The Plan

So the Plan was to leave around nine this morning.  We'd drive for maybe three hours, stop for a leisurely lunch, and then continue on while the boys took their afternoon nap, arriving at the home of Grant and Riley Graves in Chattanooga, Tennesseee where we'd spend the night.  Sunday we'd spend the day with Grant and Riley and then leave out around 10 pm, drive through the night and arrive in the vicinity of Anna Maria Island, Florida sometime the next morning where we'd meet up with my mom, brother, sister and the rest of the family and enjoy a couple of sun-soaked days at the beach.

Needless to say, things did not go as planned.

And you know what? Remarkably, I"m okay with it.

I love to plan.  It literally makes me feel better to sit down and plan out what I'm going to do in the next week, the next day, even the next hour.  I am the guy, who even as a kid made a meticulous hour by hour daily schedule for my summer vacations.  And because I love to plan, I really, really hate it when things don't go as planned.  I'm not what you'd call flexible.  Or at least I wasn't until today.

Well, actually, I started out the day as inflexible as always.  The first thing to go awry was that we were not ready to leave at nine.  Or ten. Or eleven.  I was peeved to put it mildly.  But God was already working on me.  Over the course of the morning as I waited with varying degrees of patience for my loved ones to be ready, I came to the realization that I needed to let it go.  I needed to let go of the Plan.  The reality was that when we left was outside of my control, and trying to control it would only aggravate my wife and children and leave me all the more frustrated.  I began to realize that you can make a plan, but many times that plan doesn't pan out.  And at that point, I had a choice: to either be okay with it or not.  I won't say I'd come entirely to peace by the time we headed out on the road around 1:40 P.M., but I was at least at the point of acceptance.

Peace would come later, when the plan really fell apart.  About 22 miles outside of Columbus, the air conditioner suddenly starting blowing hot air.  The battery warning light flashed on, quickly followed by the check engine light, and the temperature quickly shot up into the red.  I had a flashback to the oil leak that led my 1990 Corolla to seize up on similar stretch of Ohio interstate 15 years ago.  I ended up selling that car for $300 for parts so great was the damage to the engine.  I quickly got off at the nearest exit.  After trying to reach a towing company and talking to a few passing strangers, I was under the impression that I might be able to get us back home at least.  After all the car hadn't stalled.  So we began to head back home, but in just a few minutes the temperature gauge was back in the red.  The towing company called me back and when I described my situation they told me to get off the road posthaste before I did some serious damage to my car (Of course Babs had told me this already, but I wasn't listening.  You'd think I'd have learned by now, after having seen her wisdom time and again, that you know, she might know a thing or two.  But I was being the stereotypical hardheaded husband).  So we pulled off at the next exit and the car gave up the ghost just as we turned off the ramp, with a couple of gas stations just a couple hundred yards down the road.

We were definitely and truly stuck and one thing was certain:  We wouldn't be going anywhere today.  And what was amazing, is that I had total peace. It was like, "Okay, Lord.  I got it. Plans change.  Roll with it."  And I realized that we were truly blessed.  It turned out that the serpentine belt had snapped (or fallen off, whatever the case, it was completely gone).  I don't know how long it would have taken for this to happen but if it had not happened until we were well into our trip--if we'd be on schedule as I'd wanted to be--we might have been stranded half way between Columbus and Chattanooga.  As it was, we were close to home.  Our good friends Albert and Anastasia Bailey came to our rescue with Albert driving out to take Babs and the kids home while I waited with the car.   After I got towed to the Toyota dealership just minutes from our house, Marc Lavalas, husband of my colleague Lisa and all-around cool guy came out of his way to take me home.  Beyond, all that was the grateful realization was that what had happened to us really wasn't all that bad.  We are healthy and alive.  We'll sleep in the comfort of our own beds tonight.  Compared to all the horrors that could happen to us at any time--when I consider that I might throw on my favorite Oregon Ducks hoodie, head down to the Wal-Greens on the corner for some iced tea and candy and never come back--this mishap really was small potatoes.

And I felt that God just showered me with his love and grace all throughout this beautiful sunshiney Sabbath afternoon..  Numerous people stopped to ask if I was okay and needed help.  One gentleman who lived just down the road checked on me more than once and he and his wife bought me a burger and fries, and a tall iced tea because they thought I might be hungry.  Roy from RAM Towing responded with  grace I'm sure he didn't feel when after calling him over, I decided to wait for Toyota Roadside Assistance instead.  (I'm not a jerk, really I'm not.  Just too poor to risk not getting reimbursed for using a company not in Toyota's network.  Course, if I'd listened to Babs--again--who told me to call Toyota first in the first place. . .)  He could have been really rude about it (and been within his rights to be so) but he wasn't, and that alone gives me a fine impression of their customer service--even if I elected not to receive it.  Danny, at Broad & James Towing, who did tow me back, was an awesome guy and I enjoyed learning more about the towing business and some of his fascinating experiences on the drive back to the city.  Toyota covered the first $100 of my tow and I paid all of $2.75 out of pocket.  After all this, I got home in time to hang out with Elijah on the balcony and enjoy a lovely evening, and read him his Bible stories.  For a day that went completely awry in terms of my Plan, it was a really nice day.

Tomorrow?  I'll be at the Toyota dealership first thing in the morning, and I'm hoping that the serpentine belt is all that needs to be fixed, that I did no further damage to the engine, and that we might yet be able to make it to Anna Maria Island by Monday. That's the plan anyway. But I can't say for sure.  I'm learning, that while it's fun to plan and schedule, God's the only one that has a plan for me that's not subject to change, to give me a future and a hope.  How that plays out remains to be seen, but in the meantime, I'll make it my goal to trust Him more.

Good Work

Graduation Day.  May 30, 2013

Certain Christians sometimes talk about speaking things into existence, you know "claiming" things before they happen.  I never really experienced anything like that until this last amazing school year.  A week or two after the school year ended, I happened to go back to this entry from the beginning of the school year, and I was astonished to discover that I had described the entire year before it even happened! There's really nothing much else to add.  Read that entry and you will see a summary of a truly remarkable year.

The graduation ceremony held just over a month ago on May 30, 2013 was the perfect capstone to the journey I've shared with the ten 8th grade graduates over the past four years since I came to CAA.  I have never experienced a graduation quite like that in all my years of teaching.  It was just a truly beautiful, intimate moment in time shared with students, teachers and leadership, parents, family and friends.

I think it might have begun when one of my students, who I call "The Voice," had his heartfelt dedication to his parents, entitled "Mine", read during the tribute to parents. From there the ceremony became more than just, well, a ceremony. It was heartfelt, real, and deeply emotional.  There was hardly a dry eye in the room by the time the program was over.

That night marked a special culmination for me too. It was when I think I finally accepted that this really is my  passion, my calling.  This is what I"m supposed to do with my life and I can think of no better work.  For many years I felt that teaching was something I was doing until I could get doing  what I really loved.  But you know, God gave me the chance to sample some of those other things: making a movie--or TV show technically--or writing a book.  And what I found, is that while I loved doing those things, after I'd done them I found I had little interest in pursuing them further.  I reflected on this lack of dreams, if you will, in a reflection earlier this year.

But now I get it.  I used to think it was just because I was in Saipan, but being here in Columbus and having that same sense of deep reward proves it's not about the location.  I used to think I loved the kids but not the work.  But now I know that the work is all about the kids and that makes even tedious chores like grading and decorating the classroom (well, maybe not decorating the classroom!) rewarding.  All along this is what I've been meant to do. This is my greatest reward, my deepest joy.  Lately when people ask me about my job as a teacher, I've found myself saying it's good work.  And it really is.  For me, it's the best there is.  To have a part in the lives of so many young people?  To see them grow and shine?  To really invest in them, knowing, trusting, believing, and sometimes even seeing it pay off?  Who could ask for more?

So even as I bid goodbye to a very special class, I'm looking forward to next school year and another opportunity to do and experience truly good work.

O Canada

My students noting the flags flying at the entrance to Canada's Wonderland on Tuesday, May 21, asked: "How come they have all the other countries' flags up there but not ours?" I explained to them that those were the flags of Canada's provinces, like our fifty states, not flags of other nations.

Today is Canada Day!  It's a  fitting time to conclude my series on the CAA 8th grade class trip this past May to Toronto with my impressions of Canada.

I concede, of course, that it's not really possible to have any meaningful impressions of this vast nation as whole based on my visit to one province for a few days. It's like sitting on the steps of the shallow end of the pool for a few minutes and then declaring you've gone swimming.  So what I offer instead is a reflection, less on what I experienced, and more on what I admire about this great nation.

 We Americans have a strange need to be the Best, the Greatest, Number 1.  We tend to be rather self-involved--a bit nationally narcissistic, if you will.  We assume everyone loves us and wants to be us or hates us and wants to destroy us because they secretly envy our freedoms and our greatness.  Either way we are certain we are on everyone's minds; the center of the world.  Perhaps we are actually somewhat insecure.  Nationally, we are sometimes reminiscent of a teenager.  And I suppose that's what we are in the scope of history.  The American experiment isn't even a quarter of the way through our third century while many nations have been around in one form or another for more than a millennium.

But then we have this younger neighbor to our north, this sophomore to our  junior in the high school of youthful nations.  We tell ourselves that they are basically just like us.  They speak the same language (for the most part), and while they've got their "aboats" and "ehs" their accent is far more similar to ours than those of our more distant cousins in Great Britain and elsewhere.  Their ethnic makeup mirrors ours--a melting pot of colors and cultures including the remaining Native Americans who were there first.  Our hockey and baseball leagues overlap.  We are both developed, modern, rich countries. Canada feels benign, and in its seeming similarity to us, unthreatening. No worries about foreigners to the north coming in and taking up our jobs and refusing to speak American.  Sure they've got their eccentricities--they use the metric system and spell center wrong.  "Isn't that cute, they've actually got their own little country going on up there," we say to ourselves.  But basically they're just like us.

Except that they're really not.  For starters, Canada is far from little.  In fact--gasp--geographically it's bigger than we are!  And through my interaction with the many great Canadian friends I've made over the years and from my very brief visit this is what I've learned.  Canada and her citizens are very much unconcerned with what we Americans think of it.  They don't take our little condescensions to heart,  they don't feel the need to prove anything to us, and they remain our friends.  What strikes me about the "Canadian character" if there can be such a thing is that it is just so unflappable.  So chill. Canada is doing its own thing, and doesn't need to make a big show of it. Canada has this quiet confidence about it that I find quite admirable.

Granted Canada has had a very different history.  We Americans came up scrappy, fighting from day one.  We challenged the Big Kid on the playground, back in preschool, and miracle of miracles, we won.  From the get-go we've felt the necessity to go big or go home.  Then we had a Civil War that nearly destroyed our nation, and the reasons for that cataclysmic event and it's septic aftermath still reverberate through our nation.  Being black in the United States, I believe, means something very different than it does to be black in Canada and it has everything to do with our different histories.  Slaves in the U.S. strove to escape a nation free in ideals to a nation free in fact. When you think about it, Canada, more than once, has been a refuge for when our own nation fails to practice what we preach.  Though we style ourselves a world leader, when it comes to liberty we have on occasion found ourselves agonizing our way across the finish line only to find Canada already there, cool, and barely breaking a sweat, offering a friendly high five and a Gatorade.

I'm sure to some of my fellow Americans this entry might seem almost unpatriotic, particularly as we approach our own national birthday in just a few days. (Oh, and Canada you are like totally invited to celebrate with us this year.  Oh, wait your birthday was today?)   It's not considered very patriotic among Americans to be overly admiring of other countries especially at the expense of our own.

But here's the thing about me and patriotism.  I love my country the way I love my family.   I might say that my family is the best, but empirically, I know that can't be true.  No, I love my family because they are mine. And that is why I love my country.  I chant "USA, USA" and tear up at the national anthem not because our innate superiority demands it, but simply because this beautiful, struggling, idealistic, blustering country is mine.  Truthfully, as a Christian whose citizenship is ultimately in a Kingdom that doesn't fly the Stars and Stripes, that's about as much of my heart as my country can rightly claim. And that leaves me room to admire and learn from other countries as well, including our northern neighbor, the maddeningly cool, refreshingly nice, seemingly perfect, BFF for life, O Canada.

My class on our last day in Canada, Wednesday, May 22, 2013 at the St. Lawrence Market in downtown Toronto.  We spent the day souvenir shopping before heading for home in the afternoon.

Canada: Wonderland

There was nothing particularly Canadian about Canada's Wonderland, but it was a lot of fun! Tuesday, May 21, 2013.

Ideally every day of a good class trip is a fun day.  Whatever the students are learning or experiencing is memorable, exciting, and enjoyable.  But whether it's Dream World in Thailand, Lotte World in South Korea, Disney World in Orlando, or a day on a cruise ship en route from the Bahamas sometimes it's nice to have a day that is just for fun.  Most, though not all, of our class trips have included a "just for fun day."  This year we chose to spend that day, Tuesday, May 21, 2013 at Canada's Wonderland, an amusement park, not coincidentally similar to Cedar Point or Kings Island.

It was the perfect day at a theme park.  If you want to get the most of your visit to Canada's Wonderland (or any amusement park for that matter) here's what you do.  Choose a weekday early in the season when school is still in session.  Sure you'll get the field trip crowd, but there will still be far fewer people than there would be on a weekend, the height of summer, or on a national holiday.  Next make sure that the forecast is for rain.  If you get lucky (as we did), it won't actually rain but you may get some cloud cover that keeps it from getting too hot.  The forecast will likely keep away a lot of visitors who might otherwise have come to the park.

The result will be free run of the park with no waiting at even the most popular rides.  The Fast Pass would have been a waste of money the day we went. You could get on a flagship ride like the Leviathan or the Behemoth with no waiting, take the ride, run around to the entrance and get right back on again.  Needless to say the kids had a blast.  I'm pretty sure they rode close to every ride in the park.

A coaster car on the Leviathan reaches the pinnacle of the first--and steepest--drop.  Perhaps some of my unease is the sense of utter loss of control on the ride, particularly when you plunge down those drops.  One my students, foolishly (and against the rules of the ride) had his camera out hoping to catch some snaps during the ride.  All throughout the ride I could hear him behind me gasping "Oh my, oh my, oh my".  It wasn't till several minutes after we got off the ride that he realized his camera was gone.  The best we can guess is that it flew out of his hand during the ride.  I felt really bad for him because he had such an open-hearted enthusiasm for everything we did on the trip.  His endearing sense of wonder was especially evident in his zealous picture-taking.  He, of all people, least deserved to lose his camera this way.

As for me, it was a pretty low key day.  I rode the aforementioned Leviathan right at the start of the day, and hopped on a few other smaller coasters, but for the most part I was content to just watch the kids have fun.
I've never been much for roller coasters.  When I was a kid, I tended to get sick on even the most pedestrian rides (and even today I have no interest in spinning rides), and as an adult, I find that I just don't enjoy roller coasters very much.  It's not that I'm terrified to the point of paralysis or that I'm screaming in terror the entire time.  I got on the Leviathan without hesitation, and I would describe my feelings on the ride itself as closer to unpleasantness than to fear. But I just found that the ride was something I was willing to do but not something that I anticipated doing before I got on; something that I endured rather than enjoyed while on the ride; and something about which I felt little sense of accomplishment when it was over. I certainly didn't feel a need to go another round, though I would have.

Perhaps, I just needed to give it more time.  I did find that near the end of the Leviathan I was sort of half-way looking forward to what would be the next drop or loop, and I was surprised to find the ride was already over.  It's possible if I'd taken a few more turns, I might have begun to really enjoy the experience.  And on the Backlot Stunt Coaster, which was given the same thrill rating as the Leviathan but felt

a lot lower on the thrill meter, I did go on multiple rides with a couple of my students and that was fun enough.  Still, if one's motto in life is to enjoy the ride, then it seems sensible that the ride should be enjoyable to begin with.  If it's not, I figure life is too short to spend on something that isn't all that fun.

You probably can't make them out, but my students are on this ride, a short coaster called "The Bat" that slings the riders forward through a loop and backwards the way they came.

Anyway, the important thing is my students had a great day.  The clouds that had threatened rain all day finally unleashed a downpour on us right as we were leaving.  After supper at mall near our hotel in the Toronto suburb of Mississauga, caught a popcorn flick, Iron Man III at a nearby cineplex.  It was a fittingly fun ending to a fun-filled day.

A Word on the Hotels

We stayed at a pair of really nice properties during our Canadian adventure.  The Embassy Suites Niagara Falls and the Homewood Suites Toronto Airport Corporate Centre in Toronto.  Both hotels provided roomy suites, hot breakfast buffets, and swimming pools.  The Homewood Suites was particularly sumptuous.  We were able to get massive two bedroom, two-bathroom suites with full kitchens and living room areas for around $250 a night.  The service was outstanding throughout our stay, and the amenities including free parking were plentiful.  In addition to the free breakfast they offered complimentary dinners for free as well (though we never got to take advantage of those as we never got back early enough in the evening for the meal).  I highly recommend both properties and would definitely stay there again.

Canada: Casa Loma, A Riches to Rags Story

Nothing in life is certain.  A meteoric rise to the top can be followed by a sudden plunge to the bottom.  Life is a journey and no stop along the way can safely be called an arrival.  This truth is particularly evident in the riches to rags story of Casa Loma and the man who built it, Sir Henry Pellatt.

Casa Loma is one of Toronto's top tourists attractions and it was on our must-see list for our Canada trip.  I'd heard it billed as the only real castle in all of North America, but this turned out to be false.  Casa Loma is  not an actual castle despite it's castle-like outward appearance.  It is a massive, 98-room mega-mansion.  At one time it was the largest private residence in Canada.  Today it is a museum, open to the public, and towering cautionary tale about the vagaries of life.

We arrived at Casa Loma early Monday afternoon, on Monday, May 20, 2013 after a subway ride into the city from a train station not far from our hotel.  Despite having our own transportation in the form of the church bus we'd used to drive from Columbus to Canada, we opted for public transportation that day.  It was Victoria Day, a major national holiday in Canada, and the whole group could ride all of Torontos public transportation all day on a pair of family passes that cost us about $25.  I figured this would be easier and cheaper than navigating our shuttle bus all over downtown Toronto and finding parking that would accommodate us. (It was a wise move; on Wednesday we returned downtown for some shopping and sightseeing and I spent a good hour or more looking for a parking lot that could take our oversized vehicle).

A couple of our boys riding the rails into town

Casa Loma was our requisite history stop on the class trip itinerary.  Each of the students were given an audio tour guide and an hour and half to explore the sprawling Casa Loma ground and learn what they could about the castle and it's founder.

I began my trek around the castle with a visit to the unfinished indoor pool in the basement and then through a long underground tunnel to the stables and potting shed located across the street. Immediately I sensed that this was not your typical story of opulent wealth.  I quickly learned that the palatial Casa Loma was never completed, and that Sir Henry Pellatt and his wife had moved out after only living there a short time.  I wondered what had happened, and as I continued my tour back at the main building the sad tale of the evaporation of Pellatt's fortune slowly unfolded.

The house was truly a wonder from the awe-inspiring great room and main hall to the gorgeous solarium to the imposing library to the richly decorated smoking room.  The master suites were incredible (Mr. and Mrs. Pellatt each had their own massive bedroom suite, which was typical among those who could afford it at the time).  Sir Henry's bathroom was luxurious even by today's standards and included a marble lined shower with multiple shower heads that massaged the bather from head to toe.

"Sun room" seems too plain a name for this grand space on the main floor

The massive domed stained glass skylight is the centerpiece of the Casa Loma solarium

 As I took in these majestic trappings, I tried to imagine what it must have been like to go from living like this to eking out your final days penniless in the cramped quarters of your chauffeur's house.  That was how things  turned out for Pellatt.  I won't tell the whole story (you can read that here), but the short version is that due to some unwise real estate ventures, the wholesale government appropriation of some his key businesses, and a brutal uptick in taxes (he went from paying $600 a year in taxes to $1000 a month!), Pellatt was forced to leave Casa Loma and auction off his exquisite treasures for a fraction of their value.  He lived to see his property fall into disrepair, barely avoid demolition, and finally be turned over to the Kiwanis Club of Toronto to be turned into museum.   With no apparent bitterness, he declared that he was pleased to see his former home used in this way, to bring joy to others for years to come.

A snapshot of the Pellatts' "backyard."

For a time at least, Sir Henry Pellatt's home literally was his castle.

Pellatt seemed to me to be a decent enough guy--rich folks often get a bad rap, but from all I gathered, he seemed to be a generous, humble man.  There was no morality tale where the evil baron gets his just deserts--just a series of unfortunate events.  I left Casa Loma feeling thankful for the blessings in my life, resolving to appreciate them more and envy others less.

I took this panoramic shot of the Toronto skyline (you can make out the CN Tower rising above the other buildings) from the highest turret of Casa Loma.  It's a quite a hike up a series of increasingly narrow and steep stairs, but worth it for the view.

Our principal Mrs. Arthurs had met us at Casa Loma.  She was unable to leave Columbus with us on Sabbath afternoon due to a conference-wide constituency meeting on Sunday, so she traveled by train and rental car to meet us early Monday afternoon.  Now our group split up as we headed for our next adventure, another Toronto icon, the CN Tower.  Mrs. Arthurs took half the kids with her in her rental car, while Mrs. Wimberly and I took the remaining group with us on the subway downtown. After a late afternoon lunch at a nearby Chipotle, we struck out on foot for the Tower.

Canada's National (or CN Tower).  It was the tallest tower in the world until a structure recently built in Dubai took that title.

The class poses with a moose dressed like a member of the Canadian Mounted Police (or the Mounties) inside the base of the CN Tower.

Three of my students at the tower's main viewing area with the city of Toronto stretching below them.  There is actually a slightly higher viewing area called the Skypod that you can pay extra to go up to, and visitors also have the opportunity to go on the EdgeWalk in which they are strapped into harnesses and walk around the outside ledge of the tower.  I didn't have the funds for either of these extras, and the latter activity would likely have been a waste of money even if I'd had it (and even if the students' parents had gone for it, which I'm certain they wouldn't) as I think most of the kids would likely have chickened out at the last minute (and really, who could blame them).  After all this little number below was scary enough:

The Glass Floor, is a section of the tower with a glass floor that enables you to look straight down to the ground below.  It's quite an experience, I must say.  I physically felt my body recoiling at standing on the glass in the form of a tingling sensation in my legs and feet whenever I looked down.  It took a few of the students awhile before they were brave enough to edge out on to the class.

Hanging out on the glass

Like The Empire State building, the CN Tower features an outdoor viewing area as well.  It's smaller than the Empire State building (which really doesn't have much of an indoor viewing area), and completely enclosed in sturdy wire mesh.

Canada: Falls View

Niagara Falls.  I took this photo Sunday, May 19, 2013 from Horseshoe Falls, looking back towards American Falls.  You can see part of Horseshoe Falls as well on the right.

I believe every great class trip needs a couple of key elements.  You've got to have some experience with culture and history of the place you're visiting.  You want to visit the landmarks, the iconic symbols of the city  or nation, if possible. You'll want to have an experience with the natural world, something outdoors. It's great to have a little time for shopping.  I like to have a day "just for fun" too, though I've had many trips where we skipped the "amusement park" day for equally fun activities that fell into one of the other categories.

This year's trip to Ontario, Canada contained all the ingredients for another satisfying class trip, and it began with one of the wonders of the natural world, Niagara Falls.

The view from our hotel room. Sunday morning, May 19, 2013

 I had hoped we'd arrive in time to see the illumination of the Falls which ends each evening at midnight.  But we got off to a late start, and didn't arrive at the Embassy Suites Fallsview just over the border in Canada until around 1:30 A.M. Sunday morning, May 19. Still, the hotel lived up to it's name and the view from our rooms was spectacular when we awoke later that morning.

Another view from our hotel room, looking towards American Falls, appropriately named as they are on the American side of the border.  That's Buffalo, New York across the river.

Two students check out American Falls on the walk to the Maid of the Mist

 After a hot breakfast and worship together, we headed out to view the Falls.  Our first stop was the Maid of the Mist, the longest running tour in the Americas.  The Maid fleet has been taking visitors up close to the falls since 1846!

Looking back at Horseshoe Falls on the way to the Maid of the Mist

American Falls up close.  Neither words or pictures come close to describing the awesome power of these falls.  You have to experience it.

Some of my students wrapped up for the mist as we approach Horseshoe Falls.  Once we  got closer I had to put away my phone so it wouldn't be damaged by moisture.  It was very intense close to the falls.  The boat was seemingly lost in the foggy spray for several meintues, the roar of falling water was deafening, and the water below us churned violently.  It was a truly thrilling experience.

 After the Maid of the Mist tour, which was intense but short, we hoofed back up to the welcome center.  One thing I will say is that as the America's oldest tourist destination, Niagara Falls has monetizing of the falls locked down.  Every experience with the Falls will cost you, even walking around the falls.  Beyond the free river walk, all other opportunities to the walk near Niagara--the White Water Walk, the Journey Behind the Falls etc--come with a charge.  I was interested in walking behind the falls, but the kids were walked out and opted for a 4-D movie experience called "Niagara's Fury" instead.  I decided to let the kids do that with Angela Wimberly, the mother of one of our 8th graders and a chaperone on the trip, while I explored a little bit on my own.  I kind of regretted that decision once I found out more about the spectacular effects including real snowfall and rain during the show.  Our group get more wet indoors during this attraction than they did on the Maid of the Mist!

After "Niagara's Fury" the movie, we took one more pass at the real thing,  from the very edge of Horseshoe Falls just outside the Welcome Center.

At the very edge.  You can see one of the Maid of the Mist boats bobbing in the water below.

Truthfully, we could probably have spent the entire class trip right there at Niagara Falls.  There were certainly enough activities in the area to take up three or four days, from jet boat rides to helicopter tours to amusement parks and Marineland.  But I don't like a trip that sounds only one note.  It's one of the reasons I've never had much interest in taking the quintessential class trip to Washington D.C.  There are so many must-see museums and monuments to see in our nation's capital, there's little room for anything else.

So, we completed our Niagara adventures by late afternoon, had a late lunch/early supper at an Applebees near our hotel and then drove on to Toronto, and the next stop on our Canadian adventure.

The Hiatus

Oh, did I mention I finished my masters degree in education?  I really have been gone a long time! (Though I actually finished last August.  Still I missed my commencement ceremony at Ohio Dominican University in December, and didn't get to officially celebrate my achievement until the annual Education Day "commencement" ceremony last weekend at our home church, Ephesus Seventh-day Adventist Church in Columbus).

Incredibly it's been over two months since my last post.  I don't think I've ever had such a gap between postings.  It's been long enough that I think I can officially declare my time a way a hiatus from Here in America.

It turns out blogging has become exponentially harder with two kids.  I now have a very narrow window each week in which I can blog--at least during the school year.  Friday night after the kids are in bed is the Golden Opportunity.  However all kinds of things conspire to take that time away:  If the boys go to bed late, then Blog Time may not begin until 9:00 P.M. or later. And if I'm exhausted from having not gotten enough sleep during the week, I'll either turn in early myself, or more likely, I'll stay up late browsing Facebook or bouncing around the web, because I'm too tired to write but apparently not tired enough to go to bed.  I will then end up sleeping late Sabbath morning and also need a Sabbath afternoon nap, thus using up the two possible remaining blog spots   And of course even if I don't need a nap (and really, even if I do), I often end up watching Ezra who is often awake while Elijah is napping on Sabbath afternoons.

All this adds up an unintended hiatus.  With summer vacation having finally arrived, I feel that I can at long last get back on the horse and start posting regularly again.   We'll see how it goes.

A lot has happened in the past two months.  A major highlight was the 8th grade class trip toNiagara Falls and Canada.  Another highlight that has yet to be chronicled was the third annual Heroes Reception and the accompanying visit by our good friend Mai, which took place in February.  I hadn't blogged about it because I was waiting to get some good photos of the event.  I think I'm about ready to move forward with that belated post now though.

  On a sadder note, there were two deaths: Barbara's aunt Betty, and Rose Pickering, the woman who cared for Elijah for the first year and a half after we moved to Columbus.

I also have unfinished posts from the past ten months covering a wide range of topics.  Titles include "The Easy Job", "What Money Can't Buy and Fame Can't Change", and "Trust and Obey."  I'm looking forward to finishing these posts and sharing my thoughts with you.

All of this and more will be covered in upcoming posts. It's exciting to be back, and I can't wait to get started.  In the meantime, it looks like Ezra may be getting restless in his bouncer, so if you'll excuse me, I've got to run. . ..

My Girl Moses and the Promised Land

The Promised Land

Imagine old Moses looking down from Glory.  Seeing the dream come true for his people:  The Promised Land.  While he labored for forty years in the wilderness, with that good land a shimmering mirage just out of reach, his successors sweep in with lightning speed amidst the crumbling walls of Jericho.  There were those that said that it couldn't be done, that it would never happen, that perhaps they should just make peace with the life of tent-dwelling nomads.   But after Moses was gone, the impossible happened.

Bittersweet? Maybe a little.  But only a little.  Mostly, I imagine for Moses it was a sweet moment to see what he'd labored for so long come to pass even if he wasn't there to lead the charge.  After all this had always been God's journey anyway and Moses had felt blessed just to be along for the ride.

Back when Babs and I were dating, I wrote a poem for her called "My Girl Moses."  At the time, she had volunteered to plan and organize the opening event of GO'97, a missions conference to begin on December 31, 1996 through the first days of 1997.  The event had mushroomed into a massive undertaking involving a living Global Village featuring the buildings, cultural landmarks, food, and people of key mission fields around the world followed by a New Years Eve prayer service.   The sheer volume of people, material, and details seemed reminiscent of Moses wrangling the nation of Israel as he led them out to the Promised Land.  And so I wrote this poem as a tribute and encouragement to my girl.  I was amazed by her fearless embrace of the impossible, by her ability to get everyone to work together, and most of all by her remarkable faith.

Recently, I've seen a glimpse of my girl Moses again. This time, though it's not as the leader of a multitude with her feat planted on the muddy bed of the Red Sea, staff raised aloft, but as the leader emeritus watching others rejoice as her dream comes true.  Granted, wrangling two kids, trying to keep up the house, and teaching art a day and a half a week isn't quite the heavenly vantage point, but she's where God want's her to be.  And that's enough for her.

A much smaller ribbon cutting. Babs in her heyday, cuts the ribbon on the  then-new playground  at the old  Saipan SDA School campus. 

God gave Babs the vision of a new school campus for the Saipan Seventh-day Adventist School, just as He had the principals before her.  She believed in that Promised Land when few others did.  And she felt certain that God would bring it to pass on her watch.  So she was puzzled but accepting when God whispered to her that "you shall not go there, into the land, which I am giving. . ."  She left Saipan with the dream unfulfilled.  But it was God's dream all along and in His time He brought it to pass.

Just over a week ago under the Joshua leadership of current principal Sharon Nguyen and school board chair Dr. Ken Pierson, the Saipan SDA School moved into it's new campus, a beautiful piece of land centrally located, complete with fully-furnished buildings ready to go.  It is an exceedingly good land and while it may not be flowing with milk and honey, it does have a very nice fully stocked science lab,a basketball court, and lots and lots of space: enough that at last, the Childhood Development Center and the Elementary School will be on one campus.  Ironically, Babs had looked at plots of land on all sides of this property as potential sites for a new school.  She'd never considered this particularly property (not least because another private school was already located there--she could never have guessed that they'd close up shop without warning and put the place on the market for a song).

Science lab (photo courtesy of Crystal Pierson)

The basketball court.  The Saipan SDA School won their last basketball championship on this very court  way back in 2005.  Only God could have known that one day we would own that court. (photo courtesy of Crystal Pierson)

Babs was asked to send a short a video message to be shown at the opening ceremony and she did so.  I know she wished she could have been there, even as a visitor, but like old Moses, it was for her to watch--and rejoice--from afar.  And rejoice she did, because like Moses, she knew that Canaan was really a way station on the way to something even better.  One day, by God's grace, she and Moses and the people God gave to each of them will all be together in a land promised to all who will do as they did: Let Him lead, all the way home.

Unlike Canaan, the previous owners also sought to glorify Christ. May this longed-for land continue to be a place where children are taught to know Jesus and to long for  that final Promised Land that cannot be bought or sold, cannot be passed from one owner to another but will be shared by all who know and love Him. (photo courtesy of Crystal Pierson)

Lost Things

Unfortunately, my mom hasn't been able to locate any of the lost things I discuss in the following entry, so I guess they really are gone.

I try not to think about it too much.  And as a result it doesn't bother me as much as perhaps it would.

But I've lost a lot of things--things that can't be replaced.

There are things from my childhood.  When I was a kid, my brother and I started the Herculean task of illustrating the entire Bible in full-page, full-color format.  With the ambition that only childhood can afford, we decided to draw pictures of every story in the Bible.  In many cases it wasn't just one picture per story, but multiple pictures.  Noah's Ark for example included a series of marker-and-crayon illustrations of showing the gradual rising of the waters.  I got as far as the story of Hagar and Ishmael before the project petered out.  Now, that my older son is excited about the Bible stories it would have been neat to show him those pictures.  But they disappeared many years ago, perhaps thrown away accidentally during one of my mom's moves.  I wonder if Vince still has his?

Speaking of Elijah, he loves his stuffed animals, just as I did when I was a little kid.  I would love to have been able to dig out those treasured friends--Charlie the clown, Riff Raff the Lion, Gerry the dog, Leonard the leopard and about half dozen more--and share them with my boy.  But they're all gone now.  They may be buried somewhere in my in-laws basement, but I kind of doubt it.

I did a lot of writing and drawing when I was a child and everything is gone.  My picture books on the Civil War and the Plains Indians, the unfinished draft of a novel about a family of beavers, stacks of vivid,densely  detailed pictures of the adventures of Francis Marion, the Swamp Fox of the American Revolution (yes, I was a major history nerd).  It's especially painful that so much of what I've lost is what I've created, rather than toys or other objects.

More recently I've lost the scripts for all the  plays that I've written.  The lost plays include Before Supper, written in 2000 and staged multiple times between 2000 and 2004 both in Saipan and in Collegedale, TN and the pair of one-act plays I contributed to the Point of Impact collaboration in 2002 with Galvin Deleon Guerrero.

I don't know how it is that I have a closet full of junk and my in-laws full of stuff that I haven't even thought of since 1998, and yet somehow managed to lose the things of real value; things that matter and can't be replaced.

 I'm not sure why losing these things doesn't bother me more than it does.  I'd like to think that it's because in the end, they really are just things.  I'd like to think it's because I'm more grateful for what I still have.  After all these losses are minor compared to losing my health, my loved ones, or my life.  I'm fortunate to have been blessed in this regard, and while I know that if I live long enough I will almost certainly lose all three, I'm grateful to have them thus far.

As for those lost things?  If they are found I will likely "call together my friends and neighbors, saying to them rejoice with me, for I have found that which was lost."

Dreams

Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
that cannot fly
Hold fast to dreams
for when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow
               --Langston Hughes

A dreamless landscape

So I was scanning Facebook this morning and came across this short post on my news feed by a friend of a friend.  It was just a few paragraphs, but contained a direct challenge to what the author, Sarah Matthews Asaftei, views as a creeping complacency in our culture.  It was mini-manifesto of sorts, and sparked a energetic debate that was as thought-provoking as the original post.  You can read the entire post and ensuing discussion on her public Facebook profile.

(For more information about Sarah Matthews Asaftei and the work she does check out her website at skaMEDIA Productions).

Asaftei's musings struck a chord with me.  I'd been contemplating a blog on the topic of dreams and their pursuit recently, and her post moved me to tackle this topic without further delay.

At one point she asked the following series of questions:

Where is the wanderlust? The yearning? The desire to be constantly transforming into a stronger, wiser version of ourselves? Where is the insatiable zest for a life of deeper meaning, of fuller wholeness? When did youthful appetite for the unknown evaporate into mundane routine? At what point do people stop dreaming of what they want to become? When do we get jaded enough to reject opportunities that would (albeit perhaps painfully) spark healthy growth?

The answer to these questions  that came immediately to mind was one word:

Bills.

You see, in my view, these questions are the questions of the privileged.  Only the wealthy have the luxury of dreaming big, or alternatively abandoning those dreams in favor of a comfortable life and a full TV viewing schedule.  For the vast majority of the world, the goal is simply to stay alive.  To feed your children.  Dreams might be small but impossibly out of reach-- simply to send your kid to school, to have a safe and secure source of water, to preserve a vanishing way of life.

Indeed, even those burdened by bills are among the wealthy elite compared to most of the world. For these people the practical realities of life still leave very little opportunity for exploring growth, even if survival is not at stake:  Single parents, those working multiple jobs just to pay the bills, the poor in America:  As with the desperately poor, dreams here are also deferred to the next generation.  Your dreams are wrapped in your children, in the hope that they can have a better life than you have had.

This disconnect sparked much of  the objection to Sarah's original post, but I think Sarah and her detractors were actually on the same page, if not on the same paragraph (well, except for that anti-Europe guy; I'm not sure where he was coming from).  While Asaftei's post might seem frivolous to much of the world, it has very real and serious implications for some of us.   Her observations, intentionally or not, were aimed at a very specific subset of humanity, and for that subset it's message and it's challenge is absolutely appropriate. As it happens,  I'm one of the lucky few who get to ponder these kinds of rich folk conundrums.

I'm bothered my own lack of passion.  We are told to go after our dreams. But what happens if you're not sure what your dream is?  We are told to pursue what you are passionate about.  But what if, pushing forty years of age, you're still not sure where your passion lies?  We are told to do what we love--oh, the privilege!  But what if you like a lot of things, but consistently find love too strong a word?

I've had dreams, but it seems their luster has faded some what.  To do anything well requires hard work. Nothing, no matter how rewarding, is always fun.  For awhile I thought my passion was to write a novel.  Well, I did that, but found that once it was done I no longer felt the burning need to write the Great American Novel. The unpublished draft has languished for the past four and half years for a variety of reasons, but largely because I haven't felt motivated to do anything further with it.

Another once-upon-a-dream was the idea of making my own movies--being able to create a story and see it come to life.  I had that amazing opportunity when, Journeys, the television series I co-wrote in Saipan became a reality.  We filmed a pilot that actually aired on TV and filmed 13 episodes of a first season. But the project ran out of money and died a quiet death.  Though, I continued to be involved in the island's nascent film and television for several years working as production manager on a documentary of the 60th anniversary of the Battle of Saipan, and acting in my friend Dan Shor's project, State of Liberty, I found my passion to pursue this line of work cooled as well.

When have I felt the most alive?  I loved working on the set of Journeys.  It was work I could see myself waking up every morning excited to do.  I loved being on tour with my drama troupe. My accomplishments as a founding director of REAL Christian Theater, a team that toured for close to decade was source of tremendous pride for me.  On those days--during the golden age of REAL--when a student theater project came to life on stage for hundreds, even a thousand elementary school kids; when I watched God work miracles as we did our little part to share His love with others I felt there could be no better life.  But my work in drama has been hiatus for almost a year now and I'm not sure when or how I'll get back into it.  It turns out that working full-time as a teacher and having two young kids isn't compatible with the time and commitment needed for top-notch theater troupe.

  Living in Saipan was amazing.  I've spoken many times in this blog about  how blessed I felt to have the life we had on Saipan.  I rarely took for granted how lucky I was to live in a tropical island paradise.  Yet even there, it was easy to get caught up in the humdrum of daily life. No matter where you live the bills still have to be paid, the paperwork has to be filled out, the bathroom needs to be cleaned.  And now the island life is an increasingly distant memory.  Yet, now that we live in Ohio, I don't feel a sense of hollowness or emptiness at all.  My life is as rich as it's ever been (if not richer with the wealth that my two boys bring), if not as glamorous as it once was.

I take great satisfaction in the company of good friends. A stimulating conversation can be thing of great joy. I am easily moved by the beauty found in the changing of the seasons--stark trees and moonlight on a snowy night, a warm spring morning, the thick greenery of summer, the brilliant autumn foliage.  "There's so much beauty around us and just two eyes to see, but I'm looking."  It is deeply rewarding to watch my students grow and develop.  I'm inspired almost on a daily basis by the strides they make, and not just those that are long gone from my classroom and making their own mark on the world, but the ones I've got right now, progressing in fits and starts, doing more, being more, and becoming more than I ever did at their age.

Moments in life don't come much more beautiful than this:  A group of our students gather for impromptu prayer, without any adult prodding, after one of their friends got hurt while playing.

Despite my lack of one defining passion, I have a lot optimism for the future.  I guess it's because the one thing I've always tried to do in my life is let God lead.  One advantage to not having found that single driving motivator is that I'm less inclined to fight where God leads.  The most rewarding things I've experienced in my life thus far were things I would never had the sense to dream of in advance.  So, based on how God has led in the past, I have no doubt that the future that will continue to bring a life less ordinary, a dream come true.

They said boy you just follow your heart
But my heart just led me into my chest
They said follow your nose
But the direction changed every time I went and turned my head
And they said boy you just follow your dreams
But my dreams were just misty notions
But the Father hearts and the Maker of noses
And the Giver of Dreams, He's the one I've chosen
And I will follow Him.
--Rich Mullins, "The Maker of Noses"

The Secret to Slaying the Paper Monster

This weekend's stack: Two tests, a Bible assignment, and science project proposals plus a few miscellaneous late assignments.  This is actually a little thicker stack than usual, but fear not, by Monday morning it will dispatched.

At eight weeks and going strong, I think I'm finally ready to declare victory.  I believe I have finally done what for almost two decades seemed impossible.  I have slain the Paper Monster.

Way back in 1996, a year after my first teaching gig as a student missionary in Chuuk, I wrote a column for my college newspaper recounting my earliest battles with the seemingly unconquerable  Paper Monster--the never ending stack of student papers that haunt every teacher's days.  Little did I know that the battle was just beginning, and that for years to come I would engage in a Sisyphean struggle  to eliminate the pile that never seemed to diminish.

But quite suddenly this past quarter I stumbled upon victory.  For all of this quarter I've remained completely caught up with my grades.  Each day I clear the Shelf where the students submit their work, and by the next morning all the papers are graded and are ready to return to the students.  Oh, sure there are a few exceptions:  a big test or project that takes a few days or a weekend. But on the whole, the turnaround is 24 hours or less.  I've even stayed on top of the music and P.E. grades, which is completely unheard of.  Throughout my career, those types of classes stayed blank all quarter long, and the grades were entered en mass at the end of the marking period.

My students have had mixed reactions to this new promptness.  Some of the ones that tend to struggle more, seem to welcome the change.  Knowing they have to get their assignments in and getting the immediate feedback seems to motivate them.  Others--including some of my stronger students--have been frustrated by the lack of leeway to sneak an assignment in late.  They miss the days when they saw papers languishing on the Shelf days and even weeks at a time and knew they could drop a paper in late with me none the wiser.  On the whole, though I believe the change has been good for all of us, but especially for the students.  My staying on top of my work helps them stay on top of theirs.  Just as I now know exactly where my students stand--who is doing well, who is in trouble--my students also know how they are doing.  Timely feedback is crucial for student success, and I'm so glad I'm finally providing that feedback on a consistent basis.

So how did I slay the Monster?  What was the secret?  For awhile, I didn't really know.  An incident that I won't relate here was the initial motivator.  I was angry at the time, and determined not to be found wanting in this area again.  But that passed, and yet I stayed caught up.  Eventually I was able to pinpoint a few key things that made the difference:

To begin with, I already had a couple of elements in place that made staying caught up easier to accomplish. For one, I'd already eliminated a lot of the actual grading years ago.  Most daily homework I correct in-class with my students.  I read the answers, and the students correct their own work.  I spot check for cheating, both during the correcting (looking for the kid writing frantically while I'm reading the answers) and when I collect the papers.  I only grade tests, quizzes, and projects where student correction isn't practica l.  So already, most of my "grading" is actually about entering the grades in the gradebook rather than actual correcting of assignments.

Another element I had long in place, was an emphasis on actual learning rather than busywork to keep the kids occupied.  This was the take-away of that college newspaper column--that the Paper Monster could be defeated by focusing on actual teaching rather than a lot of worksheet heavy make-work.  In truth, that approach subdued the Monster but did not destroy it.  No amount of creative, student-centered teaching could free me from the necessity of grading, and the inevitable paper pile that came with it.  Still, fewer worksheets really do help.

Finally, I had in the past year or so began to really make use of on the spot assessments, in essence grading the students while they were working.  With the iPad it's been easier than ever to lean over a student, see how they are doing, or mark a page in their practice book, and enter the grade directly into the grading program.

With these elements all in place, all I needed was one final piece of the puzzle to make it all come together.  The stake in the heart of the Paper Monster was simply this:  Vigilance.  I had to make grading a top priority.    I had to grade when there didn't seem to be a need to grade.  It was that crucial moment when the stack was still thin--three assignments and a quiz--and time was short--10 or 15 minutes that I had act.  These were the very times when in the past I would have said, "Well, it's only a few assignments.  I'll get to them later."  Now it's "It's only a few assignments.  Let me just get them in now."  At first I figured that sooner or later I'd get busy and fall behind, and I just wanted to stay ahead as long as I could.  But I found that my success bred further success, and I've now become obsessed with staying caught up.  As a result, it appears that I may finally end the quarter with nothing to do but write my comments and print the report cards!

Sure, in the scheme of what really matters in education, maybe destroying the Paper Monster is only a minor achievement.  I only wish some of my other challenges were so easily solved:  How to reach every student and help them see their God-given worth and amazing potential.  How to make sure that I do right by my students ten out of ten times rather than on occasion giving in to irritation and sarcasm. How to effectively teach my subject matter in a way that is meaningful and relevant to each student.  Teaching is hard work, and staying caught up with grading is often the least of what sometimes to be intractable challenges.  But if slaying the Paper Monster has taught me anything, its that what often seems impossible in education,
 whether as simple as a pile of papers or as complicated as a recalcitrant student, is possible after all.

Edit: It would seem the Paper Monster did not take kindly to reports of his demise.  I ended up unable to finish this blog until now because I was working on the pile pictured at the start of this entry.  A couple of things came up that prevented me from finishing the stack in a timely manner, and I ended up staying up until 1:30 A.M. Sunday morning and still not finishing the grading.  Monday morning I had to tell students inquiring about recently submitted assignments that I hadn't graded them yet. But I got caught up today, and as of tonight, the Monster is definitely dead this time.

Still My Favorite Thing in the Whole World

With the elder son, Fall 2008. . . 

With the younger son, Winter 2013