only blog for yourself; don't blog and expect anyone else to read it.
Happy Anniversary, Stout Nation. Your gift is an amazing story:
I've had a very professionally frustrating year. My personal life is better than ever: great husband, two adorable children (er, I mean, shih-tzu puppy dogs), and a house full of so many things that collect dust. My professional world this year has left me feeling some pretty dark roast feelings.
Last week I felt the lowest I've felt all year long, which was rather shocking as I thought I had truly reached my professional rock bottom in the Spring.
This past weekend, my church put on a performance of The Music Man and I had been contracted to play flute/piccolo (Reed 1). Thursday was our opening night and I arrived in plenty of time to sit in the chapel and have a conversation with God about how downright low I felt. I sat in the dark chapel, lit only by the setting sun, and put my head in my hands and had a heart to heart.
What I told God is going to be kept close to the vest due to Heavenly Father Privilege, but what I will share is that when I quickly found myself running out of words, I asked God to come and sit with me. Simply to sit. I thought that feeling His presence would help me feel less alone and more peaceful. No problem solving, no list of requests; simply a pew partner to sit by me and bring me peace.
Well, after visiting the chapel pew tissue box and setting a spell with what I hoped was the Holy Spirit of the big man upstairs, I decided to stop by the break room to fill up my water bottle before heading in the performance pit to warm up. When I walked in, I saw one of my most favorite mentors sitting at a table, checking her phone. As soon as she saw me, she jumped up to give me a big hug and I melted into--yet another--puddle of tears.
She asked why I was so upset and I talked everything through with her. Toward the end of our conversation, she told me that she wasn't even supposed to be at church that evening for a collection of reasons that all came to her at the last minute. She had made a completely unscheduled stop at the church to catch our opening night performance.
She wasn't even supposed to be at church, but she was there. Sitting. Waiting to sit with me.
Okay, God. I'm listening. (But wait, there's more listening to be done...)
On Saturday morning, I was talking through ALL of the feelings with my husband and I asked him to help me come up with some kind of mantra to help me pull away from all of the feeling that have been surreptitiously building over the previous 12 months. (This totally comes under his job description of "General Manager" of Stout Nation, btw.) After some discussion, he said my mantra should be "I make a difference," because I do. He said, "You make a difference to thousands of kids every single year and you are so incredibly important. They wouldn't be who they are without you, and don't you forget it. You make a difference."
I verbally patted him on the shoulder and went on with my day thinking about how "I make a difference" sure is a self-absorbed mantra. I also thought about how there's absolutely no way I could ever tell myself "I make a difference" without avoiding eye contact with the next person I pass.
4 young people: Excuse me, did you teach music at (redacted) Elementary?
Me: Yes! I'm Miss (redacted)!
2 of the young people: We knew it! You taught us music!!
Me: Oh! How Awesome! You all look very different, so tell me your names.
They told me their names and then told me that two of them were juniors in college and two were juniors in high school. I immediately recognized their names and I was able to tell the high school junior girls that they were identical twin (they didn't look very identical on Saturday evening; they've really come in to their own!!). I also told them that they had specific colors that their mother made them wear to school so that the teachers could tell them apart, and that one of them loved pandas in 4th grade and the other was in horseback riding lessons. They (and I!) were astonished at what I could remember about their family!
I asked them who they knew in the cast, and the college junior boy said that they didn't know anyone but that he was taking a theatre appreciation class and was required to attend performances and write reports. I asked how they found out about this performance and he said they found it in an internet search.
HOLD THE iPHONE.
Finding this performance through an internet search was no simple task. Even on his most amazing day, Al Gore couldn't have foreseen this turn of events being sponsored by an internet search.
The twin girls told me about how I had taught them about The Music Man in 4th grade. You see, I use a major musical every Spring to teach my students about the beauty of storytelling through a musical. They know up, down, and sideways that a musical is a story that is told through acting, singing, and dancing. We completely disassemble a musical to study the story, the choreography, they way in which the lyrics of the songs add to the telling of the story, etc...We infer, detect, summarize, and use every possible higher order thinking skill to experience an understanding and appreciation for the great stories like The Music Man, Singing in the Rain, and Hello Dolly.
The twin girls couldn't tell me fast enough about how they knew that a musical is a story told through singing, dancing, and acting. And how they could tell that Harold was on the train because he was the only one not talking. And how they understood when Marian was in the library and dancing that she was really listening. And why there were duets. And how important (insert song here) was because it told the audience that (insert character name here) was beginning to think (insert thought). These girls played verbal musical volleyball in front of my very eyes and kept trying to outscore each other. I asked the girls when they had most recently seen The Music Man (because they sounded like such experts!). They told me that the last time they saw it was with me in the 4th grade.
Any dramaturg would have DROOLED to hear them talk about the production.
As I worked through my stunned state of mind at how these girls sounded like absolute authorities on the performance, the college boy and I talked through what he was going to write in his report. I thanked them for coming to the performance and encouraged them to go meet the actors in the receiving line. And then it hit me:
- These young people drove 40 minutes one way to get to the performance.
- These young people were actually able to find the posting of our performance on a website that I find difficult to navigate.
- These young people were thoughtful and reflective about what they saw in the performance. Thoughtful and reflective in ways that made me so incredibly proud and pushed beyond the simple boundaries of recalling and retelling. Their minds were firing with ALL cylinders.
- God sent me these four angels to tell me that "I make a difference."
When my husband came home after work on Saturday night, I told him this amazing story. His first comment:
"So, God confirmed my words and said I was right." :)
Let's hope that we each remember we make a difference. We might not know that our time and actions are making a difference in the immediacy of today, but it's happening, friend. Difference is being made and it's starting in our own zip code. At our house. With us.
I'm going to do everything I can to make moments with my students count this year, and now more than ever I can't hardly wait to have them walk through my doors.