Changing of the seasons.

What a year of transition!  Transplantation. When I first named this blog many years ago, it was

because it seemed I was being transplanted - both literally and figuratively. Little did I know that was Just. The. Beginning.

Since that first Transplanted Gal blog post:

• My parents sold their home and moved onto our land
• We built our dream home and moved out of our little beloved cabin
• Both sons married, one of them having the first EVER wedding on the property
• Wildernest Ranch Bed & Breakfast, LLC became a reality
• Our 3rd grandchild was born
• We opened the B&B
• Mike retired
• Expansions to the business included an event venue and two precious tinies
• After years of teaching English II, I switched to Culinary
• Mike received a call and was offered his old position with Donaldson, except with less travel
• We've witnessed 18 weddings at our property and venue, and countless parties & reunions
• I turned in my final letter of resignation and made the decision to "come home" to run the business full-time

Friday was my last day with students as we finished final exams. I've taken all of my personal belongings home, cleaned out the culinary kitchen, have all of my student computers and other technology ready to turn back into Tech. I've finalized grades and printed out my last grade verification sheets, cleaned out my desk, and have begun saying my "see ya laters." 

Tomorrow at 1pm I will drive out of the faculty parking lot for the last time as a TEACHER.

If I've learned anything in my 50+ years of living and loving, it's that nothing stays the same. Changes are inevitable; some are grand and exciting - others leave you heartbroken and desolate. With each new season comes new challenges, new adventures, new discoveries, new realizations.

The past year has probably been one of the most challenging for me up to this point. I think I may have cried more in the past 12 months than I have my entire adult life. My heart has been ripped apart again and again as I've tried to support my brother (who I love SO very much) through the most difficult chapter of his personal life; but we've grown closer as a result.

Together we've witnessed our parents' new health issues, and are continually learning new ways to support and care for them has been heartbreaking at times; but our love for family and our intense desire for them to know we're here for them has only deepened and solidified.

We've celebrated with one set of kids as they announced a new pregnancy, and we're over the moon excited to become grandparents to the fourth grand buddy OR grand doll. Yet - at the very same time - we've mourned with another set of kids who are facing infertility issues, and - as a family - we've come closer to each other and to God as we trust Him to make them parents.

We've lost friends to death this year - more than I ever thought possible in one year. It's been almost surreal. From motorcycle accidents to cancer to heart attacks, so many lives we've been invested in have come to an end, claiming people who are so very special to our lives. Yet each time has driven us to our knees and only served to make us more aware of how precious every single moment of this life really is.

Time is fleeting, and each day must count.

But I know it must also be a balanced life.

I've learned what it means to work weeks on end without a "day off," between my role as a teacher and a B&B owner. I'm also learning that a power nap on the couch or an occasional marathon of a favorite show doesn't mean I'm letting things "slip."

I've experienced what it's like to drop so many balls in so many roles this past year that I've very often wondered if I was fit to do ANY job, let alone try to keep my arms around the ones I've had. Yet each of these roles have blessed our family, our home, our marriage, and my spirit. I've learned to go to bed early on those hard days and trust that tomorrow is a brand new day, with brand new chances to do better.

We've missed countless ball games, special events, and birthday parties of our grands because it has literally taken all of our time, energy, and resources to get the business where it is today. We can't get those time back nor can we make up for them, but we CAN now begin to make new memories. Like Friday night lights in Richardson come fall, trips to Austin for the new birth, being present for karate tournaments, birthday parties, and impromptu quick Dallas "turn-arounds" for dinner dates with our grown kids.

I've cried over the students I am saying good-bye to, over aspects of teaching that I will miss so very much, and even over the fact that I will no longer be classified as a TEACHER - a role I have been so proud and honored to carry.

Oddly enough, there were no tears today. There may be tomorrow; don't hold me to this statement:)! I recognize this next season and anticipate it. I know it will be full of moments that I expect, and maybe even more that I don't. I know there will much laughter, more tears, gains and losses.

I promise my family that I will smile more, hug tighter, laugh often, play with childlike abandon. I will work hard to continue to grow our business, but I'll put the business of family first. More living room picnics with my love, more Legos and coloring with George, more girls' trips with my mom and daughters-in-love, more cheering at games as Carter plays and Kendall cheers. More front porch conversations with my brother, and also with my sis-in-law, friends and neighbors. 

More church. More prayer. More Jesus than ever before.

Once more...

I'm a transplanted gal.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

To the Class of 2019

There are always students who make a year in the classroom memorable. But every once in a while you are privileged enough to have an entire class (okay, maybe minus a few:) that is truly remarkable. Those years are your golden ones, and make up for the long and endless ones! This class - the graduating Pewitt 2019 seniors are THAT class for me.

When you work for a small district, very often you have the opportunity to teach all kiddos in a grade level. I first taught these seniors when they were sophomores in my English classes. I taught every single sophomore, and what an amazing year it was! This post is dedicated to them. Never in my teaching career have I laughed more, cried more (for happy:) or grew more as an educator. The teacher got taught - in all the best possible ways.

I quickly realized this class was unique. They didn't really feel the normal pressure to "fit in" or to be just like their friends. Instead, they were (and still are) a group of individuals that support one another but set their own sail, confident in charting their own path. If you teach, you know this is rare, particularly in 10th graders.

This is the class that stretched me, challenged me, and inspired me. It was the year all of the hashtags began to impact us. (More on #hashtags in future post.) It was the year I put away my own agenda and began to teach in a brand new way. The outward manifestation of this was flexible seating, Socratic Circles, and student-led lessons. The inward though is where the real manifested change occurred. It was the year I discovered that some of these 15 and 16 year olds possessed more self-confidence than I did as an adult. Whereas I held very definite opinions, I was much more likely to keep them close to my chest rather than be judged or critiqued. These kids were fearless, but in a completely respectful, mannerly - humorous -  way.

My 2nd period Honors English class is where the bulk of my metamorphosis as a teacher began. I vividly remember the day I sat on my stool behind my podium, totally ready to lead a discussion over a section of Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children that they had been reading independently. I threw out the first couple of questions and when the answers began to flow, I realized this was a group of free-thinkers. I decided to press to see how far they were willing to go. #thinkoutsidethebox was born, and from that day on, this class made themselves vulnerable, sharing even when the topics became personal, not ashamed or embarrassed of the tears that sometimes were shed. I had always loved sharing novels with students, peeling back the many layers of symbolism like an onion, but this particular group of students carried us to another level, and found ways to connect the text to the real world in ways I had not even thought of.

It was the "Year of the Projects," where Bailey made a doll (Pretty Portman) who became our class mascot early on. Armed with her own Instagram page, Pretty took turns traveling with the students, even making an appearance at an UIL competition. Another time, Hannah created a beautiful bouquet of silk flowers, with a single black rose included to tie into the symbolism of the story. I've had that bouquet on each of my desks since then, and will take it home where it will continue to sit on my home office desk. I look at it often and am reminded of that special year.

It was also a year of mischievousness and procrastination gone good:) By that I mean David and Madison. David was (and continues to be) the consummate class clown. More than once, he had me convinced that he'd not done his assigned project, going so far one time to create a title page and one slide in a PowerPoint presentation, only to have the 3rd slide say, "THE END." I remember glancing up from the rubric, chewing on the end of my pen, studying him, trying like mad to determine if this was yet another practical joke. It always was. And EVERY presentation was first-rate, top-notch, off the chart, presentation!

Madison was my procrastinator - especially when it came to essays. A self-proclaimed struggling writer, Madison was (and is) actually an amazing writer. She has a unique way of stringing words, combining thoughts, facts, and analogies in a way that make her papers a fascinating read from the first word all the way to the last one. That is, once they WERE. TURNED. IN! :) Often frustrated by the tardiness of her essays, I would TRY MY HARDEST to find something - anything - wrong with it. I never could. Madison is just one of those who gets work done. Even if it's at the very last possible second. What can you say to a system that works for her?!?

This was the year that I really got to know Chelsy, Shelby, Bradley, Ethan, Leslie, Sydney, and Presley. I learned about Chelsy's obsession with all things Harry Potter and Percy Jackson, and Leslie's with Canelo Alvarez:) I learned that Ethan had THE BEST sopapilla cheesecake recipe, that Syd was creative and artistic, and that Presley was quiet but hysterically funny.

It was the year of the "Cultural Quilt" and the cultural presentations, where we explored our backgrounds, upbringings, the case of nature vs nurture. Once each student completed their square, complete with things that were unique to them as well as things they knew to be true, we put them all together to form our class quilt. We proudly hung it on the wall of our classroom and there it stayed until I - very reluctantly - took it down the very last day of that school year. We wrote the very revealing essay: "This I Believe," and then began our presentations. It was during these presentations that CeCe blew me away with a whole demonstration of cultural hair by bringing in a doll shoulder/head with an elaborate 'do to represent her combined heritage, and that David demonstrated his by sharing a heavy, iron tortilla maker that had been passed down through several generations in his family.

We "circled up" often, and eagerly, because we had learned that 2nd period was a time of excitement, sharing, and learning to feel safe within our circle. We read so much, discussed even more, and wrote more than any of them probably wanted to. Yet they were always seeking to up the bar on their written word, and the results were awe-inspiring and life-changing.

At least they were for me.

Here it is, two years later, and - as they prepare to graduate in a few days and take a last walk across the auditorium stage - this teacher is all caught up in the memories of that year they were sophomores.

So...

To you - I say "thank you." Thank you for allowing me to share that time with you. Thank you for trusting me with your thoughts, your ideas, and your hopes and dreams for the future. Now, that future is right here, and I have so, so, SO much confidence in the paths each of you will choose. No pathway is easy or free of thorns or roadblocks or bumps in the road, but always remember that there is joy in the journey, and beauty all along the road to where you want to be.

Smile often. Dream big. Love hard. Be kind always.

Class of 2019 - I love you, and I will always be here, quietly cheering you on!

Finish line in sight, y'all. But I'm walking it, not racing.

This is Wednesday of Spring Break. I almost typed Tuesday, because - truly - I'm not keeping track other than to make sure I keep up with the B&B reservations. For everything else, we're on teacher on SB time.

That means, if an activity requires normal clothes, chances are good you might not do it.

It means, no ALARMS. Okay, that's not true for me because...duh...guests still expect a delicious, hot breakfast at 9am, but my 5:15 alarm has been replaced with a 7:45 one. That means an extra TWO AND A HALF HOURS, y'all!!

As much as I am relishing SB 2K19, it hasn't escaped me that this will be my last one. This time next year, it will just be another work week. No more of that escalating excitement as The Day We Get Out draws closer and closer. But also no more of the hyper students, silly drama, and rotten attitudes that increase as That Day approaches.

And yet...I know I will miss a lot of aspects of classroom teaching. (I specify "classroom," because - if you've been reading here long at all - you know that I believe a teacher will always be a teacher.)

Haters gonna hate, and teachers gonna teach.

As this final school year begins to wrap up for me I am finding that I wax nostalgic one moment, only to be quickly followed sheer laughter at some of the memories that flood my mind these days. I've always been fortunate to teach with amazing teachers, but it wasn't until my 3rd year of teaching that I became a part of a TRUE team. One who laughs together, gripes together, and occasionally cry together. 

Then I began my 4th year of teaching and met my fellow teacher spirit animal - Amy. Over the next three years, we became as ONE when it came to the classroom. There was 100% trust and honesty between us, and we LOVED collaborating over vertically aligned lesson plans, crying over essays that quite literally rent our hearts in two, and laughing hysterically when our bodies crossed over that "you're too tired" line and we found ourselves having to remove ourselves from our own classroom and take refuge in the other's - just to collect ourselves. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and the friendship is STILL growing, even though we haven't taught together for a few years now.

When I changed districts a couple of years ago, the thing I feared the most was that I would lose the close camaraderie that I by now so desperately needed. I shouldn't have feared. For it was here that I met Haylie and Betsy and Telly. 

The Grammar Gals. 

I'm fairly certain we drove a certain segment of the school nutty with our crazy ways, inside jokes, and fierce loyalty. But we were a team, and a formidable one at that! I love these ladies more than life and - even though I taught there just a year before coming back to my hometown school - it was the Single. Best. Teaching. Experience OF MY LIFE!!!

I've found myself reflecting on so many classroom experiences these past few weeks. Tajawin Smith has been on my mind. My very first year of teaching and - already skittish, insecure, and nervous, his presence in my 5th period class was a source of total and complete misery for a good 6 weeks. 

Six weeks where I would barely escape the door of the school and scramble into my car before the floodgate of tears spilled over. I would then drive through the tears and wait for my brother's phone call, which almost always came about the same time each afternoon on that drive. He would "talk me down," remind me that my value was not based on what students thought of me, and that I was on my way home to those who loved me. 

I can laugh at this now, and do...but I also smile each and every time I hear Tajawin's name or glimpse his graduation announcement (both his high school AND his college one) on the bulletin board in my current classroom. Ty (as I called him) forged what would become one of the strongest and most trust-worthy teacher-student relationships of my career. Day after day after day, I would see him in the hallway and call out, "Hey, Ty! How're you doing?" I did this many days when I in no way whatsoever felt it. 

The magic of teaching is this, though. All students want, and all we teachers want, is respect. Once you have that as a foundation, all other things positive can take root and grow. Kids aren't interested in what you know until they know you care. So much truth in this! 

A couple of years after I left the district where I taught Ty, I received a letter at my present school - from...you guessed it! He acknowledged the rocky start we had, but then referenced how he looked forward to walking past my doorway every day when I would call out his name and see how he was doing. The glory was I came to love Ty fiercely and I've rejoiced over every accomplishment he has made. THAT is why we teach, to all the folks out there who just don't get it.

I have so many students I could write about. I'm still in contact with so, so many. No matter where I run into them or see them, or no matter when and how they reach out to me, it does something magical to my heart to hear their voice, share their struggles and their victories, and get to know them as the great adults they grew into. 

But, for now, I'm just going to wrap up with a bit of reality:

The day of a teacher most days goes something like this: It's almost two pm; you had a meeting during your conference period that you forgot about, so ran into late and out of breath. You've already helped a student through a bloody nose and another one through a panic attack. Your 20 minute lunch turned out to be a non-lunch because a lone student shows up and wants to talk about his or her grade. You REALLY have no patience for this, but it's not in you to ask them not to bother you during those precious twenty minutes. In your first after-lunch class, you slip a package of cheese crackers to a student who is hungry because they had no lunch, and no money to buy it. You listen patiently to a loooooong story another tells because it's obvious school is their safe place, and they place they know their stories have a home. It's 2 pm when you see your principal about to walk into your classroom and realize you never did finish writing your "We will, I will" statements on the whiteboard...primarily because your last whiteboard marker ran dry and you never did find the time to hunt down another. Your principal sees kids talking, working on different things and you worry that it looks like one hot mess. 

You may be the only one (besides the students, that is) that knows it's anything BUT a hot mess. It's a learning classroom, an environment where students not only thrive, but flourish. They are safe, they are heard, they are fed, and they are getting the "we will" and the "I will" done. Mainly because they listen to you. They respect you.

Because you know their name. You use their name, and often. You give side hugs and big smiles. When you feel it and especially when you don't. 

It's a teacher's life.

And I will miss it.

Savor: My Next 90 Days

Anyone who knows me well at all, knows I love a good planner/calendar! So much so that I may go a tad bit overboard. I currently carry THREE around with me on the daily!

There is a method to my madness though, I promise! The first is our business planner, which I use solely for just that...business. It contains all the reservations for each of the cabins, as well as the venue, plus it holds contact info for all of our brides and their important people. Updated financials are catalogued there on a monthly basis just so I can quickly flip to it at a moment's notice. Yes, this is all on our computer and much of it in our phones, but - call me stuck in yesteryear - I can't help the love I have for hard copy! I've used the same design for the past three years, and have purchased them all from an online boutique through Jane, called So Kali. I'm not posting a picture of it here right now because I'm being just too lazy to snap the pic and upload, but if you're like me and love a great planner plus a little personalization on the front cover, this one's for you! The planners aren't generally listed for sale until around Fall, but she has bill trackers, prayer journals, and much more! Definitely worth a look around! Then bookmark her for your next year's planner!

The planner that stays in my purse full-time is my personal one, and also one that contains all of my classroom and lesson plans. I used to do a full-on teacher planner, but finally gave that one up this year and - instead - consolidated it with my smaller, personal one. It's a good one, though, by Agenda 52! I'm pretty sure I picked this one up at Hobby Lobby, and it was either insanely on sale or I used my 40% off coupon! I'm obsessed with this one because you can customize the inserts; that's really the only reason it works so well for my lesson plans, and also for meal planning and shopping lists, too! LOVE it.

 
I so did NOT intend for this to be a full post dedicated to my planner/calendar addiction; I meant to gush on and on about my newest one only - the My Next 90 Days by Savor Life. It helps to organize your life 90 days at a time, and truly, TRULY promotes a more intentional way of approaching your busy days. Of course, it helps tons that it's full of inspirational quotes and has very deliberate 4-pillar  method: your 'savor life' list which helps keep you focused on what's most important, a 90 day vision, a weekly and daily ritual list, and - finally - a place to organize what they call your "gorgeous chaos." It takes the "nourish to flourish" approach and has room for literally everything you need to remind you to stop, think, rest, drink your water, plan your day intentionally, get in your prayer time, and you simply do it 90 days at a time!

Everytime I glimpse it on my desk, or laying open on the coffee table, or on a stack of books where I'm working in my home office, I smile. Every. Single. Time.

The reason?

At the end of THIS 90 days, I will be walking out of my role as a classroom teacher and into my new one as FULL-TIME B&B owner/operator!!! My heart, of course, is alllll over the place. I'm going to miss SO much about the teaching life, primarily my students, awesome coworkers, and - yes - a dependable monthly income! But if I've ever in my life known something for certain, it's that this is the right time, the right decision. I am ready.

What I don't want the next few months to be is a race to the finish. I want so badly to finish the school year out at the top of my game, which isn't always an easy task when my time, energy, and attention is pulled in such opposite directions. I want to live each day intentionally, knowing that there is purpose and pleasure in each and every one of them. And hard work. Always more hard work, right? Every morning, I glance at the list for the day, where I begin with what is Number One for every day: prayer first. This is the time of day that settles me, and helps me prepare in a calm and logical manner whatever the next 15 hours might hold.

So...this super long post in essence is really all about the last two paragraphs only.

In 90 days my life will once again change. I'll go through yet another "transplantation." My daily prayer is that each and every day lived between this one and that last one will be chock full of only the important, the essentials that fuel my spirit, nourish my body, and keep me in a place where I can be my best for my husband, our family, my role as a teacher and tender of young hearts, and my responsibilities in our business.

Winnie the Pooh said it best.

"A good teacher is like a candle - it consumes itself to light the way for others." ~ Author Unknown

I am retiring from teaching.

I typed, backspaced, typed again, backspaced again...numerous times, trying to capture the perfect opening sentence for this blog post.

The truth is, I don't think there is one. Even after deciding on the direct approach, I still hesitated over the word retiring. We all know it's not an actual retirement in which I will still draw a significant amount from TRS each month. Because teaching was a mid-life career change, I couldn't possibly live long enough OR work long enough to reach the formula by which teachers can "officially" retire with any hopes of a semi-decent income. 

Yet, I don't think the right word is QUITTING.

You quit something you no longer enjoy. You quit things that are too hard. You quit things that don't ignite your passion. 

If you were ever really a teacher of the heart, as well as of the mind and soul of a child, you don't quit teaching.

You simply leave at the end of a school year and don't return the next.

The thought of this already makes my heart constrict in something close to pain. As all teachers know, most days are mundane, and also filled with attitudes (poor ones, especially if you teach high school like I do:), lots of tardies and absences, headaches, and much longer hours than the general public realizes. But...just ONE of those rare, sweet days when there is a "light-bulb" moment, or when something extraordinary occurs that your lesson plan didn't account for...just ONE of those is enough to carry you for days, and even weeks at a time.

Many of you thought last year was to be my last in the classroom. For a while, I did as well. Then I had the amazing opportunity to return to my hometown high school as the new Culinary Arts teacher and I just couldn't pass that opportunity up! It has certainly been a wonderful year up to this point, and I get to enjoy three more months in this role, one that I've come to cherish and love and embrace. It doesn't replace my English teacher's heart, but it's a close second:)

Since last August, I've been fortunate (that's lucky AND blessed) to be able to combine my two significant passions - that of teaching and of the hospitality industry - and share these two with about 75 students each day. We've learned recipes, methods, safety, OSHA standards, front house etiquette and backhouse rules and regulations. 

We've shared laughter (lots), tears (not as many but very poignant), thrills, field trips, our problems, "counseling" sessions, and more hugs and smiles that I can even begin to count.  

To say that I'm going to miss teaching is so much of an understatement. Yes, I'm going to miss fulfilling that part of my heart that needs to teach. But I expect I'll always find a way to have teachable moments. I don't believe a real teacher ever vacates the profession; you simply widen your scope and allow for other things to have room in your heart and life as well as teaching. 

That's the fork in the road that I have come to. It's time to widen my scope. Our business has been blessed far beyond what we deserve, and certainly much more than we ever expected it to be this soon. "Soon" is relative since we opened the B&B five years ago! Time has flown and we have worked so, so hard to make it a place that is warm and welcoming, a real asset to our community, and the realization of what we had dreamed for it.

It can't continue to grow and flourish without me taking a day-to-day, "hands-on" position here at the B&B and venue. It's almost humorous to me that I thought I could continue to do both for even a couple more years. Whether it's age or energy, or (hopefully) just the sheer magnitude of what a business with four cabins and a wedding/event venue require - I have found that I can't teach AND be a proprietor and do justice to them both.

I had to make a choice.

I'm sure over the coming months I'll blog more about this newest upcoming transition. Once more, a transplanted gal. When I first named the blog years ago, I had no idea how many times I would refer to myself as a girl transplanted. I think God has had His hand in all of this much, much longer than I have. As always, I am trusting Him for guidance, for direction, and - especially - the wisdom to care for the roles in which He has entrusted to me.

My marriage. My family. Our business.

The heart of a teacher.

This blog post is dedicated to the many, many awesome teachers in my life - my dad before me, my brother, my current co-workers, my past co-workers, and to the many friends of mine who are teachers.

Today was one of those days that is hard on a teacher's heart.

I just walked in from attending the funeral of a 12 year old - one of our 7th grade junior high girls. Bright, pretty, spunky, athletic, with a love of singing...we never anticipated this.

I've "lost" several students in my years of teaching; it's something that never gets easier. It's one of the great many things that college courses do not prepare you for. Being a teacher is a lot like motherhood - you walk around most days with your heart outside of your body.

This precious girl was not a student of mine; her sibling is in our building, and that carries its own weight of grief. But - even more than that - our district is small, our community is small; each loss is felt. The school auditorium (where the memorial service was held) was packed; this is a community where people show up, they are there for one another. I sat in the back row and was overwhelmed with the display of unity and love that was, both, felt and seen.

As I left my classroom this afternoon and began the short walk to the auditorium, I was overtaken with emotion as I paused at the junction where our junior high and high school meet. Right as I was passing by, the junior high students were being led by a whole host of their teachers down the hallway, toward the memorial service for their classmate. Let me tell you, if that scene doesn't bring you to your knees, I'm not sure anything would.

I don't want to "camp out" on this next part, but I do feel it's worth speaking to. The majority of the students we lose are to car accidents, and occasionally a terminal illness. This one...this was a first for me and for many that I teach with. This...was a suicide. Remember, she was 12.

That, in itself, sparks a grief that is hard - as a teacher - to wrap your head and heart around; imagine how difficult it is for the classmates. The pastor conducting the service did such an amazing job - truly one of the most heart-felt, anointed messages I've heard at a funeral. Heartbroken himself, he spoke directly to the family, but also to all of the students. There is a lot of healing and restoration that needs to happen, and he spoke to that and began that process today by pointing folks to Jesus.

When nothing at all makes sense, go to Him.

I rarely go here, mainly because I feel like it is really no longer my story to tell, but like several of the students that I currently teach, I have been touched first-hand by attempted suicide. Fortunately, this person was not successful. But - as a young 24 year old, I know what it's like to receive THE call, to read THE note, and then to spend all day and all night in a hospital room, hoping, praying, BEGGING that somehow, someway life could just go back to being "normal."

But you know what?

It doesn't. You eventually lean into, and then embrace, a new normal. One in which you are no longer the same. You are wary when you never used to be. You look for "signs" at the first appearance of distress or unhappiness. There is a huge, jagged scar that eventually heals, but its presence serves as a constant reminder: life can change at any moment.

I was young, and probably naive in many ways. I had - up until this point - led a pretty sheltered and "untouched" life. The mother of two small little boys, my "one moment" grew me up quickly. The world no longer felt safe, and I didn't know how to stay safe myself, much less keep two toddlers safe.

And that is how - even though I spent all of my growing up years on a church pew - I came to really know Jesus for myself. When nothing made sense, I went to Him, and that has made all the difference in my life since.

If you would, please keep this precious family, our school family - especially her teachers and classmates - and our entire community in your prayers over the days and weeks and months to come. These times tend to have a rippling effect, and we (teachers) must put our own grief, our own disbelief, our own horror aside and be what these kids need.

We will be there to hand out hugs, listen when they need to talk, understand when the school work just isn't getting done, and - most importantly - point them to Jesus.

Because - when nothing makes sense, He always does.

MANUSCRIPTS: Melrose Miracle

Remember last Saturday when I was soooo emotional about The Finding of the Manscripts?

LOL.

I'll attempt to explain why.

A number of years ago, I was a full-time writer. Just saying that makes me still cringe a bit. But not nearly as much as I used to cringe when someone would refer to me as a "writer" or "author," although both were true.

For close to 8 years I devoted the majority of my days to my craft, my passion, my calling. I wrote. Four of my completed manuscripts made it to publication. The first two will forever be special just simply because a small secular publishing house took a chance on a newbie.


If I had the opportunity to revise these two titles today, I would know so much more about character development, plot twists, about being one with your characters.

Still, by God's grace and mercy, These Things We Hold and For Such a Time as This found their publishing home. A few years later, Waking Emma and Saving Grace also found a publishing home. Mind you, this all took place years ago; before I went back to college for my teaching certification, before we moved to rural Northeast Texas, before my teaching career, and definitely before we opened the B&B!

Over the years since, I've often all but forgotten about those days. Days when I would plop in front of my computer after the boys left for their day at school. Days when I would become so involved in my characters' lives that I would have a difficult time transitioning back to my "real world" at the end of the day in order to make dinner, keep house, be a "present" wife and mom, and raise a family.

Once I began school, and then teaching, I all but gave up writing. The occasional blog post was about as far as I ventured into the writing arena in those days. By this time, I had grown somewhat frustrated with the industry and the difficult journey it is to "break into" mainstream publishing. I - by then - had several more manuscripts completed, as well as book proposals that I was insanely excited about - but I was no longer confident that writing was a calling; maybe it was just my hobby.

It seemed that writing had become WORK and much of my previous joy was robbed by the rejection letters, the return of my beloved Melrose Miracle by my equally beloved AGENT (yessss, I actually was under contract with an agent!:), and by the rigorous guidelines and stipulations required to succeed in a very up and coming and competitive industry - that of Christian fiction.

I remember the day I packed up the binders, saved all the manuscripts and proposals to a flash drive, and then stored them all. I truly felt that this "season" of my life was behind me. I knew I wanted to hang onto all of the things from this time period, but I was not a good steward of keeping up with where they were. This was particularly true after several moves, until we settled on the 50 acres of land that we now call the B&B.

Then, a number of months ago, that sleeping giant awoke inside of me and - y'all - I. CAN'T. STOP. WRITING. It's joyful again, healing, even, and I write with abandon, not giving one single thought to trying to become published again. I'm writing for me, to deliver myself of the many stories bottled up inside of me, begging to find their home in word form.

When I switched from teaching English to Culinary this school year, and realized that my Advanced Culinary was made up of all females, Melrose Miracle came to mind. The story of Ella and Luke, a nation-wide Cooking Channel contest - "Restaurant 101" - and a 2nd chance at love and laughter, the perfect combination to share with my culinary ladies.

Except I could not find the binder holding the hard copy. I could not find the flash drive. I couldn't find it online anywhere - even though I had posted it one chapter at a time on an old blog back some years ago. The thought of it BEING GONE was devastating to me.

Days became weeks and weeks became months and still no manuscript.

When I had all but given up, my precious, sweet, unbelievably supportive husband (no matter what kind of shenanigans I find myself in, he never fails to have my back:) spent time searching the very, very back of a very, very packed storage room in the barn...and he found Ella and Luke!!!  (All the praise hands here!)

This binder with this old manuscript of mine now resides in my classroom. I'm not sure when I'll share it with the girls - maybe as a part of their graduation gift...

In the meantime, I'm having the best time reading the novel (my novel!) and even though it never found its home, I can't help but believe that this was all a part of a bigger plan. A plan much bigger, and most likely better, than I could have created or dreamed on my own.

I'm so thankful - so grateful - for so very much these days.

I'm excited for what is happening in my heart as I spend my evenings tucked into my chair in front of my laptop. Just because it feels like home again. 

Much like Ella experienced:

She'd entered this contest on a dare, never in a million years thinking she'd be chosen as a finalist. Then she'd traveled to LA in pursuit of a distant dream, an opportunity to carve out a delicious future for her and Chloe.

But she'd discovered so much more.

Luke Abney had claimed her heart with a gentleness that left Ella breathless. His warmth and tenderness reached inside her to a place Ella thought had withered away when Stephen died. In a short span of time, Luke had taught her two valuable things.

 How to trust her heart again.

And how to trust God again. (Wilder, Melrose Miracle)

Trusting Him with all of my heart, for all of my tomorrows...

Heart matters.

My brother and I spent quite a lot of time together this past summer. We probably had some of the best conversations of our adult lives. I guess the fact that I'm 50 and he has since turned 46 might make that seem kind of sad; I say, better late than never!

There's a whole lot to say for getting a bit older. You care less about the opinions others hold of us, and a whole lot more about the people important to you. It's kind of a strange season in which to be living: so happy and content with where you are in life, but from time to time you wish for that restart button so that you have the chance to go back and do it alllllll right from the very beginning.

But that's Life. 

No restarts. No resets. No do-overs.

You live. You learn. You do better. And you hope like heck that's good enough.

One of our summer conversations launched into a discussion over how much we have all changed - him, me, Mom, Dad - over the past several years. For the two of us, we are further away from our prior younger selves who may or may not have felt the need to analyze, complain, and maybe even pick apart the people we love and - instead - we're much closer to the people we really want to be - accepting and loving children, spouses, siblings, parents, and friends, understanding that those whom we love are not perfect. Just as we're not.

What growing older {and hopefully wiser} teaches us is that the things that sometimes drive us crazy about our loved ones are often manifestations of their own pain and past. We all have those. Maybe our acceptance of those around us for everything they are mirrors the journey of our acceptance of our own weaknesses, our own pain and past, our own paths. And maybe when we accept both - ourselves and those we love for exactly what they are - flawed, coming up short every now and then - and for exactly who they are - our blood, bone, and flesh who love us in spite of ourselves at times...maybe then we create the perfect environment for growth and improvement, and for the greatest love stories.

Some people are very uncomfortable with the idea of disappointing anyone. They think that if you are kind, you'll never disappoint. If you try hard enough, if you manage your time well enough, if you are selfless enough, prayerful enough, godly enough, you'll never disappoint anyone. This type of thinking leads to one place: disappointment in yourself.

I know this because I was this person. On some days I am still this person. But something I know for sure is that along the way you will disappoint others. You won't meet their expectations. You won't meet their needs. The trick is becoming okay in these moments. Know that they are just that...moments. Tomorrow we get to wake up and try all over again. 

Taking care of everyone in our busy lives is a J.O.B.

Am I right? 

Yet we continue to try to do just that - take care of everyone! ALLLL the people. It's just not possible. We are human, mere skin and bones, with a heart that both loves and hurts, and a mind that constantly tries to reconcile the love and the hurt. Wanting it to all make sense, all of the time. 

Again, this is Life. It's not like our check book or bank account. It doesn't always "reconcile." And it for dang sure doesn't always make sense. 

If I think about the relationships in my life being like concentric circles (did I actually just use a MATH term? whaaaat???) with the inner circle consisting of our spouse, children, parent & sibs, and very closest friends. Then maybe the next circle is our extended family and good friends. Then the next one would be people we know, but not well or intimately, maybe coworkers or acquaintances; people we don't necessarily share our true self with. If I think about it all this way, my logic tells me that my aim should be to not disappoint those closest to me - those in that first circle. Yet all too often it's work and all of the extra duties and responsibilities we take on that we place the most value on. Not intentionally, never on purpose. But, usually, the "normal" person only disappoints because they are limited. 

I can only give so much. Hours during the day are limited. Time is limited. On some days, my abilities and strengths are limited. My energy is limited. And yes - my patience as well. 

I find myself disappointed with myself when I feel I don't bring my "A" game to the classroom, when I tell a student I'll write that letter of recommendation and then I forget. When I am scheduled for an ARD or a meeting and I don't remember it until the very last second and I rush in, out of breath, out of energy, and out of patience. 

That's my reality.

My goal for this year is to attempt to bring my heart in more alignment with my logic. Save that energy for the people who deserve it the most. Pray for patience when its needed most, with those I love the most. Give my time and abilities and energy to the relationships that shape me, that raised me, that grew up with me, that love me and shelter me from the winds and storms of this life. 

Does that mean I will care less about my job? About my other responsibilities? Duties? Sponsorships? Committees? 

Not at all.

If it works the way it should - the way I truly believe God intends for it to work - I will have what I need to do what I need to do, when I need it done...if I'm faithful to those He has placed within my closest circle. Those that surround and fill my heart. 

My prayer is that I can do this. 

When the teacher gets taught.

Last year I had a scary thing happen in my classroom.  It was not a fight. It was not a medical emergency. It was not a student that found my authority benign.

In the midst of another lesson and practice at analyzing a literary passage, I was passionately probing my students to go further. I had asked the most important question, “Why?!” for at least the tenth time.  I was pointing out symbolism and metaphor and asking “So, what? Why does it MATTTERRRR?”  with a maniacal grin on my face. 

If you are an English teacher, you KNOW the face and grin that I refer to. It's when we're in our element; in those discussions where the "light bulb" moments tend to happen, where "teachable" moments occur, those instances where students don't realize it at the time, but they'll return two, ten, maybe twenty years from now and tell you the EXACT second when. They. Finally. Understood.

I have found that my passion can be contagious. If only for a few. My students get a glimpse into a deeply rooted belief that it is all about something bigger. Story is what holds humanity together. The stories we read matter, and the stories we write with our lives matter even more.

But as I was oozing enthusiasm as only crazy English teachers can, I heard a whisper:

“It doesn’t.”

The voice seemed so loud I almost thought a student actually said it. But they didn’t. I scanned the room for hints of dissent, but in that moment every student was present; engaged and trying to break the code that only I seemed to understand.

I kept going, calling on every student brave enough to take a stab at the interpretation. But with every hand I called on the voice became louder.

“This does not matter.” 

“What are you doing?” 

“How is this helping them?”

“Seriously, what are you doing with your life?”

It came from within. This voice I could not name was accusing me of wasting my life. I pushed through the day, believing that it was just that, a bad day. However, as the days turned to weeks and the weeks to months this voice haunted me nearly everyday.  I was rounding into the second semester at a new school, with the most supportive administration I had ever had, and quite honestly some of the loveliest children I had ever met, and I hit a wall.

Let me pause and even backtrack a bit and say that I do not think this was a divine voice (aka the voice of God) speaking to me in the middle of our reading of The Glass Castle and questioning whether or not my vocation was making a difference in the life of my students. 

As a daughter of a public educator, I've lived my entire life believing in the fundamental power blocks that make up the system. I believe that every child deserves a healthy system that works amazingly well for them, that serves them fully and well, and this includes well educated, enthusiastic teachers that love their jobs and their subject matter and that strive to bring their 'A' game to the classroom every single day. 

I knew (still know) that my job was not only important, but crucial to my students. But there was something new brewing, and it was also crucial and something that I knew I would be wise to not ignore. 

Long story short, a miraculous thing began to take place in my 5th period class, a class of self-proclaimed "mis-fit" seniors. When I took myself out of the picture and let it become a student-led class (within reason) something beautiful began to happen, and for the first time in my teaching career I was able to partake in a God-thing so healing and so nurturing that I was as changed as those 12 students that sat in a circle that they themselves established in our room. On more than one occasion, the bell would ring and no one would budge. The air amongst us was truly that sacred. We were afraid to move, afraid to disturb or hurry what was happening amongst us. 

The day I said good-bye to those 12 was one of the hardest - and one of the most exhilarating - of my career to date. Hard because the human side of me was going to miss them something fierce. Exhilarating because I knew they were truly, TRULY amazing human beings that were going to thrive and flourish and one day make a difference on the world around them. 

At the end of each day. At the end of each year. At the end of each career...isn't that what teaching is all about?

Grace.

Up until a few years ago, I would have my new "word of the year" all picked out by New Year's Eve. Ready to roll right into it when the clock struck midnight, signaling yet another fresh year - a blank slate, if you will - to do more, be better, see the good, and grow as a result.

Too often, my word turned out to be not much more effective than my New Year's resolutions. For a while, it stayed on my mind and, for a while, I diligently pursued the goal.

Then Life would intervene and I would go off-road, but with every intention to swing back onto course just as soon as everything leveled out. The funny thing about Life though is that our idea of "leveling" isn't always how it happens. In fact, almost never.

At some point there came a NYE when I didn't have a word picked out. I found that this "unplanned" year was not all that different in nature from the ones where I had meticulously plotted how my word would aid my journey from January through December; how I was practically destined to accomplish all the goals I set my mind too simply because I had the mind set to do so. Yet, (there's that word again:) as the days turned into weeks, and then the weeks into months - with still no word - I realized the power must not lie there because I still experienced the very same ebb and flow of Life that I always had.

Plenty of "ups," complete with achievements, meeting goals, and getting that one overlooked closet cleaned out, and then followed by a fair amount of sub-par performances, LOTS of dropped balls, and a closet once again in need of a cleaning after one futile attempt to locate a missing sweater.

So when the word "grace" began to play around in my mind this past summer, I didn't recognize it for what it was for the longest. I don't know if you are like me or not, but I tend to talk to myself; no, not necessarily out loud (although that HAS happened:) but definitely in my head. I found the stresses of this past summer were really working on me, and not in a good way.

Frustration, bitterness, disappointment - anger even, were just a few of the emotions that fought for top billing in my heart. My soul - usually so easily inspired and uplifted - felt bogged with the weight of the circumstances surrounding me. While the issues weren't directly related TO me or mine, they WERE very close. Too close to ignore. Too close to pretend they weren't happening.

I caught myself more than once saying, "Grant them grace." Even though it was a mere thought, it was a reminder for me to take a minute, breathe deeply, and allow the people around me to make mistakes without judgement. To realize that everybody is doing the very best they can, and that sometimes even the "best" just isn't going to be enough. Blame isn't going to do anyone any good. Yet Grace allows for a break, for a realization that - though NOW this person or this situation isn't as it should be - who is to say that they (or it) will not rise to the occasion tomorrow, or next week, or even next year or the years to come?

In late July, after this had been going on for quite a few weeks, I made the decision to leave the English classroom, and come back closer to home, to where I am needed most. The coincidence of being invited to teach culinary within my old district was a surprise and something that could only be a "God-thing." To combine what Mike and I do on the daily - hospitality - with my passion (teaching) seemed almost too good to be true. While I knew there would be a learning curve, I have to admit that I approached the new school year full of confidence and very few fears or trepidations.

The first week went swimmingly.

Then began The Learning Curve, SO much steeper and hillier than I had ever imagined. Transitioning my "home cook" experience into that of a chef trainer in an industrial kitchen, learning the ins and outs (re: do's and don't's) of PO's, activity funds, and requisitions, planning menus for board meetings, alumni luncheons, and football games, all the while teaching four classes I had never taught before turned out to be more than my so-called confidence was prepared for!

Last weekend, as I was driving alone, I mulled it all over in my head. Realistic Staci began to lecture Perfectionist Staci and - in the course of their conversation - I heard myself say out loud, "Give yourself some grace."

Give yourself some grace.

There was that five-letter word again. G-R-A-C-E. So simple, yet so very full of meaning. Life-changing, really. It was time for me to take a minute, breathe deeply, and allow myself to make mistakes without judgement. To realize that I am doing the very best that I can and that, even so, on some days my best just won't be quite enough.

And that is okay.

Fast forward to yesterday's staff meeting, where our amazing principal held up a piece of paper with a single word written on it. "Take some time and think about what YOUR word for this year will be." He challenged us to join the student body, who are all doing this as well, and put our word down on paper, decorate it, and let it join all the others on the cafeteria wall.

I didn't have to think about it.

I knew my word instantly.

It wasn't my word at New Year's.

Instead, just like Life and just like God, the giver of this Life, it raised its voice and spoke truth to me at just the right time.

Grace.

"Life is measured in love and positive contributions and moments of grace." - Carly Fiorina

Standing on the Edge: Balance or Pure Crazy

I’ve blogged on and off for years now. For a while there, it was a part of my daily routine. Then I started teaching and found I’d “used up” most of my words by the time I walked back in the house at the end of a long day in the classroom. I found leaving brief statuses on Facebook much more convenient.

But every once in a while the words just start bottling up inside of me until I have to let them escape. This week is one of those times. SO much going on. Looking back on older blog entries, I’ve mentioned “balance” a lot.

I suck at balance.

Or maybe I’m good at it, but I just hate the balancing process and the stress it can bring.

I think this is because I have the chronic problem of trying to balance too many things at once.  Which, now that I think about it, becomes a much larger (and much more delicate) balance between me and The Edge.  Lately, I feel a bit like I’m staring over said Edge…I’m basically holding on by some fabulous heels, er, make that boots.  {But really, really fabulous ones!}

As teachers, we have So.  Much. To.  Balance.  (Secretly, I think we’d all be really good at juggling plates or flaming batons…comes with the territory.)  We have to balance what we’ve learned in our latest professional development with what we think (and know) works for our friends.  We have to balance what we are passionate about with what is mandated.  We have to balance bathroom breaks with learning time.  We have to balance our desire to stop and look at a topic deeply and the constant  drive from The Powers That Be to move on, move on, cover everything, don’t stop, don’t pass go and (for the love of God) DON’T collect $200, are you crazy?  Teachers are overpaid and get summers off!

Add to the end of the year craziness the fact that we decided for me to take a break from the English classroom and try something completely different in order to be closer to home and responsibilities, the fact that The Hitchin' Post has eight weddings under it's belt since opening in February, and the fact that our family has just been dealt a mean double whammy to the jaw leaves us kind of...off.

The truth is I probably function better when I have a lot going on.  When my plate gets too empty, suddenly I find myself in front of the TV watching hours and hours of  what my husband refers to as “meaningless TV” and wondering where my afternoon went.  Again, though, it’s all about balance.  How much can I pile on so that I stay productive and don’t tip the scales over to Crazed Whirlwind of Activity Yet Actually Finish Nothing Town.  That place blows.

I look around and know I’m not alone.  I heart me some teachers.  I watch many of my fellow teachers struggle with balance as well (which is what leads me to think it’s one of our occupational hazards).  Trying to balance new, purposeful strategies for teaching with what they feel comfortable doing in their classrooms.  Trying to balance new ideas that they are excited about with how much change they realistically think they can handle.

This time of year I feel two things in the classroom. Two things that would seem to be contradictory to one another. First, I feel tired. I could elaborate, but why? Just tired. That’s it. Second, I feel inspired. I’m spending too much time on Pinterest looking for new bulletin board ideas for next school year, and I’m trolling TPT for innovative lesson plans. So, in the midst of the tiredness that comes with this time of the school year, I’m planning for the next.

I guess that is balance, huh?

For today, at least, The Edge doesn’t look scary.

It looks kind of exciting.

Ebb and Flow, People. Ebb and Flow.

Here is Murphy's Law of Classroom Juju.  Hold up, do I need to define Classroom Juju for you?  When I say "Classroom Juju," I am referring to that feeling in your classroom as well as that feeling you get about yourself as a teacher.  It's your vibe, how you're rolling, you know...how you doin'? 

Okay.  Back to Murphy's Law of Classroom Juju.  First let me preface it by saying that I don't believe in "Juju"; I believe in prayer. Lots and lots of it. It's how a teacher survives day after day. But there truly are days when you're just feeling it. If you're like me, you don't always look heavenward with a grateful heart and an appreciative smile; more than likely, you're engaging in your own self-centered "look what I made happen today" kind of dance. 

But, you see, it's like a big 'ol giant pendulum. It's gonna swing back and - when it does - it's gonna be hard enough and swift enough to knock you right off that high horse you climbed on the day before. Because, according to Murphy's Law, a fabulous day in the classroom will be followed immediately by a day that makes you want to light your own hair on fire.  

Picture it:  A crisp fall day.  Your morning routine? Slammin'.  Your reading and writing instruction?  Epic.  Your students independence and stamina?  Unparalleled.  Your test review?  Unreal.  Student level of enthusiasm?  Stoked. Classroom management?  The stuff of genius.  

All in all, you are on your way back to your classroom after dismissal feeling as if you have this week in the bag.  You can practically hear your own theme music following you down the hallway.  Your after school routine is easy, breezy, beautiful.  You chat with a few fellow teachers, there are no pop up meetings or last minute to-dos.  You pack your bag that does NOT have spilled morning coffee in it and head home.  You may even have time to squeeze in a workout.  Say whaaaaa????

Cut to the next day.  OH THE NEXT DAY.  

From the moment you welcome the first few into your classroom they act like it is the first day of school and they have no idea what your routine or rules might be.  You're all, "Guys, it's totally like the 40th day of school."  And they're all, "What's your name again?"  as they throw their backpacks just anywhere (The floor is crowded people; your teacher will trip if you keep this up), shout out that they don't remember their login and password for the grammar program you use EVERY BLESSED WEEK and then proceed to chit chat as opposed to getting down to the business of their morning work.  

One student has a meltdown during 3rd period (boyfriend broke up via text...a text, for the love of all things teenager-ish) the teacher next door lets you know that "your class acted out of control" while you stepped down to the copy room for TWO MINUTES, and  - to add injury to insult, the leftovers you brought for lunch sucked.  On the way back to your classroom after finally ...FINALLY... dismissing your class, you get stopped in the hall by an administrator who reminds you of a meeting that just never made it to your calendar.

I'm telling you, to be a teacher you have either got to be the most balanced chick on the planet OR enjoy riding the emotional ebbs and flows.  What does it say about our confidence that even I (who is in possession of a fairly strong sense of self and capacity if I do say so myself) feel crushed and worthless at the end of a day like this?

The good news?

The pendulum.

You will not  stay on your butt for long. That fortitude that all great teachers have will begin to rise up. You'll go home, have a good dinner, grade an essay that knocks your socks off because it is just That. Good. and you'll sleep the slumber of a Disney princess. Then you'll wake up and begin a new day.

It will go one of two ways. <Smile.>

And that is why we do this, day after day after day. We love the ebb and flow, the unexpected glimpse of a heart touched, the smile of a shy one who feels safe in your presence, the magic that happens when a lesson ignites a spark of understanding. 

We are teachers. We thrive on ebb and flow.