Toothbrushes and Opossums

It has NOT been boring in first and second grade lately.
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Best attempt to get out of cursive practice:

"You know what, Miss Djerf? You're not respecting who I am. You're just trying to change me!"

I had to explain that no, actually, I AM supposed to change some things about my students, their handwriting being one of those things. But nice try...

Best prayer request of the week (from a second grader who'd had a tough start to her day):

"Um, can we pray that we don't have to pay to fix the plumbing at my house? Because I accidentally flushed my toothbrush down the toilet this morning."


The best question (in the middle of a lesson on the day of Pentecost):

"Miss Djerf, why were there opossums in the upper room?"

Until today, I never realized how closely related the words "apostle" and "opossum" are. I'm glad he asked, though. It really puts the story in a different light to be imagining opossums praising God in different tongues with flames of fire on their heads.

An Easter Meditation on...Immigration?

Last week, I took my students to a class about immigrants to Minnesota. After establishing that we were mostly natives to the state, the instructor asked, "Does anyone know how every single one of us is connected to an immigrant?"

Though we'd been reading about immigrants for weeks, something about her wording threw the whole class off. They sat there, confused, for several seconds before Ira raised his hand and offered the standard Christian school guess: "Jesus?"

To my delight (and respect!), the teacher rolled with it! "Well, I suppose you COULD say that Jesus was an immigrant..." she replied thoughtfully, chuckling. "A different kind of one. He was more of a celestial immigrant, wasn't he?"

She smiled, paused, and moved on.

I, however, haven't moved on yet. So much to chew on in two words! A "celestial immigrant" -- how very different Jesus was from the immigrants we studied, and yet how appropriate a title.

We've read that immigrants came to the United States in search of a better life, to flee war or famine, or to escape persecution, to name a few reasons. All were hopeful that their lives would improve here. They came to better themselves, their families, and their futures.

In contrast, we are told the following about Jesus,
"...though he was in the form of God...[he] made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross." (Philippians 2:6-8, ESV)

Second Corinthians 8:9 also speaks of the sacrifice He made in coming to us:
"For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich."

Nothing about Jesus' coming was easy. He lived a simple life amongst an oppressed people. The climax of his earthly life and ministry -the cross- certainly doesn't fall under our ideas of "success" or "a better life." Never once did He take a "I'm-actually-God-so-I'm-just-going-to-skip-this-part" shortcut. He didn't come to enrich Himself in any way.

That's impressive by itself. This celestial immigrant demands my respect, if nothing else. But to realize that it was so that I might become rich? I, who had nothing to offer Him, being "qualified to share in the inheritance of the saints in Light?" I move from being impressed to awed. Overwhelmed.

This Holy Week, may the reality of the incarnation pierce our hearts and cause us to worship! May the glory of this Celestial Immigrant, who came to reconcile us to Himself, not to be served (which He deserved) but to serve, cause us to say along with Thomas, "My Lord and my God!"

"And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth." (John 1:14)

Real-Life Application; or, Quotes Borrowed From Third Grade

Two quotes currently on the favorites board in our kitchen:

"It's not like when I grow up and buy a house, I'm going to pay them in Base 10 blocks!"

- A third grader in Tiffany's class frustrated by her emphasis on concept over speed or procedure. Feeling bogged down by the use of Base 10 blocks during a multiplication lesson, he made his case against them (rather convincingly, if you ask me).

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"Where's the yelling?"

- A dad at spring parent-teacher conferences after Tiff showed him his daughter's most recent writing assignment, a flowery description of her family's morning routine before coming to school. Apparently, she left out a few details.

Great Kid Quotes You Can Use In Your Everyday Life

Stick a couple of these authentic first and second grade quotes in your back pocket, and you'll never be speechless again. (People may look at you with strange expressions on their faces when you talk, but that already happens, doesn't it?)

"You wouldn't live a DAY in MY body!"

- A second grader (who yelled this across the room at another student, for no evident reason - making it even more useful)

"I think I tore a limb."

- The same second grader, referring to a gym-class injury. He has a gift for the dramatic.

And now, a creative writing tutorial from another second grader. The next time you need embellishment, perhaps you can draw inspiration from this young man.

The assignment? Write at least six lines about the Hansel and Gretel opera we saw. Here is his first (one-line) attempt:

Hansel and Gretel sleeped at the forest and the angels saved them.

Grouchy dictator that I am, I demanded more details. At least five lines worth of details, to be exact. It's possible I even instructed him to be creative. He hemmed and hawed, and then an idea dawned on his face. I want to hang the finished product on my refrigerator:

Hansel and Gretel sleeped at the forest and the angels saved them from getting eaten and killed and curceds or torchered or cut or blood presher or heat attack or getting sick or captured or drowning and from the night.

So it might not follow the opera's story line exactly. But he met the six-line minimum, and you have to admit, it's pretty darn creative.

A Question of Discipline and Parenting...Sort Of

You may be wondering why this blog has sat deserted for the past two -no, three- months. Well, the answer is a rather embarrassing. You see, I'm having a little discipline problem with my words.

Here it is, plain and simple: my words won't mind me.

How am I dealing with the problem, you ask? Oh, I lecture and they listen, and they nod their heads and promise they understand exactly what I'm telling them, but by the time we've made our peace again, we're too worn out to do anything productive. Tomorrow, we say. Tomorrow, we will work together and write. And then they behave beautifully, as long as we're driving down the road or sitting in the middle of a reading group or some other setting in which WRITING THEM DOWN is impossible. At all those times, they dance to the tune I play, and I nurse great hopes for them.

But get us home after a long day's work, and give us a chance to say something meaningful, and there is no cooperation, or obedience, or patience to be found. They scatter every which way, snickering and mocking, and I am left alone, pouting like a child. I'm supposed to be the one in charge here, right?

What do you do when your words just won't sit when you say sit? When they show off when they should be serving, or they run and hide when you'd like them to sit and properly answer your company?

Am I expecting them to be something they aren't? Am I asking too much of them? Is this the reason they don't listen? Or am I being too lenient, allowing them to run free when they should be shaped and disciplined? Is this why they no longer respect me?

Those of you more experienced in administering discipline, what do you suggest?


[For some crazy reason, when I haven't written for a while, all I can write about is NOT BEING ABLE TO WRITE! Here's hoping that this is a priming of the pump...]

What I've Been Reading While I Haven't Been Blogging

Haven't managed lately to contend with my thoughts enough so as to wrestle them into a blog entry. Journal, yes. Blog, no.  It'll come again, though. (Spring does manage to show up after winter, doesn't it?)

 

In the meantime, I've stumbled across many bloggers truly worth reading. Here are a few I recommend:

 

Genevieve Thul - a mother of young children, doctoral student, current cancer patient, and thoughtful, poetic writer Food for the soul on so many levels.

 

Caroline Ferdinandsen - reflects on life and culture. I usually ponder her posts for days.

 

Jennifer Straw - friend who's teaching in Mozambique, Africa. She paints sensory-rich pictures of her experiences -- makes me want to be there!

 

Abraham Piper - it's amazing what he can say in 22 words. Makes me laugh, think, argue, ponder, and take action - all in twenty-two words or less.

 

In the mood to explore further? Try Christy Tennant (she'll make you think), Desiring God (authored by a variety of people from Bethlehem Baptist Church -- all good at writing valuable, short posts), or Improv Everywhere  (this links to one of my favorite, must-see Improv Everywhere videos -- I Love Lunch - The Musical).

Million Dollar Mercy in Action

The ten students waiting for me down on the story rug were an ugly tangle of accusations and rebuttals, tears and indignation. Only moments earlier, they'd returned from a contentious game of Capture the Flag. Gym class was over, but the factions remained, and the hostility was ear-shattering.

Usually under such circumstances, I would deliver a scathing speech to the whole group, slicing to the root of the squabbles and bullying a confession out of the offenders. Today, I found myself clothed in the gentleness I've been praying for! And for once, I saw the opportunity to apply some earlier learning instead of seeing the interruption of my schedule.

See, today's chapel had centered on Matthew 5:7: "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy." We talked about needing mercy and giving it to others. (Last week, we compared God's million-dollar mercy to our ten-dollar mercy, since receiving His mercy enables us to give it to others.) It's a simple concept; but like a lot of Jesus' directions, it doesn't come naturally. If first graders are representative of humanity in general, wanting your offender's pound of flesh is what's natural. Showing mercy is supernatural.

"It looks like some of you had an opportunity to show mercy to some of your classmates today. If you were honest, do you think you were merciful?" They squirmed, and I waited. Ira was the first to admit to an ungracious attitude, and he apologized to the people he'd yelled at. Immediately, the other tender-hearts of the room followed suit.

Ilsa's apology was simple, but significant: "Peyton, I'm sorry I said that you cheated." I noticed because Peyton's voiciferous denials were the type I see when he IS guilty. Knowing him well, I figured that he had cheated, and that Ilsa knew it.

I carefully mentioned that sometimes we all feel tempted during games, some people to be angry, some to cheat, etc. And I left it at that. While I was thinking about how to deal further, Ilsa got up from her spot on the rug and went to sit beside Peyton, sharing her blanket with him. It was an unmistakeable token of friendship from the most sought-after member of the class, an act of mercy to someone who, with all his huffing and puffing, was far from deserving it right then.

I was floored. I was still trying to convict him. She, on the other hand, was doing exactly what we'd discussed in chapel this morning: giving someone a second chance even when he doesn't deserve it.

Even more stunning was Peyton's response. Under the weight of her kindness, he suddenly broke. "I did cheat," he confessed. "I really wanted to win. I put my foot over the line, and then I lied and said I didn't. I'm sorry, everybody." By now, they were ready to be merciful in return, and friendships were once again restored.

It was a rich moment, one I will remember for a long time...

Two Epiphanies About My Height, Courtesy of First Graders

My brother Nick came to visit my class in October. He's something of a legend in first and second grade (apparently, the teacher talks him up), but when he comes in person, he even manages to exceed expectations, mostly by being BIG. Really big. Way bigger than Miss Djerf. (They are also impressed by his ability to beat Miss Djerf at everything, but that's a post for another time.)

He passed me up when he was eleven or so, so I've had plenty of time to deal with it. My students, however, were concerned by the inequality. Pablo eyed the two of us carefully, and then patted my shoulder comfortingly and said, "He's not THAT much taller than you, Miss Djerf. Just a little bit." (The picture is Pablo showing me how much more I need to grow to catch up.)

Grayson took it one step further. He started grilling Nick: "Nick, you exercised a lot, right?" Nick admitted that yes, lately he's exercised a lot (playing college basketball will do that to you). Grayson turned triumphantly to me and announced, "See, Miss Djerf? All you need to do is exercise, and you can be as tall as Nick!"

I'm not feeling terribly confident about that solution. The way I see it, if being born nine years earlier didn't help, exercising more isn't going to erase a thirteen-inch gap...

It turns out that Grayson is full of helpful observations. Just this week, his face lit up when he saw me standing next to the music teacher. He'd had a revelation: "Miss Djerf! Mrs. O is taller than you!"

I agreed, of course. Lots of people are taller than me. His next comment, however, was a first.

"So THAT'S why she's married and you're not!" She and I chuckled, but he wasn't finished yet. "So THAT'S why SHE'S a grown up and YOU'RE still a kid."

I might just end up in therapy after all.

Letters to Miss D.

Needing to fill a few minutes between lessons this afternoon, I asked my students to write me a letter when they finished their book work. Here's a general sampling:

Ms.D You are a WaNDrfull tech you are the Best techr in the Wlrd thank you For teching me Math Langig AnD BiBl.

But not spelling, apparently.

The distracted nature of the following letter is a blend of her butterfly-like personality and the rising action of the classroom at the time of writing:

To. Miss. Djerf.

I had a fun this Summer! I mist you that handwriting book is silly! I wish this was quieter. How was your Summer? I bett it was good. You should make a roull that people must be quiet exsept if you have a quwestden, coment or anser.

Rocken science lecen!

We should have rules? In a classroom? Are you kidding? But glad you liked the science lesson.

The following is probably my favorite:

Dear Miss D I really like your singing. And you read us great books. you write great. And you draw great

Yep, I'm forming a cult. The cult of the Miss Djerf followers. (Our motto: So we don't exactly listen to what she's saying, but we think she's great...) I think I'll pick this student to be the leader; he can spell.