End of the School Year Encouragement

My oldest son began school 6 years ago. Yet somehow, every year around this time, my emotions get stuck somewhere between the disbelief of “how are we already in this last month of school”, the frantic “how are we going to make it through this last month of school”, and the sentimental “how are my babies almost another grade older?”

Here we are. We’re in the homestretch.

Can you feel it?

Keep breathing cause you’re almost to the end.

Welcome to the last month of school.

We are all a little tired.

We are all a little emotional.

We are all a little scattered.

We are all a little anxious that next school year’s to-do list is going to look a whole lot similar to the one we put together at the beginning of this year…because… well…life.

We are all trying to work some serious calendar magic to fit in all of the year-end field trips, spring concerts, living wax museums, class parties, and sporting events.

Remember the start of the year? You determined that you’d surprise your kiddo for more lunches, you’d volunteer in the library, chaperone every field trip, and write encouragement notes regularly to your school staff.

Well again…life.

So you fell short. Forgive yourself and move on. Holding disappointment against yourself only means it’s more likely you’ll look for things to hold against others.

Can we please make a pact? Can we agree to see each other with compassion especially as our raggedness reveals even more of our imperfections? Can we agree to be quick to offer grace and slow to offer judgment?

Instead of judging the parent whose child stumbles out of their car still nibbling on a cold pop tart with untied shoes and an unzipped backpack, can we first remember that it’s the last month and applaud their effort to get to school?

Instead of wondering how another parent could send their child to school in pants that are two inches too short and a shirt that’s inside out, can we remember the stuff that really matters?

Can we make eye contact with those parents and smile with a smile that kindly acknowledges how we’ve been there too?

Instead of being angry at your child’s teacher for making a mistake on the graded schoolwork that was sent home, can we agree to take a breath and think of all the correctly graded papers sent home before this one? Can we remember that for every paper that comes home in our child’s folder, there are 25 other folders with those same graded papers?

Can we heap grace on the teachers who have lost the pep in their step and need four cups of coffee instead of their normal two to get through the day? And can we remember how challenging the previous part of their race has been?

Instead of denying your child the opportunity to spend the evening playing outside with friends, can we just skip the AR reading for the night and let them have a little freedom? It is the last month of school.

My kids are whining more. They are tired. They’ve had tests, and projects, and experiments, and standards to meet. They consistently wake up before the sun. They desperately want a string of days to sleep in. AND honestly, so do I.

Can we remember that the teachers, administrators, parents, and students are all working really hard to cross the finish line? And can we remember that we are all on the same team as we move toward that finish line? Teachers, administrators, parents, students.

Track meets may be one of my favorite sports to watch. It feels like there is little attention on who you are “against”. Whether you are the one coaching, the one running, or the spectator, your focus is on your team. You spend your energy doing what you can to see that your team crosses the finish line. Teammates cheer for one another. They encourage. They remind each other that they are proud of them.

My niece runs like a gazelle. It’s beautiful irony that she was actually born in Kenya. It is a joy to watch her run. She is very specific about what motivates her when she is running. She wants people to shout things like “you are awesome”, “you are doing great”, and “I am so proud of you”. She gets extra motivation when we shout “I love you, Hannah.” When she is in the race and focused on getting across the finish line, she wants to know that we see her efforts and are proud of how hard she is working.

Aren’t most of us like that? Especially when we are frayed and weary and just trying to cross the finish line. I know I am.

It’s the final month.

You are in the homestretch.

You are doing great!

I see your effort and know that you are working hard to cross the line.

You’re almost there…

Now, go find your teammates. They need you as much as you need them.

A Message to Teachers at Christmas Break

Oh Dear Teachers –

You are almost there. We know you are weary. You have every reason to be. Keep hanging on. We see you and recognize there are a million and one reasons these days before break probably each feel like their own marathon. Know that there are so many of us cheering for you.

As I have engaged with more and more teachers over the years, I have only grown increasingly fond of you…as individuals and as a collective group. You have much to be proud of. You are shaping the minds of our future generations. Educating our future world changers. Planting seeds. Shaping dreams and paths of life. You are calling forth what is good and valuable in our children and encouraging those things to shine. You are modeling relationships and teaching about love and tolerance and forgiveness. You are providing a place that is safe and consistent. It is like a second home to our children.

You are like a mother, like a father, like another family to them. Your hearts are for them. All. Of. Them.

I see the way you want to provide the best for your students. You are fighting on their behalf. All of the budgeting of resources, of time, of money is for their benefit. A constant quest for what is best for them. A longing to ignite their minds while caring for their physical and emotional being.

I see the way you carry the worries of your students. While I know the struggles of one of your students (my own) and a handful of others, you know the struggles of an entire classroom and sometimes a good portion of the school. It must feel so heavy at times.

You’ve heard about mom’s illness. You’re pretty sure the cancer has come back with a vengeance. You make special efforts to make eye contact with your student and remind them that they are not alone.

You’ve heard about the yelling and fighting. You’ve learned that your student is staying with grandma “for a few days”. One of their siblings is with another family member. You greet them by name every time they comes into your room and remind them that the class just wouldn’t be the same without them.

You know about all of the appointments. All of the tests. You make arrangements to gather the assignments and help your student understand what they may be missing when they are gone. You wonder and wait for answers as to why the symptoms keep coming back. You do what you can to help them feel like a part of your class even though they are gone so often.

You see the little guy who walks into the classroom late most mornings. You know there are reasons. It disrupts the flow of your routine. You see him staring at the ground when he walks in. You know he is embarrassed and wished he could be on time like everyone else. You resist showing your frustration because you know that there are a multitude of factors outside of his control. You smile at him and tell him you’re glad he’s joined you.

You’ve read about the factory closing in town. The little guy whose dad works there sits in your front row. He tells you he’s sad because his dad no longer has a job and his mom is worried about their bills. You tell him that you’re sorry and attempt to convince him that parents always have a way of figuring things out.

You see the little gal whose joy has turned to sadness. You know how she used to practically dance as she walked down your hallways. You know something has changed but no one has shared with you the why. You wonder. You share jokes with her here and there in a quest to bring out the laughter you once heard from her.

You are teachers. You chose this profession years ago because you wanted to change the world…one child at a time. You are doing it. And sometimes changing the world in the ways you do, must feel really hard.

We see your hearts. You have loved them well. Thank you doesn’t seem quite adequate.

Now rest. It’s okay to let it go. To release the worries that you have carried for these children that you have poured into day after day. It’s okay to release yourself from their struggles. It means no less of the compassion you hold for them. As you leave for the holidays, it is okay to close the door to your classroom….literally and figuratively.

That you might be able to let go.

And. Find. Rest.

And. Seek. Peace.

In the stillness of the morning.

In the laughter o your home.

In the beauty of the snowfall.

In the familiar melodies.

In the connection with those you love.

In the story we celebrate.

And in the quiet of the night.

When Feeling Better Feels Scary

Recently, a woman sat across from me. I’ve known her off and on throughout her life. She’s traveled a difficult road. Like usual, I asked her how things were going in a particular area of difficulty in her life. In all honesty, I expected an answer like I had received many times in the past…something in the camp of “so so”, “not good”, or “the same”. But for the first time in a very long time, she answered with this word…“great”. I noticed. And she knew I had noticed. I could see it all over her face…shades of discomfort, embarrassment, and “Oh no, did I just say that?!”

Something had shifted. It wasn’t that her life had magically become easier. It wasn’t that the struggles had disappeared. The shift was one towards hope. Her answer was “great” because she had grabbed a hold of the possibility of something different. Having walked so much of the difficult road with this individual, I found myself fighting back a flood of tears watching her so bravely step into something unfamiliar to her. But at the same time as I was fighting back tears, I was also suppressing my urge to jump around the room in excitement. Knowing how vulnerable she felt, I chose to temper my reactions just a bit and landed somewhere between the two.

She was scared.

She had just stepped into a new territory of possibilities of good and hope and healing and being “great”. And while for some of us, that territory is the norm, for others it can feel as unsettling as standing in front of a crowd of people in your underwear.

Change is uncomfortable. Change means to make or become different. It is removing yourself from what you have most often known…from what has become familiar.

I see my friend moving into the “uncomfortable.” She’s stepping into change. She’s not getting a new job, moving into a new neighborhood or going back to school. But she’s doing something that takes just as much, if not more, courage.

And she’s scared.

She’s wondering what people will think of her if she smiles more, laughs more, holds her head up more, talks more or tells them she is ‘good’ instead of just ‘alright’.

She wants to walk in the light and no longer hide in the shadows. She is afraid of looking clumsy and awkward. She’s seen much of life through sadness and disappointment and controlling fear. Feeling good and the actions and words that accompany it do not feel natural to her. They cause her to feel that she is on display.

She wants to celebrate the change, but she feels timid. She wonders what people will expect from the her that is taking hold of the possibility of good and taking hold of the hope. She is afraid that she will disappoint and fall again.

She has grown familiar with assuming that her identity is her struggle. Without it, she is concerned that she will not know who she is. She is afraid that others will not accept or believe the changes in her…even when they are good. She wonders if there’s grace if some days aren’t quite “great”.

Tired. Grieving. Depressed. Lonely. Disappointed. Hurting. Sick. Broken-hearted.

Many of us have been there. We know what it’s like to feel stuck in it. We know what it’s like to walk around assuming these labels are plastered to our forehead. We can lose sight of the truth that the struggles do not equal who we are…even when we have grown oh-so-familiar with them.

Change is one of the bravest things I have witnessed. Embracing a new way of thinking and behaving and feeling takes audacity. Finding ways to express that you are walking in a new direction takes boldness. Experimenting with new language communicating hope and expectancy takes guts.

It may feel vulnerable.

It may feel awkward.

It may seem clumsy.

It may feel scary.

It’s okay. Just take one step at a time towards the change. And if you find that you feel like running towards it…go for it. 

Even though you may not believe it now…you are brave.

You are seen and you are loved and you are not alone.

Many are on a similar journey.  And we are cheering for you…

Increasing My Capacity to Love Through My Willingness to Be Uncomfortable

Just like you, I have watched the news clips and I have read the articles. I have felt the anger and I have even felt moments of fear. I have felt deep sadness as I have watched the events unfold. Human fighting human. Hate lashing out. Fear lashing out. Darkness being revealed.

I want to love deeper because Jesus requests this of me.

I’ve called on Jesus to transform my heart and have asked Him to reveal the ways I have bought into hate, bought into fear.

I’ve written my post encouraging us towards more.

I attended an event declaring hope for love and unity and I lit my candle with all of the others in attendance.

But it doesn’t seem like enough.

Because I face this dilemma…

A dilemma that I am not proud to admit.

But nonetheless, here it is…

I realize that I am just a few steps away from fading back into the world of pretending that there is not a human against human problem. A problem that leads to humans beating other humans with flags and torches and fists. A problem that leads to humans spraying fire from aerosol cans, and throwing rocks and punches. A problem that leads to cars being driven into crowds with the intention of devastation.

I watched these horrific images as they were occurring two short weeks ago. I saw similar images in the days that followed. They continue. The stories haven’t gone away.  And yet…I am just steps away from slipping back into my alternate reality where it didn’t really happen…where it’s not still happening. And I recognize that this is not okay.

If I actually believe that love is necessary to change this human against human problem, I genuinely MUST be willing to increase my capacity to love. Like our physical bodies that do not become stronger unless they are pushed out past their limits, my capacity to love is increased through my stretching and moving beyond what is comfortable for me today.

I must ask myself who I am uncomfortable loving. Ugh. I know…I really just said that.

And because today I am referring to the type of love that is demonstrated through my actions, I am asking the deeper question of who I am uncomfortable interacting with. I am asking this question because it leads me to a deeper truth about myself. I am asking this question because I actually have answers. When I ask myself who I am uncomfortable interacting with, I find out who I struggle to love.

I am far from proud to admit this, but there are people groups that I avoid. I avoid them with my presence. I avoid them with my words. I avoid them with my eyes. And this is not love.

I am grieved by the way my avoidance adds to this human against human problem.

And so today, I commit to stretch my capacity to love. I commit to make myself uncomfortable so that what is uncomfortable today may become comfortable tomorrow.

I will lift up my head and stop avoiding with my presence, with my words and with my eyes.

I will choose to say hello. I will choose to smile. I will choose to wave. I will choose to ask, “How are you?” and wait patiently for a response. I will choose to do this especially when I know I am uncomfortable. How can I live out Jesus’ command to love my neighbors if I keep pretending that some of them aren’t even there?

I know that these actions may seem small and insignificant to some. That’s okay.

For me and for any of the rest of us knowingly a few steps away from slipping back into the alternate reality that everything is just fine, would you consider another option?

Ask yourself the hard question…who do you struggle to love?

Take an uncomfortable step…say hello. Wave. Ask them about their day. Listen.

Know that these steps are good. Simple as they may sound.

Despite the awkward.

Despite the discomfort. 

Change occurs through the awkward.

Change occurs through the discomfort.