THEY are the 1%

Tuesday evening, I spent a couple hours of my life meeting and greeting with some of the forgotten 1% of America. It was open house at Eglin Elementary. They came in smiling, couple after young couple with their children around them. They represented all kinds of ethnic backgrounds, all sorts of levels of education, and all ranks.

They are the 1%.

They are America's military families.

Eglin Elementary sits on the largest Air Force base in the United States. Most of the children that come there are dependents of military families. Due to Eglin's multi-service nature, we see children whose parents serve in every branch of service. Monday night, I met two families who serve in the 7th Special Forces group. They had just moved down from Ft Bragg NC recently. They were a bit concerned about whether their children would catch up, since we start school much earlier here. One of the things most of America forgets about when they think about the military - if they think about them at all - is the effects on the families the last ten years of war and the deployments have had on the children. Simple things like whether a child is going to be okay in school don't need to be a worry for someone who is putting his/her life on the line. But it can be.

I met a young Marine family in which the dad was working hard to finish Explosive Ordinance School. Surrounded by four children and his wife, he was saying how happy his kids were at school. All the while I was thinking how proud I was to serve as their teacher. Then I met a Navy Chief who was also part of the EOD community. She was a very articulate Mom who stressed that she wanted to see her child succeed. "Just let me know if there's anyway I can help." I couldn't help but think that many of the people in the room had done more than I would ever know to help me already.

In encounter after encounter, I met people who were proud parents wanting the best for their children and eager and willing to assist me in every way they could.

In this tumultuous time, where pundits and politics are cutting America up into percentages, I want to add this. Less than 1% of Americans are serving in the military today.

And we, the 99% have no idea what that 1% gives up to do so.

I was blessed to see those parents Tuesday night. But all America is blessed by them and their compatriots.

THEY are the 1%.

First Day Herding Cats

Well, it's been a long day and I'm about to head to bed, but I wanted to journal some of what I experienced today.
- Never underestimate the power of chaos. I had 8 third graders and when we got to math, they were in three different chapters. Oh and the new student wasn't in any.
- You really do have to tell them not to do pretty much anything. Had a child toss a pencil to another and it hot the target on the bridge of the nose. Thankfully it hit flat. But the children got to see Mr. Wilson in lockdown mode. Scared me. No harm done but one little boy won't ever throw anything again.
- Kids will cheat for candy reward. Big time. I usually put something up to challenge them at the beginning of the week. Today it was to tell me what a group of crows is called. Odd word. They are called a "murder" of crows. They were stumped. Went to recess and came back with a revelation. Guess a crow must have told them OR they asked another teacher. Hmm.... I will stump them tomorrow. :)

It was a long day but it was okay for the first day with a group of students pulled from every class. They were generally well behaved and worked pretty well together. The flow between working with one class or the other was actually better than I thought it would be.

Mr. Wilson will be more ready tomorrow than he was today. And he'll do the same Wed. And the next day.

Blessings to you - David

Handle with care

It was a "sixth sense" moment. 

We were working through some tougher work yesterday. Math isn't easy for some of the kids, but as a former math-o-phobic person myself, I do everything I can to keep the fear away. Passing out the previous days work, which I had graded, I was working the problems on the board and trying to reinforce what they had learned and correct what they didn't get. I try to keep a connection with them while I do that, calling them into solving the problem with me.

Some students relish this, and some try to hide.

I had turned back to the board but all of a sudden it felt like something was wrong.

In the corner, our newest student, was crying. Huge tears rolled down his face. I didn't know it at the time, but he had not done well on the homework. And without a word, he was suffering. There are kids who don't try and cry at the consequences. This wasn't that. This was failure.

It was PE time, and the class got up to head out. I stopped him before he got out the door and we talked about it. He told me he just couldn't get it. I told him that I believed he could and we'd get it together. We took a minute and looked at one problem together with me showing him how. Slowly the light bulb came on as did his smile. I told him we'd keep after it and I'd check in with him every morning before we started to go over the homework just to make sure he was on track.

I sent him out to PE and half way down the ramp he turned around and said "Thanks Mr Wilson!" And he and his smile joined his friends on the playground.

You know, it's not just kids that are fragile.

Everybody hurts. 

We're put here to help each other along the way.

19 We, though, are going to love—love and be loved. First we were loved, now we love. He loved us first.  1 John 4:19 (MSG)
The next time you get that "sixth sense" about someone - turn around and look to see if God isn't wanting to use you to help Him care for someone else.

Upon Further Review

The weeks have flown by at Mary Esther Elementary.

I've learned an awful lot about teaching that textbooks will never deliver. Constant improvement is my goal. I have training across multiple disciplines and communication is something I've used daily for years. As a first year teacher, I need to use whatever I can. One of the skills I've transferred from my primary vocation is reflection. As a pastor, you are constantly delivering and evaluating, delivering and evaluating. And you pray, oh how you pray, that God would take your efforts and make them more than you ever could.

Funny thing.

I've been doing that every morning at Mary Esther Elementary.

As a pastor, I've always prayed for people in my congregation individually. The regular practice of intercessory prayer helps me remember to work out of God's love. As a teacher, I want to do the same. So as part of the preparation to teach - along with lesson plans, text and practice books, assessment plans, technology and hands on work - I pray.

There's no way I can share everything I have heard from those little voices during the last few weeks. But I will tell you that they reflect every hurt their families suffer, every lack they feel. Children don't have filters. They may cheat on a test but then turn around and be brutally honest about how it felt when the chaplain came to the door and told Mom daddy had been shot in the shoulder. Or how it feels that daddy is in jail. Or that life with a step-dad is better because daddy drinks and hides his beer under the bed. I can look at their clothes and see the needs, or notice that one who brings his books in a Food World bag instead of a backpack and took three weeks to get some of the school supplies he needed.

They will send you to heights of joy and break your heart. Kids do that. These kids do that.

So I go in every morning wearing a badge that identifies me as a certified substitute teacher who's going to give them every chance to succeed. And I leave every day drained of everything save my faith that God will take whatever I did that day and help the kids I've grown to love.

No collar. No suit. No Bible. Mr.Wilson is all the title I need.

Just Jesus' love identifies me.

Looking back over the last 6 weeks, that'll do.

Sundays Are the Hardest

Our friend Allan.

For the last three weeks, I've been a bivocational pastor. Full time third grade teacher (long term substitute) and full time pastor to the people and church I love. This bifurcated role has been necessary to help New Hope during a lean season. It's been a tough year from the beginning. We've been hit with a lot including some long time friends departure. But God has miraculously (and I do not throw that word around lightly) provided for our needs and even provisioned us to do more ministry this year than last despite it all. Hopefully once I get paid regularly for substitute teaching I can relieve some of the intense pressure New Hope is under every week.

We are truly living and serving by faith.

I love both jobs and definitely feel that God is using me to change the lives of 16 third graders. And there's no question that His call is still real in my life to be a pastor. I get excited every Saturday night thinking about seeing what God is going to do at New Hope the next day. Today was a good day - great worship, sermon went well, and we had several visitors who seemed to enjoy being with us.

But now it's Sunday evening and instead of thinking through what happened and what we'll be doing next week at New Hope, I have to turn toward school and prepare for the Monday morning rush.

Where I used to have an "off" day and Saturday each week to renew, now Saturday is the day I cram everything in. Two jobs that require dedication, focus, and passion that each are more that 40 hours a week mean long days and short nights.

But it's where God has placed me for this season.

Here's how I have to approach it.

First - I have to make sure I do the work to prepare my heart. Each morning when I walk, I pray. Since I don't have the flexibility I once enjoyed as a pastor, I maximize what time I do have.
Second - I use every means I have to learn. I found that 91.7 has Moody Conference Echoes every morning and so I listen to it. During lunch most days I spend a few minutes reading through my devotional regime.
Third - I accept this as God's will for my life right now and give everything I can give to both jobs. That means getting better at delegating and in training leaders so that New Hope can continue to serve and grow.

But there's no time to enjoy what God did today. Tomorrow is calling.

So yeah, Sundays are the hardest.

Three Weeks In

I can spot them in a crowded playground. I can pick their voices out in a noisy lunchroom. I'm already hating the thought of leaving them in late October when the teacher I'm subbing returns from pregnancy leave. Three weeks in, they are my kids... until they aren't.

16 hearts that rise and fall over "who likes who" one minute and how they did on a math test the next... cause me to work so hard that last week I came home on Friday, fell asleep on the couch at 4:30, slept until 6:30, stayed up another two hours then crashed for TEN hours. I've graded dozens of papers, searched for the absolute best way to teach the curriculum, and spent time learning how to use the technology I have access to. It's a testimony to the human ability to adapt and overcome that I'm awake right now and doing pretty well. But it's the third week in.

By now I've realized that my belief in them isn't always returned by their best effort. I can pull some into the teaching by using unique strategies and my immense personal charm... (insert laugh here) but not all of them and not all the time. I've seen them fail when they shouldn't have and seen them enjoy success and not learn from it.  My commitment to teaching them the facts they need is only part of what I'm working to get across. I want them to learn to learn. I want them to embrace personal responsibility for their actions and their inactions. That doesn't make me the good guy some of the time though. So be it. I want the best for them and out of them so this year will be one they look back on with pride of accomplishment.

Every morning as I put their chairs back on the floor, I quietly voice a prayer for each of them by name - that on the day that's about to unfold I will be able to lead them to learn and to grow. Yes, I ask to come God into the classroom, everyday. And He does.

Three weeks in.

Aha!

It was glorious. Transcendent. Heavenly.

15 children were, for a moment, released to soar.

For two weeks they had struggled, fighting against the lethargy of a summer spent doing everything BUT math. There were times when I wondered if they had ever been introduced.

When I did the first assessment - it scared me. Stunningly bad. Horrific.

So I said a quick prayer and began working to change reality.

We worked. And we worked. And we worked. It rained math worksheets, it hailed flashcards. I graded papers until I fell asleep grading papers two nights in a row.

Friday came.

I was hoping. Praying. Believing.

But...

It was as if every kid had a math milkshake for breakfast. Every one of them clamored to do math. They competed with each other to do it. I had to resort to calling on them randomly to keep them in check.

At the end, we were adding and subtracting in the millions. MILLIONS.

Flawlessly.

It felt awesome.

I am so proud of those kids.

We Buried the Can'ts!

Our class was too focused on what we could not do and needed to focus instead on what they could do. So I decided that we needed to have a funeral for our "Can'ts." I borrowed a shovel from the custodian and we went out back. After I said a few words, we buried them and went back inside.

It's a challenge to get children to believe in themselves, but it's one I am ready to meet. I hope the kids will remember this day for a long time.

15 Souls

It's hard to put into words what the opening week of my sojourn as a public school teacher brought to my mind and my heart. But here goes.

Some fly in the door as if propelled by the sheer force of their eagerness to learn - to do. Others slip in quietly, seeming to hope I won't notice. For each it's the role they've chosen to make it through. To make it.

It's my job to make sure they do.

That they open their minds to possibilities. That they close their ears to all the voices whispering "you can't do this." That they begin to believe in themselves as a learner - as a person who plans to grow.

It's my job to see they do.

We began the week as strangers, and became a class.

We did math - oh did we do math. Tons and tons of math. So much math that at the end of the week we celebrated the last math problem with a cheer and high fives.

We drilled spelling words - owned them.

We wrote story after story.

I did my best to keep the brightest and most eager challenged and prod, cajole, and encourage those who either needed help or motivation. We rehearsed our actions and procedures for everything again and again. And again. And again.

There was laughter. There were tears. No, not mine. :) I underestimated the effect that failure has on third graders. So we reinvented mistakes as learning markers and after I had them write what they thought they could not do - the "I Can'ts" on notebook paper - we buried them in the back yard.

I gave everything I had to them every single minute of every single day.

Because the Okaloosa County School District might list them as children...

... but I see them as 15 souls.

First Day of School

They came, they saw, they conquered.

15 incredibly wee little souls came into the classroom and trusted me to help them move forward.

We moved.

Not an evolutionary leap to be sure, spelling and math caused some problems, but they were trying hard and were amazingly cooperative all day long.  All through a dizzying list of procedures and new information, they stuck with me. Kids like that make you want to do more for them. Just because.

You watch them as they try to do and see some fly through with little if any trouble and agonize as others really don't seem to "get" anything without much help. They call it differentiated instruction, but what it means is don't bore the very gifted and don't lose those who aren't there yet. I cannot begin to do much about that just now, but we'll get there.

Tomorrow, we're going to rehearse the procedures again, touch our toes into the math seas, and we may just write out what we think we "can't do" and have a burial behind the portable for them. These kids CAN. I believe in them.

First Day of School Eve

Tonight I'm going to enjoy a meal with my family and then get to work preparing for tomorrow's first day of school. The school district has vetted me, the principal has selected me, and the teacher I'm working with has trusted me with 15 children entering the third grade. You know me, I've read everything I can about how to start the year right.

The stakes are this high:

A new study reveals that the level of reading skills children develop by third grade may indicate their likelihood of graduating high school.

Released by The Annie E. Casey Foundation, the report found that students who don't read proficiently by third grade are four times more likely to leave school without a diploma when compared to proficient readers. The number rises when those kids also come from poverty.

Article from Huffington Post

Third grade is a pivotal year. It's when the educators step on the gas and accelerate instruction. My kids will learn the scientific method, how to use primary sources, how to multiply and divide, how to write in cursive and much much more. All of this will occur while their body grows and changes and they become much more social. Their teacher has to be their guide to and through.

So as soon as I close this I'll go into my office and pray through tomorrow and how I'm going to start their journey.

Pray for them.

Pray for me.