[photo credit: Todd Binger]

Here’s a little change of pace for you all.  I suppose I’ve whined enough recently. If this post looks like whining, it really is not.  It is a well intended warning and cautionary tale that I don’t think is told often enough. Mostly.

Teachers change careers at a stunning rate—something like half of all teachers stop teaching within the first five years.  Considering that most new teachers in 2011 and 12 have master’s degrees, that’s a lot of wasted education and money for those individuals, and awfully bad news for education as a whole.

I went into teaching in 2009 with the idea that because I love English and loved working in the youth group, I would be able to cut it as a teacher. Two student teaching positions, lots of job searching, plenty of subbing, a half time job in a junior high and a (current) position as an adjunct teacher later, I realize how much more seriously I should have taken my decision.

The truth is I could just as easily make a “five reasons you should become a teacher” list. I could even make that “fifty reasons.” The point is not that teaching is a bad or unworthy profession (quite the contrary) but that young people who think they want to be teachers are not told often enough the reasons why they may need to consider their options more carefully.

Without further ado…

5 reasons you should not become a teacher.

1. You are going into teaching because you don’t know what else to do with your degree.

Really, seriously, worst reason ever.  And don’t you be tricked like I was into thinking that this idea just hadn’t dawned on you until graduation, and how silly of you, of course you were meant to be a teacher!  Some people do reach this realization and live happily ever after with it.  Just proceed cautiously—the epiphany will not be enough to sustain you. And you will figure out something to do with your English or history or sociology degree.  Chances are, it’s what you love and are afraid to do.

2. You just really like teaching.

Here’s a tricky one.  You absolutely must love teaching to be a teacher. But you cannot only love teaching. Because the reality is, you will spend a huge amount of time not teaching but writing (and losing) important lists, making copies, shuffling papers, holding your bladder, attending meetings, calling and emailing parents, repeating yourself to people (kids and adults) who didn’t listen the first time, etc. Teaching is filled with red tape, bureaucrats, and people who like to tell you how to do your job. Students often control their parents, who control school funding and therefore administrators, who control teachers.  Sometimes students think they just straight up control teachers without all those middle men. It is what it is. Yes, there are some exceptions—but mostly there are just exceptional, superhuman teachers who somehow deal with it all and continue to love teaching.  Make sure you’re one of those. If you are, God bless you.

3. You don’t know what it’s really like to work with students.

This does not mean you don’t like kids, or that you haven’t spent time around them.  Enjoying children (particularly older children and teenagers, who really are just fun to hang out with sometimes) is not the same thing as enjoying working with children. Until you have spent enough time volunteering in a classroom to know what working with children is really like, do not proceed.  I found out the hard way that mentoring kids in small groups in church is not even remotely like being in charge of a student’s grades, the way she occupies her time for an hour a day, and making sure she’s not being disruptive. You will be the uncool adult in charge. The disciplinarian. The bad guy who calls home. Which brings me to…

4. You care if people like you.

Teaching, like parenting, is best accomplished when you care deeply about your reputation as an educator, yet don’t give two shakes what people think about you. (Sound impossible?…No comment.) To be a decent teacher, you need a combination of teachability and unshakeable confidence. Teachability because you never will know everything. Unshakeable confidence because everyone and their mother (literally) will tell you you don’t know anything. You must be so sure of your calling that you are willing to juggle being disliked by kids, parents, other teachers, and administrators all at once.  I promise all four will not like you at the same time.

5. You aren’t sure you are sure you are sure you want to be one.

As I mentioned above, teaching is a calling. Not one, generally, that you decide upon last minute. Not one influenced by not knowing what else to do. Not one that sneaks up on you.  Many of the most talented teachers I know have always known they want to be teachers. Some decide later in their educations, but have gotten their feet wet somehow in teaching (usually through volunteering or a class in undergrad) and can say with certainty that they are prepared to experience the joys of teaching amidst the struggles.

In conclusion, I have learned that I am just not as cut out to be a teacher as I thought I was. I’m not a bad teacher, and my “success” has made this realization even more confusing. Truthfully, it’s been a painful (and expensive) realization, and since coming to it, every time I talk to teacher friends I see how obvious their passion is and how obviously lacking it is in me. The way they are able to deal with the things that bother me with so much more grace and perspective, because the end goal, the absolute joy of teaching, is their single passion.  And they find it, against all odds.

I hope you find that passion in yourself, whether or not you end up becoming a teacher.

Meanwhile, I’ll panic about lesson plans and get excited to write about medical software. I can’t explain it, either.

Any questions or comments on what I’ve addressed here can be directed to my email (contact page) or left in comments below. I’d love to hear your thoughts.

[Credit: Gian]

I’m stuck again, struggling for some time now to pin down this no man’s land.  Thankfully, this week has been much less gloomy (in mind and weather), and that alone has provided me with enough clarity that I can think through some of these ideas, even if I have not settled on a solution for any of them. Even a temporary one.

Must I love my work? Is this love I should only hope to see in glimpses?

How do I measure my time? By moment? By day? In terms of what’s coming next?

How much am I willing to invest?

In other words, do I dare?

Major life-planning sesh happening tonight with the best friend. Details to follow.

These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full. —Jesus

Friends,

I have not been feeling blogging lately.  See, what happens with clinical depression and just straight up downtroddenness (at least for me) is this: I get stuck.  Not go for a run to clear my head stuck, or let’s make a mindmap to sort through these feelings stuck.  Trapped in a cycle of feeling like I don’t and can’t know anything. It’s a helpless, incompetent feeling that only leads to more despair.  So, while reading back over my joy list from earlier this week (or last week?), I decided I needed to practice.

Because the only thing that fights lies is the truth.

Here, I’m letting you in on a little of that practice as I expand on each item in my joy list. I’ll muse about vague goals, remind myself of the ultimate purpose of each aim, and hopefully you’ll get to add a little something to the conversation, too.  If you have any thoughts to contribute, please comment—let’s get this conversation started, because, well, I’m stuck in my own head and I’d love to be a collective conscious with you.

Giving of myself to church service and fellowship.

Repentance time—I am a bare minimum doer. I have self-preservation and overcommitment anxiety and I am absolutely convinced that more than once a month in the nursery, a meal here and there or helping someone move is the extent of my ability to serve.  Then I hear of people absolutely swamped by church work and I feel guilty. Ugh. What’s happening here is obviously that it’s easy for my sinner mind to twist good and faithful service to Jesus into a competition with others.  Then I feel like I’m not doing enough, but for the wrong reasons. My goal here is to prayerfully consider areas where I (or Eric and I as a couple) might be able to serve more selflessly. Then to work on not worrying about protecting myself—that’s His job.

Praying always

It’s so funny how this concept has changed for me over the years. As a teenager I thought “praying without ceasing” sounded like a great goal, but one that was absolutely impossible.  I still struggle a bit with the idea of literally kneeling down, closing my eyes, bowing my head and praying for hours.  But what I have found through the process is what prayer looks like for me.  I journal prayers, requests, notes, thoughts.  In fourth grade I wrote to my “diary.” In 6th grade, my journal was named “Sunshine” (no, not kidding…).   Oh, doesn’t this seem like an appropriate place to slip in an embarrassing 6th grade journal entry?

Yes, I was that cool. Ahhh….

Anyway, after that, I wrote to some vague journal-y being, or maybe myself; but some point a few years ago, without even meaning to, journaling naturally became writing to God. And because my journaling is thinking, I’ve noticed my thoughts generally shifting in that direction, too—thinking to God. Could that not be the start of constant prayer?

Memorizing scripture

Simple reasoning, difficult execution. It comes back to what I wrote above: fighting lies with truth, without having to look it up.

Writing often

To continue to tap into the soulspring; to do something I love and with which I have been gifted.  To practice and work hard to not squander it.

Spending time in creation

Doesn’t this, without fail, prompt thoughts of the eternal? I was reading yesterday that Dave Ramsey went from being an atheist to a theist simply by observing miracles in creation: birth, skiing on an incredible mountain. Order does not come from chaos.

Charles Spuregon is said to have answered, when asked how to defend the Bible/God/the Gospel (100 various web sources differ…), with this statement (or something close):

“Very easy. The same way I defend a lion. I simply let it out of its cage.”

Creation points to Creator.  To me, it is the lion. Who can argue? Who can even stand?

[Edit: Soon after posting this, my mom showed me this incredible video of HD time-lapse photography in Yosemite. You MUST watch it.]

Resting intentionally/Using time purposefully

Um, this means not sitting on Facebook/Twitter/Google reader, etc. Going to bed on time. Scheduling time for internet browsing, instead of letting my rest time be eaten up by cyberspace.  It also means planning short retreats, investing in my marriage and skills I want to keep up or develop.  Specifically, I hope that includes getting back into the habit of playing piano, learning some basic photograph skills, and reading books more than I read screens.

Practicing Gratitude

See this post, and these.

Having grace for myself and my mistakes

i.e. fighting perfectionism, one day (hour, minute) at a time.  It is a serious goal of mine to not avoid starting something because I know I won’t do it perfectly. This is a huge hangup and major manifestation of my fear that actually affects my day-to-day life negatively. No, no.

Forgiving quickly

Not only by forgiving when I am wronged today or tomorrow, but by forgiving immediately again and again when a past hurt arises. Not dwelling or holding grudges. Remembering how much I have offended and how much I am forgiven.  He who is forgiven much loves much.

Serving Jesus by serving other people

With my eyes on Jesus I pray to not look for recognition from Eric, from my boss or students, from clients, from family.  I pray to not feel so dependent on affirmation. To remember again that I am an unworthy servant, and to do all things with that in mind.  I used to interpret the command to “work as unto the Lord” as though it said “work as if unto the Lord.” I don’t know how the words translate, but I do know this: working for God is different than imagining I’m working for God. Guess which one is more effective?

I’d love to hear your insights about any or all of these items. Please chime in if you feel so inclined!

Have a joy-filled, purposeful, restful weekend.

I’ll be honest.

I haven’t been exactly sure how to approach the followup to the story of my name.  When I finally had the short-lived courage to begin this short series of posts, I didn’t plan it fully and wasn’t sure where it was headed. As soon as I got over the initial excitement of asking my mother to write, clicking “publish,” and watching the number of hits rise steadily over a few days, I realized I had gotten myself into a little bit of a mess.

A mess named me.  Such an intensely personal topic, this joy-searching.  I’m timid to approach it.

Why joy?

I’m fully aware that a life obsessed with finding joy may very well be a lived both selfishly and fruitlessly; focused on my own experience, I tend to turn inward and cripple myself in rumination, stealing myself away also from serving others whether in deed or as a matter of preoccupation. As Terry Lindvall writes, reflecting on C.S. Lewis’s writings on joy, “A greedy impatience to snare, grasp, and keep joy . . . is the surest way to lose it,” and joy “can be instantly frightened away by introspection.”

But Lewis (a fellow joy-searcher and joy-stumbler) also called joy “the serious business of heaven,” the “grand truth,” and “the surprise that happens when we discover God’s love.”

Perhaps my favorite so far are Earl Palmer’s words: “Joy is a meaningful acceleration in the rhythm of our relationship and our understanding of God.”  I love that description. I love the way it moves.  I love the thought of joy as synonymous with a quickened relationship with creator God.

I’ve kept it no secret here that I’ve struggled mightily with anxiety and depression. On my worst days, I am cynical, critical, unmotivated, and at times paralyzed by dread, fear, and self-loathing. As it would happen, at the time I have chosen to let you all in on my quest for joy those feelings are very present.

So why joy? Because it doesn’t come naturally for me. Not only does any sinner approach God from a broken standpoint, but on top of it I am a natural pessimist and cynic (though I hope those qualities can be changed).

In One Thousand Gifts, Ann Voskamp talks extensively about her struggle to live the meaning of her name, “full of grace,” despite hardship and disillusionment. What is one whom God named joy to do when joy is elusive? Joy, which is supposed to be Christian lifeblood, a natural outpouring of gratitude for God’s good gift of Christ and all things added to him? (Pour on the guilt!) I suppose I have all year (and maybe a lifetime) to figure it out… But to begin, I’ve identified a few places where I have found joy in the past, and where I can focus my energy and time this season:

My joy list for 2012

• Giving of myself to church service and fellowship.
• Praying always
• Memorizing scripture
• Writing often
• Spending time in creation.
• Resting intentionally.
• Using time purposefully.
• Practicing gratitude.
• Having grace for myself and my mistakes.
• Forgiving quickly.
• Serving Jesus by serving other people.

I hope to add to this list significantly this year. Where do you find true, lasting joy?

At the start of the new year, I wrote that my “word” for this year..and last year…and the year before that.. has been joy.  Not long before that, I had written a poem that would become part one of this Finding my Name series of posts. There, I promised the story would be continued.

I asked my mother to tell this story herself for a few reasons: I wanted to hear it in her own words, and I knew she would remember the details much better than I can from the tellings and retellings throughout my life. But most of all, although it is my name’s story, a large part of it is more her own story than mine.

It’s a story I feel unworthy to be part of; God’s grace extended, turning beaten to beatific and using me to fulfill a promise to his own precious daughter. Thanks for reading.

Me with my mama last summer

Brynna’s Name Story

told by her mother, Karen Murray

Ever have one of those days when something much bigger than you is happening and you just know there is a God and that He is not silent?  We were living in Germany in December of 1990, and this was one of those days.  Oh, it started out as a pretty ordinary morning.  We woke to our normal routine, and after my husband left for work, I piled all the kids into the car to drive Rachel to her German 2^nd grade class and Brynna to her German Kindergarten and then returned home with Lauren, our two-year-old, and her new baby brother, Evan. I was trying to make the best use of the time I had between trips to and from home and school. Just before noon I loaded the little ones back into the car to go pick up Brynna, drive to Frankfurt Central Chapel on the Army post to pick up a bag of baby boy clothes that someone had left there for me, and get back to Hattersheim before Rachel’s class dismissed at 2:30 pm.  No problem!

When we arrived at the chapel, Brynna announced that she wanted to go say hello to our chaplain. Why not? We walked to his office and found that he was not there on Mondays. Oh the disappointment! So I suggested we go meet the Rabbi whose office was at the next door down the hall. Good enough. When we approached the kind man, he seemed genuinely interested in meeting my little ones.  He asked for their names.  I introduced them.  “This is Evan, this is Lauren, and this is Brynna.” While shaking Brynna’s hand he stated, “I have a sister named Bryna.”  I told him that was the name I saw in the Baby Name Book, and we loved the meaning, but changed the spelling so that it would be pronounced differently. He asked me, “What did the Name Book say it means?”  “Strength, virtue, and honor,” I confidently replied. He responded, “Well, we say it means ‘rejoicing’.” 

That’s when I got chills and suddenly knew this was not an ordinary day.  In order to explain, I have to take you back a few years.  Our first daughter was born in December of 1983.  Between her birth and Brynna’s I suffered two miscarriages.  The first one was hard enough, with feelings of loss and questioning why it had happened, but the second one brought with it the worry that I might not ever be able to carry another pregnancy.  I trusted in God’s sovereignty and providence, but the fear was very real.

In the days following the second miscarriage I happened to be reading for my Bible study. The assigned lesson asked me to look up specific verses about joy.  One of those verses seemed to be written especially for me.  It was John 16:22 – “ . . . Now is your time of grief, but I will see you again and you will rejoice, and no one will take away your joy.”  I felt as if God was giving me a promise that the next time I conceived it would be okay, that I need not fear.  Oh how I clung to those words! I just knew it would be all right.

Well, I did conceive three months later and Brynna was born a year after the last miscarriage. We named her Brynna Lynea Murray:  Brynna for “strength, virtue, and honor,” Lynea because it’s a family name (and a Norwegian flower) and we liked the sound and the look of the names together.  Even though we really liked our choice, deep in my heart I had always wished we had thought of naming her Brynna JOY to connect her name to the Scriptural promise I had received.

Four years later we found ourselves in a foreign country speaking with a Jewish Rabbi who lets me know that we had indeed named our daughter JOY.  Of course I had to explain why I got chills when he informed me of the Hebrew meaning, so I told him my story.  Then he explained that the same Hebrew word is found in Psalm 126:5, “Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of JOY!”  B’rina – ‘with rejoicing’ – what a reason to rejoice!

But that wasn’t the end of my sense of God’s smile.  There were two other “God-incidences” that afternoon.  The first is that it just happened to be the Rabbi’s birthday that day.  As we left his office, his wife was just arriving with a balloon bouquet to help him celebrate!  Then after we left we picked up Rachel from school and returned home.  I was doing a little straightening up around the house and noticed my turn-over-a-page-a-day ‘family traditions’ calender was behind a few days.  I flipped over to the correct date and read:  “Hebrew Birthday:  Make your child’s birthday special.  Write his name in Hebrew on the birthday cake.”  I am not joking.  I could not believe my eyes.  I still to this day ask myself why, in a world so full of major current events — including at that specific time, the Persian Gulf War — why would God be so concerned about expressing His love and faithfulness in things as trivial as birthday balloons and calendar pages?

I guess it’s the same reason that there are hundreds of colorful fish in the ocean that most people never see, or that a lovely wildflower peeks up through the snow on a mountain where only God will ever see it.  Or that He is particularly pleased when people do kind things that are seemingly unnoticed. And He knows when a sparrow falls, and how many hairs are on my head, and what I’m going to say before a word is on my tongue. He knew I’d named her JOY for more than four years before He let me in on the glorious secret.  And even to this day the promise is true: no one will take away my joy.  Thank you, God, for my Brynna Lynea.