths of parenting. 

I want to make friends with the idea that this whole thing called life might not ever get easier. Maybe that's the wrong question for me to even be asking. Regardless, I want to make friends with the idea that I'll always be facing the unknown and I won't always understand it or be able to solve it or fix it.

For tonight, I am okay with that. There's a great sense of peace that comes with not knowing and being okay with not knowing. It's a type of free-fall, to know that I don't have all the answers, but I'm not supposed to have all the answers. To know that this season is not easy, but it might not ever feel easy. For now, I am okay with that. 

the spiral staircase.

One of my students is exceptionally good at identifying patterns. When we're working on patterns together, she gets so excited to tell me what comes next. Circle, square, circle, square, circle ... and Selma will yell "SQUARE!" Flower, butterfly, butterfly, flower, butterfly ... "BUTTERFLY, Claxton!!" Selma does an incredible job of predicting what comes next with patterns, and I can't help but feel like that's not unlike life. 

I think that each of us struggles with a specific set of issues and challenges that become patterns in our own lives. Certainly not every hard thing in life is a pattern. There are some things in life that come unexpectedly, harshly, and completely break us apart. Those are not the type of struggles I am addressing. However, I do believe there are struggles in our lives that are patterns. Maybe you continually struggle with the need to be in control, to plan. Or maybe you're at a constant battle with  needing the approval of others. We spend a large part of life, I think, circling around a central set of challenges. 

The spiral staircase. That's what Father Bob calls it, anyway. You don't know Father Bob? Don't worry, I don't know him personally either. I know of Father Bob through Heather. He was Heather's spiritual advisor last year, and of the many conversations I've had with Heather over the course of our friendship, the conversation about the spiral staircase is one I remember most. 

The spiral staircase is the idea that in all of life, we circle around a set of struggles that are central to our being. As we walk up the staircase, we circle around these challenges. We walk, we struggle, all the while moving upward. As we move up, our posture and reactions to life, pain, and experiences change. We struggle through something, walk awhile, and come around to the same issue again. Only, once we've walked, we're at a different place in our journey up the staircase. We approach the situation differently. If we're moving faithfully through life, the hope is that we walk up, becoming more like Jesus, more like who we were created to be. 

The top of the staircase, I think, is Heaven. We spend our whole lives walking up the staircase, circling around our brokenness. When we arrive at the top of the staircase, we've become like Jesus, complete. 

To be honest, we won't arrive in this life. We won't be complete here. The more I experience of life, the less I believe that I'll ever reach that end where I am complete, content, ready, perfect. I don't think I'll reach a day where I stop facing challenges and struggles. Challenges and struggles and difficulty are a part of life in this world. Maybe I'll never reach the day where the idol of approval and the struggles of inadequacy stop breathing down my neck. I can however walk upward, move forward. But I'll never reach perfection in this life, because perfection doesn't exist in this life. Perfection is a part of God, a part of heaven. All we can do is keep walking. Keep circling. Keep faithfully walking up the stairs. 

It's only when we've walked up the stairs that we can realize how far it is we've truly come. When we have walked up and around, we can look down and see that we've grown, become. We're closer to where we're going, but we're still not there yet. I think the best thing we can do is to identify the patterns in our lives and put on our comfortable shoes.

What are the patterns in your life? What are the central struggles you face? Which way are you moving on the staircase? 

living the Saturday.

Yesterday was Good Friday; the day Jesus was crucified on a cross. Tomorrow is Easter Sunday; the day He conquered death and rose from the grave.

So, what does that make today? Saturday (clearly, I have learned something from teaching elementary school). Today is Saturday. The day in-between Friday and Sunday. The day in-between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. The day, for most of the world, that will be lived like a normal day. All around, people will be walking through today without thought or question. So often when we think about the story of Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection, we focus on Friday and Sunday, but never Saturday. We rarely discuss the importance of Saturday, and I think that it's just as much as part of the story. Saturday is the middle, the in-between, the waiting, hoping, and knowing what's here but not yet. Saturday is the nitty-gritty; the split second pause between death and life.

See, when we skip over Saturday, we're missing a huge part of the story. Saturday is the yearning and hoping. On Friday night, we remember and recognize and feel the weight of Jesus hanging on a cross for our sins. In the end, He rises. Jesus triumphs over death. There is hope on Friday, but we don't get to see it fulfilled until Sunday morning when the tomb is empty.

Saturday is the middle of the story. On Saturday, we wait. We know full-well that Christ rises on Sunday. We know the end of the story. The end of the story is not sin and death. Death does not win. The end of the story is hope, redemption, joy, and new life.

But Saturday is the middle of the story. On Saturday, He has not yet risen. On Saturday, the work that Jesus did on the cross is done. It is finished. It is here, but not yet. So on Saturday, we hope. On Saturday, we hold onto the hope that we know is coming but we know is not yet here. On Saturday, we hope in the resurrection and the promise of new life, but we live in the waiting.

So much of our lives are spent living the Saturday. I could argue that our lives are one big, continuous Saturday. We live in the middle, the meantime, the waiting. We live in what's here but not yet. I love Easter weekend, because in a season of life that feels endless and tiresome and unknown and uncertain (maybe this is not just a season, but all of life), I can cling to hope. I can hope in Sunday, in the resurrection. I can grasp, in the middle of the story, that there is something great to come. 


That's why Saturday is such an important part of the story. On Saturday of Easter weekend, we are reminded that the story is not over. We are given the opportunity to sit in hope, to marvel at the mystery of what's here and happening and what's yet to come.

high-five friday.

It's F-F-F-Friday! If we were having a face to face conversation, I'd tell you in sign language (cause that's how this teacher rolls these days). It is indeed Friday; a day full of finishing up projects in the classroom, keeping learning fun (trying, anyway), gym class day (hooray!), and snack and a movie in the afternoon. Friday is my students' favorite day of the week, and I think it's pretty awesome, too.

I'm going to start something new on this here bloggy blog. Lately I have read some really good, thought provoking articles online; on blogs and news sites and websites found at random from lots of clicking . I figure, it's worth it to share what inspires me and makes me think. Truly, no idea we ever think of is one hundred percent original. We're always pulling from the different perspectives, ideas, opinions, and experiences of the people around us. So much of what I write on this blog is a combination of "this thing I heard here" and "this thing I pinned here" or "that thing that she said in the car the other day." As we take in the world around us, we use what we hear and see and experience to shape our own ideas, thoughts, and wonderings.

So from now on, I'm going to start some high-five Fridays. High-fives for the top five articles that I read in the week. High-five for good writing. High-five for thought-provoking. High-five for reading an article that points me to a bigger truth. High-five for a different perspective. High-five for bloggers around the world, writing and experiencing and sharing. High-five to you, too, for reading this blog. Just in general, high-five fridays.

Here's to the first every high-five Friday. Here's my top five articles of the week.

1. From the Men: What Decides How Much A Woman is Worth? Read it here.

2. The Before and After. Seriously, you want to read it here.

3. Confidence without guts. Seth Godin is a boss here.

4. Want to be happy? Stop trying to be perfect. Ok, so I read it a few weeks ago ... but it's so freaking good here.

5. Thankful Thursday. I also read this last week here, but it inspired and fueled my creation of the thankful list this week (more on that to come).


High-five Friday! Happy reading and happy weekend to you.




What has inspired you this week? Who, what, and where will you high-five today?

What do you make?

I saw this video last night during my seminar class. Whether you are a teacher, you know a teacher, you live with a teacher, or none of the above, I'd encourage you to take three minutes to watch it.

What do you make? Create? Do? Value? What kind of impact does it have on the people around you? 

"This season is ... "

Technically, it's still winter in Chicago. In reality, the past few days have felt like summer. Today I hit the beach after school, napping and reading in the sunshine. Certainly, an act that like is normally inconceivable in Chicago this time of year. Somewhere in the muddle of what is still winter but feels like summer is spring; sweet birds chirping, trees budding, reminders of life to come spring. I have been eagerly awaiting the day in room 104 when we can switch the "This season is ..." board to say "spring" instead of "winter." 


I am excited, yes. But with spring coming, I am a mix of bittersweet emotions. The season of life at Bethesda is dwindling. The days of college life will soon be long gone. The days of my sweet students in room 104 will soon come to an end. This chapter will close. This story will end. But with spring comes life; the hope that something is growing, something has been stirring all winter long. Something will bloom again. Something is coming. I will move into a new apartment. I will (hopefully) get a job. Life will change and move and something beautiful will spring up. 


As winter ends and spring approaches, I am both nostalgic for the past few years and hopeful for what's next. I am both scared and excited. I am a mix of emotions, feelings, and thoughts. I want to let spring work its way in me. I want to feel the season, in the least tree-hugger way possible. I want to let spring soak in, reflecting and remembering why it matters. I want to be aware and in tune with the hallmarks of spring; that life comes out of frozen ground, that there is something more to come. 

“In my own life, as winters turn into spring, I find it not only hard to cope with mud but also hard to credit the small harbingers of larger life to come, hard to hope until the outcome is secure. Spring teaches me to look more carefully for the green stems of possibility; for the intuitive hunch that may turn into a larger insight, for the glance or touch that may thaw a frozen relationship, for the stranger's act of kindness that makes the world seem hospitable again.”  - Parker Palmer






How will you let spring work its way in you? What do you learn from spring? What are you reflecting on, as you move from winter into spring? Is it hard to hope, or easy to hope in what's to come?

we just wanna be loved.

Wow. So, go figure that I wrote this post a few weeks ago about writing everyday. Hmmph. I am staying consistently inconsistent with the posts that I am writing on here, but I can say that the past few weeks have brought about more intentional quiet time, more reading, more processing, more prayer ... which, in my opinion, is the heart of Lent. Returning. Resting. Remembering. 

Lately, I've been listening to Ben Rector. A lot. Have you hopped on the Ben Rector bandwagon? If not, then we probably can't be friends.

This song has been on repeat the past few days (let's be honest, so has this song). I love these lyrics from Ben Rector's song: 

And every move

Leads right back to

Our need for acceptance

Our fear of rejection

Oh, a little love

Yeah, that's what we want

So true. Insecurity is manifested differently in each person; from arrogance to shyness and everything in between. But we each have moves that lead right back to our need for acceptance, fear of hurt, and desire to be loved. As human beings, we have a deep desire to be known and loved, heard and valued. All of us. Every. Single. Person. No one is exempt from the desire for love, community, relationship. We're wired to know and be known, to love and be loved. It's the human condition. How will you choose to engage in that?

Are you honest with yourself? About your actions? About the ways you seek to be known and loved, heard and valued? Are you engaging in relationships that allow you to know and be known? Love and be loved? Are there people in your life who walk with you through insecurity and brokenness of spirit?

my hope is found.

This weekend was good. So, so good. It was good for my heart and for my soul; filled with rest and hope and sitting in uncertainty with an overwhelming feeling of peace about it all. It was a weekend full of conversation, both serious and silly. It was a weekend of fullness, exploration, and confrontation in my heart. It was a weekend both of feeling the heavy weight of living in the unknown and the joy of living in it, too. It was a weekend brimming with hope and promise and peace about what's to come. 

"Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful." - Hebrews 10:23

rule breaking.

Did I ever tell you that I gave up the internet for Lent this year? Like, the whole internet. Except for maybe email, because that's a necessity these days. Oh and Pinterest, because there some seriously amazing teaching resources on there. But for all other intents and purposes, my plan was to kick the internet in an effort to spend intentional time writing, reading, praying, thinking, listening, and feeling this season. One of my deep desires is to truly, genuinely feel and experience each season and emotion in my life. I don't want to miss anything this lift has to offer.

And I'll be honest, I have a nasty habit of letting the internet steal way from experiences that are life-giving. I know I spend more time "connecting" on Facebook and Twitter than is actually necessary (and what's the appropriate definition of necessary, anyway). The decision to give-up Facebook and Twitter was fairly easy, but I went back and forth about taking down my blog for the next few weeks. At first I thought, Oh, great ... I'll blog about my endeavors to disconnect from the world. Then I realized that made no sense, so I decided it would be best to go completely silent and not write at all during Lent.

Clearly, that's not working either. Something I have realized over the past few months is that if it's not one thing, it's another. If it's not one distraction, it's another. If it's not social media, it's blogging. If it's not blogging, it's Pinning. If it's not Pinning, it's scouring ChristianMingle.com for hotties.

If there's not one thing distracting my attention, there's another. So, in my effort to give up the internet entirely, I've found myself not actually being intentional with my time. Instead of using my extra minutes to read, pray, think, write, and feel ... I use my minutes to panic, fret, worry, cry, rehash bad teaching moments in my head, frantically apply for jobs, and believe lies about myself and my worth. I have moved from zoning out on Facebook to zoning out while applying for jobs, while driving home from school, while sitting in my bed thinking about the next season but not actively praying through the process. I wrongly assumed that eliminating the biggest distractions in my life would automatically turn me into an intentional, thoughtful, and prayerful person. So, so wrong.

So, I'm deciding to break the rules. I am breaking my own promises to stay away from the internet. Just yesterday, in the midst of tears and fears, my sweet friend Kelly told me that I should write. She pointed out that writing and blogging really do help me to process the world as it's unfolding around me. Not to mention, it challenges me to think outside of my reality. I can pull together the pieces of my life and recognize that the story really isn't about me and my life anyway. Blogging is both something I enjoy and something that connects me back to truth. Although there are many facets of the internet that are a distraction, I really think that blogging can be a useful tool for processing. And that's what I need. Processing. Thinking. Listening. Wrestling. Grappling. Connecting. Preparing. Understanding. Reflecting.

So, here's to the new Lent. Here's to writing. Actually writing. Everyday. Here's to intentionally getting out my journal, bible, and computer for a few minutes each day. Here's to making sense and making way. Here's to publishing what's incomplete. Here's to returning. Here's to breaking the rules. Nothing great was ever accomplished by following the rules anyway, right?

prodigal magazine.

"Transition is a funny place because there's no real way to hurry it. It exists as long as it wants to, as long as it has to, before the next thing begins ... There's this awkward moment where no one knows which table belongs to whom - this sort of hold-your-breath piece of time where you hope everything works out the way it should. Things just seem to hang in the balance. Transition might not be cozy, but it's necessary. It's the only way. Think about it. There is no other way to start something new." - Prodigal Magazine

Have you started reading Prodigal Magazine yet? You should head over there and check out what they're trying to create. You won't regret it. I promise. 

In what ways are you experiencing transition? How are you handling it? Growing from it? Asking for help and support in it? 

As I sit here about to publish this post, I am realizing two things. One being that the tone on this blog has changed. My life these days is full of uncertainty and unknown, and I am fighting for space in my life to actually think and pray through what's happening. My days are up and down, high and low, and I am finding it hard to stay sunshine-y positive all the time. And I think that's okay. Healthy, even. Number two? I am very intentionally taking time and space away from the internet during Lent. I am no longer active on Facebook or Twitter, and debated about removing my blog as well. But blogging can be a very useful processing tool, and I don't want to stop writing just for the sake of following a rule. I will continue to post on here as it's appropriate and as I have time, but for most of the next month, I want to carve out space to listen, think, process, and decide. How are you making space to be more intentional during Lent?

keep breathing.

I have very few words this week. The only two words that come to mind consistently these days are pray and breathe. And keep going. And maybe just keep swimming.

Where has your heart been this week? 

satisfy.

I feel the need to be honest with you. The past day and a half have been full of fear, a lot of worry, questions, and attacking anxiety over the unknown and the next chapter of my life.

I want to be honest and clear on this blog that I believe life to a beautiful mess. I don't know how often or how well I convey that to you. Sometimes I think what I write is too Pollyanna; neatly wrapped into presents and sprinkled with positivity. Being completely honest, there are so many moments in this season where it's hard to grip positivity. Some days, it's much easier to hold onto fear, worry, and anxiety.

Anxiety about a growing to-do list and decreasing time to actually do (I'm sure you can all relate to that). Worry about how I can possibly combine all of my passions in the next season. How will my passion for Young Life intertwine with my passions to teach special education and serve students in urban settings? Is there a way to make all three work together? Fear is crippling my mind into thinking that I won't get a job, doors won't open, and I'll somehow end up in a place that prevents me from becoming and moving and growing. Some days, it's so disheartening to have no clue how the next stretch of time will unfold. I can sit here tonight and envision a myriad of different scenarios with no idea where and how and when to approach which one. When will doors start opening? When will way make? When will I feel like I am making progress, moving forward?

Last night, I was thinking through all of these things; feeding fear and anxiety and worry. This song came on my iPod while I was at the gym. The prayer coming out of this song is so simple, yet poignant. Satisfy. Satisfy me Lord.

I looked up the definition of the word satisfy. A quick Google search tells me that satisfy means to meet expectations, needs, or desires. Yes, satisfy me Lord. Wherever the next chunk goes, satisfy me Lord. Wherever I end up, satisfy me Lord. Wherever this path goes, satisfy me Lord. May I - you, we - find satisfaction in His plan which is so much greater than ours. May we find satisfaction in His timing, which rarely aligns with our timing. May we be satisfied by His promises that there is something great to come. May we be satisfied in His faithfulness through all of our days.

Amen? Amen. This teacher is off to bed!

happy valentine's day.

I hope you had an awesome Monday. I'm pretty pleased with CPS, seeing as they gave us the day off school to celebrate Lincoln's birthday. I celebrated by attempting to sleep in (and woke up at 6:45 this morning, urrgg), catching up with friends, catching up on work, grocery shopping, and going to class. I partied hard for Lincoln. How did you celebrate your Monday?

Now, more importantly, tomorrow is Valentine's Day! Can I get a high-five for valentines made with macaroni, sugar highs, red roses, and corny romance movies? I don't personally care for this holiday much, but it's infinitely more fun now that I have students and a whole day to plan valentine-themed activities, games, and songs. Tomorrow in room 104, we'll be baking and decorating heart-shaped cookies, singing songs, reading stories, and passing out treats in the afternoon. You wish you could be there, I know.

Instead of making progress on things like job applications, my IMPACT project, and lesson planning this weekend, I decided to search Pinterest for what to make my students for Valentine's Day. Heart-shaped crayons are all over the internet, so I thought I would give them a try this weekend.

The instructions are pretty simple. You need old crayons, a heart-shaped mold, and an oven. Peel the paper off the crayons and break them up into little pieces. I split mine up into color families. I have seen a few tutorials online that mix all of the colors together for a wild, rainbow crayon. I like the color families. Totally your choice though. Then, you heat your oven to 300 and bake your crayons for 15 minutes. If you're anything like me, you will check the oven every two minutes to make sure it's actually working. Just a heads up, it actually works. Then you take your wonderful, heart-shaped crayons out of the oven, let them cool for about 30 minutes, and ta-da ... you will be the coolest, craftiest person around.

To finish off the valentines for my students, I printed some valentine-themed coloring and matching pages. Overall I think this is a great way to use old crayons, and for students who have difficulty holding a regular crayon or pencil, the heart is easier to grip. Happy crafting! 

As one of my students says almost everyday, it's going to be a busy, busy day. Tomorrow will be a busy day. It will be full of red and pink, sugar, silly songs and activities, and celebrating our classroom community. I hope that your day is full of hearts and happy. I hope that in the midst of class or work, you recognize how deeply loved you are. I hope you slow down tomorrow and reflect on the ways your heart is full; full of love and full of joy and full of life. 

Happy Valentine's Day! How will you celebrate?

comparison, joy, & the unknown.

When we're walking into the unknown, it's easy to get lost in comparison. It's easy to look around and decide that what we're doing isn't right because it's not the same as the people next to us. The truth is, when we're walking into the unknown, the only path we can carve is our own. And I think there's joy to be found in the journey of the unknown. But don't mistake happiness for joy. Joy is different than happiness.

"Joy is having hope in the face of darkness and tragedy (and dare I say the unknown), and living life with a grateful heart for all of the things we do have, rather than focusing on all that we don't." - darling magazine

Joy is lasting, rooted. Joy is hope, freedom, becoming, depth. But comparison kills joy, and in the wake we're left with insecurity and doubt. With insecurity and doubt on our backs, walking through the unknown becomes incredibly more daunting and heavy.

When I'm teaching, my students get choices. They can choose to participate in activities or sit alone. They can choose to follow the rules or sit alone. They can choose how they want to behave, act, and engage in the school day. I think the same logic is applied here. We can choose how we want to behave, act, and engage in the unknown. We can choose to follow the way of comparison, or we can choose to believe that we're each forging our own path. We can choose insecurity and doubt, or we can choose joy. We can choose to believe that we're doing something wrong, or we can choose to believe that we're each telling our own story and no one can write it for us.



How will you engage in the unknown? 

into the unknown.

I wrote last week about feeling ankle deep. Ankle deep in new, unknown territory. Ankle deep in experience. Ankle deep and anticipating when the waves will crash and the ground make way. Over the weekend, facing the unknown consumed my thoughts, journal entries, and conversations. Truth is, there's no way around the unknown. Not in our thoughts, not on our blogs, and certainly not in our lives.

Gnawing at my heart all weekend was the truth that I am not done writing about the unknown and I am not done facing it in my life. Although right now I am entering into the unknowns of teaching, a new role in ministry, and life post-graduation, I am certain that the unknowns will not cease. They will keep coming each year, each season. If it's not here, it's there. Or somewhere in the future. For you, maybe it's moving to an unknown city. Maybe it's applying for college. Maybe it's your first job. Maybe it's your first relationship. Maybe it's marriage. Maybe it's parenthood. Maybe it's a career change. Maybe it's retirement. I don't know what walking into the unknown looks like for you, but I'd be willing to bet that in some area of your life, you're experiencing it.

Here's my question, what does it really mean to walk into the unknown? What does it mean to walk faithfully into the unknown? What does it feel like to deeply move through the unknown? What are the emotions that we experience? How do we walk into the unknown steady? How do we get there with humility - aware of the fact that the story isn't actually about us, but that we're a part of something bigger? How do we approach the unknown with an eager, open spirit even though we may be trembling with fear?

This is some of where my heart and my mind were this weekend. For the next few posts or maybe longer, I'm going to be exploring the unknown; through word, song, image. That cool with you? I sure hope so. I don't know where this journey will take us, but I hope you'll join me in exploring and experiencing the unknown in the fullest way possible.

Tonight I thought I'd share this print from Pinterest. These days, it seems like everyone has an opinion about the way I'm stepping into the unknown. Maybe you feel that way, too; like everyone has an opinion. I'm starting to trust and believe that even if I don't know what's around the next corner, I'm on my own journey. In those moments, I'm learning to take a step back and take a deep breath. It's okay to not have the answers, but part of walking faithfully into the unknown is trusting that the direction you're headed, though a mystery, is the right direction for you.

Here's the to unknown; to clenched fists, deep breaths, and big jumps. Here's to learning and experiencing faithful and steady steps into the unknown. Here's to trusting that we're going in the right direction.

ankle deep.

"In your ocean, I'm ankle deep

I feel the waves crashing on my feet

It's like I know where I need to be

But I can't figure out, yeah I can't figure out

Just how much air I will need to breathe

When your tide rushes over me

There's only one way to figure out

Will you let me drown, will you let me drown?"

Right now, I am ankle deep. Ankle deep in experience. Ankle deep in emotion. Ankle deep in unknown territory. Ankle deep in change, in movement. Ankle deep in uncertainty, in excitement, in the joy and hopefulness of a new season. In some ways, I feel completely submerged, all in and just about pushed to my limit. And in other ways, I can recognize that I'm just getting started. That this experience, this chapter, this season or chunk or forthcoming or change ... is just barely beginning. I am only skimming the surface, and I have no idea how much air to hold in when the waves really begin crashing and the newness and change start to envelop me like the current of the ocean. 

In the very little that I know about life, I know that God is faithful. I know that change is hard and change is good. I know that if I want honest transformation and genuine becoming, hard and uncomfortable are a part of the deal. I know that if I want to live a deeper story, I have to live a deeper story. I have to live hard, live uncomfortable, live unknowns. I don't get to live a deeper story by walking through a life without emotions or extremes.

I want to choose movement. I want to choose change. I want to choose uncomfortable. I want to choose these things, and I want to live them. Really, really live them. And right now, I think it would be so much easier to give up, to let the ocean win by tossing me around and spitting me out. Quite frankly, it would be easier to run away from the ocean altogether. But as a person who wants to grow and become, I want to lay myself wide open to the possibility of this season. I want to take a deep breath and go for it. No clue how much air to breathe, how long I'll be under water, or what the waves will feel like. 

"Unclench your fists. Unlock your knees and also the door to your heart, take a deep breath, and begin to swim. Begin to let the waves do their work in you." - Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet 

Go down to my playlist, press pause, and listen. You'll want to. I promise. 

three weeks.

I'm three weeks into student teaching - eek! I constantly find myself feeling clueless, overwhelmed, concerned, working, planning, writing, thinking, and trying to keep the feelings of stress at bay. It's not been an easy few weeks. I am sure at some point, I'll process through that and write about it.

For now, I am clinging to sweet moments with the people who 'get it'. I am holding tight to the silly moments of laughter and hilarious moments of encouragement. I am making room for food that comforts the soul. If you're student teaching, or stressed about life, or working hard, or human ... please, seek out laughter. Spend time with people who make you feel comfortable and loved and known. Spend time building one another up. Make room for encouragement. The energy that you spend feeling tired or stressed or complaining could be used seeking comfort, seeking laughter, seeking moments of sanity.

This week, I am finding comfort in Ryan Gosling, the sweet words of a good friend, and Pinterest.

"Maybe I know this job is for me not because it comes easily or without difficulties, but because I am willing to work through the hardships to become the best teacher I can be. Maybe there's nothing wrong with me ... maybe I am so exhausted because I am thinking and working and processing and trying to improve every moment of everyday and maybe, just maybe, that commitment, that drive that propels me to spend every moment thinking about becoming a better teacher, makes me exactly the kind of teacher this world needs." - Living Out of My Box

What does your semester look like? Or rather, what does your life look like? And how are you seeking out encouragement in the midst of stress? 

new questions, new prayers.

At the risk of sounding stupid, and annoying, and like a typical girl, and possibly desperate ... I've avoided writing this post for awhile. But lately, I've felt convicted of sharing. I talk on this blog about how everyone has a story. A story full of excitement and hope and laughter and hard and broken and exhausted. But a story that is worth being told. At the risk of sounding like a desperate girl I'm going to share my story, because if even one person reads this and gets something out of it, that's enough for me.

I want a boyfriend. There. I said it. Weight lifted. Sooooo, if you're single ... hit me up. I'm kidding, of course. Not about the wanting a boyfriend part. But about the single men of Chicago hitting me up on my blog part.

In case you were wondering (and even if you weren't), I'm 22 years old. I haven't dated a boy my entire college experience; partly by choice, partly by circumstance. And all of that is fine, I'm embracing it as a part of my story, but there's a part of me that wonders, questions, imagines. All around me, it seems like people my age are married, engaged, seriously dating. Certainly not everyone around me, but enough for me to take notice and eagerly ask, when's my turn? 

I'm certainly not ashamed at my yearning for a boyfriend. This week at church, we talked about creation, about the garden, about Adam and Eve. About how we were created for relationship, both with God and with the people in our lives. Men and women were created for relationship. Desiring and yearning for that companionship, I think, is normal (I'm sure there are entire books written on this topic, and I can't even begin to scratch the surface). But in my opinion, there's no shame in yearning for the companionship that we were created for.

There is, however, shame for the ways I have thought about, questioned, and prayed for this type of relationship in my life. As much as I try to fight against it, I find myself asking God lots of wrong questions about boys. I find myself asking things like ... When will this happen for me? How will it happen? You know that I want it to happen, right? Preferably yesterday would have been nice. Can you make sure he's at least 6'3? Can you just give me a sign? Can I at least meet him? What if it's that guy in Chiptole? What if it's that guy at church? What if it's someone in Hong Kong and I never meet him? Can you make sure he's really funny? How long will you make me wait? Can you just send me a boyfriend, or for that matter, a husband? And if possible, could you FedEx him? I hear they have a good overnight rate. 

Ok, some of those might have been slight over-exaggerations, but I think you got my point. As much as I hate to admit it, those are the types of questions I have been asking God about a boyfriend. My questions and my prayers are centered on the when, the how, the where, the what ifs, and the conditions. For so, so many reasons, I think these are the wrong questions. 

I want to stop asking the wrong questions, and start asking the right ones. And I think the right questions have less to do with other person and more to do with myself. 

I want to stop asking God when and how and what if, and start asking ... who am I becoming? Am I growing into the most authentic, most genuine Erin Claxton that I can possibly be? Am I growing into the woman You created me to be? Am I seeking Your heart and Your guidance as I make decisions that are forming the next chapter of my life? Am I allowing myself to grow in dependence - especially on Your timing? Am I allowing myself to grow in Christ's image? Will You transform me into the best girlfriend, best wife that I can possibly be? 

As I was typing that out just now, I thought about how self-centered it might seem. And then I thought I needed to explain myself. Quick. I am not trying to say that in order to get a boyfriend, you need to do a bunch of self-centered, self-help related things. But the way I've come to think of it is this: instead of asking and wondering and wasting time thinking about what if and when and how will it happen, I want to use this meantime to become the most authentic, most genuine, mostly truthful and deep person I can become.

When I stop asking the wrong questions and start asking the right ones, I am freed up to earnestly and thoughtfully and genuinely pray about a relationship. I can stop asking God to send me the right man, and I can pray that He will make me the right woman. That way, when a man finally comes knockin' down my door ... I'll be ready.


What questions are you asking about dating? Do you think they are the right questions?

breakfast, patience, & owning your gifts.

I had this post - about patience and gifts - all ready to write. I had been planning it in my head all week long. It was a real stick-it-to-the-man post. I was ready for the world to have a little talking to about patience, teaching special education, and annoying people at the grocery store.

And then I had breakfast with Sam. My dear, sweet, wonderful friend Sam. Have you started reading her blog yet? I talk about Sam almost as much as I talk about Shauna Niequist, and let's be honest, by now you should be fond of both. The real reason I bring her up so much and want you to love her as much as I do is because whenever we hang out, I do a lot of thinking. The good, soulful kind of thinking. Do you have someone like that in your life? Someone who makes you think and question and wonder and explore? Sam is one of those people for me, and I hope that you're fighting for friendship like that in your life.

This morning, over stuffed french toast and scones, we ended up talking a bit about my student teaching experience. I don't feel comfortable writing too many details on here - just for the safety and privacy and respect of my students (not to mention, that's probably illegal). But, you should know that the students in my classroom are considered to have more moderate cognitive disabilities and multiple disabilities. We spend a lot of our days working on functional skills or life skills - washing hands, social skills, school skills, morning greetings, name and letter recognition, cooking, weather, counting, knowing the months, etc. When I told Sam about my days, about how I spend time helping students recognize their name or learn how to say hello or how to open their milk carton, she responded with a gaping jaw and gasp and some comment to the effect of, "Wow! The patience that must take ... "

This is not the first time I've gotten a comment like that. It's not uncommon that when I tell people I'm studying special education I get told about how much patience I must have. "Oh, you must be so patient, I could never do that." Or, "Oh, you must be a saint." What about, "Good, we need patient people going into education." Or my personal favorite, "You must be like Mother Theresa or something." Sorry to report, but I am not Mother Theresa. Are you disappointed? Yeah, me too.

After Sam's comment about patience and the fact that this post was stewing in my head anyway, I almost lost it. I began telling her that no, no, no ... I am not a patient person. Have you ever been next to me in line at the grocery store? No patience. Have you ever been late to meet me somewhere? No patience. Are you constantly running on the ten-minutes-behind time clock of Heather Gibbs? No patience. Although I love my parents and credit them for many of the good qualities I possess, I detest the fact that somewhere along the line ... I didn't get a good lesson in how to be patient with the vast majority of the world, at least as it relates to planning, being on time, and waiting. I would actually be the first person to tell you I am quite impatient. Not to mention, just because I have patience for people with disabilities doesn't mean a thing. There are lots of people who have the ability to be patient all the time. And lots of people who are good at other things that I could never do. I could never be an engineer. And I could never work in a hospital. And what the heck makes my job so special anyway? And most importantly, I'M ACTUALLY NOT PATIENT.

I was about to get there in my rant when Sam stopped me mid-sentence and said, "No, that's your gift, Erin. You need to own it." I stopped for a moment and thought about it, and she's right. I may be, and quite possibly am, an impatient person. At least with most of the world. I do, however, have a specific ability and a specific type of patience that works for a certain population. I have a gift that not many other people have. I have the ability to, day in and day out, open milk cartons and spoons and teach my students how to use them. I have the patience to give hand-over-hand assistance to help my students use a glue stick or write their name. I have the patience to ask and re-ask and redirect and remind students all day long to keep their hands to themselves. I have the patience to teach. And gosh, do I love teaching. 

This is not, by any means, a post meant to toot my own horn or boast about how awesomely patient I am. Because I'm not. I'm just a normal person trying to use my gifts to infuse the world with a little bit more sunshine. I have a gift, a very precious and sweet gift of patience for people with disabilities. Put me in a special education classroom and that patience will flourish. Put me in line at the grocery store or in the same room as Heather when we're running late, and not so much.

My point of this long ramble is this: I have a gift that is unique to me, and so do you. I may have a gift and an ability to teach special education, but you, my dear friend and loyal reader, have an entirely different gift. Maybe you love engineering. I don't even know what engineers do. Maybe you're passionate about philosophy, which I slept through my freshmen year of college. Maybe you're studying to be a doctor or a nurse or a pharmacist. Thanks for not being scared of needles or death, because I am. Maybe you work in business or finance. I'm glad you know how the economy works, because that information goes right over my head. Do you get my point? You may be floored by my supposed patience because I work in special education, but I am blown away by your gifts and your talents, too.

We all have different gifts, unique to us. How amazing is that? How boring would the world be if we were all good at the same thing? Thankfully, we're not. There are as many interests and jobs and career paths and gifts and aptitudes and talents as there are people in the world, and for that I am so thankful. Please, own your gift. Own it with confidence and sparkle and healthy pride. Recognize the ways that you are gifted and talented, and see the gifts and talents of others. And please, please, please do everything in your power to use that gift to make the world a little bit brighter. Because the world needs a little sunshine these days. 

come alive.

Earlier this week, I began student teaching. This is the last and final portion of my teacher preparation program before I can graduate in May. I have only been at my placement for three days, but come home everyday with the feeling that this is it. This is it, in the best possible way. This is what I was created to do, part of who I was created to be, where my skills and gifts are meant to be used. I am, however, only three days in to a fifteen week experience. I am trying not to get ahead of myself. I do love teaching, but I am trying to see that my buoyancy and anticipation will quickly be met with hard work, long hours, and achingly repetitive days. And inevitably, doubt and frustration.

Teaching, like anything in life, is a both/and experience. It is both fun and hard. It is both exciting and mundane. It is both life-giving and draining. I want to be clear that the whole picture of teaching is what makes me come alive. The good, the bad, the excellent, and the ugly. That's the whole picture. And the whole picture, I think, is the essence of what it means to be alive. 

What makes you come alive? How are you pursuing being alive in your life? Your career? Your relationships?

As the days and weeks pass and I become more invested in my students and teaching this semester, I do not know what this blog will look like - the frequency of my posts will most likely decrease. I am, however, looking forward to pouring into the 10 first and second grade students in my class. I want to be fully present with them, being the best teacher I can be. I am excited to see them develop, grow and learn ... and I am grateful to be a part of that process! 

shalom.

The past few days have looked a lot like this .... 

some ah-mazing ladies. 

chicago natives are strong and sassy.

most of our weekend? stu and the ladies. 

remake of a picture from this post.

so. much. air.

The past few days have been filled with good food, lots of laughter, ample dancing, adventuring, remembering, and spending quality time with some of the most amazing people I know - the second seshhh Castaway summer staff family. The only word I can use to describe our reunion together is shalom.

"There is a way of living, a way of harmonizing and hitting a balance point, a converging of a thousand balance points and voices, layering together, twisting together, and there are moments when it all clicks into place just for a split second - God and marriage and forgiveness and something deep inside that feels like peace - and that's the place I'm trying to get to. 


I have glimpses every once in a while of this achingly beautiful way of living that comes when the plates stop spinning and the masks fall off and the apologies come from the deepest places and so do the prayers, and I am fighting, elbowing to make more of my life that life. I want that spirit or force of happiness that is so much deeper than happy - peace that comes from your toes, that makes you want to live forever, that makes you gulp back sobs because you remember so many moments of so much un-peace. I search for those moments the way I search for beach glass, bits of glitter along a desolate expanse of sand, and I want those moments to stretch into hours, into days.


The word I use for it is shalom. It is the physical, sense-oriented, relational, communal, personal, ideological posture that arches God-ward. That's the best way I can describe it. It's equilibrium and free-fall, balance and shake. It's a new dance, a new taste, the feeling of falling in love, the knowledge of being set free. It's that split-second cross between a fact and a feeling, something you would swear on in a court of law but couldn't find words for if you tried." - Shauna Niequist, Cold Tangerines




Thank you Regan. Thank you Molly. Thank you Amy. Thank you Emily. Thank you Grace. Thank you Heather. Thank you Stu. Thank you Peter. Thank you Dan. Thank you Mike. Thank you Kelli. Thank you everyone who was with us in spirit. Thank you for this weekend. Thank you for laughter and dance parties and adventures. Thank you for spontaneous togetherness. Thank you for honest conversation that points upward. Thank you for building up. Thank you for the sweet, sweet glimpse of shalom - for the minutes and hours and days of peace and celebration and life together, pulling one other up toward something bigger. 

beauty, joy, & reunions.

It's been a quiet couple of days here at Bethesda, and let's be honest, quiet is a word I never thought I would use to describe our apartment. I've been home alone since yesterday, and I've used the past day and a half to read, read, read, nap, read, watch a few documentaries, and really spend time in solitude, absolutely quiet. It's been both refreshing and restful, giving me time and space to think and pray.

I am, however, ready to break the quiet. In just a few hours, some of the greatest people I know are coming to spend a few days in Chicago!! Some friends from summer staff will be staying in the city for a few days, and I am beyond excited to be reunited with a taste of the craziness and community that we built together last July. As I was browsing through pictures and my journal from that month, I kept being reminded of life to the full. Our month together at Castaway was truly a small picture of life to the full - a life full of craziness and dance parties and jumping and laughing and playing and hard work and and raw conversations and building up and breaking down and tears and silliness and exhaustion and dependence and realness and a thousand other things.

As I sit here, three days into the new year and exploring what it means to live a deeper story, I can't think of a more perfect time to be reunited with some of the people who walked alongside me through a month of life to the full. These are people, I am convinced, who have seen me very vulnerable and very real, and chose to walk alongside me anyway. The girls coming to stay at Bethesda (along with many of the girls who were on our summer staff but aren't able to come this weekend) are authentic, beautiful, kind, loving, and full of joy. I read this article earlier today, and was reminded how each of these girls possess a real joy and unique beauty.

Plus, quality time with this girl is always welcomed. 

"For so long I've tried to be beautiful through my appearance, but each day I'm seeing more and more how wrong I am about it all. Beauty isn't about what we wear or how we look, but rather about who we are and who we're becoming. Joy is one of those characteristics - one of the intangible, non-physical qualities, that make us beautiful, regardless of shape or size." 

hello, 2012.

Hello, new year. Hello, year of graduating college. Hello, year of becoming an aunt. Hello, year of moving. Hello, year of transition. Hello, year of change. Hello, year of adult. Hello, year of new. Hello, year of unknown. Hello, 2012. It's nice to meet you.

I had intentions of posting both Saturday and Sunday, but got caught up in celebration with these lovely ladies.

There's a whole lot of ridiculous and laugher and sass and attitude happening in that photo, and it's probably one of my favorites from our night. We spent our night at a fancy dinner, with long conversations and laughter. We made it back just in time for strawberry champagne slushies and silliness in the new year. I can't think of anyone else I would have rather spent the night with, save for the four roommates who weren't there. These are girls who have shared a large part of my life and heart in the past year. I hope you were able to spend New Year's with people who know you, love you, and graciously walk through life with you.

At our dinner, we talked about words (naturally); words to describe the year behind and words to hope for in the year that's coming. I have a few words that I'd like to frame 2012, words to pray over and explore and experience as life unfolds this year. Ultimately, they are words that I want to go beyond this year, words that I want to sink into my soul and into the rhythms of everyday life, no matter the year.

The first, and biggest word that I want to explore this year is deeper. I want to live a deeper, richer, fuller story. I want deeper, in every way possible. Deeper in relationships. Spiritual depth. Deeper in faith. Depth in what I know to be true about God. Deeper in my career. A deeper sense of self. The past few months, I've come back to the phrase life to the full, which comes from this verse. I want to explore and examine and know and experience life to the full, this year and beyond. In a year of so much transition and change, I want to experience the depth and complexity of life as it happens. Right now, I don't have any idea how this word will unfold, but I keep asking .. What is deeper? What is life to the full? And how do I get there?

At dinner the other night, we talked a lot about our desire for 2012 to be steady, a continuation, a movement and an extension of the growth and going that happened in the past year. I gleaned a lot from listening to my roommates' hopes, and realized that I, too, want this year to be a steady continuation. 2011 was a year of becoming, a year of growth, a year of recognizing the ways I am both broken and beautiful (and really, shouldn't every year be like that?) Right now I have a stronger sense of self than ever before, and as I enter into this year of transition and change and unknown, I want to be steady and continue. Steady in what I've learned and what I know to be true and in the ways I handle people and relationships. Continuing in growth, in more, in a desire to understand and learn and become more of who I was created to be.

2012. I have no clue what's in store. I do know, however, that this year will be full of new, full of unknown, full of change, full of movement ... and I pray that in the midst of the madness, I live a deeper story. A story that is steady and continues. I hope the same for you.

What are your hopes for 2012? What words do you choose to frame this year?