Coming Back

02 May 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Family, Friends, Happiness, Moody Bible Institute, Summer

It’s hot outside. Classes haven’t started yet but they will soon; another day, maybe two. It’s the middle of August, 2012, and students are slowly trickling back to this downtown campus. I’ve been here since Tuesday, so has The Roommate.

There are other girls here too; carting suitcases and boxes upstairs from waiting minivans, dragging bins out of storage. Moving into a dorm room stripped bare every summer is a long task, but we prop our doors open and the hot Chicago wind blows through the open windows, and there are people arriving, people welcoming, people shouting, downstairs in the Plaza.

The new students have already moved in. Seven of them. August, of course, means new friendships and new faces and new voices in the hall, and it’s funny to think that August has no idea what May will look like. But May looks back and August is hopeful, excited, anticipatory.

The new students are here, and the returning students fill in the empty rooms every day. There are more doors opening and shutting every morning, on the way to and from the shower, meetings, breakfast, New Student Orientation functions. There are more soft, padding steps on the flat hallway carpet. This floor is coming alive.

But not everyone is back. Ellie Rose lives across the hall, three doors down. At the end of last school year, I stayed on campus until the very end, until graduation, and that last night, four of us (Ellie Rose being one), we laid on that dingy hallway carpet, amidst the suitcases and Goodwill and garbage bags. Packing up is a hard thing to do; I don’t understand how everything so expands, grows, accumulates at school. So we laid there at one in the morning, taking a break from all that packing. Then in the morning life began again, and we went to graduation, finished packing, moved out.

But that was last May and now it’s August and Ellie is back. She’s brought Spider Boy with her, after hosting his highness all summer long, and working to unpack in my room, I can hear her voice, hear her music, hear her calling for me (she calls me Nataline) just down the hall.

Mar is back. She’s moved from next door to the end of the hall, just one more door down, and once again, May looks back at August and how could I know that I’d spend so much time in that end cap room? A year spent as neighbors, Mar and I have created memories, and her water-blue eyes and gentle smile feel like coming home.

The Neighbor’s not back, though. The Neighbor, whose real name is Krista. The Neighbor with that blonde hair, long down her back, and blue eyes. We get along, we always say, because we’re the only ones who laugh at each other’s jokes. But I think she’s hilarious, and she builds my self-esteem right up; people roll their eyes sometimes, because they can’t see just how funny we really are.

And she laughs at my humor, sends grinning emoticons on the group message that circulates our phone, but she’s not here yet. We’re not quite whole yet.

~~

She came later. Not the very last one to return, but close. With her arrival, she completed our floor. We were waiting for her, counting down the hours until we knew she’d return. She texted in the morning, at the gate, before take-off, after landing, on the train; we asked her for updates constantly. When will you be here?

I didn’t realize she had arrived. There were loud voices, exclamations, in the bathroom, Mar’s, Ellie’s voices ringing loud off the tiled walls. Elevator dinged up and I stepped off, tucking my keys in my pocket. I could hear the noise from the hallway. Three voices, I recognized them instantly: Ellie. Mar. Krista.

Krista!

I ran the last two steps to the bathroom, pushed through the swinging door. Two rows of stalls, a sink and the showers at the back, the girls are in the middle, in the center of the room. The Neighbor had her back to me, that white-blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail that brushed her back with every swing of her head. I said her name, must have, because she turned around and then those bathroom walls shook with echo because we were screaming and hugging and the other two were yelling, and we were all talking at once, and suddenly, everyone was back.

Everything was just right.

~~

The summer will change things, of course. The upcoming months will grow relationships, stretch them, change us all. And there will be new hearts on the floor this August, new friends, new family. And there will be old friends, too. Returning students, hearts I know, stories I’m familiar with, faces I love. And we’ll count down the hours until everyone’s back, and we’ll yell in the hallways, laughing, talking all at once when another sister steps off the elevator, makes her way down the hall. Things will be different, but they’ll be the same, too. Because these friends are family and these friends are sisters, and everything will be all right.

~Natalia

Life Right Now {#43}

24 Apr 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Life Right Now, Moody Bible Institute, Photos, UP

hellomoon

Looking UP at a Moody spring moon on Monday night.

~Natalia

So Blessed

21 Apr 2013 2 Comments

by nataliaria in College, Friends, Moody Bible Institute

I spent the night at my house last night. Home time is a wonderful hodgepodge of delicious food, jokes with the father and brother, chasing three little munchkins around the house, and staying up late with the mother. I love those weekends.

Then I came back to school this afternoon; rode the red line all the way back to school and walked back to campus in the warm afternoon sun, up to a quiet floor. The Jen and Mar Bear, on their mutual quest to watch all the dramas, are on season two of One Tree Hill, and I kicked shoes off, shrugged jacket off and climbed onto Jen’s bed to watch an episode.

We had open house tonight, the guys came over to the floor and we played games and yelled and ate, ate, ate all the food. But in between Chad Michael Murray drama and open house, there was a delicious Guatemalan meal, sitting around circle tables in the student center, tossing English and Spanish back and forth across fried plantains and tacos.

Then open house, games, fun, treats. All the guys left at 9- that’s school policy- and it’s Katie’s birthday, of course, and all these girls, we sat around in the lounge and celebrated that sweet girl.

Now it’s 10pm and another week, only three more until finals week, begins tomorrow. I’m tired, right now; so very tired. But I don’t want to stop. Sometimes, Sunday nights are quiet, closed in my room, preparing for the week to come. But not tonight. Not tonight because this floor, these girls I live with: this time doesn’t happen again. Things change every month, every semester, every year, and the days of this school year are ticking down.

So I’m not stopping. Nelle’s room two doors down on one side, the JenMar room two down on the other side, with The Neighbor in the middle. On Friday night, The Neighbor and the Jen and I braved heavy April snowflakes for a Chipotle dinner, and then back and school, Di slept in that hallway end room. Mar came back from work late, found three girls almost asleep, One Tree Hill playing quietly while the snow fell outside.

The episode ended and the lights flicked off and we talked and laughed until it fell silent and when I woke up later, I realized that we had laughed ourselves to sleep.

And I burst into Nelle’s room after classes, toss book bag on her bed and we catch up. And The Neighbor and I are Target buddies; I’d never turn down Target. And Ellie Rose and those sweet ones at the end of the hall and of course, I could never stop now.

I’m tired, but sleep comes soon and then another week, and I’ll never have time to soak up this life, these girls, these relationships, times, blessings. I’m so blessed.

~Natalia

In August

15 Apr 2013 1 Comment

by nataliaria in College, Moody Bible Institute, Summer

We have these meetings just in April. Three of them, each on a Monday night. We climb those musty concrete stairs, into that classroom. It’s one of the big classrooms, at the end of the blue carpeted hallway. We all meet up there and we sit at the long tables, the skinny ones that seem barely wide enough to hold a notebook. We all sit there and we prepare.

We’re preparing for August 21st. It’s a Wednesday. The Wednesday when the half-circle parking lot in front of the clock tower is filled with cars rolling, rolling through. Cars stacked with bins and suitcases, pillows tucked into back seats, mini-fridges always fit awkwardly.

Then, in August, we’ll all stand outside in the hot city air, and we’ll wait for all these new students. In August, we’ll pull carts bumping down over the short curb, and we’ll balance bins on boxes, pile baskets on top, grab hold of the pillow because it’ll probably fall off.

In August, we’ll talk those new students across the Plaza; a Plaza full of tables, booths, teams. There are more than thirty student groups here at Moody, and their all in the Plaza on that move in day, waiting to talk to these new students. And we’ll pull those heavy-loaded carts right across the Plaza, snaking past all the clubs and the teams and the groups and organizations. We’ll pull those carts right into the buildings, up the elevator- two carts fit, I know- and then in a second, those new students have seen their room for the very first time.

In August, we’ll welcome all these students to a brand new home: Moody Bible Institute.

But it’s April now and we’ve no need for carts because the Plaza is empty and full of rain today. It’s April and we have these meetings and we’re a team working together and talking together and laughing together, and planning together, of course. And we design the shirt and the schedule, and we talk it over, shout it out, from our seats at those long, skinny tables.

And then when the meeting’s over, we walk in the rain back to dorms and homework and another week ahead. And weeks turn into months quickly and it’s just over four months, August 21st comes bright, hot, early, and the new students come, too.

~Natalia

School Home Family

29 Mar 2013 1 Comment

by nataliaria in Family, God, Happiness, Home, Love, Moody Bible Institute, Remember, Target, Train

I’ve written before about my dorm floor at school. I’ve told you about my dorm. I’ve written about The Neighbor and The Roommate and Nelle and Jen and Mar and Ellie Rose, and the collection of other lovelies that live up and down that carpeted hall. I’ve told you how I want to remember these times, these conversations, these friends.

I’ve told you all that and it’s all been true: I love the school I attend, the floor that I live on, the ladies I live with. But recently, these past weeks, a shift that’s been creeping up quiet came slowly into focus, and I realized that my floor really is a home; these girls really are sisters.

It sounds a little bit redundant, probably, or maybe simplistic and obvious. Of course it’s home- I’ve lived there for almost two school years. Of course they’re sisters- aren’t we all family in Christ anyway?

And yes, I have lived on the floor rather a while (and I have every intention of returning to the same room this fall), and yes, we are all children of God, but these past days, I’ve settled into that floor, that home, like never before. God dropped me onto the floor, pushed me right along with That Roommate, 18 months ago, and I can only believe that He’s the One who’s making it home, making us family, now.

It’s a funny feeling, almost. Funny because I didn’t even think about it, didn’t realize it until later, because it all felt so natural, so settled, so peaceful, so right.

Felt like that when Jenny and I dumped backpacks in rooms, and grabbed jackets and purses for a Tuesday afternoon outing to Target. Maybe you remember that my love for Target is deep and wide, and it’s a long and lengthening list of floor sisters who I’ve accompanied on errands to that wonderful red and white store.

Jen and I rode the train, just a short trip deep under the busy Chicago streets, and it felt even shorter because there’s a bond of mutuality from living, studying, being together on that floor, and we talked about everything. We got to the big Target, the Roosevelt one, and pushed the cart up and down Easter aisles, past the school supplies, upstairs to look at mattress pads, and to survey the cute baby clothes, because we had a little time. Walking back down the hill is easier, and I bought a snack, we took turns dipping miniature crackers into the accompanying frosting all the way back to the underground train.

I study and I work, and my calendar is full of little boxes delineating just what there is to be done, but sometimes those things can be done alongside others; I took my computer into Nelle’s room the next day, to study and socialize. But she wasn’t there, even though she said she’d be, and the opportunity couldn’t be passed up. So I slipped right into that space between the wall and the bed, and knees curled to my chest, that’s where I did homework. And soon enough, the door clicked and swung open, and I waited a moment before raising my head, peeking my eyes over the side of the bed, and what a stroke of luck. Nelle was looking my way, and the silent surprise of a head appearing on the side of the bed made her eyes spread wide and her eyebrows shoot high, and in the moment before she could raise her voice against my creeping, we were already laughing.

We do Target and creeping and homework and laughing, but she comes into my room on Monday night, because the door was open, and I’m on the bed, surrounded by homework, doing not a thing. So she sits on my desk chair and I was right there on the bed, we talked about God and boys and sovereignty and fear, and the verse that she put on my wall.

And really, when you think about it, there’s so much that could go wrong, so much that could get off, that when 24 girls come together to make home, it really can only be the work of God.

~Natalia

Come Here

05 Mar 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Blogging, Chicago, College, Family, Moody Bible Institute

There’s a contingent of individuals who came across this blog via the Moody Bible Institute website. There’s a page for Admissions and a tab for Connect with Us and a section of Moody students who are in the habit of blogging their days, and my picture is on there. There are five or six thumbnail pictures stacked one on top of the other, with links to blogs next to names and mini bios. Five or six and I’m one of them, and some of those who click here come because of that page.

They come because of Moody.

I’ve thought about what I’d want to read, if I was three years ago, thinking and wondering and planning four years in the Windy City, four years studying at the Moody Bible Institute. If I was a senior in high school once again, what would I want to read about this school?

Sometimes my writing is a little scattered, a little random. If you’ve been around a while, you probably already know that about me. But I work at the pool, that’s an off-campus job, and I work in Admissions, on campus, and the application deadline for Fall 2013 is coming very soon, and the file cabinet in the office is full of heart stories. God’s leading them here. To Moody.

We call them prospectives. What would you like to know about this place, dear prospective?

Would you know about the game room? We have one. Second floor, ASC. You don’t know those abbreviations, but you will, and you can add them to the other jargon we accidentally throw around. Like CPO and SDR and Commons and pretrib and SLAC and systheo. But there is a game room, and I walked by with Mar today, and we stopped outside to talk with someone else, and we all stood in that upstairs hallway while a guy in the game room pretended to hit another with the pool cue and a ping-pong ball escaped the table and rolled away.

Do you want to know about the library? Because I spent the day there. Tall tables, short tables, group tables, single tables; they’ve laced book space with work space and I hunted up and down for an outlet because I want just this desk, but my computer battery lasts about a minute for every year that my dad has lived, and he’s not a very old man. I found an outlet.

Do you want to know about the SDR, that basement dining room? I ate there three times today, then hauled my backpack on and walked all the way down that sloping tunnel, the long window above me receding with every step down.

I could tell you about the laundry room, the floor where I live, the athletic facility, the classroom buildings. This school has become my story these past two years and there is much that I could tell you about.

But I sat in the back of Chapel today. President’s Chapel means Dr. Nyquist spoke, and my highly biased opinion ranks him second behind D.L. himself for best MBI president. I got there early, quite, and I sat right there in the middle, where we always sit. But that wasn’t working and the phone was buzzing, so I did that slow meander walk up the carpet aisle, to the back. I stood and I waited, just a moment or two, to let others fill that red-seat Chapel, to wait for… something. Then I poked my head back through those swinging wooden doors and Mar had appeared in the back rows. So I sat with her. And The Neighbor came, too, and Olivia, as well.

Sitting back here, I can see everything. Not the balcony, of course, I’m too far back for that, but all those heads, backs, jackets, hairstyles in front: I see them. And I sat in the back and I listened to the president with the white hair and the black suit, and I looked over all those people, and I realized that I can’t tell you this. I can’t tell you what it is to settle into that Chapel seat, knees pulled up, and to know a place of family. A place where we have Jesus Christ in common and we all know that we’re bought at a price, and we all live in that God moment.

I can’t tell you what that’s like, prospective. You just gotta come here.

~Natalia

A Life I’m Loving

03 Mar 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in College, Family, Friends, Moody Bible Institute, Wedding

The Friday night conversation is always the same. The Roommate is in bed before me, she props herself on one arm, reading a book, working on her computer. I shuffle around the room, brushing my teeth, pulling the day’s discarded clothes off my bed, onto my desk chair. Are you sleeping in tomorrow? she asks. It’s generally times when my head is in the sink, toothpaste swirling down the drain, when she asks such things, and I pop up, white fluff on the corners of my mouth. Eh? She repeats the question.

I tell her probably not, which by 9am becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, and she nods; I probably am. That’s the conversation, it’s the same every time. She sleeps late, I don’t. Small children have morning curfews, before which they wait eagerly in their rooms, confined to their space until the sacred hour arrives when it is permissible to stir, talk, move, get up. My Saturday morning is a self-imposed morning curfew, and I lie painstakingly still until there is 10:30am yelling in the hallway, then at least it won’t be my noise that wakes The Roommate.

This Saturday Moody’s drama group is doing Midsummer Night’s Dream, and The Roommate talks me into buying tickets in the brief span between waking up and lunch time. So I agree and she buys the tickets online and 7pm, we’ve finished dinner and we walk downstairs to that classroom auditorium; the big one. I had forgotten that Shakespeare’s English is a little rusty, or maybe it’s the other way around, and I estimate 30% of my play-watching efforts are spent deciphering this Ancient English.

But people who saw the play Friday say it’s funny, very funny. Two hours are long enough for intermission in between, and it is an entertaining show. And there’s a fairy named Puck, and this small-campus school, of course I’ve seen this girl around. But walking past a stranger in the SDR at lunch is different that watching a girl invent a character onstage, and I’m captivated by her manner. I’m not the only one, either; she’s a strong actress, and the others on stage, too. There’s another dimension of entertainment allowed, when those stepping on stage are classmates and floor-mates and friends from around the school.

We like the play so much, The Roommate and I go back Sunday afternoon to sit in those auditorium seats and watch the second half all over again.

And after that Saturday play, we go right back upstairs, hurrying, because there are things to be accomplished this weekend. I do some of those things, I’m working on more, when they pound and the pound on the door. I say come in just a little, because they’re loud, won’t hear anyway, and eventually, the door opens. Nelle, Mar and Jen stand in the doorway, Nelle holds a small container of popcorn. They’re watching a movie, will we come over, too? But I’ve things to do and I say no, then watch The Roommate follow the three out our door. The second assignment finishes faster than others, and this thing I’m doing now can be done with company. So I unplug the computer, and balance phone on pink keyboard, and down the hall, four girls on the couch, I climb onto Nelle’s bed.

Jen’s sister is in town, an older sister attending a wedding, and she comes in behind me, fancy dress still crisp and bright. She sits on that couch, it fits five and probably more, and I’m working on my computer, but listening, too. They watch the film and then it ends and the five women on the couch talk and chat. This sister, she looks very much like our Jen, and she’s talking about study and Spanish and Latin American children, and my computer screen loses my attention rather quickly. She looks up at me, where I’m sitting on that soft white Nelle bed, You know Spanish, right? And conversation goes, goes, goes; I’ll remember this heart as one devoted to the Lord.

Sunday evening is Open House, the guys came to our floor. But Spring Break comes on Friday, and we’re rather short on time; I made 54 mini-muffins just like last Open House, but there were leftovers tonight. But the guys over or not, us girls, us sisters, we sit in the lounge, in the kitchen, in the bedrooms, and with all the doors open, it seems more like a home now than any day other.

And a million other things happened this weekend, which many I’ll not tell you here. But a snapshot’s a fair shot to get an idea, of the life I’m loving to lead.

~Natalia

Not Fear

27 Feb 2013 1 Comment

by nataliaria in Bible, College, Friends, God, Moody Bible Institute

Weeks ago, maybe a month or two, we’re sitting there talking and she says something about worry, about fear, and there was prayer after that, too. Prayer when we break into small groups of two, three, and the room is a small room but it’s funny to feel bigger when His presence comes so close. And then we are done and the meeting is over, and I go back to room, back to desk, back to homework and school, but I remember her words.

And the next morning, I’m sitting in class, kicking legs slow under the long, narrow table. And the professor has us open that Book, and I pulled my Bible out of the back pocket of the backpack, and open right up to where he says. And someone else reads, and I’m listening, really, but another section, another verse, catches my eyes, and I read that, too.

For God gave us
a spirit not of fear
but of power
and love
and self-control.

And I read that verse, and suddenly, the end of class can’t come fast enough. But it comes, finally, finally, and class ends a bit early, I’m in chapel early, too. And I sit in that red, chapel chair, with the heavy backpack under my seat, and I pull out my Bible and a notebook, and I write that verse. God and Power and Love stand out strong, curly, half- cursive letters that I run the pen over and over again for emphasis. I write the word “fear” tiny; just one layer of ink, so it’s small and plain and as unimpressive as possible.

Fear’s just a small thing when you think how great, great God is.

I sat in that chapel as students filed in all around me, and the conversation buzz rose higher and higher, and I wrote that verse. Seventeen words on that notebook page, swirling, strong, letters that sink heavy with weight because one doesn’t simply talk about God’s power without feeling something deep down.

And later, when it’s night out and there’s movement on the floor up and down the hallway, I go into her room, that blue-lined notebook page clutched in my hands, and I stick it on her wall. It’s by the bed, that verse, on the wall by the window, next to a pink sticky note that’s been there so very long. She likes it, she says. Loves it. Wakes up to it every morning, falls asleep breathing confidence and peace in that verse. I’m glad I did it.

And weeks go past and heart battles aren’t won in an hour or a day or a week, and I don’t know why fear is a sweater I’d rather not be wearing, but I’m accidentally slipping into it more and more lately. Nobody likes to be afraid, and just when I’ve insulated myself safe in the depths of an imagined utopia, the hand dryer in the bathroom catches me off guard, and the instant heart grip of fear shoots all the way through my body. I force a deep breath past the pounding heart and rising irritation with my own weakness; maybe there’s good reasons to be scared, but a dryer in the bathroom at Moody Bible Institute is not one of them.

I told my heart this, but hearts are fickle things and I feel powerless when fear starts on the inside and takes the outside right along with it.

But prayer and faith and the Word of God rise from all around, and they begin to bear down on that fear root inside. And the anxiety lessens, and I get on that train and ride to the library and back, and if there’s fear in this heart, it feels small just now. And I move and I go, because life moves right forward, while the taste of fear licks up around thoughts, plans, actions.

And tonight at my desk, facing a door wide open, she appears in the space that leads from hallway to room. She steps inside, my bed’s right by the door, and she’s got that paper, that verse in her hands. I’m putting this in here for a while, she says, and she sticks that God verse right next to my bed. And those letters bold, God and Power and Love, they’re what I’ll wake up to every morning now, and the city glow slides in dim, I’m falling asleep to a verse of courage and faith right over my head.

And the words of the verse like a guard on my heart, trust and hope pour down strong, and they’re drowning out fear.

~Natalia

Keep Moving On

25 Feb 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Blogging, Chicago, Moody Bible Institute

I like to celebrate anniversaries on this blog. Whether or not I write about them, there’s a counter on the sidebar, shows up every time I hit publish, and I’m keeping track. 100 posts, 500 then, and still moving forward. Leadmewhere had its first birthday, and then its second, and I marked every one of those days as they slipped past.

The WordPress counter ticked closer and closer to 700, and I watched the digits climb. 700′s a high number, and for some reason 700 posts seemed like so many more than 600. 697, 698, 699, and then 700 came and went and I said to you not a word. I told you about the sweethearts I work with at the pool, how I thought about kissing a goat, and how I’ve completely fallen in love with the Word of God. My post count hit and then dutifully exceeded what seemed to me such a monumental amount, and life both in its tangible sphere, and here in this internet space, continued right along.

I sat in writing class today, and there was a lull in conversation, a lull in my attention, a lull in my desire to be where I was just at that moment. Twelve students, we all had heads bent over paper, listening to the teacher give writing prompts, then falling once again into silence while we wrote, wrote, wrote our answers. But there’s a space on my paper, folded into my notebook, where I didn’t answer her questions at all. There’s a miniature paragraph, just a couple of lines, where my paper took the form of a conversation with myself, and it seemed right to converse with me in Spanish. So there’s words on that page, saying that I’d rather not be, and I wish we’d move on, in my notebook in Spanish. And soon, the assignment was finished and we closed our notebooks, and indeed, life moved on.

Day One was on Friday, and the upstairs coffee shop filled with students in high school yet, and their parents came along, and us Moody student workers, we wear shirts that say Ask Me My Story. And they did. So I told them. I told them elementary education decision when I was 11, and a rejection letter mailed to Mexico after eight years of planning. I told them God works in hearts and three changes of my major because teaching’s too much now. The most recent chapter of this story is last summer, change back to elementary education because what I had thought was so scary might not actually be so. I told them that story, like I’ve told it before, but there’s an ellipsis, not a period, because there are many chapters yet to come, because life is still moving forward.

I went to church on Sunday morning, but it was a rather complicated morning, because the Red Line’s all wonky and I’ve no need for a phone when I’m talking with God, so I got off at North and Clybourn and just started walking without a map. I more or less knew where Moody Church was. I got closer and closer and a woman in heels click clacked all up the wet, snowy street, and I sat in the balcony when I was there. Up in the balcony, when we stood up to sing all those rich, wonderful songs, I looked around at the people and do you know what I noticed? So very many babies in that stained glass window balcony. And I walked home in the slush, but the sun was bright on the sidewalk and my socks stayed almost dry, as I splashed through snow-turned-puddle and I remembered that I’m living a moving life.

I’ve a rather small mind, that stays focused on rather small things, but my sunglasses slid tight on the bridge of my nose, and I looked up at that hot, white orb in the sky, and there was almost comfort in the small that I felt. Because life really does move on. Life moves on to after college, after work, after family, and my life is one long story, but I’m part of a greater story, a story that stretches quite beyond my short lifespan, and this whole world? It keeps moving on.

~Natalia

Now than Later

24 Feb 2013 Leave a Comment

by nataliaria in Moody Bible Institute, Teach, Words of Wisdom

I’m taking six classes this semester. I realized recently that I have not really told you about my classes, and that oversight may be rectified soon, but suffice it to say that there are six classes. Three of these classes pertain specifically to my major; for nine hours a week, I sit in a classroom while drab grey clouds scurry across the February sky, and I learn how to be a teacher.

I love those classes.

The other three classes, a history class, writing class, and an in-depth study of the Gospel of John, are all highly interesting classes. I study for them, read for them, attend them, and enjoy them. But they’re not education classes.

The advisor of the Elementary Education department teaches two of my classes. She’s a wise and experienced woman, who taught for various years in local Christian schools before becoming a professor. Her passion for teaching, and for training future teachers, is manifested in a wealth of knowledge about teaching methods, practices, and studies, and it’s a wonderful experience to learn to teach from a teacher that I so respect.

She said one day, quite early in the semester, that it’s okay to feel overwhelmed by the prospect of becoming a teacher. And this professor didn’t just say it’s okay; she teaches strong and authoritative, with sharp, gentle eyes that see a classroom well, and she kept talking. I’d rather you be overwhelmed now than be overwhelmed when Teacher is your official title, and you have a classroom with desks, and students to go with.

It’s better to be overwhelmed now, and learn as a result, than overwhelmed later, when the stakes are so much higher.

I was relieved to hear her words; I’ve been known to have moments wherein I marvel at my own audacity: Become a teacher? How could I possibly? I’ll never learn everything that I need to know in order to teach well. That’s Impossible. Becoming a teacher is already hard, overwhelming, stressful, and I’m not yet halfway through my studies. I’ll never make it.

But there’s a purpose to this occasionally-overwhelming load: we’re learning how to be teachers. And I made a chart of all my assignments for the rest of the semester, and there’s a touch of anxiety brewing inside, for things that aren’t due until April. But I know why we’re doing this, and reading chapters on developing lesson plans and discipline in the classroom, and teaching students with disabilities, sometimes is rather overwhelming. But how much better to be overwhelmed now than later.

And how exciting to become a teacher.

~Natalia

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