Good things about today: my seventh graders were a marvel to behold, quiet, polite, and interested; Newspaper is coming along well as I was deluged by a flood of good ideas from my field-reporters in the making; sixth grade wholeheartedly participated in a discussion of fairy tales; I was asked by the Cat Welfare Society if they could use my picture for their 2013 calendar; I braved the waters of poetry and Dante's Inferno and other bookish delights with the Rebel Shang, who quoted Dickinson to my face and agreed we should give form an alliance, name ourselves pretentiously, and discuss further at a later date; I talked to Yuka after school, and finally, gave up my seat to an elderly woman on the bus, her thinning hair pressed into a victory roll, a style she most likely has worn since the days of her youth.
Am I tired? Terribly. Has my brain been reduced to a series of sticky notes? ("Remember to copy" or "Must print 8th grade work sheets" or "Take attendance") Yes, it has indeed. But I leave each day knowing that God has not turned his hand from me; He has not given me over to despair but blessed me beyond my ability to measure. Even the slow grind is a blessing only temporarily obscured by the general incomprehension of the bigger picture that comes so naturally to the human condition.
Am I tired? Terribly. Has my brain been reduced to a series of sticky notes? ("Remember to copy" or "Must print 8th grade work sheets" or "Take attendance") Yes, it has indeed. But I leave each day knowing that God has not turned his hand from me; He has not given me over to despair but blessed me beyond my ability to measure. Even the slow grind is a blessing only temporarily obscured by the general incomprehension of the bigger picture that comes so naturally to the human condition.
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