The Terrific Tales of Tuesday

Written on just such a day.

Subtitle: A Conglomeration of Stories and Tales from Classroom and Otherwise, Taught to Me by a Collection of Bright, Incorrigible Fourth-Graders in Room 4-B

Well, friends, it has been many a week (or month, I'm afraid!) since I have written on anything particularly practical or mundane, for the (to me!) very obvious reason that I'm not a huge fan of the mundane and practical generally. However, as the Lord grows each and every one of his children in their different, respective areas of weakness, He has been slowing opening my eyes to the beauty of... reality. The commonplace. Therefore, I intend to write a blog merely about the commonplace in my life, and perhaps I'll learn to appreciate it to a greater extent. God can do anything, right?

Of course right.
(Aha, quote that film!)

Where to begin... ah - Tuesday.

Well, for those of you who do not know me particularly well, my toughest of tough days generally falls on a Tuesday. The weekend has ended, my catch-up day has come and gone, and Tuesday strikes like a ticking bomb, just waiting for the opportune moment to explode and send pieces of me everywhere. It generally does.

Let's see... how did my last one go...

I woke up at a singularly early hour, (I shall not stipulate an exact number, since Heather is sure to beat me for considering THAT early!) and hopped in the shower for a quick clean-up. I jumped in, set the dial right in the middle, and waited... and waited... for the water to get warm. It never did. It got hot. Flexible as I am, I decided I could work with hot and began my routine. Well, this turned out to be one of those hot-cold showers where the water can't seem to quite make up its mind (much like my attitude that morning!) and goes everywhere from scalding to freezing when the arrow on the dial is set right to the middle. Some of you who are not of that singularly cheery race known as the "morning people", or have recently evolved out of the "morning person" stage and into the "I'll-get-up-then-if-it-is-absolutely-necessary" stage, will understand me when I say that a shower and its temperature (trivial as they may be) can often decide my opinion of the morning.

My major may have changed, but I’m finishing out this one last education semester with the last ounce of tolerance I have for this tolerant "accept everything that comes your way" worldview and its practices. I have, as of three Tuesdays ago, begun my Exceptional Learning Practicum - which is a very great and ponderous name cooked up by a commitee of eccentric professors and various and sundry other miscellaneous collegiate staff that really means the commonly accepted "student teaching". However, this class has an interesting little twist - Exceptional Learning means "special ed". (I had to translate this terminology for my dad, too… he thought an ‘exceptional learner’ meant a smart cookie, like himself. The rest of the family had a good laugh when I told the self proclaimed "exceptional learner" what the term really meant!!!) Now, as this is my fourth semester in this strange and interesting world of college study - particularly in the area of education - I knew exactly what had to be done. Today, with my opinion of the day in general firmly set (alas for hot-cold showers!), I threw on something "professional" to create an illusion of wisdom and experienced maturity (you know, skirt, jacket, heels). I then ventured out into the world and down Elliot Road to Dobson Academy, a culturally diverse charter school located somewhere on Dobson (go figure), and, on Tuesdays, located in my schedule as a firmly-set definition of my morning.
I was ready to go in a mere 45 minutes.
(You must understand that this includes not only showering, blow drying the mane, throwing an outfit together, spending some time in the Word, and getting my morning's share of everyone's latest blog entries in.) Now THAT, my friends, would be a record.
I'm expecting a call from Guiness any day now...

After signing various forms, getting my picture taken for my official volunteer badge (an obvious oxymoron), and officially signing in on my very own sheet with my very own name, I climbed a few flights of stairs to Mrs. Bracker - a young, assertive, and very pregnant 4th grade teacher - and her 4th grade classroom. Today was "observation" - but you don’t enter any elementary classroom and expect to just sit and watch the action. Oh no. I was soon grading last week’s big literature tests, and, much to my own very personal delight, filling out report cards. I felt so old and mature and teacherish, looking out on the classroom, high and mighty from behind my own secluded and spacious desktop. What an envigorating moment.

It was about this point in the day when Mrs. Bracker loudly cleared her throat and addressed the class authoritatively:

"Class, perhaps you've happened to notice a new face among us."

About thirty pairs of eyes simultaneously turn to me. Apparently they had.

"This young lady is studying to be a teacher (I haven't told her of the major change! - ha, no pun intended), and she almost is one. So anything she says goes. You obey her like you would obey me, and I mean it. (And she meant it.) You are to treat her with the utmost respect. You will all address her as Miss Paasch."

Miss Paasch? Oh snap. I wouldn't answer to that if the entire class screamed it in unison. But... I was a 'Miss', nonetheless.

But… it was, after all, just a moment, and the next I was just an official underage volunteer again. Report cards complete, I was then employed in the rigorous task of removing all of the dozens of vocabulary words that had been accumulated throughout the year, posted in precarious locations all over the western wall. (I know it was west because of the large colorful WEST poster at the very tip-top.) About halfway through this project I was bombarded by questions of all sorts from a small group of 10 year old girls whose curiosities had held out as long as was humanly possible, and they wanted answers. The foremost of the foursome was Carrera, a thirty year old stuck in a ten year old body, with more smarts than a lot of eighteen year old high school graduates I’ve been in class with. I watched as she acted as a second teacher to the rest of the normal children who shared a classroom with her, and wasn’t in the least bit surprised when she told me of her intentions to go in to Harvard law. (!)

As soon as all the grading and busy work was done, Mrs. Bracker (I assume to get me off her hands) sent me to art class with the rest of the children and my particular charge, Kaya. One student and one student alone needs "special needs" assistance in the classroom - however, I have yet to discover Miss Kaya's disability. (Oh, the things labeled "disabilities" these days...) So I ran down to art with my one student, introduced myself to a skeptical art teacher, and took a seat amidst the excited hullabaloo of disorganized fourth graders. I soon found myself next to Kaya, Jerry, and Carrera, and some little girl named after one of the seasons. (Spring or Summer or Autumn... I'm not sure.) After a rather awkward, silent beginning, I broke the ice by a "crayon war" (don't ask) and I soon had three bosom friends. Kaya told me largely about her life story, her mom, her brothers, and her life in New York. Jerry chimed in whenever he possibly could, and Carrera... oh, Carrera. It's funny - I never really stop and just listen to children's conversation. I'm around it constantly, but I've never taken the opportunity. You can learn so many things about yourself just listening to them talk. Everything, to them, is fascinating; everything in black and white - no shades of grey have developed in their young minds. (That just might be a good thing, too.) They're trying desperately to figure out who they are and who they're going to be, who's going to be their friend and who's not (I think I witnessed a few definitive conversations of that sort!), what to believe in and how exactly. There are no words to adequately describe this stage in life - and few that would encompass my own ecstasy at being somehow a very small part of it in the lives of a few children going through the general experience.

Approaching the end of my last Tuesday with them, school pictures were in order, it being Casual Tuesday and all. I decided to go along. Turned out to be a good idea. By the end of that short period my student, Kaya - who, a week ago, couldn't look me square in the eye - took a seat on my lap, put her arms around my neck, and called me her very own "Mama". I was shocked and a little shaken and just the tiniest bit "Christian proud"(a phrase my very wise mother once coined). When it came time for reading, she carefully arranged my place in the corner of the room, made it as comfortable as possible, and earnestly entreated me to please "read with her". Now, I'm not generally the mushy type, but I could have - could have, mind you - (I'm wording this very carefully so as not to confuse anyone) - cried right then and there. I had done nothing - absolutely nothing... in fact, I hadn't the least idea how to talk to a fourth grader, and assessing my progress as of last week, I was getting nowhere fast. And I was struck- yes, right then and there - by the sovereignty and good grace of God even in these little things, little things like learning to read. I saw the holiness of God in the commonplace, and took a moment to thank Him for His thoughtful blessing.

Sometimes the greatest blessing - and the greatest humbling - comes when I least expect it. (Me being human and all.) And suddenly, an undertaking that I once feared and grumbled over has become the best learning opportunity of my year so far. Funny how God works, isn't it? Perhaps merely because His ways are so foreign, so utterly unlike us. So far above and beyond us.
I am NOT (and by that I mean nothing), but I know I AM.

So, friends, I'm finally beginning to learn the beauty of the commonplace. After all, we're here on earth for a reason - we aren't here to spend all our time thinking about getting out of it - something I do far too often. I've gotten rather good at making up all sorts of nice strategies and lovely ideas - but nothing tangible, and ultimately, nothing really God-glorifying. Now that's what we're really here for, to make His name known. And how am I to accomplish this if I only ever discuss how I might go about doing so, if I were ever to get up the nerve to get up off my rear end and my complacency and do something. Really do something for Him. The purpose of life, after all, is not to get all of the heavens and their intricate workings into one's head; oh no. What an unfruitful life that would be! Rather one ought to attempt to get his head merely into the heavens; to leave his collective fate and destiny in the hands of an almighty and powerful God. Once this significant burden is lifted from our shoulders and onto the back of One who can support it, we will be more free to serve Him with a radical passion and abandon. Much as change frightens and undoes me - I would rather be undone than to merely stay complacently put. So this is my goal: to take my life to the foot of His throne, and to leave it there, that I might live a few more radical years in His service before an eternity of bliss. It's not a bad trade-off, is it? A few fleeting years of hard work in exchange for an everlasting rest when they're over. Sounds pretty good to me. And there is glory to be given Him even in the very little task of helping a little girl learn to read.

What a privilege it is, friends, such a privilege - to serve the great I AM. What a peace awaits us in His service! I encourage you to do the same - to consider Him who gave His life that we might live abundantly. Might we not give ourselves as well? For even Tuesdays are a chance to spread - and see - His glory.

And even in the midst of a certain Mrs. Bracker's fourth grade, classroom 4-B, He IS.


Our God is marching on...