I was recently asked the question: "How was your day?" Ok, no big deal ... this gets asked fairly often and normally a simple "Pretty good!" would suffice, but this time was a little different. When I replied with "I'm exhausted, so it must've been good, right?" answer, the question that followed took a minute for me to respond. The question of "Did you teach them anything new today?" would normally receive the response of DUH! They learned 10 more numbers, 5 new words, read a new book, wrote a new story, AND learned how butterflies became butterflies ... of course they learned something new! But that wasn't the answer this time. As I reflected on what I was really teaching my babies on a daily basis, I sort of came up with an answer that was pretty fitting. Because no, 4 of my kiddos still don't know the new words I taught; and no, 2 of my kiddos still hold a book upside down; and (believe it or not) no, some of the precious little ones still don't realize butterflies don't just randomly give birth to a new butterfly. BUT I am teaching them to love learning. In all reality, if they were so engaged in the activity of cutting and pasting caterpillars, eggs, and butterflies to their favorite color of construction paper that they truly couldn't wait to come back the next day to finish it, then I felt pretty accomplished. If they still can't tell me that the word and is indeed the word and, but get up front and center of the class to lead the chant of the day (which is simply singing A-N-D-AND over and over again) and beg to lead again the next day, then I feel pretty good. When a child loves to learn, their eyes light up. When their eyes light up, they ask questions. When they ask questions, they get answers. When they get answers, they feel more confident. When they are confident, they are more apt to do it all over again. So I answered the question of "What did you teach today?" with a simple "I'm working on each and every child to leave my classroom with questions for the next day because they simply love learning."
What you do know:
Some of the best leaders know when to follow.
What you don't know:
At a very young age, I was put into leadership positions that were out of my control because I "possessed leadership qualities". At the age of 9, I was the lead pianist for my dad's church, as well as a Sunday school teacher for 3-5 year olds. At the age of 12, I was a team captain for two different teams. At the age of 17, I was a team captain, an editor for the school newspaper, "president" of three clubs, and put together a production for the community that raised money for breast cancer awareness. At the age of 20, I was the Aquatics Programming Assistant at the YMCA (in charge of lifeguards/swim instructors), Head Resident Advisor (in charge of other Resident Advisors), and I was on the leadership team for Fellowship of Christian Athletes and Kappa Delta Pi Honor Society. At the age of 22, I am struggling. Yes, I am the leader of my classroom, but it has definitely not been an easy journey. Some of the best leaders know when to follow, right? Well my first year of teaching has been extremely difficult to let other people (who have learned the ropes) take control of meetings and plan events. I feel as though I haven't yet been given the opportunity to let my leadership show. But I'm working on it! I am getting more involved in a church that I LOVE, I am leading next week's book study for the Kindergarten teachers, I am helping run an event or two at school, I am back to playing volleyball with friends and am stepping up on the court. I now understand that following may be difficult at times, but it is really eye opening as to how to take strategies and tips from others who are leading and apply them to when I do get the opportunities I have been waiting for.
What you do know:
I'm a fairly quiet person.
What you don't know:
It's because I try to do everything possible to not offend anyone. I would rather bite my tongue, go home and shed some tears at night, and get up the next day and give you a great big hug when I see you, than to ever tell you that I'm hurting, offended, or even miserable. I would bend over backwards, give you the shirt off my back, drive to pick you up at 4am 2 hours away and give you a place to crash indefinitely for just about anyone, no matter how many times you have hurt me. Yes, I am just as much at fault for letting people walk all over me as they are for doing all the walking, but in all reality, it's just who I am. My mother worded it perfectly over the phone yesterday. She said, "You go into any relationship fully trusting that the other person is going to do the right thing. But slowly, when their decisions lead to that trust dwindling down little by little, you are left with none. And trust is one thing that is very hard to repair once it's been broken." She is absolutely right! She described trust one time as being similar to a bundle of sticks. When the first stick is taken from the pile, the pile is still pretty strong. It more than likely still can't be broken. Once another stick is taken from the pile, the other sticks bend much easier, but it's still pretty strong. Each time a stick is taken from the pile, the pile becomes weaker and weaker until eventually, the last stick snaps! That stick can always be glued back together, but the glue will eventually wear off. It can be taped back together, but the tape will lose it's stickiness. It can be stitched back together, but it's never quite the same. One or two punches might knock the wind out of us, but we will eventually stand back up and keep on truckin'. But when we are being kicked while we're still down, now that's hard to recover from. When we get up, we will be hurting. We will probably be able to walk again, and from the outside no one else will even know we were just lying on the ground gasping for air. But in that moment we were gasping for air, we realized that we can avoid the awful feeling and just steer clear of the one knocking us down and lean towards the one who was reaching their hand out to pick us up each time. Friends knock the wind out of us every now and again. It is inevitable. They take a stick from the bundle and toss it far away. But true friends, don't do it on purpose. And they sure as all get out don't keep doing it over and over again. And they most definitely do not kick us while we are down, they are the ones reaching out their hands telling us to get back up and that the sting will stop shortly. They are the ones who sense states away that something may be up and just randomly send a message. They are the ones who seemed to have taken a stick out of the bundle when life threw them a couple of lemons. But they took that stick to use as a bat and sent those lemons flying the other way. They took that stick and found a bigger one and sent it back to you making that bundle stronger than it ever was. They are the ones worth investing time in, not the ones kicking you while you're down. So my quietness? It's not being stuck up. It's trying to not hurt you. It's trying to not take your stick. It's taking one of my sticks from the bundle and handing it to you because you seemed to need it at that moment. It may be all I have to give you, but I'll give it to you in a heartbeat without ever expecting to see it again. That quietness ... that's wheels turning in my head what I can do at that moment to be what you need me to be when you need me to be it.
What you do know:
I love my babies and they love field trips.
What you don't know:
(well you probably do know) ... I'm absolutely exhausted from exploring with the little ones today, so I reckon it's time to change into some comfy clothes, maybe go splurge on a smoothie, and go find some sticks to add to my bundle. Thank you for taking time out of your day to read this. ta-ta-for-now!
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