Confidence: the good kind.

I’ve been thinking some lately about self confidence. Where does mine come from? What about everyone else’s? How can I better teach and foster it in my students? How can I encourage it in my friends, or my coworkers? Is it a skill that can be taught and practiced, or is it some inherent gift?

I believe confidence, forged from self-love, is a skill. I think self-compassion and self-kindness are skills that can be honed. Since there is an insane epidemic in our society of body-hating, I think loving yourself (the way you are right now, not 15 pounds from now or a college degree from now, or a healthy relationship from now) is one of the first steps on the journey to a successful (and fulfilling) life.

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. 31 The second is this: Love your neighbor as yourself. There is no commandment greater than these.”

It's not just happenstance that the Bible admonishes, in more than one place, that our first commandment in living for God is to love Him; following on the heels of that verse is the second, the one that many times is misinterpreted. "Love your neighbor as yourself." 

We intrinsically know we are to treat others kindly and with compassion for their circumstances, understanding for their shortcomings, and forgiveness for their mistakes. Yet most of us fail to grant these same concessions to ourselves. Instead, we are our own worst critic, constantly second-guessing, seeing the glass as half-empty, and finding it difficult to embrace our flaws as willingly as we embrace our strengths.

It’s hard to love all of myself, all of the time. But when I’m spending time alone with my reflection, I’m consciously seeing myself through the eyes of someone who loves and accepts me fully and completely… my imaginary “biggest fan,” if you will. But it’s not just physical. To me, external beauty is such a reflection of internal beauty. So while I’m loving my body and my face, I’m also loving my heart and my spirit and my whole history as a person.

I don’t compare myself to anyone. That would rob the experience of joy. I even try not to compare myself to myself, although there are certainly some thoughts, some memories. I remember how my body looked and felt in high school, how it felt after losing 50 pounds all those years ago... But it’s always done through this filter, this point of view of an imaginary fan who loves me the most right now, as I am in this moment. I don’t say mean things or think about stuff I want to change. I just admire. I just love. And for that time, through the imaginary eyes of my biggest fan, I am my biggest fan. I am the one who loves me the most. And you guys… I think people need this.

Because the thing is, you walk around making up what people think of you anyway. You can never really know. I mean, you hope your parents are proud of you, and you suspect that mean girl might just be jealous of you. But you can never KNOW. Your interpretation of what people think of you is essentially made up. And for some reason most people, most of the time, make up mean and negative things. They see themselves from the POV of an imaginary enemy. They imagine how they must come across to someone who doesn’t like them, who doubts them, who think they’re ugly, fat, dumb, or just not good enough. They spend their entire day hanging out with this judgey imaginary person who makes them feel insecure, and their entire life suffers for it. When you constantly see yourself from the POV of someone who judges you unkindly, the world feels like a harsh and dangerous place, so you shut down, take less risks, and find ways to live smaller.

The complete opposite, in fact, is true. We all deserve to be seen, loved, and admired for exactly who we are. 

I just need to load the wagon.

I jumped off the merry-go-round a few days ago.

Just...jumped.

For weeks the hurry and scurry of schedules, deadlines, state testing, and everything else that was somehow sandwiched in between had me spinning...

Faster and faster I spun, with no concrete destination, no end in sight (well, okay, I knew there was an end to most of it but I certainly couldn't see it), and with growing panic squeezing my insides with each subsequent turn.

By late last week my proverbial vision was blurred and all sense of what was up, down, right or left, right or wrong, had successfully evaded me. My internal scheduler went on the blink, my ability to reason and rationalize went on the fritz, and - can I just be real here? - I became one irritable human being.

Sometimes I struggle with just how open to be on this blog. Making myself vulnerable is never comfortable and yet, as a writer, I feel the need (even on this blog that is read by "tens of people") to share truths as I learn them. And the truth I re-learned these past few days is that there is only one place to go when I finally realize that the load is just too much for one lone girl to carry.

Maybe one day I'll learn to leave everything at the Cross before it becomes overwhelming. Wouldn't that be a novel approach?

After several days of feeling faint twinges of annoyance at even the most simple of conversations, the most minute of inconveniences, I began to feel the effects of spinning way too fast for way too long. In the middle of it all, I had an enlightening - although brief - moment of clarity. The common denominator in each situation was <gulp> ME.

That, folks, is tough to admit. But you know what I mean, right? Sometimes we realize we just need to take ourselves out of the equation for a while.

So that's what I did.

I jumped off the merry-go-round.

No emails. No Face booking. No blog reading or blog writing. No phone calls. No texts. I. Jumped. Off.

For two days I stayed as quiet as possible, staying inside of my home and attending to only those things of "hearth and home." As the hours passed and I gradually let go of all the issues, circumstances, and events that I was trying (unsuccessfully, I might add) to micro-manage, I slowly felt my soul begin to refuel. Where I'd felt parched and dry before, new rivers of joy and inspiration began to - little by little - forge their way through until I felt like myself again.

I was behind a fancy Dodge truck a while back. Stenciled in beautiful scripted font, on the tail end of this truck, were these words: "Don't worry about the mules. Just load the wagon."

Now I'm fairly new to this cow girl business and I'm not entirely sure of the meaning. But I do know what I took away from the sentiment. I don't need to know the answers, the reasons why or why not, the endings, the WHATEVER, for every little thing I have going on in my life.

I need to merely load the wagon.

Load it by making sure I'm prayed up. Load it by fulfilling my responsibilities first and my calling next. Loading it by loving the people God has so strategically placed in my life with all that is within me. In the room that's left I can then layer in the extras. When it's full, I need to just accept that it's full. There will be time enough at a later date to load more.

And then I need to relax in the knowledge that I'm not the driver of this load. But, instead, my life is totally in the hands of the only One who knows my past, directs my present, and is already preparing me for my future.

So even though I'm back on the merry-go-round today, I feel that tingle of excitement again as the spinning commences. The thrill is back, the sheer exhilaration of freedom making me want to throw my head back, close my eyes, and enjoy the ride.

Classroom Heroes

This is the time of year when things get crazy in the school building. State testing, lots of kids out of class due to extracurricular activities, and lots of stress (in both students and their teachers) that sometimes leads to poor decisions. Our English department finished our testing yesterday and I have to admit that I feel as though a heavy weight has been lifted. We’ve (and by we, I mainly mean my kids) have worked diligently all year. They have risen to the occasion of every gauntlet I’ve thrown their way, and I could not be more proud.

The really cool thing about this time of year is that I can now teach what my friend, Tammy Kuhlengel, calls our “love units.” The things we are passionate about but have to place on the back burner until after testing because they don’t necessarily move our TEKS and curriculum forward. For me, it’s always a unit of some sort on To Kill a Mockingbird. I love the book, the movie, and all the nooks and crannies there are to discover within the cover of Harper Lee’s coming-of-age novel. I never tire of it; I’m such a fan that I even named one of our goats Harper Lee!

Last night, I was looking for a few documents I need to complete my grad school application. I came across one of my portfolios from one of my favorite undergrad education courses. It involved a complete development of a unit of instruction, including a novel study, media connections, articles, and concluded with a “Big Event.”

A “big event,” according to our professor, Dr. Susan Stewart, is the time in the unit when students take what they’ve learned and they collaborate on a project that assesses what they’re taking away with them. She taught us to “practice what we preach,” “make it meaningful,” and fully “immerse kids in the classroom.” We learned in that class to frame the text, in order to focus the students on what was to come. Next, we prepared them by giving them the first exposure to the text. Finally, you return with your students to the text and use collaboration for assessment.

The first page of our portfolio required us to give a personal background to the research we used for this assignment. I have to say that I sat on the floor last night and cried as I read over what I had written during that assignment. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve thought about it since I turned it in and yet, reading the words solidified that my goals and my ideals back then were evidently pretty transparent. It’s how I strive to conduct my classroom every day, even now, five years later.

Classroom Heroes: Cultivating Characterization AND Character

His name was Mr. Beeson. I’m sure he had a first name, but I’m equally as certain that not one of his Junior Honor English students knew what it was. He wore a tweed sport coat and a tie most every day that school year of 1984-85, yet hardly ever wore a smile. All business….no bull, that was his motto, and he stuck to it harder and tighter than white on rice. I can’t say that I remember a lot of what we did or read in class that year; I do, however, remember being humiliated more than once for volunteering a thought and being shot down because it didn’t qualify as a “right” answer…in his opinion. Junior year English was not a favorite, and my friends and I didn’t have much reason to anticipate the next year.

Except…Carol Harrell walked into Senior English, full of light and and life and laughter, and – despite the Dr. Suess-esque name – she revolutionized how we thought about, approached, and embraced literature. She was a real person, who not only loved to talk about all things literature but seemed to truly care about our thoughts as well. Her classroom became the spot we all couldn’t wait to reach each day. It didn’t take long under this umbrella of safety for us to blossom and, as we learned to express ourselves, we also began to grow as individuals. In short…we began to feel like heroes. Senior year will always hold a special corner of my heart. Even though it would take me some twenty-five years to reach the place where I was “ready,” the seed for teaching was planted way back in Carol Harrell’s vibrant classroom in Garland, Texas.

Creating classroom heroes.

Isn’t that what it’s all about?