Looking for familiarity

It seems like wherever I go, whoever I meet, I’m looking for the people that I love. I look into the eyes and the lives of strangers and acquaintances hoping to see my family. It’s not that I’m looking to replace all of you who I love so dearly, it’s more like I’m looking to catch parts of you in unexpected places in hopes that it will tide me over until we can all be together again. And as much as I long for the time when we will all be together for good, I feel that as the end of my two year commitment draws closer, I am more assured that this is not the end of my adventure. Fortunately, I am reminded that though it is painful for me to be apart from so many loved ones, God knows exactly what I can bear and he has entrusted me with this gift and burden–this small amount of “suffering” that I hope he uses to refine my character. For though God had one son without sin, he had no sons without suffering–I know that though I may do “right” and “good” (sometimes, by the grace of God) that pain is a part of life, and a part in which I can find kinship with Christ.
One theme of life that I’m currently discovering in my teaching position is how desperately people need to be taught. And not only school children, but all of us. How are we to know how to live if we do not see it modeled for us? How are we to know how to act if we are not guided in our practice? How will we come to maturity in life or in faith without someone to lead the way? I am fortunate to have had tremendous models and teachers in my life (many of you out there fall into this category for me) yet I still want more.
I thirst for understanding and guidance in my spiritual life. I realize more and more how necessary community is for our spiritual well-being. Christianity was never meant to be a set of private beliefs that take up residence within an individual. Christianity is HARD. The calling is arduous without community–and I believe God designed it to be so to bring us together in fellowship that we might discover the richness of love in community (the true nature of the trinity). Yet it is difficult to maintain community without some discipline.
This has been a major challenge for me as I’ve transitioned out of college where friends and mentors abound. Now I must WORK at establishing and maintaining friendships, especially since I spend so much of my workday isolated from my peers. I have to say I haven’t been very disciplined this year when it comes to setting up boundaries for my work and establishing time that is for my personal and social life.
Right now it seems like I’m just counting down the days until Thanksgiving break (16 teaching days) and hoping that nobody will notice when I’m doing a poor job of teaching. Even writing this, it’s crazy because I realize that I’m not a bad teacher, I just feel like one because I can see what I need to do to improve (and what needs doing in general) and I know that I’m not going to do it either because it’s physically impossible to work that hard or because I refuse to make myself crazy doing it. But, man, it still really sucks to see the good that I could do and know that I can’t quite do it. Such is why I have a growing passion for educational policy–if I could change the structure of our educational systems and policies, then ideally all teachers and administrators would know the good that they need to do and be able and equipped to do it. And think of what that would mean for student achievement and teacher satisfaction and retention!
I apologize for the haphazard organization of this blog… I hope you can see the threads of (my personal) logic that connect each of these ideas together. I write this with much love and affection for my family who I am thinking of and praying for daily. You are not far from my heart.

Caley

The little things

“Miss! This book is soo good!”

“You’re really making us think about this college stuff…”

“Ms. Ochoa, you are one of the most organized teachers I know!”

These are the moments I live for as a teacher. I love seeing their faces light up with understanding. I love being told that my English III class is harder than English IV. I love helping my team in some small way–and sometimes leading the way, even if I’m the youngest one on the team. These little moments are salve to a weary heart. They revive my determination. These little things renew my sense of inspiration and satisfaction. I am thankful for these little things which are really quite significant to me. I want to take pause to capture this gratefulness.

“Waitress” Caley

We’re in the doldrums of teaching right now. The first grading cycle is ending and the nearest break in sight isn’t until Thanksgiving. The kids are over the “honeymoon” phase and apparently I didn’t do much better at being “mean” this year than last. I only say that because it seems my students interpret kindness as weakness.

These past few weeks have been especially hard for me and for students as we begin to see the results of our work. I don’t want to complain too much myself, but I have reached my maximum whining threshold. And I’m really tired of students speaking to me as if I’m their waitress or maid. Yes, teaching is a service. I work in the service industry, but far too many students are drawing out the word “Miss” to “Miiiiiissss” and forgetting the “Ochoa” altogether. My name or rather, what students call me has almost become symphonic with all the tones and pitches students use. I get hand gestures, groans, and sighs daily. I have been intimidated, cursed and whistled at.

I want it all to stop. I want to love these children, but they make it so hard. Sometimes I feel like they’re literally fighting to push people who care away. There are just a few bright lights in my class, but unfortunately, these are often the quiet kids who work diligently despite the disrupters (who gain most of my attention).

I do want to say how proud I am of my ESL kids. They are, by far, some of my sweetest and hardest working. I am proud of Jose for turning his behavior around after he started the year cheating. I am proud of Doan and Kim who take 4 English classes a day and NEVER complain. They always come after school (after their 8th period class ends at 4:30) to finish their assignments when they need more time. I am especially proud of them when I think about the fact that Kim is only 2 years younger than myself. I am proud of Yanci who translates all her vocabulary words into Spanish as she studies. I am proud of Daniel who always asks good questions. I am proud of Alma who rewrote her story, using a thesaurus to improve her word choice and give more specific details.

I am thankful that I have a much tougher skin this year, but that doesn’t mean that I am never hurt or upset by my students. I want so badly to teach them how they ought to treat others in their lives but the way they are treating me shows that I am not doing the best job of it. I never went into this expecting to be thanked, but the thanklessness of it starts getting to you when all you do is teach.

Lately, I’ve been trying to be more disciplined and do the things that I love and care about in addition to teaching, but I have this crazy perfectionist drive to be a really good teacher. I am beginning to realize that no matter how hard I work, there will always be room for me to improve. And even if I am doing well as a teacher, I get to the point where I’m too exhausted and emotionally drained to care. So I can be a good teacher, but if I’ve lost my humanity, it really means very little.

I know that this blog is a bit of a downer, and to all my loving family and friends I would like to say, not to worry. I would like to write again soon and tell tales of my fun weekend in Austin at the music festival, camping and visiting my college roommate, but for now, I’m just writing as catharsis.

Year Two

The feeling I have right now is reminiscent of my college years. The first few years, I sort of tried things out, but I was focused more on just getting by (with straight As, of course than on really challenging and stretching myself. That didn’t really come until senior year. This year, I have just the one class to prepare for and much more collaboration. I still work VERY hard at my job, but it just seems less stressful. And I feel like I want to do more. I want to get involved in the school, in my church, in the community. I want to be building up my resume but not just for the words on the paper, but for the experience of it all. I am thirsting for something new–something different. And yet I’m really loving teaching right now. I’m sure my students and I are still in the honeymoon stage, but I’m really excited about the goals and the lessons I started the year with which seems to have my students more invested this year. I am eager to see how far they can go and just how much they will learn. I care so deeply for these students that I hope and pray will find their way in the world and come to some joy and create some good through their lives. I feel so fortunate for the students who are already open to encouragement. I feel like some of them have never had someone tell them “I’m proud of you…” or “you don’t have to make those poor choices–you can rise above!” I had a student tell me today that he wasn’t sure about his goal in life (becoming an underwater welder–how cool is that!) because “you never know what could happen… I could fall into trouble.” And he seemed eager and receptive to hear that he can make the right choices and doesn’t have to fear that passive “fall” into the wrong.
Now that I’ve seen some of the impact that I had on my students from last year (and their impact on me!) I am even more inspired to realize the possibilities of this new year.
I know that I need to be patient too. I need to live in this moment, in this time, in this season of life I’m in right now. I must be patient with myself, with my students, and the unfolding of life’s great adventures. I’m not very good at living with mystery… I want to have things figured out–but there is beauty in mystery and it causes me to have greater dependence on God.
Sometimes I think about what my life would look like if I truly trusted God for EVERYTHING. I mean, it’s much more radical than I think most people realize or talk about. What if I disregarded the norms of the day, the societal constraints? What if I stopped to take every homeless person I met to lunch? What if I gave them my coat? What if I truly loved others as myself–that seems outside common sense. I would like to love more radically… but there is some sense of fear because the adventure of truly living out God’s calling is far more wild than anyone can ask for or imagine. As Shane Claiborne pointed out in his book, Irresistable Revolution, why tiptoe through life so that we can arrive safely at death? To quote another great theologian, “He [God] is not safe, but he is good.” I want to always remember how thankful I am that God shook me awake when I fell out of my comfort zone–especially when I feel most uncomfortable.

Gulf Shores

I am sitting in a rocking chair on a fully screened porch of a beach house up on stilts. I’m looking out at the little dock which juts over the lagoon. I’m in Alabama–so far from my home town, it might as well be another country.

What began as a very stormy day (lightning struck the next door neighbor’s tree) has turned beautiful and humid (though less hot because of the storm). The rain and thunder were so loud hitting the side of the house that I woke worried about hurricanes. Funnily enough, just as I was about to ask Sarah about it, she came creeping into my room to make sure I wasn’t worried about the house shaking. The beach house in Gulf Shores belongs to Sarah’s family. When we arrived yesterday after 8 hours in the car, Sarah’s Uncle Dan and Aunt Pat greeted us with a delicious dinner–fresh shrimp caught in the Gulf that very morning. They taught me how to peel them and made me feel very welcome.

After the storm cleared (and a few more hours of sleep) Sarah made me breakfast. I was coerced into trying grits which are okay, though I still think it’s weird that they’re salty and not sweet. Too many years of oatmeal or cream of wheat I suppose.

Dan showed us the route to ride our bikes to the beach which ended up being a little farther than we thought. I did make it, however, and Sarah didn’t have to wait for me too much. I was on my hybrid and she’s on a roadbike, so I like to blame my slowness on my bike. The beach we went to is a wildlife preserve, complete with protected dunes, white sugar sand and jellyfish.

I was so excited to swim in the Gulf for the first time! I can’t say that I exactly dove right in, but I had so much fun floating around and body surfing that Sarah had to remind me to watch out for the jellyfish. I did see a few and finally abandoned the water to look for seashells.

Riding back salty and covered in sand was a little tougher… When we got back to the house, I rejoiced at the air-conditioning, cold beverages, and more shrimp!

After lunch, we decided to camp out under the house, laying in the hammocks and reading. After about 30 pages of Sherman Alexie, I set Tonto and the Lone Ranger Fistfight in Heaven across my (now) tan belly and drifted off to sleep. This is exactly what I need before going back to work in a week!

The past few weeks of summer have been weird. I won’t say hard because how hard is it to do whatever you want whenever you want with your friends (while still getting a paycheck). But not having anything (not even an online class) to do made me feel a little empty and uneasy. I realize that both rest and work are disciplines that should be balanced. Without work, I have begun to feel somewhat useless, purposeless. And this sort of empty feeling does not bode well for the year ahead. I have become somewhat irrationally afraid of not having a life once the school year starts. Last year I didn’t have a life–all I seemed to do was work, teach, sleep, eat. And I long for–crave even–balance.

I want to feel purposeful, yes, but not empty because I’ve given all I’ve got without anyone or thing to “refill” me. I’m sure that this year will go better–I have finished my certification, I have a year of experience under my belt, I have a support system of friends, I have a Christian community–but the fear is still there, furtively peeking out from under the rug, rational or not.

Lately I’m of the mind that I don’t want to teach a third year, but perhaps that’s because the memory of my students’ smiles are fading and I haven’t yet experienced my own improvement and growth as a teacher. And maybe it’s just the restlessness of the last few weeks that’s made me grow more and more excited and interested in a policy internship in D.C. (http://www.chci.org/fellowships/page/chci-public-policy-fellowship) but I can’t seem to get that out of my head. What makes it even more exciting is thinking about my roommate Magdalena going with me, and the possibility of having 4 definitive seasons!

It’s not like I’m not at all excited about teaching. I’m looking forward to going into the year knowing what to expect (to some degree anyway) and knowing what I need to get done in the first few weeks. I am hopeful that the all corps event this Saturday will prove to be more inspirational.

Once upon a writers’ workshop…

So I went to this workshop today and it was awesome! It definitely wasn’t what I expected, we didn’t review or critique anyone’s previously written work, but we did some great exercises that helped me to produce a couple of poems. I include them here, noting that they are ROUGH drafts, but I had so much fun writing them and sharing them with the group that I thought I’d put them up here too.

This first one we used a “mentor text” by Catherine Bowman called “I want to be your shoebox.” Here’s what I wrote:

I want to be your iPhone
I want to hear your voice when you’re home alone
I want to be your chocolate ice cream cone

Throw this dog a bone
I want to see your face like Christ’s shine
I want to be yours and you mine
I want to squeeze the ripe fruit from the vine

I want to be your two bottle night
I want to be your summer warmth, your kitchen light
I want to give up this fight

I want to be your salt shaker
I want to be your smile-maker, fear-taker
I want to be your fall leaf-raker
Jump! Jump!
I want to be your smokey soul
your fresh biscuit and buttered roll
I want to be part of your minnow shoal
the heartbeat of your rock and roll

I want to be your blues concert
I want to be your favorite book excerpt
I want to be the force you exert

the sweat that rolls down your temple
I want to be the answer that’s simple
I want to be the cotton shirt on your floor rumpled

I want to be the tennis ball in your hand
I want to be your green tract of land
I want to be the folk song that you penned
I want to be your wide eyes, your clear lens.

This second one I wrote from the perspective of my friend Sarah.

Satisfaction is my face
naked and tan–
thin because I hold
this world in an open palm

It is the strength of my arms
holding Concepcion
the earthy smell of her unwashed hair

Love comes out brighter when spoken
in Spanish
It is the scent of Dial soap,
mud, and frijoles
Love is the stain on my donated
t-shirt, the blister on my heel
the emptiness in my stomach

Concepcion is my home
made of scrap wood
and chicken wire

She has a dirt floor
and a smile that curves
like the hills of Pinolito

Goodness

It’s been a long time since I’ve been on here… Sometimes I need to write and reflect but I can’t. Sometimes I’m afraid of my own emotions. I am awfully sentimental which is something that annoys me about myself at times. I would like to not be so transparent as I feel that I may come across as whiny or gushy. I feel one of my greater flaws as a writer is that the reader can see me in my writing…I am not good at getting out of the way. Perhaps this is because I am primarily an undisciplined writer and write for myself, for catharsis. I don’t know. With all this time off, and all these recent experiences of mine, one would think that I would be bordering on the prolific when in fact, I write almost nothing other than post its of to do or to buy lists. I want to write, I will even say I have tried to write (it was late at night…I got distracted by iTunes…) but I am really struggling with it. I have this severe case of perfectionism that wants everything I put my name to to be loveable right at first. I am afraid to write because what I write might suck. I am afraid to paint because I may not like how it turns out and then I’ve ruined a canvas. And the biggest fear that I have is that my fear of failure will keep me from really living my life. Now one would think that my experience teaching this last year would have really hammered home the lesson that failure is a part of life and of learning and that the most valuable lessons often involve some aspect of failure or disappointment. Yet how easily have I fallen back into my old habits, now that the daily reminder is gone. And this idea can be stretched into other aspects of life, including my relationships.
I want so much to get over myself, to take myself less seriously, to ease up. Yet somehow I feel unable to let go of things–it may be the nature of the young idealist in me. I feel such a sense of possibility and responsibility in myself and in others, yet it all depends on God. I want to take Him seriously when He says that it is His joy to keep me from falling. I want to take hold of His promise that He will give me whatever I ask in His name (oh, that I could have faith in the intimacy He longs to bring). I wish that I could be satisfied but in wishing I recognize I do not do, and am not able to do. So how do I let God satisfy me with His goodness? How do I let go of the frustration with myself? The thin line between accepting life and myself as good parts of God’s redemptive story and striving to become someone more is a difficult tension to navigate.

Dis(place)d

This one’s for you, Allison… Today I took the day off so that I could take my ESL certification exam. it’s been a strangely short day, but I’m using my time wisely (if not well…). The sun is still bright and the temperature a breezy 80 with low humidity. On the way home after my test, I decided to stop in Hermann Park to people watch, knit, work on my lesson plans if possible. It’s just been so hard to do work lately! I am not nearly as motivated as I was right after spring break and, at this point, I seem to be perpetually exhausted. I was lounging in the sun thinking about my time here in Houston, how this place just doesn’t suit me well even though I am absolutely loving the weather today (I have not forgotten the torrential rain Saturday that nearly left me stranded at Target–the streets were flooding). And my thoughts drifted to this summer…I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself if I’m stuck here to take classes, but I feel equally at a loss for what to do should I go to Seattle. The sad truth is I have two “homes” or maybe even three if you consider the connection I retain with Spokane. The reason why this is sad is that my loyalties are divided–or perhaps it’s easier explained by saying I am divided and therefore not completely whole at any one of these places. Yes, I have friends in all locales. My friends here are new and likely to take off for the summer (except for those poor souls stuck in classes with me). My friends in Seattle and Spokane share a common history with me but are moving on with their lives and most of their daily existence doesn’t much involve me. Being in my early twenties with so much possibility before me is so exciting, but also bittersweet. I don’t know where these possibilities will take me, I don’t know when I’ll stop this great exploration and the sense of exhilaration that fills me is like running, out of breath. It truly makes me feel alive. Yet, there’s a small, brief part of me that longs for the comfort and familiarity of home. An elusive place that may take much time to create. And I don’t know when I’ll be able to enter into that rest, or even if I’ll know how to be content with the stability. Now on this path of growth, riding this quick fierce wave of hard-work, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to take a break. And if so, will I be able to restore the momentum? Because right now momentum is the only thing carrying me through. And this level of intensity does not seem one to be maintained. But, I have never felt a deeper sense of purpose and accomplishment than I have right now and that is the sweetest high I have ever felt. So how is it that I both long for and dread rest? Home? I have no answers…just a feeling of displacement struggling to coexist with purpose.

The year of the possum

This has surely been an interesting year…probably the most exciting, stressful, depressing and joyful of my life.
Last week was Spring break and when I was returning to work Monday morning, I had very few qualms. I actually felt slightly excited. As I drove up to the gate of my apartment complex, I saw this small whitish creature running across the path, startled by the sudden beam of headlights. Watching it, I could almost hear the tiny claws scratching against the brick paving. Then, when driving through the neighborhood across the highway, I spotted another possum friend. This one was not nearly so timid–the strength of my headlights did nothing to dissuade his presence. In fact, I think I caught a look of indignation on his face.
Funny possum stories aside, my experiences this year continue to amaze me. I have begun to amaze myself (more shock than awe). Sometimes I have to sit back and wonder at just who I am becoming. I feel I have improved so much as a teacher in the past six months, my passion to teach and teach well has swelled within me. I am starting to feel almost satisfied with teaching, as if–dare I say it–I enjoy it. Really.
I was talking with my roommate today, about our dreams and ambitions for the future. My recent ambitions to get involved in educational policy are part of what amazes me about myself. And by amaze, I mean more like stun than impress… Not too long ago, I didn’t have such grand ambitions. I mean, I’ve always wanted to do well at things and do something meaningful with my life, but there was awhile when I was a little more focused on being “ordinary.” Now of course, there is a big difference between doing the “ordinary” and being the “ordinary.” One can do the “ordinary” and still be extraordinary. Either way, I sometimes wonder how I will manage to do all this–to achieve my dreams, maintain my hopeful idealism, make an impact on the world, and still be a soft-hearted individual with genuine love for personal relationships; an ambitious and driven woman who also has a family. It scares me sometimes that I have the next three or so years of my life planned out and they don’t really involve anyone else (I mean, there’s no settling down in my near future). But there is some joy in that too. By now I’ve learned how often God likes to disrupt my plans. And even when I feel like I hate Him for it, He always ends up being right. I would never have chosen all the experiences I have had this year (if I knew what all it meant) but here I am, and for the best. I am so grateful for the ways that I have been stretched, my soul has been stretched, and I feel like I am a part of something that is making a difference–even if only in a small way. And some days are more humbling than others, but this week, a student confided in me and later brought me a pink rose, wet with dew from her garden. If that isn’t joy, I don’t know what is.

Group Hug!

My sixth period (the rowdy kids) have taken it into their heads to ambush me in a group hug. This started on Monday and happened again today. Apparently, they spent class time Friday planning it. I’m not sure whether the intent is to “lighten up” their up-tight teacher, to crush me, or to exercise their power (after all, it is clear that they’ve realized there’s 20 of them and only 1 of me…). Whatever the intention is, I like to think there’s perhaps a little bit of affection for me underneath it all. I have to admit, I kind of like it, even though I totally act like I hate it (“Get off of me! Sit down!” as I push away the arms coming towards me…).
Today I went to a matinee showing of “Guys and Dolls” at Chavez. It was really nice–the show was specifically performed for the faculty and staff and they served coffee and dessert with the price of admission. The kids were pretty good (especially the leads) although I feel like the drama department at my high school did better productions (however, we didn’t do musicals as dancing is taboo in Assemblies of God churches). It still sort of amuses me that I continue to experience some sense of “culture shock” when it comes to teaching in a public school (having never attended one). I mean, whenever I see couples kissing in the hall, I find it highly odd and ludicrous… even though it’s a very common occurrence. Today, I was shocked by the skimpy outfits the girls wore onstage (at one point, the female chorus ripped off their sequin dresses to reveal black leotards underneath…). The girls also shimmied and sashayed across the stage in daisy dukes and tied flannel shirts. It was hard to remember that they’re only in high school. However, I am aware that many of my students seem far more worldly than I currently am. However, perhaps it is just the fact that we have highly different life experiences.
Speaking of experiences, I experienced my very first real TAKS exam on Tuesday. My (and my students) big day has finally come and gone. I was excited and so far it seems like my students felt pretty confident. Unfortunately, I will not find out the actual results until sometime in May. Until then, I have to find some way to motivate and invest my students in learning. I am trying to do some more fun things in class (incorporate more media and have more activities that appeal to various learning styles) but it’s difficult to come up with ideas on my own. I am happy to say, though, that my assessor and my director and ACP supervisor all say that I’m really improving in my teaching (my assessor said I’m better than she was her first year, and she said several years into her teaching career she was quite exceptional and even won awards, so I take it as a big compliment on her part).
All in all, I think I would greatly benefit from a break…to rest and recuperate, as well as to plan. I am looking forward to next year when I will hopefully have the time and energy to do things a lot better.