Chapter 23: Acting and Teaching

I wanted to be an art teacher since I was fifteen years old, and for three glorious years, I had my dream job.  I worked at the Christian school I graduated high school from, teaching Pre-K through 12th grade students.  I don't mean to toot my own horn, but if I am being completely honest, I was pretty good at it.  Its easy to be good at something when you love it so much.  I would wear cute artsy skirts, chunky beaded necklaces, and blow-dry my hair everyday.  I felt polished and prepared every morning.  It was just as important to look the part as much as act the part.    

After all, teaching is not just about sharing information.  It is also a performing art.  There is a song-and-dance aspect to it.  My mom always told me ever since I started helping to teach her craft classes when I was twelve, "Some days you are a good teacher, and some days you are a good actress.  You should be so good at both, that your students won't be able to tell the difference."  On days when I was tired or not excited, I would have to act the part for a few minutes, then my sheer love for teaching would take over.  Adrenaline would start rushing, and as I would be presenting the lesson, I'd get that feeling of, "Wow.  I can't imagine doing anything else.  Ever.  I was made for this.  I love this project.  And these students are going to love this too."  The performance would last a forty minute class period. We would start with prayer, and then I would slowly reveal details of the project layer by layer- not too much at once, to keep them on their toes and listening.  I loved adding exciting twists to mundane lessons.  

One of my favorites was our annual snowflake making day.  It was always done the week after Christmas break.  Every class made them- kindergarten through 6th graders.  It was, of course, important to teach them how to make a six sided snowflake.  We would discuss the word "unique," read a passage- maybe Psalm 139 or Psalm 51.  But here was the twist.  Each of the four tables in the art room had a small bucket in the middle.  While they made snowflakes, the small pieces of paper they cut would be all over the room.  I called these the "flurries," and at the end of the period, we had a flurry collecting contest.  (Ok- this in part was in sheer frustration of cleaning up paper for months after this project.  Two hundred students making 5-10 snowflakes each makes a LOT of flurries.)  You should have seen the students crawling around on the floor on their hands and knees "stealing" another table's trash to put in their bucket.  I would examine the buckets and make-up a winner, have a tie for second and a very very close third.  Then, there would also be scraps of paper from each student cutting out circles for their snowflakes.  These were to be crumpled up for "snowballs." At the end of the period, we had a 15 second snowball fight.  Sheer chaos.  Glorious fun.  But that's what art class was for.  My husband, who teaches P.E., calls specials teachers the "grandparents" of the school. Have fun with them... and send them on back to homeroom.  

I also loved decorating- filling the hallway with splashes of color,creativity, and life.   One year, I had each of the grades work on a different day of the creation story.  From one end of the hallway to the other, you could walk through and see the amazing work our Creator had accomplished in seven days.  It took a month for the students just to make the projects.  But it was magic when it was on display, and the students were so proud of themselves.  I still have the pictures, so I'll share some of them. 

It was more than just teaching that I loved.  I had a knack for being able to enter a student's world and relate to them.  After I would present the project, pass out the materials, and set them loose with a few rules and a license to be creative, it was time to show them how important each of them were- to put generosity and compassion into practice.  It was time to fix disheveled ponytails, sew on a button that had come lose, make up a special envelope for a lost tooth, tie a shoe, or turn down a collar of one of their uniform shirts.  I would sit at their table and have deep, theological discussions about pets, vacations, Suite Life, Sponge Bob, or Miley Cyrus- whatever they wanted to talk about.  I would rescue crying, frustrated second graders by showing them they could turn their paper over and have a fresh start.  I would praise artistically gifted students as well as ones that could only follow the directions.  At the end of the period, I would ring a wind-chime and have a contest to see which table would clean up the best and the fastest.  (Elementary students love contests.)

Oh, how I loved teaching!  I had very little time or energy left for creating art myself, but teaching was even better than drawing or painting.  I was creating creative people.  I can't even count how many of them have told me they want to be art teachers when they grow up.  I don't blame them- its the best job in the entire world.  

I miss it.  Don't get me wrong- I love love LOVE being a mom.  I am so fortunate and blessed to be able to stay home and be the mom that I always knew God wanted me to be.  If I were still teaching, I would be thinking about my little ones all day and how someone else was raising them.  I couldn't possibly enjoy teaching now as much as I used to now that Josiah and Molly are in my life.  

But being a mom is lonely.  I used to thrive on energy from other people.  I miss those magic moments of making kids laugh.  The high fives.  The 20 third graders practically knocking me over to give me a hug all at once.  I miss kids.  And I miss being who I was when I was around them.  It was the best version of myself that I knew.  

That's where Thursday comes in.  Stupid Thursday.  The worst day of the week.  The day I count down the hours and feel the knot in my stomach tighten until Josiah's aunt finally gets here and takes my baby away from me.  It is a social situation that I am not comfortable with because I don't know how to act or what to say.  I hate the awkwardness of it all.   

But not yesterday.  When Brenda finally came, out of her minivan popped three of her grandchildren.  Ages four, eight, and eleven.  Kids! This was a situation I knew how to handle.  I felt myself slip into the performance.  I greeted them with high fives and bent down to look them in the eye and learn their names.  They were here to meet their cousin.  

If I knew they were coming, I would have baked them cookies.  But since I didn't, I offered them tootsie rolls and apple juice.  I asked them questions about school and there was great jubilation when they all told me how much they liked to draw and paint.  More high fives all around.  I got to sit with them in the living room and watch them play with my little boy.  They read him stories, smiled and made funny faces, kissed Josiah and Mollly, held them both with such tenderness and compassion.  They said, "yes, ma'am and no, ma'am," and listened the first time their grandmother told them to do something.  I showed them the slideshow of Josiah's birthday party on my computer and they told me how much fun it looked and pointed out their relatives that were there.    

Dare I say I had fun...on a Thursday?  It was the first time in a long time I felt like myself again- the kind compassionate, giving person that I was when I was a teacher.  I've decided that the thing I don't like most about Thurdays isn't the situation.  Its me.  I hate who I am on Thursdays.  I am selfish.  I have a complaining spirit.  I worry about what other people think of me, my house, and my mothering ability.  On Thursdays I am wanting to grasp all that is "mine" and hold it close so no one else can experience it.  That's not me!  Atleast, I hope not!  If I'm trying to generate compassion and empathy towards others, what is it that I'm doing!?!?  Complaining that God is giving the opportunity to put those qualities into practice?!?  No, no, no.  

I refuse to let being uncomfortable dictate how I share Christ's love with other people.  Unfortunately, for now, its going to be about being a good actress.  But one day my heart will finally catch up to my head, and it will be about being a good person.