What I hope they learn

Though the phrase "back-to-school" haunts many people, today it is good.

Because it's another opportunity to let people know they matter.

I honestly can't believe I'm starting my seventh year of teaching. I know it's trite to say it, but it just goes by so fast. Seriously, so fast. Wasn't I just a first-year teacher and praying I would know what I was doing each day I walked through those classroom doors?

I remember the feeling I used to get when I was younger on the night before the first day of school. There was always excitement and apprehension combined into one. Who would be in my classes? What would my teachers be like? Would I have lunch with people I liked? Would I have enough time after athletics to get ready and make it to class on time? Would I have a lot of homework? Had a lot of the people I knew changed over the summer? Would this be the year I finally got a boyfriend? (Obviously that last question was a "no" every year.)

As a teacher, the questions have changed a bit. What will my new students be like? Will I be able to meet the learning needs of every kid who walks through that door? Will they respect me? Am I actually doing a good job at this teaching thing? Will I remember to take care of all of the tasks I'm supposed to as a faculty member? Will I make a positive influence on these young people who have so many expectations of me? Will they leave my class better people who are ready to impact the world?

When I was a student, I thought teachers had it made. They showed up to work, taught us stuff they had already mastered, gave us a bunch of work to do, slapped a number on it for a grade, then got an entire summer off after the school year ended. Easy breezy.

And then I became a teacher, and I realized how ignorant I had been.

There's a lot more pressure than I ever imagined there would be in teaching. There are so many people depending on you, and, the strange part is, you want them to depend on you. Because you actually care for those kids. There hasn't been a single child who has come through that classroom door whom I haven't wanted to see succeed—even the kid who once told me that I wasn't God and that he hated me (and also threw in a few cuss words) when I asked him not to work on his history homework during my class. I still really wanted him to do well and realize his potential in life. I hope he eventually did.

We be ready

I know not every student is going to like me, and that's fine. But I want them to learn from me—really learn. Some of them will leave my class and never write another news story or edit another feature segment, and those may be things they forget about entirely, but I hope they take genuine life lessons away from here. I hope they know what it means to love and care for people. I hope they know what it means to try hard at something, even if it's something that challenges them beyond their comfort levels. I hope they know what it means to succeed. I hope they know what it means to fail but try again, anyway. I hope they know what it means to listen to people and respect their opinions. I hope they know what it means to have faith in something they can't see. I hope they know what it means to dance like no one is watching and not care what anyone else thinks. I hope they know what it means to be themselves, because they are wonderful. I hope they know what it means to laugh without fear of the future. I hope they know what it means to overcome obstacles when the odds are against them. I hope they know what it means to be valued and loved.

And, if nothing else, I hope they know that I care about them more than my words can ever say.

I'm going to stand in front of those kids today and for the rest of the school year, and I'm going to do my best to teach them well. There will be times that I make mistakes, and there will be times that I get frustrated with some of them. But, there will never be a time when I make them feel like they aren't important or loved.

Though I'm the one with the title of "teacher," I have done so much learning during these last six years. I've certainly learned more patience than I ever could have imagined, but I've also learned what it means to care for students as if they were my own kids. Teachers don't get upset with students who fail because it reflects poorly on their teaching skills—they get upset because they actually care about those kids and want them to do well. If you've ever seen the face and the excitement of a student who finally accomplishes something after trying so hard, then you would definitely understand. It's a sight that puts a permanent smile on your heart. And when a student writes you a note of thanks or lets you know that you in some way helped, it completely erases those moments of stress, fatigue and questions of why you are doing any of this that you sometimes have when your stack of grading starts piling up, and it seems like no one is listening to anything you're saying during your lessons.

Because this is why you do it: for them.

I'm going to start the new year today and try to memorize the name of every face who walks through the door. It will probably take me a couple of class periods to get them all down, but it will get done. I'm going to have fun with these kids. I'm going to have high expectations for them. I am going to challenge them. I am going to make them meet deadlines and learn practical communication skills. There will be times they are not happy with me. There will be times I am not happy with them. But I hope they leave each day with their hearts full.

Because every single person in this world deserves to know what it means to be cared for and loved.

I already miss my friend

There are a lot of firsts in life, and not all of them make me excited.

And today is one of those times.

Today I will walk through the doors of the high school where I teach to kick-start the year with another week of in-service. But, this year, I will walk through those doors knowing how different this school year will be, but I am going to try not to think about it. I cry probably about twice a year, and I certainly don't want today to be one of those times.

It will certainly be challenging, though, because I already miss my friend.

A lot.

This is my seventh year of teaching (and only at one school), and it will be the first year I face without my work best friend. I met Peltz in my first year, and it was more toward the end of the school year that we really started getting to know each other. Instantly, we clicked. We just sort of get each other. You know the time of person I'm talking about—the one from the quote: "The best kind of friend is the kind you can sit on a porch swing with, never say a word, then walk away feeling like it was the best conversation you've ever had."

There's something so special about having a work best friend, because—let's be honest—every single day at any job is not going to be full of sunshine and laughter. There are going to be times when you need to run down the hall, even if it's only for just a hug, and know that there is someone who is there for you. You share good news with each other; you share bad news with each other. You laugh together; you cry and vent together. You celebrate together; you mourn together. You talk things through together; you sit in silence and just be present when that's all that's needed together. You check up on each other; you have each other's backs. You give advice; you simply listen. You're just there together.

I will miss these

I already miss my friend.

I will never forget a few years ago around this time of year when a small emergency happened, and Peltz stuck by my side the entire way. We were at in-service, when I suddenly started having some severe pain. I have a history of ruptured ovarian cysts, and I had a feeling that's what it was again. I'm not lying when I say I literally couldn't move. We were playing some game with balloons (I swear we actually do stuff with curriculum during this week), and I had to sit down. When everyone was dismissed to go to their assigned areas, I stayed sitting. My principal came over and talked to me and decided I needed to go to the hospital. I texted Peltz, and she was immediately by my side then out the door to pull her car around to the back side of the building.

Peltz not only took me to the hospital, but she stayed with me the entire time. My parents came up there later to check on me (I think I had called one of them just to let them know—you know, in case I died. I'm not dramatic.), and one thing my dad said to me as I was leaving was, "That girl right there is a true friend."

And he's right.

After I was given the usual post-cyst instructions, we left the hospital. It was lunchtime, so we went through the Chick-fil-A drive-thru, and I introduced Peltz to Chick-fil-A sauce, which is the best condiment (next to ketchup, of course) to grace the nation. Ever. We ate in her car in the school parking lot, and she dared me to eat one of the sauce packets by itself—so, essentially, drink it. And I did. Because that's what true friends do.

A couple of years ago, we started taking what we call our "Wednesday pics," in which we usually look up and off into the distance. Sometimes we even coordinated outfits. The best was when for our final pic of the school year last year Peltz showed up with these precious tiny pink hats for us to wear. She always did little things like that. Wednesdays will never be the same.

I host the pep rallies for our school, and there was one last year in which I had to announce a bunch of candidates for the Homecoming court, and I needed someone to help me simply by holding the envelopes and possibly opening them so I could call out the winners of the underclassmen. Of course Peltz helped. She didn't say a word the whole time but instead was my Vanna and just followed me around the floor (even as I almost tripped on those mats in my heels). She was just always there for me.

I already miss my friend.

On thing that's so great about my friendship with Peltz, though, is that we are more than just work friends. We are real friends. Although it's going to be really tough not having her with me at work every day, I know that it's not the end of a friendship. I'm excited for the new opportunity she has in a different district, and I know we will make even greater efforts to catch up now that we don't get to see each other daily.

So, I walk through the doors today sad but not completely disheartened. Life is a journey, and sometimes you have to take pathways separately from people who have special places in your heart. But, just like little kids playing tag, you can always find each other back at home base. It's where you find safety, security, and trust.

Because true friendship can withstand anything that life throws its way.

Don't say goodbye to Sandra Dee

One thing I love about people is that we are all so different.

I just wish more people didn't feel like being different is a bad thing. Because it isn't. At all.

The movie Grease was on television the other night, and the Rangers weren't playing so I decided to watch it. Now, I'm certainly not trying to ruin what I guess is considered a "classic musical" for anyone, but I couldn't help but wonder why so many people love this movie as much as they do. Sure, the songs are rather catchy, but I don't understand how this movie is considered a love story.

I know it's just a movie, but the whole concept made me a little upset as I let it all soak in. Throughout the entire story, Danny constantly seems ashamed of being with a "good girl," because he has the reputation of being one of the "bad boys." Toward the end of the movie, Sandy sits alone on that concrete slant area (I'm sure there is some technical term for whatever it is) and watches Danny win the car race, and then she sings to herself:

Look at me; there has to be

Something more than what they see

Wholesome and pure, oh so scared and unsure

A poor man's Sandra Dee

Sandy, you must start anew

Don't you know what you must do?

Hold your head high; take a deep breath, and sigh

Goodbye to Sandra Dee

I hate that song.

There's nothing wrong with being wholesome and pure, and it makes me sad that Sandy thinks she has to change who she is so that someone will love her. We know what happens next: Sandy shows up to the graduation carnival dressed in a bunch of tight leather and smoking a cigarette. Then, all of a sudden, Danny is perfectly comfortable chasing her around and not afraid of what his friends think of him anymore.

Funny how that worked out.

Sadly, even though this is "just a movie," it reflects what many people feel they have to do to make others love them. They aren't willing to be themselves and, instead, change the ways they talk or act or dress or think all to impress people. But, if you have to become someone you're not in order for someone to love you, then it isn't real love.

As someone who works with high school kiddos on a daily basis, I've seen countless instances of young girls leaving behind innocence completely so that they can "fit in" better and catch the attention of whatever guys they're eyeing at the time. And most of those relationships—if they even amount to that—don't end up lasting.

If I can offer any amount of encouragement to anyone out there, it's be comfortable being you. You were wonderfully made as you are for a reason. And there is Someone who will always love you just as you are—you don't have to try to be someone you aren't.

If you love singing out loud in the car, don't stop that; if you love eating ketchup on your macaroni and cheese, don't hesitate to pour it on there (no matter where you are); if you like to wear your hair curly, don't constantly straighten it just because some cute guy once complimented how great it looked; if high heels make your feet hurt, then don't wear them; if you like heels but are afraid people will think you're too tall, walk in them with pride; if you have a hobby you really enjoy (like origami or wood carving), don't feel like you have to hide it or give it up for someone; if you like following rules, don't start breaking them so that you seem so cool.

If someone loves you—actually loves you—then he needs to love all of you just as you are. Love should not be conditional, and you should not have to wear tight leather and smash a cigarette on the ground in your sassy shoes in order to capture a fella's heart.

So don't say goodbye to Sandra Dee.

Because sometimes things happen when you're Elvis

Sometimes a crushed dream can actually lead you to something better that helps shape you into the person you're meant to be.

Even when you're dressed like Elvis.

When I was driving home from the gym the other day, I still had my headphones in, and a song from High School Musical 3: Senior Year came on, so I had to start belting it. Obviously. After a while, it occurred to me that my voice was the only thing resonating in my car, so I took out one earbud to hear what my singing sounded like. It wasn't too awful, and I decided I still contend that Mariah and I are soul sistas.

Then I had a flashback to fifth grade.

I had joined choir at school that year, because I figured it would be useful to me in my pursuit of becoming a professional singer. My choir teacher, however, didn't really seem to have the same belief in my talent as I did. Open House was fast-approaching, where the entire school would be showcasing various work from throughout the year for all of the parents. This included a performance of a television theme and commercial song medley sung by the fifth-grade choir. I was so excited to audition for a solo and really thought I nailed it. I hadn't gotten a solo in the Christmas concert, but I knew my teacher would give me one for this performance—I just knew it.

Oh, I got a solo, indeed. It was certainly not what I desired, though, because there was truly no actual singing involved. It was more of a talking part, as my job was to provide a portion of the theme from Beverly Hillbillies: "Then one day he was shootin' at some food, and up through the ground came a bubblin' crude. Oil, that is, black gold, Texas tea." This was not going to help my career.

The night of Open House, I walked the halls of my elementary school with my Elvis costume on and my head held high. You see, for my actual classroom assignment, all of the students had to dress up as famous historical figures and recite brief biographies when anyone came up to them and asked them about their characters. Somehow I had wound up with Elvis. I headed for the cafeteria—I was ready to use my best hillbilly accent and say that line as theatrically as I possibly could. I like to think the people appreciated it.

After the performance, I went to my classroom so that I could spend the rest of the night talking about what it was like to be Elvis. I was still a little disappointed about not being able to sing, and something in me snapped. I was in the middle of talking about something significant in the King's life, when I stopped mid-sentence and just busted into "Hound Dog." I started both dancing and singing, and a crowd started to come toward me. So, for the rest of Open House, I didn't talk about Elvis at all. In fact, all of my research was rendered useless as I just continued to sing and dance for people. It was a lot of fun, actually.

I guess I got my solo after all.

I know my music teacher wasn't trying to ruin my life and shoot down a young girl's hopes of surpassing Janet Jackson (she was the first concert I ever attended), but I experienced a brief period of discouragement when I didn't get the solo I had originally sought. (I had really wanted the part singing the "Chaquita Banana" jingle.)

Don't give up

We are definitely all going to face moments in life where things we thought were going to happen don't. But maybe it's not just so you have to undergo some form of torture—maybe it's because God actually has something bigger and so much better prepared for you. Maybe you didn't get the job you wanted, because there's one that pays better and is more suitable for you that just isn't quite available yet; maybe you didn't get accepted into that leadership organization, because you needed to have Monday nights open so that you could bump into your future husband in the library that night, instead; maybe you didn't get invited to that party you thought you'd be going to, because you were supposed to go skating with your sister and end up having one of the most fun and memorable nights of your life.

Maybe you didn't get the solo, because you were supposed to have some private concert that essentially made you become a more confident person who is comfortable in her own skin.

Don't let a disappointment lead to discouragement. The moment hope gets lost, quite a bit gets lost with it. And there's a difference between losing yourself like Eminem tells you to do and losing yourself completely because of things not going the way you pictured in your mind.

So snap back to reality, and make it a worthwhile reality.

Wishing upon stars

There are some parts of childhood that I refuse to let go, and I'm perfectly fine with admitting that.

Because I don't believe in not believing.

As kids, many of us allowed innocence to play an integral role in influencing the things we believed and didn't believe. We believed some magical fairy sneaked money under our pillows while we were sleeping when we lost teeth; we sometimes believed actual monsters hid under our beds; we believed a hefty man in a red suit could fly around the world in a sleigh to deliver presents to all of the good kids all in a night's work; we believed superheroes were real; we perhaps believed that if we ate appleseeds then apple trees would grow inside of us; we believed that we were kept safe from so many dangers in this world simply by holding our parents' hands; we didn't believe so many bad things in this world could not only exist but also integrate their ways into our lives somehow; we didn't believe we might one day have to worry about struggling with health or finances or relationships; we didn't believe that we wouldn't live happily ever after.

But, somewhere along the lines, many of us grew up and lost not only innocence but also that childlike faith that makes people believe dreams can actually come true.

And I refuse to be one of those people.

One night last week while my sister and I were in Florida, we walked down to the beach and after a while sat back and stared up at the peaceful sky above us. We each picked out our own star and said out loud to each other what we wished upon that star. I don't care how childish or naive it sounds—I believe with all of my heart that those two wishes will come true.

Whenever I see a dandelion, I pick it up, make a wish as I blow it into the wind and believe it will come true. When I blow out candles, I believe whatever it is my heart wishes will be reality. When I see a shooting star or cast up a wish into the night above me, I fully believe those wishes I make will one day happen. I don't believe in some magic power in the way the dandelion blows or behind the fire of the candles or the might of the stars. I do believe, though, that you have to have hope that the things your heart desires will be more than empty wishes that disappear the moment they leave your lips.

Keep wishing

Sure, not every wish you make is going to happen. I mean, I didn't win those *NSYNC tickets on the radio station like I wished for when I was in the eighth grade. But I certainly spent way too much time on that phone hitting the redial button than I probably should have simply because I truly believed it was possible for me to be the whatever number caller it was I needed to be to win. Regardless of if the wish will ever be, the belief has to be there for it even to be likely.

I know we all have to grow up in various aspects of life, because we have to become more mature and live in the world of adulthood—that's just one of the facts of life. But that doesn't mean we have to give up every part of childhood. Some of the things we need to hold onto the most are the ones that kept us believing in things that weren't necessarily even true.

I think it can become dangerous to let go of wishing upon things, because it can lead to hopelessness. I am 29 years old and have never even been on a date, but I still believe in love. For as long as I can remember, I wished that my first kiss would be in a gazebo in some romantic setting—maybe even with Christmas lights all around and perfect music playing in the background—but it didn't happen that way. And I didn't end up marrying (or even dating) the guy who gave me my first kiss like I had always wished. But you know what? I do believe I will someday get my gazebo kiss like I've always dreamed. I won't give up on that wish, because you have to pursue wishes—not necessarily with some distinct actions but simply with keeping hope alive.

I think sometimes wishes are just prayers in disguise. God already knows the desires of our hearts, and we shouldn't be afraid to believe they will come true. There's no shame in having faith. None.

And if you need Journey to offer you some inspiration about believing, there's nothing wrong with that, either.

Beyond the danger zone

Sometimes I don't understand just how powerful elements surrounding us can be.

Like water.

My family and I (minus the brother, who is on a trip in Italy—I know, rough life) are on a little beach vacation. We drove—I repeat, drove—a solid 12 hours yesterday and then had our first day out on the sand today. The Merrills love partaking in a bit of wave diving, and it wasn't long until we were all four out in the water. I, however, had told my mom I was not going any farther than knee-deep water, because the water felt way too cold today, and I didn't mind playing the wimp card. Warmth first.

My sister and dad were already out in the waves, and my mom and I decided to go in, as well. I had borrowed her hat, and she said something about not getting it wet, but I reminded her about my self-imposed knee-deep rule. There was absolutely no need for concern.

Never underestimate the tides, my friend.

The whole knee-deep concept suddenly got washed away when I realized just how powerful the waves and undertow were Sunday afternoon. My dad discovered a method of riding the waves to the shore with no problem, while my sister was getting slammed around but still trying to battle the powerful current. I watched as my mom got hit hard and struggled to stand, because she wasn't past some invisible magic spot yet where things weren't as difficult—or as painful. You see, when the waves start crashing and pummeling toward the shore, they have so much force built up in them that they take you down without the blink of an eye. Once you get far enough out, however, it's much easier to dive into them and evade the horrible incident of the water introducing you to the ground in one fast and powerful blow.

And I got caught in the danger zone.

The pull of the undertow was so strong that it didn't take very long for my knee-deep desire to be tossed among the waves, and I was pulled to the depth that possessed potential for one thing: disaster. Before I knew what was happening, I was picked up by a wave and taken to the sand beneath the water. I stood up, trying to catch my breath, but another wave punched me in the face, and I went down again. When I stood back up, my hair was all over the place, and I suddenly noticed the cold feeling on the top of my head--the hat was gone. I frantically started looking around and then said to my mom, who was pretty close to me after she came to try to help me, "I lost your hat, I lost your hat, I lost your hat!" I felt so awful for multiple reasons: not only had I gotten her hat wet (like she asked me not to do), but I had let it be taken away by the waves and lost out to sea forever.

"It's just a hat"

I started trying to swim out farther into the water to find it, but she kept telling me not to worry about it—it was just a hat. But, still, even my dad started searching for it, and I'm sure she really liked the hat. But my mom, being the sweet woman she is, acted like it was no big deal and started acting more concerned with whether or not I was OK after being beaten up by the waves.

There are certainly times in life where we get caught up in what seems like a tide that we can't battle, because it keeps pulling us and pushing us in all different directions. We constantly feel like we're being pushed to the ground, only to get knocked right back down when we try to stand up. And, every once in a while, through these trials we lose things. We get stuck in that danger zone—the one where we feel powerless and know that we have to escape if we're ever going to be strong enough and bold enough to take on the waves trying to wreck us.

I'm really thankful for my mom, who doesn't care about possessions enough to act even a little bit sad about the loss of her hat. I'm also grateful to know that there's hope beyond what we often think is the worst of things. Sure, we're going to be pulled farther out than we want at times when we don't want to, but that doesn't mean we can't battle the troubles before us, even if they are coming at us in full force. Because there is Someone who can calm the sea with just the sound of His voice. When I decided to make my way to our beach chairs, I was a bit nervous, because each time I tried to go back to the shore, a new wave came and took me down before I could even try riding it in. I didn't think I was ridiculous when I started praying I could get back safely, and I suddenly found myself taking off in a dead sprint when I noticed a brief calming of the waves—one that gave me the exact amount of time I needed to get to my destination.

It's funny how things work out.

It's better not to stress out so much about the big waves coming your way. The less anxiety I felt with each one, the less trouble I had diving straight into it. And sometimes you will lose things, like hats, but even those things are fleeting and don't matter at the end of the day. What matters is that you are living life boldly and surrounding yourself with people who love you enough to remind you what genuine love does.

And to the sea creature with a new Titleist cap, you're welcome.

Pain hurts; love doesn't

Pain is such an inconvenience.

Oh, and it just plain hurts.

I think one of the most frustrating things about pain is that it often leaves us with the inevitable question: WHY?? And sometimes there really doesn't seem to be a reasonable explanation.

When I was younger, I was attempting to make a grilled cheese the old-fashioned way—and I've mentioned how horrible I am in the kitchen—and I needed to know if the stove was hot enough, so I reached down and touched it. With my bare finger. And it hurt. Now, obviously the resulting burn and pain that went along with it were products of my sheer stupidity. I pretty much brought that pain upon myself.

However, not all pain seems so deserved.

Since last October, I've been dealing with plantar fasciitis. It's a pretty common problem for runners, but for months now it's gotten to the point where I feel like I'm constantly walking on a knife. I've tried basically every method that everyone else has told me cured them: I've done Graston Technique treatments, I've gotten a cortisone injection, I've slept with those uncomfortable splints and socks, I've rolled on baseballs and frozen water bottles, and I've even watched as a doctor drew two ounces of my own blood from my arm and then injected it into my heel with the idea that it inflames the foot and then breaks up the fascia tissue. That last one was by far the most painful—I was literally crawling around my apartment later that day, because I was unable to walk. I'll tell you what: I do not envy babies. Crawling is awful.

It's just annoying not knowing why I have to have this nuisance in my life. I've run for years without any foot troubles, and then this came and won't go away. I think a lot of people go through similar situations, though perhaps not with plantar fasciitis. We all face times in life when we have to deal with pain—whether physical or emotional—and we are left wondering what in the heck we did to merit such things. For instance, if you've ever had a broken heart, you wonder how someone you cared about and you thought cared about you could treat you so carelessly. And you have no answers at the time (or maybe ever). I know I've found myself so many times crying out, "What did I do to deserve this?"

And then I remember that's not how it works.

If I really got everything I deserved in life, I would be in a much worse state than I am. I've received so much grace and mercy, and it's silly to think I'm never going to struggle. After all, it's during times of pain and troubles that we often become stronger people, because we can't rely on ourselves. We have to trust that Someone much more powerful than we will ever be will carry us through.

Looks of pain

I think pain also helps us appreciate those times we don't have it. I can't think of as many instances in life where I've been healthy and happy and spending much time wondering what I did to deserve it. And, as hard as it is, I think it's important to be thankful in both trials and good times. (I am secretly saying that to try to encourage myself, because I don't necessarily feel very thankful right now.)

I know this may sound strange, but I don't really care: sometimes when I get a cut or something that necessitates a Band-Aid, I get kind of excited, because I only wear cool Band-Aids (like fairies or Spiderman or the Peanuts gang). Even if I'm not thinking about the healing process, the thought of a fun bandage mentally helps. Maybe that's what we can do in other areas of life—just picture a giant, neat Band-Aid helping make you smile when you don't want to.

Truth be told, life can be hard at times, but we have to endure those struggles to become the people we are supposed to be. And, even when we want to hate so many things around us, it's important always to let love win, because it always does in the end, anyway.

And, in spite of what the band Nazareth told us, true love does not actually hurt.

It heals—and we could all use a little bit of healing every now and then.