Philosophy of Teaching

I spent a good chunk of this morning applying for a faculty position at a local university. It sounds like a good job. I'd teach two sections of communication classes each semester, in the area of my choice (I'd love love love to teach interpersonal comm again, or public speaking! I've had enough of teaching writing for a while!). I'd also be responsible for the guidance of 175 students, helping them choose and register for classes, etc. I think this would be an interesting part of the job, I love working one-on-one with students.

So after I filled out all the boxes and attached all the documents I had to do one last thing: write a statement of my teaching philosophy. This should have been a simple task right? I've been teaching for almost ten years now. TEN YEARS. And that doesn't even include my time before that as a Sunday school teacher or a youth group leader. That's ten years of paid teaching in either an elementary school, middle school or college classroom. But I found out writing my philosophy out was a little difficult at first. And then I thought, wait. Just talk. Just write it like a blog. Just tell them what you're thinking. So I did. And I thought I'd share it with all of you too:

I believe a good teacher learns right along side of her students. I believe a good teacher tries new things, sometimes fails, learns from her mistakes, and tries again. I believe a good teacher encourages and pushes her students beyond what they thought they could do. I believe a good teacher does more than teach. She prods.

Students can learn a lot about the world from books. They can learn a lot about the world from the Internet. We now have teenagers going to virtual high school. We have college classes being taught to students on several different continents at once. However, what does not change is that the teacher has to continually prod. She has to engage her students. She has to ask the questions that aren’t on the pages of the book or on the website. She has to say, “Why?” and wait for the answer and then ask for a deeper explanation. She has to remember that Student X needs more encouragement than Student Y in getting assignments in on time but that Student Y needs to hear a few extra positive comments before she passes on the constructive criticism.

When I teach I am engaged in a dialogue, never a lecture. I love the back and forth between people, I love the idea that you can learn from another person or even just see something a new way. But most of all I enjoy the unfolding and discovering of what was there all along, of skills possessed and refined, of knowledge added to practice and what comes from that.

In the classroom my philosophy is simple: engage. Engage students’ minds, their mouths, and their hands. If I can do that, I can get them onto the path of learning. And to me, that’s the best end result I can hope for.

Putting a name on it

(Me with Mom #1 Chris and Mom #2 Mariyln)

Growing up with a large extended family that included a very close church family I knew several people who went through battles with cancer. But it never impacted my immediate family or my daily life. I never heard about chemo and radiation burns and the secondary diseases caused by treatments. I never knew the fear that comes from hearing that a loved one has been diagnosed. And then I got the phone call.

I remember the call well, I was sitting in the parking lot of the mall in Yuma, Arizona about four years ago. I'd just bought a ridiculously expensive nightgown in preparation for a spring break trip to Palm Springs. I was giddy with the thought of a few days away from seventh graders laying by a pool, getting a massage, sleeping in the queen size bed the website for the inn we were going to promoted. (Side note: I still have the nightgown and I count it as one of my best purchases ever!)

My parents called and asked if Ang and I could get on the phone together, never a good sign. So we did, in the car, with our packages staring at us from the backseat. And they told us that my grandfather had been diagnosed with cancer. And it began.

Then this past summer we got another phone call. Another request to get us both on the phone. Through tears my mom told us that her best friend for her entire life, our second mother, had been diagnosed with colon cancer. The world started to crumble.

Four years later my grandfather still battles cancer on a daily basis. He's tried chemo, experimental drugs, his teeth have all broken because of the drugs, he's developed infections, he complains in his quiet manner that he doesn't have much to live for anymore, that he can't do anything. His cancer is not curable but not necessarily fatal either. For that we are thankful. Not that he's still sick but that we had another Christmas with him this year. I am thankful each time I get another hug from him or hear his voice on the phone.

Marilyn, my mom's best friend, is dealing with a more aggressive form of cancer. She has chemo almost weekly though you wouldn't know it from the brave face she puts out to the world. At Christmas we had a wonderful family dinner and I was so thankful to be able to create more memories with her. Because my life is filled with memories of Marilyn, she is a part of the fabric that has created my life. I cannot imagine life without her. I cannot imagine her not being part of the world, my world.

I cannot express in words how much I hate cancer. How much I don't understand why some people get it and others don't. I've heard we all have cancer cells in our body but I wasn't all that great of a science student in school. However, I do know that it takes money to research cures. And that's something I can help with. I can help by raising ten, fifteen, maybe even a hundred dollars to help keep these two people a part of my life, my memories, my fabric for a little longer.

Imagine your world without two of the most important people in your life. Imagine those same two people suffering on a daily basis. Struggling to keep water down. Sitting for days in the dentist chair because the cure is sometimes worse than the disease. Imagine losing people you don't have to lose just because there's not enough money to figure out how to save them.

I know money's tight right now, trust me, I know. But I also know that the $30 fee it took to sign up for the 5K Walk for Cancer wasn't much more than it costs for dinner and a movie and I decided that small concession was the best thing I could do this week. So what can you do?

Can you donate $5? That's all I'm asking for, a small donation. I know I've asked in the past. I'll probably ask again. But then again, cancer's not going anywhere either. Not unless we do something about it.

Visit my page and consider donating: (click here)

I thank you in honor of the two names I've put on my cancer fight: Jim and Marilyn. I thank you in honor of the millions of women and men fighting cancer on a daily basis and their families who fight right alongside them. I thank you because it's all I can do. That and raise a little money and walk a few miles. It doesn't seem like much but it might be the push this fight needs...

Another Lenten devotion for you

Today the second Lenten devotion I wrote for HUMC's book runs. Here it is:

Luke 15: 17-20

And he arose and came to his father. But while he was yet at a distance, his father saw him and had compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him.

When I was growing up my dad would always settle arguments with a simple request: “give each other a hug”. And hug we would, although sometimes more begrudgingly then other times. But that request always reminded me of the fact that we were still family, that we loved each other despite what else happened, and that we were connected, emotionally as well as physically.

In this passage of Luke the lost son’s father’s first response upon seeing him return wasn’t to question where he’d been or what he’d done or berate him for leaving. The father’s first response was to hug his son. And to me, that simple act embodies the love of God perfectly. The lost son’s father exhibited that love to his son and my own father exhibited that love to me time and time again (and still does). An embrace. A hug. A physical act of pulling someone into your arms and letting them know that you love them.

How often do you hug others? When I ask myself that question the answer varies depending upon the day, how I’m feeling, where I’ve been, etcetera. But I know what I want the answer to be. I want to hug others regularly. I want to be a physical example of God’s love on a regular basis to those people in my life. To those people God loves and wants me to share His love with.

When I first started teaching I worked with first graders. They’re notorious huggers. And they’re equal opportunity huggers. If you have legs they’ll wrap their arms around them. If you get down on the floor you’ll quickly have little ones in your lap. And I love that about children. They love – and hug – so unconditionally. They are a physical example of God’s love to everyone.

I am going to challenge myself this Lenten season, and all of you, to be more physical in our expressions of love. Jesus gave us a very physical, tangible, expression of His love by dying on the cross. The lost son’s father hugged his son. My own father hugged me every time I’d do something wrong. Of course not everything can be undone or forgotten after a simple embrace but isn’t it a great way to start down the path of forgiveness? Of sharing God’s love? I think so. And I’m going to work at hugging more. Watch out!

Texas time

Near the end of January a few things happened: I realized I would have two weeks without work at the end of February/beginning of March, a professor of mine at UCLA canceled a class in March so he could go skiing, and I found the little stash of Christmas money and the 20 year old savings bonds my mom had given me when I'd been home in December. That same afternoon I got a phone call. The caller ID showed it was my cousin Jamee, who I love and adore and consider to be one of my closest friends. But I held fast and didn't answer the phone because I was working and on deadline for a table read that night.

Then the phone rang again. And I'm of that mindset that if someone hangs up and calls right back without leaving a message, it's probably important or even an emergency. So I picked up.

It was Hannah, Jamee's six year old daughter. She wanted to know why I hadn't answered her call the first time and I chuckled. For the next twenty minutes or so I listened to tales of her basketball team, what color their uniforms are, how there's another girl named Hannah on the team, that she just learned I live in the same city where they film her favorite TV show American Idol, etc. And my heart ached because I hadn't seen Hannah in almost two years. For three years in a row Angela and I had visited Jamee and the Brick family in Texas while we lived in Yuma. But once we moved to Los Angeles we didn't have the time or the money.

So that afternoon when all my ducks lined up in a row I made a decision: I was going to Texas.

And I did. And it was fabulous!

I spent five days there, Friday through Wednesday and loved every minute of it. I got to meet grown-up Olivia who's now almost three and was only a babe the last time I was there. In fact, Olivia and I became best buds. I got to cook with all three kids, grocery shop for veggies and fruits (their favorite), I got to comb hair and find shoes and visit classrooms and run and play and laugh and cry and wipe away tears and kiss cuts. I got to go to Swampfest and watch as they played silly games for silly prizes, I got to hold Olivia when she drank her milk each night, I got to explain to Hannah what mascara was and dab some glittery lip gloss on her little lips. I got to play Super Mario Bros. with David and laugh at how serious he became about the game.

And I also got to spend time with Jamee, above mentioned adored cousin and friend. We snuck off to the bookstore and sipped tea and sat on the floor and talked for three hours Saturday night. We talked while she prepped her classroom for a sub Sunday night. We spent all day Monday without kids and laughed and shopped and read greeting cards for several hours (so fun, really -- plus they were 80% off so such a good deal!). We ran errands together, we did the dishes together, we watched the Olympics and bad TV together (who else was aware that a GIANT sperm whale exploded all over a city street in Taiwan?!?!?). We stood outside in the freezing cold temperatures (it was 34 in the morning) and sun (I have the sunburns still to prove it) for ELEVEN HOURS on Tuesday holding campaign signs for Jamee's mother-in-law who was running for state representative. And even though she lost, we had such a great day. We sang, we laughed, we danced, we joked, we teased, and we talked. Boy did we talk.

And on Wednesday, when I hugged the little Bricks goodbye on their way to school I was a little sad but mostly I was happy. I was so happy I'd been able to visit with them, to be a part of their lives for a few days, to be a part of their memories. And when Jamee and I parted at the airport, I did have tears but again, they were mostly tears of happiness, of love.

And guess what I did yesterday? Started saving for my next trip this summer. Because Cousin Sarah needs more little (and big) hugs!!!