The best little home teacher this side of the equator

When I was a freshman in college, two cousins were assigned to be my visiting teachers.  They were dear girls, and they would set appointments well in advance so that I knew when they were coming.  They would bring me treats, leave me notes, all the things every good visiting teacher would do.  And I would avoid them.  Like the plague.  I was known in those days to fake sleeping just so I wouldn’t have to talk to them.  Little did I know three years later one of them would serve in the same zone as myself in Chile and we became close friends. 

I have a confession to make.  I don’t like being home/visit taught.   (GASP!) I know.  Its not that I don’t like my Home/Visiting teachers, its not that I don’t want the spiritual thought.  I think really the thing that drives me bonkers is all of that attention, awkwardly placed on me, for an undetermined amount of time.  This might be a shock to you.  Do I love attention? Of course.  But that much undivided attention from two of my male/female friends for somewhere between 15 minutes and an hour and a half is always so uncomfortable for me.

On Sunday, my home teachers had set up an appointment to come by that evening and teach myself and my roommate.  I didn’t remember this until I was on my way out the door to a mixer and I knew I wasn’t going to be back until late that evening.  OOPS!  I left a message with my roommate to tell them I was sorry and that they could count me as visited because it was my fault I wasn’t there.  Imagine my surprise last night when at FHE they asked if they could come over right afterwards to teach me.  I had so much to do, but I said yes.

So in walk Jake and Gavin, my wonderful, amazing home teachers.  They sit down on the couch, and instead of heading right into the lesson, they ask me how I have been.  I say good. Short.  Quick.  Jake pries, asking what has been going on at school.  We start to chat about my kids, student teaching, education, you name it.  Each time I try to be as brief as possible and yet they seem so interested and before I know it I am talking to them about how my mentor teacher drives me crazy and how the internet hasn’t worked at our school for three days.  They give me ideas for things I could try, commend me for things they think I’m doing right and this whole time, not once did they look at their watches.

Then comes the lesson, short, sweet, read the Book of Mormon.  Then they each take turns bearing me their testimonies.  I am challenged to read it more often.  And then a funny thing happens.  Jake opens his mouth and starts telling me things that I really needed to hear about decisions I am making in my life, what I’m trying to do and accomplish.  He promises me that Heavenly Father will bless me as I strive to put him first in my life.  He asks me if I have enough food to eat, how my cupboards are looking. I say fine.  He asks if I am having any fun, if I am balancing school and social. I laugh and say I’m doing my best.  And then with a prayer they are gone.

I can’t even describe how really touching that whole event was for me.  I am grateful for home teachers who care enough to make more than the minimum effort.

Moral of the story: Don’t fake naps. 

A Little Stroll Down Memory Lane

Five years ago this week, I walked into the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah.  Anxious, excited, a little sad, I was ready to take on the challenges and trials that the Lord put before me.  First and foremost, I was ready to take on the Spanish language.  I was ready to learn it, inside and out, understand it, eat it, sleep it, BREATHE the very essence of spanish.  It wasn't easy.  In fact I would say there were times in the following few months that I really struggled.  It was so difficult to feel like I couldn't express all the feelings in my heart.  It was so trying to have the words on the tip of my tongue but not have them come out.  There were times when I felt so alone, but I learned so much from that experience.

Flash forward two years.  I'm back at BYU and I am trying to decide what on earth to do with my life.  Do I try to go back to Music Education?  Do I pursue other career paths?  Something urged me to not turn my back on what I had spent the year and half doing.  So I entertained the thought of Spanish Education.  I said to myself, 'I'll apply. If I get in, then that's what Heavenly Father wants me to do.'  Much to my surprise, I was accepted on my first application...something that had NOT happened with Music Ed at all.

Skip forward to a classroom in Houston, Texas.  I am speaking, in fluent Spanish to a bunch of kids who probably don't have the SLIGHTEST clue what I'm talking about.  I'm modeling what I'm asking of them as I speak, I'm using the most simple words possible and a student finally cannot handle it anymore.  She exclaims in frustration, 'THIS IS NOT HOW I LEARN!' To which I reply, 'YEs, it is.'

So many times in life, we have experiences, and we don't really know why we have them. Years later we are brought to the realization of how important those experiences were to us.  This week, I realized just how important that simple decision to go on a mission has been for me.

Happy Sabbath.

Why I Teach

I have a student in my ESL class, C.  He is from a central american country and has only been in the U.S. since April.  He speaks very little english and I can tell that most of his behavior issues stem from that.  A few days ago we were talking before class with a few of the students and he mentioned that he didn't like english and didn't need it because he would never make it to college anyways.  As a teacher, that is one of those comments you just CRINGE at.  I asked him if he wouldn't mind chatting with me after class.  I ended up having to talk to my mentor teacher right after that so I didn't get a chance to talk to him.

To my surprise a few hours later he came by my other classroom during passing period to talk with me.  I explained to him, as a bilingual myself, that speaking BOTH languages fluently would help him gain a substantial amount more money than if he never learned to speak english.  C told me he didn't really care because his parents had kicked him out, he was living on the street, and he was most likely going to be deported come February anyways.  Besides, he told me, all the english he needed to learn, h e learned in the street.  My heart sank.  I reassured him that no matter WHERE he was living, learning english would help.  He said he would think about it.

This morning, before first period I was getting some things ready in the classroom.  C approached me and in pure english said,
    'Remember the conversation we had.'
    'Of course!' I replied.
    'I am going to try.'
    'GOOD, C!' I almost hugged him, 'That makes me very happy.'
    'I want to learn.'

Today during class he was on the ball, so attentive and really working hard, and it was amazing how HIS attitude affected the rest of the class.  They put out some real quality work today.

C walks by my classroom at least twice a day.  He always stops, shakes my hand and says hello.

This is why I teach.

Are you WHITE?

Teaching people of other diversities is always something a little bit unusual.    You never know how they are going to react to you, and if you are me, you will worry that everything coming out of your mouth will offend them.  Part of my reasoning behind coming down to Houston, besides to be adventurous, was to be in contact with a really different racial diversity than the one I have experienced in my observations in Utah.  Not that they aren't varied there, but I wanted the hard places.  I wanted the students that everyone said were the bad ones, I wanted to teach in the tough places.  I am already starting to see that being here could not be farther from the truth.  Granted this is the first week of school and I haven't officially taken over the classes yet, but it has already been so much fun to interact with the students and have those little meaningful experiences.

My classload is a lot different than I thought it would be. I have one period of ESL (English as a Second Language) with a WIDE variety of English proficiency in each student.  I have two periods of Spanish 3, two periods of Spanish 3/4 which is for native speakers and one period of Spanish 5 which is a literature course for native speakers.  I love each class for different reasons, but my Spanish 3 classes seem to be the funniest.  In particular I have an african-american student who just cracks me up.  I'll call him T.  T came into our class on Monday and mine, the other student teacher, and our co-operating teacher's names were on the board.  My last name is very white, but the other two have spanish last names since both of them married latins.  I noticed that T kept looking at the board and then at each of us.  Finally he raised his hand. We called on him and this is what he said: 'I ain't tryin ta be racist u nothin, but are ya'll white?'  We laughed and said yes, to which he replied, 'Why you be teachin spanish den?'

I also had another student L ask me if she had mistakenly been put in the native-speaker class since we were speaking so much spanish in the classroom.  I replied that it was in fact the class for non-native speakers.  She replied, 'Then why ya'll be speakin spanish all the time?'  I laughed and explained that it was the only way they were going to learn.

Its funny how you can meet a group of people for the first time and already love them so much.  I guess that is what charity is all about.  I think for the first time in my life I TRULY understand the meaning of 'the pure love of Christ'.  I look at my students every day, and I realize that I don't know them very well. I have only had them for a few days but I already love and care about each and every one of them.  There is this wonderful balanced relationship between students and teachers.  They are so smart and observant that I am CONSTANTLY in awe of them.  Today I was helping some students with an assignment and one of them turned to me and said, 'Miss, you are ALWAYS singin'.' I started laughing, because anyone that knows me pretty well knows this is true.  I apologized and then girl sitting next to him said, 'No that's a good thing Miss, it means you always happy.'  They just make me smile.  I see them in the hallway and they go out of there way to say hello to me and are trying hard to remember my name. (I've shortened it to Miss Mac just cuz it is easier and I kind of love it.)  

I am happy here.

This is during the rain storm in the middle of the Jack Johnson Concert.  

We were still stoked to be there!

Fit me in a perfect little box

Well, I've done it.  I've up and moved to Houston, Texas. (And by moved I mean I'm here until at least the end of November, unless by some strange miracle, I develop a southern drawl, start wearing cowboy boots and decided to change my name to Betty Sue.  At which point I will live here indefinitely.)  Its been quite the adjustment.  I'm still sleeping on a floor mat in a sleeping bag and I still groan every time I leave the house....car...building...etc, when that wave of humidity hits me, but I'm told it will get better come September.  I'll believe that when I see it.

I became obsessed with windmills (or whatever these things are called) on my drive down to Texas.

The last few days I have been going to my very first 'big kid job' going to 'big kid trainings' and talking about 'big kid things'.  Its been interesting to be doing it outside of Utah.  Granted I am a student-teacher which automatically makes me a second class citizen no matter what, but I feel like the conversations are a lot different because I am not surrounded by those of my same faith.  In some ways its been refreshing , in others its been a bit awkward. (Trying to explain why I don't drink at twenty-six and am declining an invitation to Happy Hour was a highlight.)  All in all, I am excited to be here.  I can't wait to meet my students, go to high school football games, and help chaperone homecoming...yeah, I'm that teacher.

Last Thursday was my first day on my high school campus.  It was a vigorous day of meetings (read:boring), but it was awesome to meet my co-operating teachers who are both awesome and meet my fellow teachers.  Throughout the day they had us do all of these 'personality tests' that were 'scientifically proven' to tell what type of people we  were.  They basically listed off things and we were instructed to pick one t hing from the group and that told what type of person we were.  The first one was animals.  I looked at the list of animals (a beaver, a bee, an owl, a chameleon and a dolphin) and this was my thought process: 'Well, I lived in Utah so I guess a bee works...But dolphoins are legit.  Then again owls are pretty cool and wise and all, but I guess I have never seen one, but if we go off of that I could really only be two of those animals on the list.' (you get the point)  I ended up sticking with the bee even though I DO NOT love bees at all.  The scientific answer for the type of person I was was totally inaccurate.

So I determined that no matter what you do, you cannot fit me in a box, and that makes me happy.

Be happy! Its what Jesus would do.

A phone call telling you a loved one has passed away is never a way to start a day.  Especially when the passing was unexpected and an absolute tragedy.  Today has been an awful mix of emotions as the details have unfolded and I have slowly come to grips with the fact that Brittni is gone.  Through the day I have realized quite a few things about my own testimony, and I am so grateful for the knowledge of plan of salvation.  

I have always known that the Lord has a plan for each and every one of us individually.  I have always known that if we were willing to live in a manner befitting of a child of God that he would make this plan known to us.  As I have thought about the way that Brittni lived her life and loved others, there is no doubt in my mind that she was aware of the plan that Heavenly Father had put forth for her.  

Words cannot express my sorrow for the loss of the most Christ-like person I have ever met, but I can tell you this.  Without a doubt I know that God lives, the Jesus is the Christ, the Savior of the world and that His atonement made it possible for us to be saved from the permanent separation of God.  Just a few weeks ago Brittni lent me a book called 'The Continous Atonement' which talks about our ability to do all we can and that the difference will be made up by the Savior.  I know that this is true, that I can be redeemed again and again because of the sacrifice of the blood of Christ, once for all (see Hebrews 10).  But I especially know that they loved us so much that God and His son have provided a way for us to return to them, that there is a plan and that if we are faithful, we can enjoy all the blessings that have been prepared for us.

So as Brittni would say, don't be a sissy lala.  We all have struggles, but its about the climb.  Look for the JOY in life, not the sorrows.  Look for reasons to be grateful and not reasons to complain.  Be close to God in word AND deed and if God can't come to you, go to Him.  Walk in His valleys, climb His mountains, and then be still and KNOW that He is God.  He is in control and if we put our trust in Him, though bad things happen, we can be happy knowing that it is His way of reminding us that we are alive.  And being alive is something to be grateful for.  Life is too short to whine.

To my dear Brittni, know that I am eternally grateful to your example of love and kindness.  I will never forget you, and next year, I will run the full Mayor's Marathon.  And I'll be doing it with you, just like we planned.

Feelings of forever

Yeah, I know.  You thought I was dead.  I have been thinking about a few different posts that I want to write, but this one has been a top priority as of late and I cannot go to bed this Sunday evening without talking about this.

I have been realizing that the older I get, the more my sisters mean to me.

If you have been following this blog for even a little bit, you know that I have set a goal to eventually run a full marathon.  I haven't put a date on that goal (I should probably do that...I'm thinking June of next year) but I have begun to work towards it by running half marathons.  I have run two in the last three months and each of them were quite challenging in their own ways.  Salt Lake was hot.  Anchorage was hilly.

I was really nervous about the Salt Lake Half.  It was my first solo run and I wasn't sure I was going to be able to do it as well as I wanted to.  I had been training, but I wasn't really following a training program and was up and down in my distances.  When I got to the starting line I felt a little overwhelmed.  I didn't even KNOW anyone that was running it that I could start out with.  I searched the crowd for a familiar face and found no one.  I haven't felt that alone in a while.  I started out the race well, I actually did the first three miles in about 27 minutes which is the FASTEST 5k I have ever run.  I was actually doing well till about mile 10 and that is where I just decided that I didn't want to be running anymore.  The best way I can describe it is a desperation to stop moving.  I started whimpering to myself.  Not straight up crying, but just... a really strong desire to give up.  About this time, I see off in front of me what appears to be my little sister Joree and her husband Kody.  They hadn't told me they were coming.  In fact I don't even think I asked them to come, but regardless, they were there, right where I needed them.  I got so excited that I ran to the side of the group and called out her name in an almost desperate cry.  She instantly started cheering me on and it gave me the push I needed to finish hard.  As I ran past her I started crying.  I was so grateful for her at that moment.

Fast forward to last weekend.  If I thought my training for the SL Half was spotty, I would say my training for the Mayor's Half was non-existant.  With work and trying to be an active YSA during the summer months made for a very little amount of time to train.  But foolishly I still signed up for the race. I guess I just didn't want to chicken out even though realistically it wasn't the smartest thing to do.  The night before my older sister Jamie decided to come be my cheerleader and bike the race along with me.  I think by cheerleader, she meant all out running/inspiration coach.  She was with me every step of the way telling me to push and then talked me through the tough parts.  I am pretty positive not many people around me appreciated her constant talk, but I was so thankful she was with me.

So I am glad that I am sealed to my sisters.  They support me in my goals (no matter how stupid) and they push me when I need it (which is quite often) .  If I ever make it onto an EFY CD, it will be because these two helped me make it possible.

This was the most recent picture of all of us girls together...it was taken over a year ago.  Sad.

We used to have a pillow at our house.  I don't know where it came from, and I don't know who gave it to us, but it said, 'Chance made us sisters, hearts made us friends.'  I'm glad that my heart is bound to theirs forever, because, though we may fight and argue and bicker amongst ourselves (I mean, come on, we are girls!), they are the only ones I want to be with in the eternities.