My Little Digital Native

I learned a lot in my short career as a teacher. I know there are many teachers out there that will agree with me that some of the most priceless jewels of knowledge we acquire are the yearly "buzzwords." My husband even sent me an awesome idea for using these terms once. I'll pass it on for any current teachers out there.

Here's how it works:

1. Before (or during) you next meeting, in-service or staff development, prepare yourself by drawing a square. I find that 5' x 5' is a good size. Divide the card into columns, five across and five down. That will give you 25 one-inch blocks.

2. Write one of the following words/phrases in each block:

* no child left behind
* test scores
* core competencies
* standards of learning
* benchmarks
* proactive
* think outside the box
* action plan
* data base
* assessments
* knowledge base
* at the end of the day
* touch base
* mindset
* differentiated
* retention
* skills
* background knowledge
* effective learning
* exemplars
* implementation
* reflection
* writing process
* 21st Century Learning
* Problem solving

3. Check off the appropriate block when you hear one of those words/phrases.

4. When you get five blocks horizontally, vertically, or diagonally stand up and shout 'BULLCRAP!'

I got a real big kick out of this email, needless to say. I even copied it and passed it out to some friends at our next faculty senate meeting. You know, so that those of us who don't care about who's paying for the copy machine had something else to do.

ANYway...I say all this JUST to introduce my real point. (Completely unnecessary, I know, but I thought it was funny and it's my blog. If this were a paid publication, you would have seen my point much earlier. You're getting this hilarity for free, don't complain.)

My favorite buzzword of my last year teaching was "digital native." You see, someone, somewhere, whose job it is to sit and create these ideas for teachers to argue as they attempt to determine which new fad is best for our students, decided that there is an actual difference in the brains of "us teachers" and "them students". They call the students digital natives. And the teachers? You guessed it--immigrants. The thinking behind this theory is that all of the fast paced technology constantly surrounding our students in their lives causes their brains to actually perform differently. They can multitask much easier than we can, they are used to having information at their fingertips at lightening speed, therefore making it difficult for them to READ and actually ANALYZE material in search of answers. They also have the attention span of gnats. This guy says it's because they were born with the internet, I say it's because they're twelve. But then, he probably has money and I'm broke.

So as we sat through endless meetings discussing our disadvantage as "immigrants" and our urgent need to embrace technology and learn to use it effectively so that we may learn to understand the inner workings of the adolescent minds around us, I stuffed my iPod earbuds in, started a text chat with a teacher friend in another county I happened to know was also in a meeting, and pulled out my marching band drill charts and lesson plans.

Waaaaaaait a minute...who you callin "immigrant"...son, I grew up with the internet. I was on AIM before these kids were born. I was in COLLEGE when facebook came out and was only for people in COLLEGE. These other guys are the ones that are Two Thousand and LATE. Not me.

That's what I thought, anyway, until my own child proved me wrong. As usual.

I mean, I was ok with her not knowing that cameras weren't always digital. Even though I was behind and didn't get my own until the summer she was "thought of", the technology had been around for awhile and it never bothered me when she asked to see pictures on the back of a disposable camera. I understand her need for that instant feedback.

Another event that cause me to believe that I was more native than I am occurred when I was visiting my best friend. She has one of those little "built in the wall phone stall" dohickies in her house, and when I was visiting her, we were saying how cute it would be to get a pretty antique phone and put in it (for looks, you know, cause who still has a landline?!) She then mentioned that she thought about putting her cordless phone in there (so apparently some people with security systems DO keep a landline), but there was no electrical outlet--just a phone jack.

We both stood there momentarily, me with my college degree for which the State pays me to educate young minds, and she, a medical student at a very good school, pondering this dilemma. We finally burst into hysterical laughter and began making fun of ourselves, because we each knew what the other was wondering--"How do you NOT plug something in? I mean, how does that even WORK?" I'm embarrassed to even type that, but I have to strengthen my case that I am NOT an immigrant.

My kid busted my pinata with one whack. My husband bought me some new records (yes, vinyl.) for Christmas, and I took them out to the record player in our entry room to try them out. Of course, the kid came with me and had a million questions, which I expected. I know she doesn't know what a record is. Why would she? Some people my own age probably never owned one. But the following conversation is what REALLY got me:

"Mommy, what's THAT?!"

"It's a record, pumpkin." I replied

"What's a record?" This question I expected.

"Well, baby, it's a thing that plays music out of this player, kind of like a CD." I thought this was a sufficient answer, and then she shot me in the heart. Are you ready for this? All babies of the 80's please remain seated for the following comment. I am not responsible for anything that results from your reading of this question:

"Mommy? What's a CD?"

That's it. Stick a fork in me... How do I even respond? I tried to collect my thoughts. I may as well start trying to explain to her how you don't plug something in. Or how to end world hunger.

"Ummm, well hunny..." More time, I need more time. I need Google. I need a shot of espresso. I can DO THIS. She finally bailed me out:

"Is it like an iPod?"

Look at me, trying to mask as a native while my two-year-old gives me a lesson in electronics.

She sealed the deal a couple of weeks ago. We were at mom's house and she was playing on my old upright piano in the basement. After an "inspiring" concert of "variation on twinkle, twinkle little star" that included lyrical arrangements of Jesus loves me, she ran into the room next door and hopped up on the computer desk chair and started going to town on the keyboard. This alarmed my mom.

"No! Gracie, what are you doing? You can't play a concert on Grammy's computer keyboard!"

The kid stopped mid-typing, and slowly turned her head toward my mom (who's pretty savvy around technology herself) and I swear she rolled her eyes.

"Grammy. I'm not playing a concert. I'm emailing my concert to someone."

Um. Well. Mom and I just looked at each other, rolling our own eyes so that we wouldn't have to admit defeat. But I think we were actually had. Offspring are good at that.

Before my child was a walking, talking prover of facts, I was convinced I was a digital native. On second consideration, I think I may have to admit a bit of immigration. I'm still sticking with the fact that it was a short move, because I refuse to be labeled with the illegal technological aliens out there.

Joy in His presence

The Lord is so amazing, it's almost hilarious. Sometimes He freaks me out with His knowledge of my every need. I'm doing a Beth Moore study on the fruits of the Holy Spirit. At the same time, I'm still struggling with depression and wrestling with an attitude that needs some major adjustment. Well, God isn't stupid, so of course, He knows all this. I forget sometimes while I'm working on my homework for this study that He hears me thinking "yeah, yeah, yeah, joy...whatever. Let's just get this over with."

While rushing through the homework last week, an interesting thing happened. I was thinking about how the study "wasn't working" on me (while God probably sat in all of His glory laughing his head off at my ridiculous attitude.) and I started trying to remember the last time I really felt like I even heard from God. Or at least in a way that was blatantly obvious to my thick human nature. While scribbling answers to questions about verses I was barely skimming, I was remembering a really neat word I received from the Almighty several years ago.

I was fighting a spiritual battle involving some guilt and regrets from from the past and it was really taking a toll on me. We were at church one Sunday, and the praise team introduced a new song (well, new to us, anyway). Lyrics (emphasis added):

Verse 1
By your great and endless mercy
We have all been born anew
And by Your death and resurrection
You did what I could never do and

(chorus)
I’m amazed, I am amazed
At what Your word tells me You did
I’m amazed, I am amazed
You gave it all so I might live
And I’m amazed with You

Verse 2
Upon a cruel and barren hill
You willingly laid down Your will
You took my sin and stole my sorrows
From my past and my tomorrows

Verse 3
I am bound for paradise
And it is real, and it is right
To believe your words in black and red
That You’ll come back just like you said and

Well, let's just say it was one of those times that He was trying to present me with some comfort in the happenings of everyday life. Enter: thick human shield. I enjoyed the song and all, but failed to see its significance in my current battle. God took care of that. Mr. Bill (Love this man. He's in his 80s and when he speaks a word from the Lord, you darn well better listen.) came up to me after praise and worship with his song lyric sheet all folded up. (This was back in the day when we were power-pointless.) He handed me the sheet and I could see the sheet was folded so that only the following lyrics were visible:

You took my sin and stole my sorrows
From my past and my tomorrows

He said these words to me: "God wanted me to show you these words. I don't know why, but I'm sure you do, so I thought I better do what He told me to. You take those words with you now, you hear?"

Ok, Lord. I heard that. Loud and clear.

Well, I've played this memory over in my mind several times in the last week, longing for that kind of word and comfort again. Which brings me to the interesting thing that unfolded today. Like I said, I've been back in the depression battle, and this week's fruit of study is joy. Great. Just what I'm NOT in the mood for. God knows that, obviously.

The first days of the study were mostly concerning our source of joy. This is where the "yeah, yeah, yeah, I can't handle the thoughts of how little joy I have from these things." I didn't want to dwell on this problem with my relationship with Him, so this is where I spent little time skimming before checking Bible Study off my list of things to do.

Today He slowed me down. The title of the study was Abiding Joy. I started my daily skim and began to wonder how I could remain in a joy I don't have right now. The study was about a page and a half longer than the other days this week and I was was also starting to skim faster in a race to finish before the kid woke up. (It was about ten when I started. Normal kids would have already been up for three hours. Thank you, Jesus, for my child.)

When I turned to the "extra" page, guess what the subtitle was? "We may lose our joy", and it talked about Elijah's depression in I Kings (chapter 19). The third point Beth makes on times that we may lose our joy was when we become "wonder junkies". She explains this really well, so I'll skip trying to recap and give it to you straight:

"Elijah had grown accustomed to seeing God in the midst of magnificence. He had seen God in such miraculous circumstances that he missed Him as the joy in the midst of the mundane. He looked for God in the wind, the earthquake, and the fire, but he did not find Him there. I am convinced that the most intimate times we ever will spend with God will be listening to His gentle whispers. It is there that we will find true [joy]." (Emphasis added and Greek translated.)

Thanks for the extra-loud whisper, Lord. I'm glad You know how hard of hearing I am. It set me up to receive the other interesting tidbit-the last sentence Beth wrote in today's study: "If you've lost your joy, it's right where you left it-in His presence." Let me just say that I'm not necessarily marveling at the revelation of this sentence. In fact, I kind of thought "duh." Followed by "ok, wait for the whisper...OH! What's that, Lord? You inspired that sentence in this study because You knew people (me) need reminded those things sometimes (often). Thanks!!"

Some people who read this may think I'm off my rocker (well, I guess that's not so far from true!) or that I'm just not intelligent enough to find any other answers so I depend on religion instead. Think what you will, but I'm finding there is enough trial and hurt and heartache and other scary things in this world without me missing the joy that comes only from the Father. Can I please get as easily hooked on resting His presence as I can on facebook applications? That would be awesome.

Oh, and also, His grace in spite of my lack of discipline and slow start this morning? The kid slept till eleven.

He Doesn't Need Me To

Anyone who knows me has probably figured out that I don't enjoy change. Even good change. I usually go in kicking and screaming. Even if it's a change I really need to make, I just can't handle the movement of the status quo. These days I feel the dramatic tremors of a pre-status quo quake. It makes me sweat a little.

I've been discussing this with the Lord (a step in the direction I really need to head), and I'm pretty sure He's shaking his head in exasperation at me. I know He loves me, but I sure end up heading in the wrong direction pretty often for someone who doesn't like to change her path. Based on my disdain for direction change, and the fact that I've been heading in the right direction before, I should be the equivalent of a female Billy Graham by now...I've yet to solve this problem.

Anyway, as I was saying, I was discussing this with The Man today while I vacuumed:

"Lord, I just clearly can't stay in relationship with You. I mean, have I learned anything in my whole life?? I can't even keep a house as well as my mom."

Still, small voice: "I don't need you to."

"You would think by now I would have at least picked up some of her parenting skills."

Still, small voice I'm still ignoring: "I don't need you to."

"And I'm never going to be a wife as selfless as my pastor's wife."

"I don't need you to."

"And I'm never going to be as wise a wife as my last pastor before him."

"I don't need you to."

"I'm never going to be as encouraging as my best friend."

"I don't need you to."

"And I'm never going to be as patient as her, either. Or as funny as my flute teacher."

"I don't need you to!"

"Or as faithful as...well...pretty much any example would do here. I mean, even the garbage man has it out for me, Lord! I know he does! Every time it rains, I look outside after pickup and all the other cans are upside down on the sidewalk and mine are right side up, collecting rain in the middle of the street! I just clearly cannot be as sensitive to others as my former student when I can't even keep the trash man happy!"

"I DON'T NEED YOU TO!!"

'What, Lord? Did you say something?" This is where I imagine the exasperated head shake.

The gist of what I received from Him after I finally realized He had something to say was that he doesn't need me to be all those other people. That's why he made them "them" and me "me". And he doesn't need me to "fix" things with relationship with Him. He's quite capable. I just need to brace myself for the shifting that is undoubtedly about to occur. Maybe I have learned something in all this time after all.

Now, if only I could remember to drink my tea before it gets cold.

It Doesn't HAVE to be this way

As a teacher, nothing bothered me more than kids blaming their shortcomings on disabilities. However, the older I get, the easier it becomes to do just that. I'm sure that I should have been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder a LONG time ago. I can remember being sectioned off from the other students in the Gifted Program so that at least somebody would be getting work done. Parents just didn't medicate kids back then like they do today, so I was never lucky enough to be able to blame the disease.

To date, my life is one full of incomplete projects. I have boxes of journals in my attic that have 15 used pages. I write in them for a couple weeks and am overcome with embarrassment two years later when I realize it has been two years since I last wrote. Somehow, purchasing a new journal and starting over "for real this time" fixes the problem in my mind. Yet thirty two journals later I have yet to discover which time was real.

Let us muse over my scrapbooking career. Ten thousand pictures: check. Books: check. Basic supplies: check. Paper galore: check. Case for supplies: check. Actual pages even begun: hmmmm...oops.

Photography career: Camera: purchased. Digital Photography for Dummies read: half. Cute subject: birthed. Number of actual worthwhile pictures taken: 7ish.

I'm sure most readers will notice a pattern at this point. (Seems that I should notice by now.) My students even noticed it right away. They knew this pattern so well that eyes would roll every time I spouted off an enthusiastic description of a new project.

It's not that I don't want to finish these projects. It's not even that I never finish projects. I went to college. I married a wonderful man. (Though the actual ceremony was something of a "skin of my teeth" affair, even after a two year engagement...) I even graduated college. I got a job as a high school band director the day after I walked. (In December! A life dream and hard to manage in the middle of the school year!) My husband and I even spawned one of the cutest creatures on earth. Of course that project only took about ten minutes. Beyond that, I was finishing it whether I remembered I was supposed to or not. (Now. If I can just remember to leave WalMart with her each and every time I come that way.)

When I was younger, it was the actual projects themselves that held me up. Being a big dreamer doesn't combine well with being distracted by fireflies. When I was eleven I was sure I would play on the US Olympic Women's Volleyball team in 2000. (I also always wanted to go to Australia. Two birds, one stone. That's smart for eleven!) The problem with that goal wasn't desire or motivation. The real problem was that I didn't grow after eleven. I went to high school with 95 pounds on my five foot two inch frame. Not much of an Olympic athlete.

No, it's not desire that stops me. It's not even usually the height of the lofty dream. It's remembering and distractions. For example, early this morning I decided that today was the day I would start this blog. My darling child spent last night with her Grammy, and husband was off at work. I got up and headed for the computer, but detoured to the shower because I was freezing and needed to warm up first. Then, I headed downstairs, but instead of hanging the left for the computer, I hung a right for the kitchen. Breakfast in hand, I finally made it to the computer. Thirty-seven minutes into my facebook ritual, I remembered that it was story hour day at the library and rushed off to collect the offspring. Time spent writing productive prose: none.

The whole day went by, and at child bedtime, that nasty little guilty conscience started nagging me. I sent the husband to oversee the pajama and toothbrush ritual. I collected the cold tea I forgot to finish and delivered it to the microwave. I walked in to the computer and started pulling up appropriate screens. Upon the realization that my house feels more like a meat locker than October, I headed upstairs to find my hoodie. Then I remembered that I had just pulled it out of the dryer. (ADD and multilevel homes are excellent fitness tools.) Back at the computer, I had just clicked the cursor onto Word when I heard, "MOMMY! CAN YOU TUCK ME IN?" Blare through the baby monitor on my desk. My child is adorable, but she can't seem to understand that you don't have to YELL to be heard through the monitor. Hoodied and childless I finally sat down to write this.

Then I remembered my tea...which, of course, was cold again.

My friends keep demanding published stories. They can't understand why I laugh at this suggestion. It took me three and half hours to write a 1000 word blog post. I did, however receive the most wise advice from one of my youngest friends last week. I was musing over the mere idea of myself actually completing the ENORMOUS project of publishing to this friend (a former student, now in college-NOT one of the shortcoming blamers). I rattled on about being a mostly average writer with a slightly humorous subject and the memory of a gnat standing at the bottom of Mt. Publish in hysterics over the thought of lifting one foot to actually climb the thing until she finally interrupted me and said,

"It doesn't have to be that way, ya know."

Humph. Darn it. She's right. It might take me twenty years, but it doesn't have to be "undone".

So welcome, new friends, to my journey. Committing all this in front of the world is going to help force me to get it done. Some day my baby will have her life chronicled. She may not be seeing too well when her kids give her a copy in the nursing home, but it's the thought that counts, right?