A Call to Action (It is By Grace…)


(Anadolu Agency via Getty Images)

I have been genuinely, touchingly moved beyond words by the crisis amongst refugees and peoples in places all across our globe.  Heartbreakingly shattered by the stories of people who are living in worlds that I cannot even imagine. I am unequivocally dismayed by scenes of devastation and wretched living conditions that scroll across my screen. I am overcome by the faces I see with looks of horror and fear. I am moved beyond words at the lives subsisting and surviving on a fraction of the money that my own children’s wallet’s hold.

I cannot even imagine what Alan Kurdid— and Galid, his brother, experienced on that voyage that led to their eventual demise. What living misery their father will hold in his heart from here until the hereafter. I can’t even imagine.

The other night, I was going through our basement looking for items to sell in a yard sale. It was a time-consuming task because our basement is CHOCK FULL OF TREASURES (that are deemed otherwise meaningless without a basement to hold them all). When I was getting ready for the yard-sale, I just felt stunned with the excess. We have too much. We have so much, we need to de-clutter, downsize, cut down, reduce. We are overstocked in this house.

Sound familiar?

So yesterday, when I was standing there in that yard sale site looking for dimes, and quarters and loonies and toonies to compensate me for the clothes and trinkets on my table, I had two thoughts pop into my head.

Thought # 1: it is quite unbelievable that I am living in a part of a world that affords me excess ‘stuff’ that I can then sell to make more money so as to “bolster my coffers”.
Thought # 2: it is inconceivable that the money I made at this yard sale today (which probably meant more to me than money earned elsewhere because I had to work hard for it—and all while sporting a pounding headache from lack of sleep…earning my wages one scrawny nickel and dime at a time)…inconceivable that this influx is more than some people make in a year in some of these war-torn countries.

In reading Timothy Keller’s (2010) book Generous Justice, I have been considering the whys surrounding doing justice. And in a nutshell, we must do justice because all humankind “from a treble white to a bass black is significant on God’s keyboard, precisely because every man (and woman) is made in the image of God” (Martin Luther King (1965) in a sermon entitled “The American Dream”). But why are we blinded to this truth, even in our part of the world? Why is it so hard for us as humans to see one another through eyes of love and compassion, caring for one another as brothers and sisters as part of the same human family? Partly, it is because we lack a love and respect for those who do not share in our experience. We find it hard identifying with those who are different. We crave familiarity and similarity. We love comfortable. We detest that which is awkward and difficult.

Keller (2010) states that many people who call themselves Christians do not demonstrate a social conscience, full of love and compassion, for those in need. Traditionally, the ways that an appeal has been made to the public to arouse concern for people in need has been through guilting and shaming. Keller infers that we are shamed for being born in a free country and shamed for the wealth we have accumulated. This shaming sometimes brings about a mindset of change, but often this is accompanied by resentment which makes the effort short-lived.

A better way is to connect justice to grace. What the world proclaims “unworthy”, Grace declares precious. And this: because Grace covers, Grace cares and Grace meets the needs when nothing else can.  Grace will light the path for those who have been given much so that we can walk toward those in distress. So that we can shoulder the burden along the path. So that we can accompany those in distress so that they are not alone. For there have been times when we ourselves were in need.  Might we never forget: but for God’s Grace, where would any one of us be.

Life is hard. But Grace is powerful, able to overcome even the most heartbreaking of circumstances that life throws our way.

Why must we do justice, developing an awareness of the needs in the world around us? Because quite simply: if we say we love God and turn our backs on His people, we are hypocrites.  In this world, we are His Hands and His Feet.

James 2:15-17:
Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food. 16 If one of you says to them, “Go in peace; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about their physical needs, what good is it? 17 In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.

God, let our faith be revitalized by a call to action, seeing one another as You see us. Valued, precious and fully-loved.

A Letter to My Children About Alan and Galib Kurdi

My Own Precious Four,

The air felt chill and brisk as I headed to the local dairy bar with ‘two in tow,’ for one last treat before school officially begins on Tuesday. One had an English Toffee Milkshake and the other tried her luck with the Nutty Chocolate Dip. We watched the server hold the decadent cone of cold, creamy ice cream smothered in nuts and dripping, rich chocolate upside down, so as to let the excess drip off into the bowl underneath. It came to you with a hardened shell of chocolate shellac. Prime real estate for little girls with eyes bigger than their tummies.

We drove home contented tonight, bellies full, hearts tender.

Did you know on the other side of the world there lived two little boys, who up until mere days ago, craved as their favorite treat a half a banana? Their father would purchase one banana which he would split between the pair. One half for Alan and the other for Galib. Perhaps, my loves, they ate it like candy — just like you with your creamy dairy bar treats.

We came into our house, shivering with the temperature drop of dusk and flicked a switch. Behold! Light flooded the kitchen, welcoming and warm. One of you played with toys we had earlier retrieved from the basement…toys which we should really get rid of (through one method or another) as your toy bins and cubbies overflow with trinkets and gadgets galore. But you pleaded for them to stay, and I acquiesced. You spent a lovely half hour chatting with your newfound furry friends, who had been beforehand lonesome for company due to all that time spent waiting for you in the dark recesses of our bottom level.

Did you know that Galib, who was five, would have done just about anything to get his heart’s desire: a shiny, new bike. He just recently asked his aunt: “Auntie, can you buy me a bicycle?,” because all he ever wanted was to run and play and explore like all the other kids. Having extra would never even have registered in Galib’s mind. Because having just one would surely have been more than he could imagine.

I went back down to the basement after making steaming cups of tea for your Daddy and I…with one more saved for your older brother. One of you asked for sips of my fragrant brew (flavoured with sugar and milk), stating that it was “mmmm…my favorite kind”. I savoured mine while sorting through all our extras in the basement that we plan to sell in the yard sale tomorrow. I had you try on skates that were too small until we found just the right fit from our burgeoning stash saved for figure skating lessons upcoming in October. We placed the near dozen extra pairs in a bin. Because we just don’t need them anymore.

Did you know that Little Alan, who was three, wore little black shoes? That he favoured red t-shirts and shorts on the last voyage he would ever take? Did you know that his eyes sparkled when he smiled? That he was so loved…just like you are, my loves. Just like you are.

It is quiet now. The children all settled, candles both blown out. But I can still smell the aromatic scent of “good cheer, golden apples and spice” laden heavy in the air of our kitchen. It is almost stifling, this sweetness and beauty. It smothers my senses. For in my heart I know that there are others for whom good cheer will not be reality. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

There are precious others in this world who have never seen “a good life at all” nor will they this side of eternity.

We have so much. And yet we understand the bounty of that ‘much’, so very little.

My dear Children, do you know how loved you are? And did you know that because you are so loved, you must also love others? Must love them with that same intensity with which you have received? Love requires we watch and listen. Love requires sometimes we cry. It also demands action. We must love, for we are loved ourselves. We must care because we have known care in ways that defy understanding.

We know love. We must find it within our hearts to also give it, one small act of hope and justice at a time.

My dear Four: Alan and Galib are gone, their souls departed. But we have their footsteps to trace. These tiny tracks leave a legacy of love. A legacy of hope and possibility. For Alan and Galib are Love’s Ambassadors. And so are we, my loves. So are we.

I love you so. So then, I say to you: “Love one another.

Always and Forever,

Your Mama

Simply Be

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And so it is that I find myself sitting across from her—me on a bar stool, her at the head of the table. Morning sun struggles to make its way through heavy cumulous clouds that intermittently spit rain. The air, still heavy with humidity despite this occasional leak of moisture. I hope it will be a sunny day, in light of the day’s scheduled events soon to transpire. We have some serious swimming to do. But we Two are not preoccupied with the day’s weather or activities in this moment; instead, finding ourselves discussing the book “Love, Anthony” (which I have recently finished but am still pondering) all while I down the last of a glass of orange juice at 10:30 in the morning. She drinks her coffee. And somehow book talk gets shifted over to life talk and it is without warning that tears fall. And there it is: that question of purpose.

Why are we here, anyway?

What is the purpose for the life we have been given?

While thoughtful discussion continues and we try to come to some conclusions that will comfort broken hearts and shattered dreams, my thoughts drift back again to that all-consuming question. Do we ever really know? What is our purpose, anyway?

Depending on what angle from which one might be seeking, there are so many thoughts contributing to answers for this one question. As true believers in an eternal God, our purpose and ‘reason for being’ is dedicated to living spiritually, with eternity’s values in view. What is lasting and permanent? Those are the treasures we must seek. What will remain? This is where to place one’s focus. But again, as true believers, our life must not be so separate from worldly concerns that we live with our heads in the clouds. We have been called to act justly, love mercifully and walk humbly while traversing life’s passageways. Our duty is to care for one another in grateful service, primarily preferring others’ interests over our own. To compassionately care for one another, supporting each others in both times of great need as well as in times of ease and pleasure. This is our calling and purpose.

Is this, then, all of it in its entirety?

She tells me about a friend who daily visits her husband at the manor. But not making time to care for him only. On her way to his room, she stops by many others’ stations and lounging areas first so as to cheer and comfort the vulnerable. So as to bolster those who need the encouragement. Her own dear one often unaware of her presence, but these others: they look for her. She has found a purpose in the messy complicated that life offers her. A purpose that transcends time and place, circumstance and sorrow.

What is the purpose in their suffering? In his (her Husband)? In hers (the wife)?

I believe the answer lies somewhere in acceptance first, followed by an act of embracing. When we accept, we resist fighting what we cannot conquer, choosing instead to acknowledge that our lives are always lived with limitations and boundaries. These bodies never created for permanence in this life. And yet the ways in which we choose to endure bodily limitations here will have a tremendous impact on the longevity of our soul’s endurance in the everafter. We can never fully understand why things happen as they do, but we can accept that there is a purpose for every event under the sun. We might never fully comprehend why a life must be lived a certain way, but this does not diminish the value of that life, does not diminish the purpose. Does not limit the living that life was meant for. Living cannot be measured. The breath we have been given is of value, and the life that lies therein deserving of the opportunity.

The intention of life inherent in the spark that feeds the soul. Life is precious. It is also purposeful.

If then the purpose of suffering is to accept and embrace, what is the purpose of joy?

When we accept that there are things within our lives we cannot change, choosing to embrace the life we have been given in spite of the obstacles, true joy is acquired in the process. Joy is not something easily obtained: it must be long sought after and yearned for. True joy surpasses sorrow in that it willingly chooses to embrace the ugly, the bitter, the vile, the downright disgusting— so as to savour the sweet aftertaste that follows the initial struggle to ingest. It is never easy to accept pain and sorrow, but we willingly and eagerly clamour for joy. Such sweet medicine to remedy our pain.

Both are part and parcel of the same. Joy is the flip side of the coin. It is the accompanying face of pain. There is always something brighter waiting for us just beyond the bend.

In the book “Love, Anthony”, the author allows us a glimpse into a child’s soul. There is much pain and sorrow in the story, but little of this is felt by the main protagonist, Anthony, despite his struggles that ultimately lead to an unexpected demise. Instead of focusing on the negative that surrounds his life, this child chooses to experience the joy that he knows is all around him. He chooses pure, unadulterated bliss.

He chooses to be. Be accepting. Be loved. Be happy. Be Anthony.

What then is our purpose—yours and mine?

We will find answers when we look beyond ourselves, past our innate fragility. Choosing rather to see the light that always shines brightest when it is just beyond our grasp.  Our purpose is defined by our living. And our lives are defined by the ways in which we embrace the little graces that light our path.

One simple moment at a time.

Tune My Heart to Sing Thy Grace

Come, thou Fount of every blessing,
tune my heart to sing thy grace;

streams of mercy, never ceasing,
call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet,
sung by flaming tongues above.

Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
mount of thy redeeming love.

O to grace how great a debtor

daily I’m constrained to be!

Let thy goodness, like a fetter,
bind my wandering heart to thee.

Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
prone to leave the God I love;

here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
seal it for thy courts above.

The wind rustles golden grain, swaying so it sounds like tinkling bells.  Tiny cymbals.  I roll down the window as I drive up the lane just to stop for a spell and listen in on nature’s symphony. The air laden with the smell of dust and a dry grassy scent. The clouds are piled high and fluffy.  Beauty surrounds every angle from which I gaze.

My heart is part wonder, part sorrow.  There is always beauty in sorrow.  And it takes every effort to tune into the grace we have been afforded when our minds so easily slip,  so quickly bend toward the stress.  Our hearts must be trained to see more than meets the eye.  We must look with discernment for what lies beyond.  What we see is not all there truly is.

There is so very much more.

I walk into the barn and take in the musty smell of manure and hay and dust and years worth of sweat and hard labour.  I follow him as he paces the length of the barn and back again.  We lean into one another.  I wrap my arms around his chest and feel his beating heart.  What is our life work worth at the end of the day?  What legacy do we leave to those following in our footsteps?

How will we be remembered?

I step back, standing just upon the threshold of this doorway leading to another life and take in one last view before I turn away toward the sunlight and warmth of the day.

How is it that we are able to tune our hearts to sing grace even when the cords of those same hearts wring with pain?  Daily, we must train our minds to think on these eternal graces: love, joy peace.

Grace sustains in the midst of trouble.  Holding us, enabling us, propelling us forward.

There are streams of mercy, never ceasing at every vantage point. Our lives a song- only we can decide how that tune will be sung.

May our songs of praise be ever heard, our lives a melodious hymn of gratitude. For our blessings outnumber even our wildest dreams, our greatest aspirations.

Helping Kids Deal With Back-to-School Stress

image retrieved from kirkcrady.wordpress.com

I happened to come across the now-viral video clip of a little boy being asked if he would miss his mom on the first day of school. A question to which he promptly exhibits visibly with quick tears that ‘yes,’ indeed—he will. The shot shows him running into the safe arms of his mother, with an embarrassed reportor left to apologize.

My own children, different in every way, have varied responses to stress. Lately, I have seen tears and anxiety within one more so than the others. Tears coming quickly in a range of situations. The other night, I happened to mention that I had some spots due to infected bug bites. I said goodnights and went downstairs for the evening, only to hear feet behind me not soon after. What did I mean by spots? Was I going to be okay? With a little assurance and some hugs, the anxiety abated for the time. Enough for her to go back to bed, anyway.

But our little encounter left me to briefly wonder where the stress was coming from and why.

Of course, we are coming up to that time of the year again, a time that parents anticipate and some kids wait for, while others drag their feet. The start of school—just one of the many transitions times in life that we will encounter. While we often think about parental stress associated with the beginnings of new activities, I wonder how often we remember that kids get stress too.

The American Psychological Association, along with Mary Alvord, PhD., offer six tips for parents helping kids cope with back-to-school: practice routines (sleep, lunch, bedtimes) well before the first big day, get to the know the kids on the bus route and in your child’s class, talk about your child’s fears and anxieties openly with them (withholding judgments), show lots and lots of empathy and then find the supports in your child’s school and community that will make the adjustment that much easier.

As a kindergarten teacher (and soon to be Grade 1 teacher as well), I recognize that students will come to me with their hearts and minds full of wonder, questions, fears and excitement. But these students are not the only ones feeling these emotions. As teachers, we do well to sense within our students both the anxiety and the excitement that new school routines and schedules bring to these children’s lives.

Willow Dea, Change Management Consultant, offers the following suggestions for teachers—ways which we can help our students adjust to life back in the classroom, and these include watching for over-stimulation in the classroom which can overwhelm some children, learning your students “learning styles”, along with making sure your students feel emotionally safe. She includes ten tips for parents and teachers which I have summarized as follows:

1. Set clear boundaries and guidelines and offer fair rules for support. Be consistent.
2. Offer children unstructured playtime so that they can use their imaginations.
3. Exercise, rest, nutrition, healthy meals, downtime, and laughter are all precursors for good health.
4. Take time away from technology. Encourage quiet and calm for part of your day.
5. Be the example for your students of managed stress. Parker Palmer states: “We teach who we are.”
6. Show students you care in the ways you know how.
7. Breathe.  Structure your day to allow for silence once in a while.
8. Listen to calming music. Turn the lights off. Let kids put their heads down on their desks and tune-out for a minute or two.
9. Talk with kids about what stresses them. Help them deal with it.
10. And don’t forget to make humor a big part of your day. ;)

All these, super suggestions for teachers (and parents) in knowing how to deal with children’s stress within the home and classroom. Never forgetting that the ways in which we take time to show compassion for other people and their unique situations (from children to adults) will go a long way in helping others be the best that they can be in that moment in time.

Might we also remember that small acts of kindness, along with the presence of caring, kind people, can serve to make an important impact in a person’s day. Let us live our lives so that when others think of kindness and caring, they think of us (quote taken from H. Jackson brown, Jr.).

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When Teachers Tell Their Stories

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Teachers have powerful stories to share. There are stories of triumphs and stories of failures—stories of everyday authenticity lived out within the trenches. There are stories of heroism, stories of realism. Stories of hope and inspiration. Stories that have been shared with many and stories that have been shared with one. These stories might not be the same—they are as unique as the storytellers that create them, but they are there written on the hearts and embedded in the minds of teachers, many just waiting to be divulged for the very first time.

Narrative inquiry, within the field of qualitative research, is described by Bochner (2000) as being this:
“…stories that create the effect of reality, showing characters embedded in the complexities of lived moments of struggle, resisting the intrusions of chaos, disconnection, fragmentation, marginalization, and incoherence, trying to preserve or restore the continuity and coherence of life’s unity in the face of unexpected blows of fate that call one’s meanings and values into question (Ellis & Bochner in Denzin & Lincoln, 2000, p.744).

Bochner (2000), while admittedly speaking directly about research practice, compels the reader (who may or may not be reading for the purpose of research) to consider the benefits of personal life writing: a genre that “activates subjectivity and compels emotional response” (Ellis & Bochner in Denzin & Lincoln, 2000, p.744). Bochner (2000) asserts that personal stories are those that exist for offering lessons for further conversation, longing “to be used rather than analyzed; to be told and retold rather than theorized and settled…”(Ellis & Bochner in Denzin & Lincoln, 2000, p.744). He makes the case for amplifying personal voices within the social sciences, but I believe that we must take this one step further, expanding the call for evocative personal narratives to be shared by teachers compelled to tell the stories that must be told.

Too often, the busyness of life and the hectic pace in which we as teachers live and carry out our calling, can serve to strip from us the energy it takes to sit down for half an hour and write introspectively, composing reflections and stories about our daily teaching practice. It might be an easy choice to make, at times, when the options are between taking a mental break or applying your mind and attention to further cerebral activity in the form of written composition. We all need ‘down-time’, especially in a profession that requires our bodies and minds, as well as our hearts. But the benefit of taking time to write at the end of a busy day (or in the early hours of the morning) is something we might do well to consider. It might even have the surprising benefit of rejuvenation and refreshment for weary minds. When teachers write reflectively for themselves, it helps to solidify in their own minds what they think and believe.

Enhancing this benefit, when teachers choose to share their views and thinking, opening their inner selves up by extending their ruminations to others, there are further advantages for those involved in reading as well. The community formed around shared interests, common goals, friendly banter, engaged discussion, illuminating thought and insightful opinion spurs others on professionally to be the best they are able to be in the moment in which they are living. Sharing written thoughts with others also serves to encourage and inspire, as documents and written accounts can be re-read again and again when needed most urgently.

In November 2011, I determined that writing as a practice was important for me as a useful exercise in examining my life— so much so, that I committed to writing almost every day. At the time, I was experiencing a fair amount of stress, experiencing a general lack of joy in my life. Suffice it to say: I was feeling rather discontented in both my personal and professional life. I found the writing I was doing in the carved out time slots I made for such throughout the days and evenings gave me pause for reflection regarding those circumstance and events that brought me angst. As I wrote, I felt a weight being lifted, and I would aver that I experienced healing— emotional, if not physical. Writing in this way was therapeutic, beneficial as a process of helping restore my body, mind and soul to a healthy constitution. It was beneficial for me in restoring my joy. As such, writing has been one of the most significant ways I maintain and provide self-care for my weary soul.

Due to a sense of renewed joy, I found the desire from within so as to continue the writing and introspective reflection. As I wrote, I began to share the stories and prose I was creating with those closest to me, my husband, children and immediate family members. Bouyed to carry on, by way of their response to my writing, I decided to start a an on-line journal in the form of a blog in the fall of 2011, where I have been found writing ever since, sharing this writing with a community of readers over 4600 strong. The name “Pursuit of a Joyful Life” was decided based on my desire for more joy in my life—something I felt others might also identify with in their own lives. Having made a decision to daily commitment to writing, along with finding an inner resolve and purpose to continue this endeavor, I embarked on a journey. A blog was now mine to foster and develop.

Unlike university course work or in-school professional development assignments, where the task is ‘reflection-on-demand’, I never feel externally coerced to write my personal blogs. This driving urge to record my thoughts has always been internally situated. I blog purely because I am compelled to write. I write for pleasure and for joy, thus the name for my blog— a title based on my own personal pursuit of a joyful life. Writing has been for me a cathartic process. It is an escape and a diversion— a means of healing and an opportunity. I did not always know I would be a teacher, but I always knew I would be a writer— it just took me time to discover the writer that was waiting within. Thirty-seven years of waiting to discover the words and stories that I held close to my heart, to be precise.

Even with a full-time teaching contract, this act of blogging has been an almost nightly routine I have been keeping to the past four years, writing both when I was feeling inspired as well as when I was not. It is not so much the message as the act that I believe has infused my teaching with hope and purpose. Writing about the funny, the frustrating, the disappointing and the inspiring parts of my profession has served to enable me in understanding the reason for my calling. I am a teacher because I care, and writing about my practice is just one more way to show that care for the educational community of which I am part. While some might say that I am a writer because I love to put words to paper, I know that I am a teacher because I care about people. Writing has been a means of exhibiting this heart-full care, and it is my preferred language of expression within my chosen profession. Writing is not something I do just for myself now, it is something I do for my students, my students’ parents, my colleagues, my professional partners as well as for the general public, sharing with them all what it means for me to be a teacher and carry out my life’s work. As such, writing is one of the most important aspects of my teaching.

To date, I have 510 posts published on my personal blog, with one blog piece receiving notable public acclamation. In December of 2013, I wrote that particular blog post as an encouraging letter to an anonymous teacher, a letter which I later published to my personal blog. Shortly after that, I decided to publish the blog article on the Huffington Post’s (Canadian Edition) on-line newspaper for which I am a regular contributor. Initially, the letter did not receive any interest, garnering few reads on both my blog and the Huffington Post’s online news feed, as recorded by the sidebar statistics for both. I soon forgot about this particular piece and continued writing about other topics and areas of interest. At the end of January 2014, something peculiar happened. I noticed one day that my blog, as featured on the Huffington Post, had a couple hundred views on it. Surprised, I called my husband over to have a look at this peculiar phenomenon, as every minute the stat figures would change to reflect new readers. This was a complete shock and surprise to see, as almost six weeks had transpired since the original piece had gone to press. Little would I have known then that those couple hundred of views would quickly grow to thousands, then to hundreds of thousands and eventually to well over two and a quarter million readers and counting, a little over a year and a half later.

The fact that this one blog piece on the topic of caring within teaching went viral has given me pause for reflection over the past months; reflection done on my writing, the topics of my writing, the focus of my blog and the purpose behind the messages I share. Why do I write? Who am I writing for? What message do I want to convey? And why is it important that I keep writing? In watching my blog following grow within the educational community, I have felt it prudent to provide more space for writing reflectively about teaching and educational issues. My blog continues to be a space where I can express myself freely, a place where I write about a variety of topics, but now with an overall focus on reflective introspection about the important role of care in my teaching practice. Critical theorists like hooks (1994) contend that forms of dialogue, like writing and blogging, can be a means for teachers to challenge a system within which they often feel powerless to question face-to-face. Freire (1970) perhaps laid the foundations for this kind of dialogue to be possible. In Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Freire asserts that “it is in speaking their word that people, by naming the world, transform it…Dialogue is thus an existential necessity” (Freire, 1970, p. 88). I have then felt the inner urging to create a space where I could dialogue on issues that speak to the heart. That place where I passionately dialogue is here, my blog.

My place for pursuing the joy in life.

Be a Noticer

“The real heroes anyway aren’t the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention. The guy who invented the smallpox vaccine didn’t actually invent anything. He just noticed that people with cowpox didn’t get smallpox.” — Augustus Waters, in John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars

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We are almost there.
It’s almost that time of year again, Students. And while you’re probably not even thinking about sitting in class behind a desk, not anxious yet to trade in summer for fall: I am already there in my mind. It’s already happening.
I am already planning and thinking and wondering and hoping. I am already imagining you.
I wonder who you are, what makes you tick, what you like, where you live. Are you a morning person or a late-night owl; are you funny, are you loud? Do you have any fears of your own? Are you ready for this next chapter of your life to open wide and be written?
Who are you?
And while we might have never met, I do have one thing I want to offer you right now, before everything begins again and we are caught up in the surge of emotion that accompanies each given school year.
My biggest hope for you—what I want for you even before I have met you and come to know your unique personality and particular way of knowing, is that you be a ‘noticer’. A ‘see’-er of life.
We are not taught to notice, we are taught to do. Told to get out our pencil and pens. Get out our paper, and write. Read. Discuss. Speak. Told to turn to page 5 and then fashion a paragraph. Told to answer six questions on page 32.
We are not taught to notice, we are taught to act. Told to cut and shape. Mold and make. Told to fashion that school bus craft just as we’re told. Told to fold the paper along the crease. Told to colour in the lines.
We are not taught to notice, we are taught to perform. Told to sit right, listen up, shut up, straighten up, fly right. Told to mind our manners, watch our tongue, keep it down, watch out.
We are not taught to notice, we are taught to produce. To achieve, churn out, give up, construct and generate.
But we are not taught to notice.
Have we ever stopped to consider that noticing precedes doing? And yet, we are not taught that this act in itself is essential. We are encouraged rather to act. To get things done. To carry out both our will as well as that of those in authority over us.
Students, if I can ask of you just this: learn to notice the world around you. Learn to watch more carefully, listen more closely, feel more deeply, understand more fully.
Watch with both your eyes and ears. Use all the senses that have been gifted you.
Listen with both your ears and your heart.
Feel others pain and joy with compassion and care.
Understand that this life is not just about you—it is about a world around you full of people and living things that beg for you to notice them.
We have not been shown well, not really been taught how to notice the people and world around us. You can change this pattern, Student. You can be the one to do things differently.
One smart decision at a time.