Rowdy Ruffians and Tough Tormentors

Sometimes people ask me what I do at École L'Eau-Vive. 

Sometimes, I wonder myself, because I wear several different hats. I imagine if I asked different students, I'd get a variety of different answers.

For instance ~

I'm not a teacher, although I certainly do do lots of teaching. 

I'm not an "orthopedagogue" or learning specialist, although I lead reading workshops and help students who struggle with reading learn specific decoding and comprehension strategies. I also write several intervention plans, or individualized education plans, each year.

I'm far from being a parenting coach, yet students' parents have been known to ask me for advice or suggestions, and not just about homework strategies.

I am a missionary and often have amazing conversations with kids about Jesus, who he is and what he came to earth to do. Working at a Christian school, however, is not a carte-blanche to talk about the Lord. I need to avoid "spiritual blackmail," where kids feel pressured to obey out of fear instead of a changed heart. Fear motivates quickly and effectively, but leaves out an important part of the Gospel - perfect love casts out fear.

When students ask me what I do, I most often say I'm like the police woman or detective for the elementary section. I spend many, many minutes helping children understand the rules and learn how to follow them; in addition, I help teach them about consequences for choosing to respect or not respect those rules.

My favorite...not favorite job (think sorry...not sorry), however, is that of mediator and peace-maker. Someone I respect exceedingly told me that that was what they saw to be one of my primary roles at the school. When wearing this hat, I'm usually dealing with violence, bullying, harassment or some other form of attack that has left at least two, and often more, injured - emotionally, physically, socially and/or spiritually. I say two because every conflict involves at least two, as both aggressors and victims are hurt by these encounters. This is especially true when working with children who are still learning all about social skills and relating to others.

Sometimes, it is easy to forget that last part... the bit about both being victims. Chris Colfer has said "When people hurt you over and over, think of them like sand paper; They may scratch and hurt you a bit, but in the end, you end up polished and they end up useless." In my role, it is important not just to help and support the victim; it is equally important to help the author of said acts understand the impact of what they have done as well as to teach them other ways to respond.

God provided me with an unpleasant lesson this weekend that I hope will help me as I intervene, intercede, mediate and adjudicate in school-related conflicts. While I never condone the actions of a bully, I can actually have a harder time identifying with and understanding those who allow others to walk all over them... 

My recent "lesson" gave me more than just a glimpse of that perspective. 

Friday and Saturday, we had a huge dump of snow. I think the final total snow accumulation was around 40 cm (16 inches), and it was blowing a blizzard for a day and a half. 

Saturday, however, was beautiful and busy. Snowplows and other snow removal vehicles were out in full force, which wreaks havoc with the traffic. Of course, living in Quebec, I quickly learned to appreciate those who do that job, for its better to put up with temporary inconvenience to have improved road conditions. I ran out to take Anna to her horseback riding lesson, and was hurrying back home because I had several things I wanted to get done during the afternoon. I followed another car into the parking lot for our apartment complex only to discover that they'd started plowing the snow and wanted us to clear the parking lot. 

The car before me pulled into a parking place, turned around and pulled out. I started to do the same and the driver of the snow plow started wildly gesticulating, clearly indicating that he did not want me to do that. I motioned, trying to indicate that I simply wanted to turn - around instead of having to back down a small hill, back up the other side and then out into snow plow traffic. He disagreed. 

He lifted the blade up, literally charged directly at my car, slammed the blade down just in front of me, creating a yellow metal wall wider and taller than the hood of our Infiniti. Then he started moving slowly towards me as though he would literally shove me, back end first down... up... and then out into the road. I was shocked and afraid, genuinely fearing he'd plow right into me.  I didn't stand my ground because I just wanted outta there! And so? I backed down the hill, up the hill and threaded my way amongst the other snow removal machines on our road (mildly traumatizing in and of itself). Then I spent the next thirty minutes driving around our large block, my eyes full of tears and castigating myself, all the while "thinking very ungenerous thoughts" about that snow plow driver.

I definitely got a taste of what it feels like to be bullied. Funny thing? I figured once I calmed down, it would just "go away." But it hasn't. I keep replaying it in my mind, getting angry once again at the dude and at myself. I've been much quicker to take offense when others have disagreed with or confronted me about something, even something banal and stupid, ever since. I feel guilty for not standing my ground (my kids were all really surprised that I didn't), even ashamed. My walk didn't measure up to my talk, and my gang has been spot-on in making sure that I know that.

Thankfully, my hubby is going to stand up for me now, even though I wasn't able to do so in the moment. He's going to talk to the administration of our apartment building, denouncing the behavior of that snow plow driver.

If I ever wondered about the importance or the relevance of what I'm doing each day, this weekend proved it to me...

My pain may be the reason for somebody's laugh. 

But my laugh must never be the reason for somebody's pain.     

Charlie Chaplin

Note : African proverbs images from: https://www.pinterest.fr/SimpleThingz25/african-proverbs/

Ma chaise berçante... otherwise known as rocking chair "internship"

Tomorrow morning some time, my two older girls are taking off with a friend to visit their younger sister who is attending school in a different state. I'm delighted they are going to check up on their lil' sis. Yet, my mama-heart is exceedingly worried - the weather forecast ain't so great and even though they are all grown up and competent drivers, I know from personal experience how scary it can be to driving through the regions where they'll be driving in nasty winter weather.

It's even scarier as their mother... I literally texted one of them today and asked if we could Skype tonight just so I could be sure and hear their voices again if they died. Fortunately, said daughter kindly understood her mother's freak out...

I remember being a young adult, I remember my mom being worried. I remember having to work really hard (not always successfully) to not be offended by that worry. I had no idea how visceral and real and almost decapitating (as in the panic can sometimes interfere with any semblance of logical or reasonable brain activity) that worry can be... My family and God are pounding yet another parenting truth into my rather hard head.

One of my coping strategies to try and manage this overwhelming - and if I'm blunt, sinful, since it is me trying to micromanage their lives mostly for my own comfort with more than a dash of "their own good" mixed in - panicky concern is nostalgia. The fact that I recently heard a radio program highlighting the benefits, physical and mental, of rocking - for both big and little people - has had me mentally meandering through my rocking chair memories. 

The stories this chair could tell...

My parents gave me this Amish rocker shortly after we announced we were expecting our first child, in other words, back in 1995. I've sat in this chair during every pregnancy, rocked, nursed and sang to every one of my babies in this chair. It traveled to Niger (yes, Africa) in a container and spent several years, creaking and cracking on the back side of the Sahara Desert. I'm sure if I looked closely, I could still find bits of desert orange sand in the joints. Fortunately, it was spared during the great termite infestation that destroyed a couple thousand dollars of home school curriculum, videos and other termite delicacies while stored during a home assignment back in the States.

Then came the great conundrum. We were leaving Niger. We weren't shipping a container home. But I wanted my rocking chair. So I took it apart, carefully packed it into a suitcase, and brought it back to the American side of the Atlantic. Of course, taking it apart was much easier than getting it back together. Even with all the pictures we took. Tim offered to buy me another one. I refused.

I didn't want another one. I wanted THAT one. My rocking chair...

The chair I rocked in when my back was KILLING me during or immediately after each of my pregnancies (Believe it or not, I did not enjoy even though I've spent approximately 75 months, 3236 weeks, or 6.25 years - of my life pregnant. And yes, I was counting.)

The chair where I rocked and breathed and read until I memorized Philippians 4 after waking with panic attacks at 3 am repeatedly... until I experienced physically the "peace of God that guards my heart and mind."

The chair where I cuddled and nursed and deepened that relationship with each little life God's gifted to Tim and me.

The chair where I've read Winnie the Pooh or the Wheel on the School or Ruth to each one, because whether they remember it or not, I do.

The chair that I far too often left neglected in the corner of my bedroom for long stretches because I was too busy to stop and take the time, too concerned with my own dreams, my own plans.

The chair where I've spent uncounted sleepless nights with sickies praying for patience and health yet also appreciating those long moments of quiet with just one child rocking snuggled close in my arms.

The chair strategically placed under the air conditioner where I'd listen, the sweat still rolling down the back of my knees, to Jan Karon's audio books during sieste on a sweltering Niger afternoon.

The chair where I held my neighbor's deathly sick and desperately needing surgery little girl who continually moaned in pain while knowing there was nothing else I could do - just to give her mama a few minutes break.

The chair where I've prayed for bigger kids when they've been far from me and I've been worried about them - their safety or the wisdom of the decisions they were making.

The chair where God, along with my family, has persistently worked to gentle stubborn, hard-headed and selfish me, giving me a long "internship" in choosing joy while putting my desires (and sometimes needs) aside for a few moments to focus on serving another.

Chaise berçante... those words, pronounced in French even sound like the gentle to and fro of my chair as tilts forward and back, that God has used to gentle me. A place so comfortable, so comforting, that moves so gracefully - where I've learned some of the hardest yet most important lessons of my life.

That chair represents more than just the many precious or challenging memories of parenthood. It represents much of my journey with my Savior. I often wonder what that chair would recount... if it could.

Thankfully, a dear gentleman in one of our partnering churches was able to help put my Amish rocker back together. But it is definitely worse for the wear. Today, it sits beside our fireplace, held together by duct tape... 

...as today that "internship" continues. I pray it continues for many years, encore!

PS My girlies made their trip safely and are now hanging out and s'encouraging (yes, that's franglais). I wish I could be there with them.

Five Minute Friday ('cept for me, it's on Saturday) ~ Confident

While I was never a person who thought I knew it ALL, when I was a young mother, I was pretty confident I knew an AWFUL LOT.

As folks here in Quebec commonly say, "Ouff!"

Because now, as far as what I KNOW, I'm not nearly so

• self-assured...
• sure...
• presumptuously puffed up...
• arrogant.

At least I don't think so. I'm not in my head.

I hope I'm not (at least not most of the time) in the attitude I present to others. 

(Feel free to call me out on that one if you this attitude screaming out in my life.)

Mommy-ing, teaching littles at home and at school, have shown me so many things

• More often than not, I make judgments - and I'm confident of the righteousness of said judgments - without a clear or complete understanding.
• I have a hard time seeing how my words, my actions or what seems so clearly obvious and true to me, can be perceived totally differently (and often rightly) by somebody else.
• The more I think I know, clearly the more I need to humble myself to learn more.

I'm presently living two "situations" right now where I'm grudgingly thankful for the "humble-pie" on which I'm "dining.

One is much easier than the other (so I'll start with that one first).

In an effort to model teachability and encourage a more positive classroom climate, this past week one of my colleagues and I had "circle time" with her class. I led the time and our goal was to discuss the fact that we all have strengths and weaknesses and part of loving others means supporting and noticing others around us when they use their talents for the good of others... and lovingly confronting them when they refuse to work on their weaknesses and thus hurt others.

So, using myself as the model, I asked this group of students (early elementary aged) what they saw as my strengths and my weaknesses when I was with them, working with them, at school.

According to a group of six and seven year-old kids, they appreciate and know that I love them because I'm willing to draw near and help them with hard things, whether their problem is not getting some academic concept, not getting along (or worse) with a friend, not listening to their teachers or other authorities as they should, or not treating others like they want to be treated.

Can I pat myself on the back for that one? 

Nope. Not yet. ...keep reading -

Then, they said I have two things on which I need to work:

1. Improving my ability to speak French 

No surprise there... and we had a mini-lesson right then and there on how I should be pronouncing "Dieu" - which for this old, English-speaking tongue - well, "Ugh!" My attempts provoked much laughter and I felt like an idiot. I think I finally got it write twice. They all clapped! I smiled while silently nursing my pride.**

2. I need to give more hugs. 

In other words, even though my attitude and my attention communicates clearly to them that I do love them, they need even more - especially when I'm working with them in a difficult moments. In all sincerity, my very young friends were able to tell me today that my biggest strength, the thing they appreciated most about me as a teacher - they appreciated not because I was consistently doing it well enough that they actually "felt" loved. Rather, because of God's grace and his work in their little hearts, they understood and accepted my intention even when my words and actions didn't clearly communicate the message. 

Wow!

Ouch.

Outta the mouths of babes.

The second situation is much more difficult for me to swallow.

Because I've unintentionally offended and hurt someone. In my confidence that I was acting rightly, I didn't consider that what I was doing could even be misconstrued. My lack of awareness of the other ways that those actions could be received, perceived and interpreted has been rather glaring. In this situation intentions just don't matter, and there is no way to undo damage done.

Next week, I will have the opportunity to apologize - in French, mind you (Remember, communicating in that language is not one of my strengths. Neither is humbling myself and publicly admitting error.)

And I get to do all of this in the presence of my boss. By God's grace (and me decreasing so that His presence in me increases), maybe forgiveness and a measure of reconciliation and healing will result. Maybe even restoration.

But I can't worry about the result at this moment. I can only pray that the Holy Spirit softens and gentles as I pray (and rehearse hundreds of times in my head) about the words I will say and the attitude I need.

As I've reflected and prayed about this, I'm so thankful for the following two truths.

I can be "confident of this, that he who began a good work in [me] will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus." (Philippians 1.6)

And

"...whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in a Christ—the righteousness that comes from God on the basis of faith. I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him ...Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus."

**Five minute time limit reached

photo credit: NevilleNel Perseverance via photopin (license)

Five Minute Friday ~ Tired (of those who try and explain and justify instead of using another's criticisms or observations as the impetus to jump start much needed change - myself sometimes included)

I had a conversation with a teacher friend of mine recently. At the private Christian school where this teacher works, support personnel (i.e. speech and language therapists, occupational therapists, learning specialists, etc.) are not employed by the school. They are either hired by the parents or are provided by the public system to ensure that children with identified disabilities (and individualized education plans) receive the necessary adaptations and services that will allow them to genuinely access and profit from their education. My teacher friend decided one day to ask one of these specialists (who was not a believer) if the Christian school where they both worked was any different than the public schools where the specialist was also employed. 

The specialist's response was surprising.

As a nonChristian outsider, the specialist said that the parents with their focus on protecting marriage and the nuclear family as well as their involvement in the school and the lives of their children was definitely different. This individual also remarked that students were, in general, more obedient, polite and respectful - although certainly not perfect. Textbooks, teaching materials and lessons also often reflected the different worldview of those adhering to the Christian faith. All of that is exactly what we would expect to hear. 

So, what's so surprising?

It was the final question. My friend then asked the specialist if there was anything different about the teachers at the Christian school. 

"No, not really,"  the specialist replied.

As a teacher, a Christian teacher, one who has worked in both public, private and international settings, my only response was: "Ouch!" And - I was deeply convicted.

I can easily (and more or less logically) explain away the specialist's observation:

1. Most who enter the field of teaching do so because they care about children, want to see them grow and thrive, reach their potential and perhaps, someday, help make our world a better place. As all have been created in the image of God, this is clearly God's image shining through -certainly possible even in someone who does not yet follow him.
2. Good teaching practices are good teaching practices and we can't expect Christian schools to be the only ones using them.
3. This specialist did not understand because s/he did not have the Holy Spirit helping him/her to interpret what s/he saw.
4. The specialist responded with his/her own personal agenda, perhaps less than truthfully.

Or, I (or we - Christian teachers) could ask God to reveal if there is something we need to change in Christian education.

Of course, that's a dangerous question. 

What if an honest answer reveals that I need to change?

What if the problem is not simply the content of the education, but rather the process by which I'm communicating that content? 

(five minute timer sounded here)

As a Christian teacher, I should be concerned about excellence: end results - excellence, observable and measurable; behavior that adheres to Christian principles and traditions. But does this drive for excellence render other important qualities expendable? Do I control (i.e. by rules and regulation and suffocating supervision) so much that I take away occasions for my students to choose and then experience the results and/or consequences of their choices? Do I model service and sacrifice while never giving my students opportunity to do the same? Do I continually demand performance, never allowing my students to experience grace demonstrated?

What if that specialist never saw the difference in school staff because s/he did not see people who loved the Lord their God with all their heart, soul and mind AND people who loved their neighbors (other staff and personnel, students, parents) as themselves. Jesus was the one who said to his disciples: ""By this all men will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another." (John 13.35, NASB)

Yes, I'm tired.

I'm tired of people who should know better - whose first response is defensive, striving to justify the status quo, clinging to past and present traditions and never willing to consider that maybe they need to change. I'm tired of Christians who walk in fear and who thus can't consider the testimony, observations or suggestions of others "outside the fold." Yes, greater is He that is in us than he who is in the world... and we forget that God has spoken truth in many ways - His Word, His Son, His prophets, His creation, His people... even a pagan king and a donkey.

And I'm tired of always having to battle that exact same impulse in moi-même each time I'm confronted with yet another incongruity in my life, family and ministry. 

I'm Braver speaking French

Does that seem strange to you?

It did to me too, at first.

But it is something I'm noticing to be true, beyond any shadow of a doubt.

Apparently I'm also not the only person who's made this discovery.

What do I mean? Here's one example:

I was in a Tim Hortons parking lot (I often meet English language students there). The spaces are a little on the small side to begin with and once the snow falls and begins to be shoved, shoveled, blown and piled, the available space decreases. I parked my larger than average vehicle, carefully and very clearly in between the yellow lines demarking my space. Yet it was impossible to exit the car without my door touching the door of the vehicle beside me. I was scrupulously attentive - I did not want my black door to leave a trace on the white one beside me. Unbeknownst to me, however, the driver of that white car was watching - also attentively. And he wasn't happy when he saw the contact. He started hollering across the parking lot. It was in French and a good portion of it I did not understand, but there was no doubt about the gist: he was unhappy and he wasn't concerned about politeness. 

Normally I'd just ignore a monsieur like him and simply walk into the restaurant. I'm not one for this sort of confrontation if I can avoid it... But I didn't avoid. 

Instead, I walked up to him and said something along these lines, in French: "Sir, because you are an older gentleman, I'm going to speak to you respectfully. However, your age does not give you the right to impolitely scream at me from across the parking lot. I understand that you were concerned about your vehicle, however I was very careful and if you come with me, you will see there are no marks on your car." He walked over, admitted that there were no marks and then stomped off. (By the way, when we very occasionally cross paths at this same Tim Hortons, he now smiles and says "Bonjour..." for what that's worth.)

Never in a million years would I have done the same thing with a stranger in an English speaking environment. 

Why this difference?

I don't know what the professional consensus is for those who study this phenomenon; the article linked to above says that it probably has more to do with a different cultural context and less with the actual language context. But, for what it is worth, here are what I think might be at least a few of my reasons.

• I learned to speak French as an adult, with more maturity, greater confidence and a better awareness of who I am and why I'm here. Though I do still care (a lot), I am not as enslaved to what others think as I was when younger; I'm significantly more concerned about what God thinks.

• I learned to speak French after becoming a mother. I can't think of any other experience God has gifted me that consistently offers me opportunities to model humility, teachability, perseverance, gentleness and a heart of service - even when all I really want to do is turn off the lights, crawl under the covers (or desk... depends on where I am) and hide from the world.

• Learning to speak another language requires losing face. The controlled, refined and very perfectionist image of me that I want to be and desire to present to the rest of the world usually ends up looking undignified, incompetent and just plain and stupid. 

This year, I'm again volunteering at the school my kids attend and working more in French than I ever have before. I regularly sound like an idiot, am at a complete loss for words, have to ask people to repeat themselves or have to repeat myself, am corrected by giggling five and six year olds, and say things that are culturally stupid because I've translated (more or less) from English 

 Perhaps most discouraging and frustrating of all are those misunderstandings that pop up because my American-English-brained-way of trying to communicate something apparently doesn't come across the same way to a Quebec-French-brained-way of understanding. Helping students learn - a domain in which I've mostly excelled - requires a lot of work in my second language. It is exhausting. Oh yeah, did I also mention that at some point during the day, my head just starts to hurt. A lot.  

Once you get used to regularly eating crow, well... you get used to it and it isn't as hard to do again. However, that doesn't mean it has suddenly become palatable. Distasteful? Probably until the day I die.

** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** ** **

Now, I don't want to make it sound all miserable. I was sitting at a ladies' breakfast recently - listening and participating in conversations with some precious women from our church (in French of course) - and I was overwhelmed by amazed gratefulness, because there I was, enjoying understanding and speaking a language that was not my mother tongue. 

But I also don't want you to think that just because it has been 17 years, it has become effortless and easy...

And perhaps challenge you to remember that the next time you run across someone who's first language is not English, or who's home culture is not your own.

Five Minute Friday (from a week ago) ~ Should

I'm a perfectionist.

And I don't usually have a problem meeting expectations, or achieving what is considered "acceptable."

Efficient, usually energetic, hard-working, perseverant - 

But I rarely measure up to my own standards. 

You know ~ the ones I set for myself, and work so hard to try and attain (sometimes driving my family crazy in the process). And yet... almost always and even after all that effort, I fall short. 

I can come up with a dozen or more shoulda, coulda, wouldas: "If I'd just ______________..." Then, just for good measure, I'll tack on a few coulda, shoulda wouldas because I can always think of a million possibilities given the 20/20 vision of hindsight: what I should have or could have done differently that would have, ideally, produced an "on-target" result or, at the very least, one more in line with what I'd been aiming for.

To add insult to injury, at this point, I usually start to mentally beat myself up - not only because of my failure to achieve my goal, but also because of the resulting internal drama that results from this perfectionism.

According to Psychology Today, perfectionism is "...life [as] an endless report card on accomplishments or looks. It's a fast and enduring track to unhappiness, and ...is often accompanied by depression and eating disorders. What makes perfectionism so toxic is that while those in its grip desire success, they are most focused on avoiding failure, so theirs is a negative orientation. And love isn't a refuge; in fact, it feels way too conditional on performance. Perfection, of course, is an abstraction, an impossibility in reality, and often it leads to procrastination. There is a difference between striving for excellence and demanding perfection."

As I used to say growing up, "It ain't good." 

But ~

 God is using it as a chisel in my life.

I'm in the midst of one of those shoulda, coulda, woulda mental battles right now - one where I didn't accomplish what I'd wanted or expected of myself and for which I'd worked long and hard. I had striven for more than just excellence. I only achieved pretty good. I certainly didn't attain the perfection I was demanding of myself.

God's chiseling away at my self-sufficiency and self-idolatry and the antibiblical underlying worldview to which my perfectionism attests: that somewhere, deep down inside, I still believe that me, myself and I can figure out how to be more than good enough. 

It's a worldview that denies the power of the Gospel, suffocates grace, smothers mercy and stamps out hope.

And I know I want no part of it. 

For I know the One Who already DID. And He ain't little.

He is the heart of the Gospel, the author of grace, the impetus of mercy and the harbinger of hope.

-----------------------------------------------

(No, this isn't really a five minute write... but it is something that has been tumbling around inside over the past few weeks. Now, it's finally tumbled out as I think with my fingers.)

Five Minute Friday ~ Define

On April 22, Tim and I are scheduled to take a French test - actually four tests: Oral Comprehension, Oral Expression, Written Comprehension and Written Expression. We need to attain a certain level of proficiency if we then want to submit applications for permanent residency.

It seems simple. We studied French for a year. Then we lived and worked in a French speaking environment for 13 years. After a two year hiatus, we moved back to a different French speaking world and are living and working here. We go to the doctor, buy our groceries, pay our taxes, have parent-teacher conferences, go to planning meetings, go to church, teach Sunday School, take classes and do volunteer work - all in French.

Yet, when I started studying this morning and worked through a brief online get-your-feet-wet-and-see-what-the-questions-on-the-test-are-like web page, I realized the oral comprehension part wasn't going to be easy (or they are trying to scare people into paying for the study courses - but that sounds awfully conspiracy theory-ish). Maybe it's because my older than they used to be ears just hear slower these days, or the mild but definite loss of hearing acuity I've experienced the last few years or  just the fact that oral comprehension has always been my weakest French language skill - but now I'm more than a little nervous about this test.

Every other practice section I did, I did really well. Oral comprehension? Not so much.

Being a good student... particularly a good test taker... is one of several things, I realized today, that I've allowed to define me. In the residency paperwork, we specify one spouse (i.e. Tim or myself) as the primary applicant. That person has to score higher than the other - and both Tim and I naturally assumed that person would be me.

Talk about pressure. Turning up the heat. Or mettant les bouchées doubles...

Yeah.

It is crazy how concern over one 25 minute, 29 question test scheduled a few weeks in the future has set my world a-spinning today...

You'd think that at my age, it would take a little more to upset the apple cart! 

Photo 1 credit: 

Natalia Medd Round and Round via photopin (license)

Photo 2 credit: 

[-ChristiaN-] carousel via photopin (license)

The Enigma of Educating our TCKs

I wrote this post almost exactly a year ago... 
Wanted to share it again, and then later this week, update a bit - as we are on year further into this journey.

It is an amazing one... this journey, I mean! Not necessarily this post! :-)

As a relatively large family (eight children spanning 13 years) that’s been on the mission field essentially since the turn of the century (15 years - long enough to be considered career), we’ve tried several different education options: homeschool, local language schools, private school, public school, online school… We’ve not yet used the boarding option at a boarding school (unless you count our university aged kiddos living in a dorm, but that’s still a whole different ballgame). And, in fact, when we first left for the field, I would have told anyone who asked that home school was the plan, but also that boarding school was the only option NOT on the table. 

Now?

I would tell you that any possible option that presents itself makes its way to the table as a topic of discussion…

People have asked us before about our education plan/philosophy, and I used to think I had it pretty well figured out – actually, mapped out – before our first reached third grade. A special educator with several years of experience in the classroom… a professional trained to look at the individual skills, abilities and needs of an individual student – and one who was fairly good at what I did… I figured those skills would naturally transfer to figuring out an exceptional and best educational plan for each one of my own children. Since I was the professional educator, my husband – although always an active contributor to the many conversations – essentially followed my lead regarding what was best, educationally, for our children, although there have been compromises. 

I’ve discovered that it HAS NOT come naturally – because my own desires and dreams for my children often interfere with… even disguise… what might actually be best for them… educationally, emotionally, physically, socially… spiritually. Those best choices that I could see easily for someone else’s child weren’t nearly so obvious when it came to my own.  Sometimes, best choices actually got in the way of good decisions. Sometimes, we make what appear to be best decisions – only to discover down the road aways that we didn’t have all of the facts or experience necessary to know, actually know, what we were deciding…

We’ve I’ve made so many mistakes. 

I’m thankful for God’s grace and merciful children. 

Key questions we’ve started asking when it comes to making those educational decisions:

1. What is available?
2. What is affordable?
3. What is advantageous? (Or… What is the absolute best for this one child?)
4. What is acceptable? (Or… What is a practical and adequate reality for our entire family?)
5. What is the actual child’s input?

The first two questions are obvious. If there is no English language day school option in country and your children are too young to go to an out-of-country boarding school, then homeschool (parent teaching or engaging a teacher) or online are probably the two primary possibilities - if English language schooling is a priority. And, of course, whatever option must paid for - often putting the private, international schools out of reach for many missionary families.The third question is an ideal – If not limited by anything, what would I choose for my child. The fourth question is more one of workability: Which choices are both doable and good - not just the individual child, but for our family as a whole. This last one is always a hard one for me, because my perfectionist side has a hard time settling for the good if there is a best alternative. Doing so is, in my mind, equivalent to failure. The final question has much to do with what the child wants – or thinks s/he needs.

These questions are not listed in a hard and fast order of priority – because priorities can change based on present realities. They also change based on the individual needs of each specific child.

Sometimes, it feels like we’re trapped in a high stakes poker game where we’re dealt a hand of cards, we try to read the nuances of the situation all around us and then make decisions that are educationally sound and profitable for our children. Sometimes we make the very best decision we can – only to watch as our child struggles, hurts, or worse… learning as more information comes to light that perhaps we didn’t actually make a very good choice – or that we need to make a change. 

There are so many “stories” I could tell – but there are two I think are particularly relevant.

While in W. Africa, we choose to enroll our children in a local, French language primary school. It felt like we got to have our cake and eat it too… to use a cliché! We met so many people outside the missionary community (the school was run by Baha’i missionaries). Our children were learning French and making local friends - outside of  church. The teachers and staff at the school worked very hard to meet the educational needs of our children and our children learned that the standard “American” perspective wasn’t necessarily the only way. It certainly was not the way the rest of the world saw things. 

They children grew from experiencing life as a visible minority where they didn’t have all of the prerequisite skills that typically give majority culture students an advantage. They learned independence, hard work, how to memorize, obedience without question and how to make friends with people who were drastically different from them. We were all home for lunch together every day – and for a rest time during the afternoon heat - before the children returned to school. Academically, we found that even though the educational system and priorities were different, our children were well taught and well prepared to eventually transition to an international, English language school as bilingual students. The only disadvantage was that our children were spread across three different school campuses in town.

Life was cruising along; we were following this educational plan for our family. Then our mission unexpectedly became insolvent. Resulting financial difficulties as well security challenges due to increasing terrorist activity in our region led us to make a radical change - several weeks after the beginning of a new school year. We moved our children into an English language, international mission school. 

I had to let go of my dream of genuinely bilingual children and being a part of that school community we had enjoyed for several years. I also had to accept that this was a decision that had nothing to do with an educational best choice, but a real life, real time choice of what was best for our family. Additionally, I was surprised to discover just how difficult this change was for our children who had to make the switch – suddenly, unexpectedly and mid-year. They immediately had to learn 1) a new school, 2) new classroom/teacher systems, 3) a new academic language, 4) to live day in and day out with those who had, before, only been weekend friends, 5) to walk through perceived injustices/prejudices as a result of the previous educational choices we’d made for our family, and 6) to be just like all of the other TCKs who filled their classes. Others of our children who'd already transitioned to the international school had made that transition. But, we’d taken a year of homeschooling to help each adjust to the radical differences.

What's the moral of the story? When you realize that a current educational situation is really not working, either because of a change, new information, or whatever – make the necessary changes. I shed many tears, crying for my lost vision of the future, but also with my kids as they dealt with their own losses and frustrations. I had to create time to be available and drop other obligations and commitments in my already full ministry schedule to emotionally and academically support them through the change. It was hard.

My second story is one that is taking place, literally, right now. We’ve transitioned to a new place of ministry. Those among our children who are not attending college back in the States are presently enrolled in a French language, private, evangelical school. It’s a great school. But it is already clear that it is not the best educational decision for at least one of our children, one for whom learning does not come easily, one who is an extreme extrovert - not being able to talk with friends is driving said child crazy. This child was already identified as having an articulation disorder, has an individualized education plan and was receiving speech and language services in English. For this one, languages do not come easily. Yet, because of immigration/visa requirements – our children must be actively engaged in French language education. 

Are there other avenues we could choose? Probably, but we aren’t familiar enough yet to know what those options might be. So we spend hours on homework every night. We memorize verb conjugations even though the children may not have any idea what said verb means and will not likely be using the conditional form of the verb any time in the near future. We reread and translate much of the work that was done during the day. It's like a second school day once home when what they really want is a break because they are exhausted. I easily perceive that exhaustion as “laziness.” A good friend recently reminded me of something I should know very well - as a language learner myself and as a teacher of English as a second language… Language learning is draining; learning content material in the new language is beyond grueling. Sometimes what looks like lazy is simple self-preservation from information overload. Once again, for this season – different ministry ideas I might have need to take a back seat to supporting my children as we walk through this season together and learn to thank God for His Presence when life (school) is unrelentingly hard.

The moral of this second story? Sometimes the cards we are dealt just don’t leave a particular child with any good hand, educationally. That isn’t necessarily a failure. It is a reality of life in a fallen, broken world. What may not turn out to be an academically profitable year might actually reap more real life skills and an opportunity to lean on the Lord in ways we just don’t when we don’t desperately need Him. But as parents, we can't leave our kids to just fend for themselves in the challenging seasons our life choices, our callings, have thrust upon them.

Do I believe God called me to this place, at this time, with this family? I absolutely do. He also gave me this family and called me to a responsibility to serve them. More important than making perfect educational decisions for each child each school year is a lifestyle lived, walking humbly with our God through those decisions (and others). It is climbing educational mountaintops together and holding close through the academic valleys, all the while ultimately recognizing His Sovereignty and His amazing grace in all circumstances. TCKs don't need to be coddled and protected from life's realities and hardships because their parents are following a lifestyle that denies them of much of what is valued and expected of parents in today's western/developed world. Life isn't all about our kids. But they are also not to be ignored or expected to fend for themselves. They need to be discipled in looking to God for strength and hope in the midst of our decisions.

Originally posted on Missionary Mom's Companion

10/12/2015