Logistically Speaking

Logistically speaking, it was a late night in Mancelona, August days just before I went back to school. Freshman year behind me, I was days away from a new school year, days away from Sophomore, and 12am around that Northern Michigan dining table, I said “education.” Majoring in Children’s Ministry, there was something vague, something missing, and I’d formulated a plan, a way to fill the missing pieces I knew I’d been called to, and knew I needed to find.

So I told the Mother and Favorite Alice, sitting there sipping their hot drinks, relaxed against the tall chair backs, that I was thinking about getting a master’s degree in education, after I’d finished my undergrad. I was opposite the table from them, thin red word puzzle book on the table in front of me, and I glanced down, unsure what to say, what to think, as they listened to my life plan, newly hatched.

Dark hair, bright eyes alike, they listened, nodded, and maybe there was a glance exchanged, while I was not looking, and then someone- maybe the Mother, maybe Alice- said study education now.

Logistically speaking, I was sitting outside the Education department office a week later, on the second day of school.

Logistically speaking, I was an Elementary Education major before Thanksgiving. Interviewed by the program director, legs crossed in the arm-chair of her office, working hard to articulate the passion I’d felt, yet struggled to define, for years. A capped major with a limit for every school year, El. Ed students apply to the major their sophomore year; share their conviction, calling, plans, strengths, weaknesses. The Roommate slept, mere feet away, and I sat at my hard desk chair until 2am, typing those answers, my excitement building with each lengthening paragraph.

Logistically speaking, we had Classroom Methods and Management in the corner classroom last spring. The big one with windows along two walls; wide, tall, long windows that showed snow in the early months, budding green trees as the weeks ticked towards spring, summer. Logistically speaking, I shocked myself there in that class, sitting under the same adviser in whose office I had shifted nervously the semester prior.

This is unreal, I used to think. I’m going to be a teacher? I’d wonder to myself, marveling at my own audacity, to think I could accomplish such a daunting feat as become a teacher. And I wrote practice lesson plans and gave presentations and read books that might have been a little dry and books that made my heart pound with exhilaration to get into a classroom someday. And I began to learn how to teach.

Logistically speaking, there are two practical classroom requirements. One during junior year, the other, senior year. Junior year is the two weeks that form Moody’s spring break. Two weeks in an elementary school classroom of our choosing. Two weeks of observing and teaching and interacting and practicing and learning. Senior year is an entire semester- January to May- student teaching, once again in a classroom, at a school that we’ve chosen; where we’ve been lead.

Logistically speaking, the Mother found, months ago, a small school in California, barely a mile from the home I grew up visiting, the home where my grandparents still live. Logistically speaking, Fall Break 2013 in California, emails passed between adviser, principal, myself, and last October, I spent a day in that little school. Observing, meeting, touring, watching, learning. Christian school with a passion for the LORD and for children and for God-honoring education, with a faculty that feels like family.

Logistically speaking, March 10- and all the way to March 22- I’ll be at that school again. Second grade classroom, again watching, observing, teaching, growing. Here at Moody, I’m a junior with only one semester left after this one. Four education classes right now, I live and breathe teaching methods, reading fluency lectures, phonics instruction, and social studies planning. I’m learning how to teach mini lessons and build and implement a classroom management plan, and how everything can and should be differentiated and the value of reading and the even greater value of a student who is an image-bearer of Christ; which is to say, every student.

Logistically speaking, I pulled a notebook out during class today. One of my little book. Opened to a page and wrote that feeling again; the feeling of shock, and of something else. Me? A teacher? Will that happen for real? I paused, for a second, trying to identify the feeling. Then, pen to paper: Doubt.

Doubt? I wrote, Doubt of what? Of what I am called to do? Of God’s design in bringing me here? God’s wisdom in doing so? God’s power to accomplish His goals? God’s faithfulness? His strength? His sovereignty?

No, wrote, I might doubt my own ability- rightly so- but it’s not Him I doubt, not at all. Logistically speaking, He’s completely in control. And I’m so grateful and rather nervous and very, very excited.



2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Diana
    Feb 26, 2014 @ 07:24:35

    I love your heart and conviction to trust God through this time and always. He’s got you. You will do exactly what he wants you to do in his time for his glory. I love you!!


  2. Grandma S.
    Feb 28, 2014 @ 14:22:43

    I’ve said it before and I’ll probably say it many more times: You were born to be an elementary school teacher. There is no doubt about it.


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