Theophany All Over

Tumblrin'

2011-07-17T07:38:00.000-04:00

I recently discovered Tumblr, and I'm in love. I'm posting with alarming frequency. Mostly, I link to and quote things, maybe providing some commentary, and sometimes I post my own photos.

This site is not going away (though it remains pathetically anemic in content), because who knows when I'll feel the need to post a three page rant?

http://thanksandyes.tumblr.com/

Breakfast with Friends

2011-06-18T23:54:00.000-04:00

Dallas, Texas

March 14, 2010

It's just grapes, but I love the light (and the people I was eating with).

Sisters are good for mocking

2011-06-17T23:58:00.002-04:00

Lake Charles, Louisiana

March 19, 2010

I love this boy.

Good Company

2011-06-16T23:46:00.000-04:00

Charro Days, Brownsville, Texas

March 26, 2010

Fair Food

2011-06-15T23:43:00.000-04:00

Charro Days

Brownsville, Texas

March 26, 2010

College Baseball, part 2

2011-06-14T23:50:00.001-04:00

UT Pan American, Edinburgh, Texas

March 10, 2010

College Baseball

2011-06-13T23:34:00.000-04:00

UT Pan American, Edinburgh, Texas

March 10, 2010

The Cave of the Nativity

2011-06-12T23:39:00.000-04:00

My desk at Guadalupe Regional Middle School, Brownsville, Texas

March 26, 2010

Alamo Tree

2011-06-11T21:38:00.001-04:00

Let me be clear: this is a tree near the Alamo in San Antonio, not a tree of the alamo variety. Alamo is Spanish for cottonwood, but I've no idea what sort of tree this is.

April 2010

Thanks a lot, Dorothy "Ruined My" Day!

2011-04-02T17:41:00.000-04:00

A friend posted a Dorothy Day quote a few weeks ago that snagged my attention and troubled me (in a good way): “I really only love God as much as I love the person I love the least.” If you have even the vaguest interest in the Infinite Creator or a passing inclination to get to know Him better, Dorothy’s assertion is at least annoying. There are plenty of people in the world I don’t love very much (no really – plenty), and if Dorothy is right, they are totally ruining my run for sainthood.

Feeling vividly connected to God and ardently in love and drawn nearer to him is pretty easy in the comfort of my pew, or in the still and expectant silence of a winter morning. Heck, even in the middle of a festive gathering of friends I get notions of the infinite and loving (more or less, depending on just what breed of festiveness we’re talking about). But when that one guy who gets on my nerves comes around? Whatever. You’re killing my pious buzz, dude. And that sneaky, catty girl who makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up is definitely exempt from my Thomas-Merton-at-the-intersection-of-the-universe moment.

To add a splash of irony to this hardy stew of hypocrisy, there are others who have been true sources of sadness and sorrow for me, people toward whom frustration and bitterness would be understandable (though still unjustifiable). Thanks to years of literature, movies, and televised professional help, though, I am far more inclined to make the effort (effort, mind you, does not equal success) to extend them reconciliation and mercy from my righteous judgment than I am that obnoxious woman who’s always – never mind.

I believe in respecting people for all that they are. That means both recognizing their shortcomings (contrary to popular belief, we do in fact all have them) and acknowledging their gifts. And yet, faced with a person who irritates me about as much as a pebble in my shoe, I almost invariably linger over the first part, taking my sweet time about getting to the second. In some cases, I have brought procrastination of affirmation to levels most bored teenagers could never hope to attain. And what business have I, who claim to love God and be seeking His will, withholding from any soul the kindness and love that have been poured on me with such gratuitous generosity?

God makes Himself glaringly visible in my life in innumerable ways. One is that, during Mass, even when my mind wanders as far from the Sacrament as Dorothy (not Day) from Kansas, there will come a sharp, sticking thought. Of, say, one such irritating person, perhaps, and then I cannot look at the cross and consider the Body of Christ, the mercy flowing from Christ’s wounds, without knowing that what was done for me was done for all. In the comfort of my pew, I’m suddenly confronted with both my own failings and how loved my personal irritators are.

Of course, there’s no arguing with God when He points that out, and I’m left with just one, unsavory course of action: love these people.

Ugh. Crap.

With deference to Dorothy Day, I hope that the paradoxical reality may be that my love for God and my desire to love Him more are what enable me to love anybody at all; that the two may build each other. I trust it is so. And… fine. I will make every effort to love these brothers and sisters. If I have to.

We Will Run the Race: On the Immensity and Necessity of Education and the Faithfulness of Christ

2011-01-06T23:12:00.000-05:00

We're doing a half-day retreat with a few schools' worth of teachers next week. I wrote this to process my own thoughts on the reading we chose for the theme as I started working on the program.

I charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who will judge the living and the dead, and by his appearing and his kingly power: proclaim the word; be persistent whether it is convenient or inconvenient; convince, reprimand, encourage through all patience and teaching.

For the time will come when people will not tolerate sound doctrine but, following their own desires and insatiable curiosity, will accumulate teachers and will stop listening to the truth and will be diverted to myths. But you, be self-possessed in all circumstances; put up with hardship; perform the work of an evangelist; fulfill your ministry.

For I am already being poured out like a libation, and the time of my departure is at hand. I have competed well; I have finished the race; I have kept the faith. From now on the crown of righteousness awaits me, which the Lord, the just judge, will award to me on that day, and not only to me, but to all who have longed for his appearance.

2 Timothy 4: 1-8

Teachers are responsible for the formation of minds and spirits; for the futures of entire generations of children. They don’t get periods of time where they can lapse. The game doesn't end when the kids leave their classrooms in June, they go on to the next teacher, and the sixth grade teacher needs to be able to count on the fifth grade teacher, who needs to count on the fourth, and so on. It's a paradoxical profession: the work itself is done solo, but each teacher feels deeply the repercussions of their colleagues’ work, for good or ill. The short and long view must exist simultaneously.

When the kids walk into a classroom, their new teacher might be able to ride the momentum from their previous teachers, or might have miles and miles of ground to make up. In either case, the job is the same: get them ready for the next step.

The objective is to get the students where they need to be. Full stop. As the saying goes, it’s that simple and it’s that hard. It’s hard because a legion of outside -- family, neighborhoods, economic status, friends, previous teachers, motivation, learning difficulties, resources, time, and on and on – cohere and expand each other to make the task seems practically impossible. It’s simple because not one of those things ultimately changes the objective. Both as a profession and a vocation, teaching obligates its practitioners to strive towards the goal, no matter what. All this because nothing, outside of the family, is more important.

So it’s critical – absolutely, utterly critical – that teachers stick to their guns and teach, no matter what; that they run the race and preserve; that they keep the faith in their students’ abilities and in God’s unwavering presence in their ministry; that they perform the work of the evangelist by permitting the Holy Spirit to work in and through them.

In every moment of this immense task, there is unlimited possibility. If the bottom line is that teachers have to teach, no matter what, and if it is so critical, then there can be no doubt that God is intimately and thoroughly involved in the ministry of education. There can be no doubt that He will give those who take up this vocation what they need, so long as we are willing to really take it up. Whatever we hold back diminishes the results, but the returns are exponentially greater than what we give up if we pour ourselves out -- if we run the race.

New Year, New Blog? Ish? Maybe?

2011-01-02T01:24:00.000-05:00

This infinitesimal corner of the internet sprang forth almost exactly four years ago when I was observing full-time in a high school classroom before beginning my run as a student teacher. As a college senior, my purpose for blogging was obvious: talk about whatever I darn well pleased whenever I wanted. A few months later my move into the convent with my beloved sisters provided both endless material and a clear purpose: the fist-year-teacher-living-with-nuns-in-Texas niche is very narrow, and while I didn't even manage to corner that market, it was easy to find things to say.

Writing with an audience and a purpose clearly in mind is such an awesome experience. I love every minute of it. And somehow, my readership grew and expanded beyond my family. Trust me, four years ago my expectation of having anything resembling a "readership" was exactly zilch.

Over the past year or so, most posts have been apologies for the long break since the one before. While being quite aware of the lameness of that, I haven't done much about resolving the causes, and since I know there are in fact people out there who read this, it seems right to offer some explanation. The bottom line is that my identity as a writer has changed, and I've yet to figure out how that translates to this space. What started as a college-student-turned-volunteer's reflections, as a matter of fact, is not that any more and can't be.

So, if only for my mother's sake, I'm going to take some time to figure out where I'm going with this and give it another go. And even though I'm pretty sure my inactivity has chased off my meager readership, I'd be honored if whoever of you are left would stick with me while I reinvent my blogger self.

And, of course, a merry 8th day of Christmas and a joyful new year to you all!

BREAKING NEWS: Obama finally says something with which I totally agree.

2010-09-27T22:07:00.000-04:00

"You can't defend a status quo in which a third of our kids are dropping out."

Granted, it's not much more debatable than saying "The sky is typically blue," but it's nonetheless a significant moment.

The Hardest Thing I've Ever Done

2010-09-14T23:24:00.000-04:00

And by "ever", I mean "since at least, like, a couple months ago or something".

I have roughly 17,000 photos on my computer and a new apartment with bare walls. I figured I could afford to print and frame (with WalMart $1 frames, mind you) up to 50 photos, a few at a time, and I figured I have enough space to hang those without it being too ridiculous. So I sat down and set out to pick fifty photos from my 17,000.

In the first round of picks, I had 350. That's somewhat more than 50.

I took a deep breath, went through my selections, and got rid of all but the finest.

I had 275.

I gritted my teeth. Eliminated all but the most outstanding.

200.

I tried, through the blur of tears, to keep only one in four. Only the most precious.

173.

That's when I died a little bit and quit for the night.

As a sea of third parties (well... second, I guess, since up to now it's been just me and my own obsessive psychosis...), which of these stand out the most to you? Which ones should go on my walls?

You can take the girl out of the nest...

2010-09-13T22:40:00.003-04:00

...but you can't take the nest out of the girl.

Point and Match.

2010-09-13T22:12:00.000-04:00

The personal debate we've all gone through, which I talked about a little a while ago, has been settled, at least for me. All my doubts and hesitation are addressed here, and I find the matter quite firmly settled.

While you're at The Crescat, read a little more. She's hil-a-ri-ous, and very often quite poignant, one of my "always read this" category.

Pre-Pep Rally

2010-09-10T18:21:00.003-04:00

This wasn't even game day, and it's not even the actual pep rally.

About 25% of 5-year-olds in the U.S. are Hispanic

2010-08-29T16:58:00.000-04:00

According to this article, this year's class of kindergarteners are, as a group, about 53% white, down from 59% five years ago, while Hispanic students are up from 19% in 2000 to 25% this year, outnumbering black students of the same age by almost 2 to 1.

This belongs on my blog for two reasons:

1) The increase in the population of Latinos in the United States is a huge factor in some of the work Notre Dame is doing right now, and especially in what we're doing with the ACE Academies. Combine the present national high school graduation rate for Latino students (less than 50%, depending on exactly who you ask) with the number of Latino students in the nation, and it doesn't take much specialized knowledge to guess what unfortunate fruits that coupling will eventually bear.

2) The article made me laugh out loud. I'm quite sure it was unintentional and that the writer bears no malice toward Latinos. Nonetheless, some of the phrasing made it sound like we're somewhat similar to a hoard of locusts, or we're carefully coordinating a slow invasion. My favorite example (emphasis mine):

In addition, more Hispanic children are likely because the number of Hispanic girls entering childbearing years is up more than 30% this decade, Kenneth Johnson, demographer at the University of New Hampshire's Carsey Institute says. "It's only the beginning."

Hide your children!

2010-08-10T19:43:00.002-04:00

**EDIT: Dear AT&T text messaging: Thanks for making my hilarious story via text message into truncated nonsense. You're great.

Dear Readers: I've edited the story. It should make sense now.**

Fish: I think I'll buy this shirt.
Me: It's cute, but it looks big.
F: Yeah, but all the smalls have things like I love my grandma and teddy bears and stuff.
Me: Well, don't you love your grandma?
F (emphatically): Sure, but that's not what Vegas is all about! Unless you're talking about gambling grannies carrying teddy bears.

Funny and Kinda True

2010-08-06T11:49:00.001-04:00

Fr. Joe and I met about a year and a half ago when I went to him for confession at an ACE retreat, saw he was wearing a Salesian pin, and spent twenty minutes talking about how much we love the sisters before we even got to my confession. He was taught by them as a child and has stayed part of the family ever since (once a Salesian, always a Salesian!), so he knows most of the sisters I know. Now that we work together, he and I will not uncommonly have sessions consisting mostly of gushing about the Salesians. He recently returned from a trip to Mexico and then to the first profession of vows for the new Salesian sisters.

Fr. Joe: Wouldn't it be great to take a bunch of ACE people down to Mexico City? Just to learn about Mexico and the people and how it all affects what we do here.

Me: Yeah! I mean, we've got this whole campaign that kinda centers on that. Let me help you with that if it happens.

Fr. Joe: I'm going to think about that. It's not very expensive, either.

Me: And I bet you could get a benefactor to help fund it, or even cover the whole thing.

Fr. Joe: It's very possible.

(He leaves, then pops his head back in my door as he returns to his office, wearing a mischievous grin.)

Fr. Joe: You know, I can tell you're loosing your Salesian roots. The sisters would have said, "Maybe we can have a bake sale to help raise the money". You say, "Just get a benefactor!" That's Notre Dame talking.

Heirloom

2010-08-02T21:31:00.001-04:00

I got a package in the mail today.

It was from my mom. This is the only vanilla I have ever, in the history of my recollection, seen in our cupboard at home. There is no other kind. My Mama is no slouch at cooking, so generally, if it's good enough for her, it's good enough for me. She's also already sent me a set of brand new pots and pans, also the kind she uses and swears by.

And I mean that literally. If you wanted to make sure you were getting my mom's good word on something, pull our her red enamel skillet.

Like I said, she's no culinary novice, which is what made the other item in this package worth more than the shiny new pots. Pirate's Pantry was probably the source of more of my meals growing up than any other single volume.

These are south Louisiana family recipes, which is synonymous with "delectable".

It was a gift to my dad when they were courting.

And now it's mine.

This is my kind of cookbook. This is 90% of everything good I've ever eaten. The book itself is a memory. The contents could be a family history.

Mama says you can tell which pages have the best recipes because they're covered in food stains.

This one has taken the place of a birthday cake for me for at least the last five years.

Today was a good mail day.

Hear Me Roar

2010-08-01T22:42:00.000-04:00

Last Saturday, my apartment looked like this. Later that day, through the generosity of my (now former) roommate and the donated labor of his summer roommates, I added a couch to the middle of my then expansive living space.

I carried almost everything else in solo. Every box from my car and each piece of furniture, basically every scrap of material possession in this place, was carried in by my scrawny little arms. Before that, I packed the entire contents of my bedroom and classroom in Brownsville in my Corolla with my own two hands and my own Target-sandaled feet.

Not only that, but I built three of the furniture pieces with my black and yellow tools. I sweat and I slaved and I tasted the fruits of industry - and they were sweet, my friends.

Less than a week after moving in, I had unpacked every last box and placed every last item. I'm out-pacing Rome by a long shot, and I even gave the Lord a run for his money. And now, a week and a day later, my apartment looks like this:

And I did all of these things by myself. And what is more, I did somewhere between 60-75% of these things in a skirt. I defy any man to make the same claim.

And so, I claim the voice of the speaker in this ballad as my own, and I stand on my duck-crap covered patio, stand tall and dehydrated, and proclaim in an unwavering voice, "I am woman! See me build a table."

.

Another Reason I'll Miss This Place

2010-06-03T13:57:00.001-04:00

The people I work with are funny. In reference to our faculty end-of-the-year barbecue tonight:

Boss: You know, if any of your roommates want to come, they're welcome.
Me: Well, it's just me and Jackie left, but thanks.
Boss: Well, then just bring any vagrant you see!

Sharp Relief

2010-05-29T20:37:00.003-04:00

(Written Friday afternoon.)

The 8th graders are taking their finals in my classroom in the mornings, so I've been teaching in a different room most of the time this week. Yesterday was my last time teaching in the classroom I've inhabited for the last two years, and at the beginning of class I mentioned this to the 7th graders.

Mistake. I thought I was sentimental. Apparently I've got nothing on these kids, especially the girls.

First, during prayer, they produced a lengthy and moving string of prayers in thanks for me and my fellow ACEr at my school, and for our well-being as we move on.

Then they started sneaking up to the board while my back was turned working with other students and writing all kinds of sweetness. All the while they were telling me how much they're going to miss me and asking if I might come back for their graduation next year.

Then Daniela walks up to me and very frankly, sweetly, sincerely, says, "Ma'am, thank you."

I kept it together just long enough to say, "You're welcome, Daniela," and send her back to work. Then I went and sat behind my desk and put on my best poker face.

Then Judith looks up and catches the suddenly watery nature of my eyes and says, in Spanish, "Look, she's about to cry!"

They all went, "Awwww!" and got up and surrounded me and hugged me. And then I lost it.

Then I told them they were jerks, and one of them goes, "But we're your jerks!"

They've been teasing me about it since. When I got out of my car with my sunglasses on this morning, Ivette smirked and said, "You know why she's wearing those glasses..."

Today, I taught my last class for the foreseeable future. I'm sitting in an empty classroom, for once not relishing the peace but wishing for a few more minutes of pandemonium. I'm pretty positive I'll find my way back to a classroom sometime, but I have no idea how long from now that will be. This is strange, because if you had asked me even ten months ago if I thought I might not be in a classroom next year, I would have said no way. And yet, here I go, off to sit at a desk, not working with kids. It's putting me in a weird state of mind -- I'm not having second thoughts, and yet I am wondering what the hell I'm thinking leaving the classroom. My heart aches a little.

Teaching is such a weird occupation, at least for me. It takes everything I've got, provides minimal or invisible returns, and I love it. Love it. It consumes most of my energy, time, and thought, and well beyond my oft-stated belief that education is a human right. It's the act of teaching, the process of writing plans, being in the classroom, dealing with kids, nudging, prodding, pushing, questioning, challenging them, getting to know them, laughing with them, reigning in my impulsive reactions ("What in the hell are you thinking?!"), pulling my hair out, wondering what I'm doing wrong, trying to do it better, catching glimmers of sanity, the mild shock when a kid suddenly looks and acts a little bit older, a little more mature, and the very normal, unassuming, undramatic* little blip of satisfaction, encouragement, and hope when a kid does well. Every shade on the human spectrum of emotion, every week.

I'm not having second thoughts about the new job, and I am still just as excited about it as I was in March when I got the offer. I've no doubt it's where I'm supposed to go. There are (at least) two sides to everything, though, and the flip side of this coin is very much in focus right now. This blog is named Theophany because of my constant wonder at the ways God reveals himself in the world, and I have encountered him in the most mundane and profound ways in this profession. For the last three and a half years, even as I've fought the impulse to beat my head on a desk, I've loved it and felt right doing it.

I have one more final to give and some miscellaneous old work to grade. I need to tear down and pack up my classroom. And that's it. Two weeks from now, I'll be taking up permanent residence in an office at Notre Dame, not a classroom anywhere. It is the definition of bittersweet.

*This, incidentally, is why I sort of hate most Inspiring Teacher Movies

The Miss List - Edited

2010-05-28T00:51:00.000-04:00

(Originally posted May 12. Updated now and again until the end of the school year. New items in bold.)

In the weeks since I officially decided to take this job at Notre Dame and knew, therefor, that I would not be teaching next year, there has naturally been at least one incident everyday that makes me wonder why in the world I am leaving the classroom.

There has also been at least one moment everyday when I think, "I will not miss that at all."

I think I am actually rather grateful for this, because without the occasional thought to the elements of my profession with which I am not, shall we say, enamored, I would be a blubbering mass of tears and snot at the thought of leaving. At the same time, if I were to leave teaching and be really gleeful about it, it would cast a depressing light on these last three years (or more, depending how you count), and I don't think they'd want me where I'm going, either.

So it's all about balance here. As always. I am the queen of balance.

Thus, below is a list of both "Things I Will NOT Miss" and "Things I Will Miss". I intend to update this post whenever these things occur to me. Of course, we all know my posting track record. My intentions and actions almost never match up.

Things I Will NOT Miss

Eye rolling
500 reasons a day to give them The Look.
Eau de After PE Class
Finding the work I just assigned. On the floor. Without a name.
Being asked, "Ma'am, do you believe in aliens? It's in the Bible," in the middle of a vocab quiz
Having eight kids all yelling my name at the same time and all expecting my full attention right that moment.
Having seven kids simultaneously become unbearably indignant because I paid attention to someone else.
Writing finals
Grading anything. Especially finals. Ugh.
And grading late work.
And grading.
Did I mention grading?

Things I WILL Miss

The "I Get It!" look!
Giving them The Look.
The look on their faces when I give them The Look
Being asked, "Ma'am, do you believe in aliens? It's in the Bible," in the middle of a vocab quiz
The chorus of voices that responds in perfectly trained harmony of cadence when I say, "Good morning, 7th grade!" ("Gooood mOOOOOrning Miiiiss-Ciiiiis-neee-roooooos!")
The (rare) moment when pandemonium breaks out in class because they're excited about something.
Telling a senior who went to my school years ago and who I did a mission trip with that he should turn down MIT for ND, and Penn is a good third choice.
Pretending I knew the Yankees had won before Jose walks in the door high-fiving me.
Having an excuse to get nerdily excited about a poem (I'm trying to get them excited... really...).
Looking at a kid in May, remembering how the same kid was in August, and being struck speechless by how proud I am of said kid for coming so far.
Guillermo yelling, "Ma'am, I love you!" every time he leaves my class or sees me in the hall.
Kids coming up to me after they finish a book I recommended and saying, "Ma'am, you were right, that book was so great!"
Realizing after the fact they enjoyed and connected with an activity I thought at the time was a disaster.
Field trips and seeing the kids in a different context.
Messing with their heads (Example: "You'll be fine. Unless of course you fail." "Yh-- Wait, what?" "What?" "Ma'am, what did you say?!" "George Washington.")