Santa Won't Be Shimmying Down Our Chimney

Unlike most of my peers, I did not grow up believing in Santa Claus.  He was never a real or magical character in our house.  I have never mailed Santa a letter (although as an assignment during elementary school, I had to write Santa a letter and felt very silly writing to a make-believe person).  I've never sat on a kindly old bearded stranger's lap and told him of my wish list.  Never have I ever feared receiving coal in my stocking. 

As I've been pondering what I want holiday traditions in my own house to look like, I default, as I think many of us do, to what is familiar.  I have assumed, without giving a tremendous amount of thought as to why, I wouldn't teach my children about Santa.  Until this week, the passing reasons for this were that, 1) I don't want to lie to my children-- not even about whimsical fictitious characters (Santa, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, and certainly not that creepy ol' Elf on the Shelf), and 2) I didn't grow up believing in any of them. 

But recently, I've evaluated why I am uncomfortable with the idea of instilling in my children a belief about Santa Claus.  I do not judge or snub my nose at parents who choose differently.  I don't have the "right" way.  I do think, however, that it's important to challenge our own ways of thinking.  Tradition for tradition's sake isn't a good enough reason TO do something... or to NOT do something. 

Here's what I've come up with: I don't want to bring Santa into my children's Christmas traditions because the commercial ideas surrounding this jolly old soul are completely opposite of the real, true focus of Christmas.  No, I don't think Santa is evil and I'm not a "all things secular are synonymous with raging war on Christmas" individual.  Slow down.  Hear me out.
 
With Santa, you gain access to him once a year; 
   with Christ, His presence is always with us.
With Santa, you tell him what fleeting thing you want each year;
   with Christ, He knows your greatest need before you even ask.
With Santa, if you behave, you are entitled to presents; 
   with Jesus, there is nothing you can do to earn the gift of salvation. 
With Santa, you act nicely in order to receive; 
   with Jesus, you receive and then respond in overflowing grateful devotion and obedience.
With Santa, you receive gifts if you're good; 
   with Jesus, you receive the ultimate gift because you aren't good.  .  
With Santa, he comes to bring presents;
   with Christ, His life was the present.

Isn't one of these two characters infinitely much more magnificent?  I don't want to spend precious moments of the few advent seasons I have with my little one focusing on a fable... when Christ's birth and life is so much richer. 

As we progress through this month, I challenge you (and myself) to consider meaning and purpose in your celebrations rather than going through the rote motions.  Our enjoyment of this season will be deeper and richer for it. 

Why I Will See 3 O'Clock Twice Today

It is presently 5:16am and I have been awake for several hours.  This time, I can't blame the baby or the insomnia.  My soul is troubled.  My soul is troubled in a way that glossy-eyed scrolling through social media, dominoes on my cell phone, and watching one more cute corgi video will not distract.

In April 1999, I was a 14-year old freshman whose naive bubble got a little bit deflated when I saw headlines of a horrific school shooting that took place several states away.  I devoured two books about lives of two 17-year old Christian girls whose lives were taken in hopes of wrapping my head around any possible good that might have come out of the tragedy.

In April 2007, I was a month away from being a college graduate when Facebook notifications began rolling in from long-time friends who attended a university expressing confusion, fear, anger, and pain over their classmates' lives who were either confirmed dead by gun-shot or not yet accounted for.  A week later, my university went on lock-down when two armed suspects were spotted near the student union building.

In April 2011, I was an elementary school music teacher who had just taped construction paper over the door windows and was frantically trying to keep my 27 sixth graders quiet during the excruciatingly long intruder drill.  As police and their K-9 unit ran through the halls, shaking door handles and shouting, I found myself conflicted in reassuring the obviously fearful students that this was "just a drill" and whisper-scolding the ones whose fear masqueraded in thinly-veiled bravado and sarcasm.

It is now February 2018.  I have a daughter who is the most precious, beautiful child I have ever laid eyes on.  One day far too soon, I am going to have to have a discussion with her about the bad things that happen in the world.  Yes, we will talk about sin and the heart.  Yes, we will talk about alerting the authorities if she sees something potentially harmful.  Yes, we will talk about recognizing and taking care of your needs-- physical, emotional, and mental.  Yes, we will talk about doing the right thing and trying to protect others within your abilities.  Yes, we will talk about how it's the job of parents to raise their children to be kind and respectful toward others.  Yes, we will talk about mourning with others who are hurting.  Then, we will not only talk about praying, but we will actually pray for and with people those who are in pain.  If she wants to learn how to hunt or skeet shoot, I will absolutely educate her on gun safety.

But we will also talk about how we live in a country with elected government officials who we choose because we hope that they will help our city, state, and country be a safer place to live.  And we will talk about the fact that sometimes we have to give up things that we want or desire to do because it isn't good or safe for us or others.  And we will talk about how tradition and the excuse that "it has always been done this way" is not a good enough reason not to seek new, creative solutions to challenging problems.  And we will talk about having courage to recognize when talking is no longer enough, but action is required.

I am not ready to have those conversations and I am grateful that I do not have to yet.  For those of you who have and are currently, I will covet your knowledge and experience when that time comes.  But right now, I am going to go hold my tiny 14-pound human and watch puppy YouTube videos.

I Wish My Students Knew...

A week ago, the story of a third grade teacher's assignment to her students, in which she asked them to write about what they wish she knew about them, went viral.  Over the past couple of years innumerable op-ed pieces, political commentaries, and online debates have been written on the subject of effective teaching.  I do not wish to add verbose rhetoric to this cultural conversation, but feel compelled to give voice to the following thoughts...

I wish my students knew that I care far more about their developing character than their ability to catalog instruments into families.

I wish my students knew that it breaks my heart when I notice one of them snicker at innocently chosen words, that could be misconstrued as innuendo, because her smirk reveals an innocence that has been shattered.

I wish my students knew that I hate the testing schedule too.

I wish my students knew that don't assign partners because I revel in their disappointment at not getting to choose, but because I don't want him being the last one picked... again.

I wish my students knew that I purposefully sacrifice a totally in-control class for a slightly more chaotic one that allows them to move and dance around because I know how hard it is to sit still.

I wish my students knew the sadness that overtakes my heart (after the initial, selfish relief) when I hear that one of my particularly challenging students has moved because of the reminder that the instability of their home life is what has created those challenging behaviors.

I wish my students knew that their ability to look me in the eye and express their thoughts is more important than their ability to remember an acronym for EGBDF.

I wish my students knew that I intentionally put my dignity aside in order to show them that it's okay to not take yourself so seriously.

I wish my students knew that earning "brownie points" has nothing to do with actual brownies.

I wish my students knew that, yes, I did in fact notice the boy who has fallen asleep in the corner and I am okay with that.  Really.  We're just playing eighth notes on a maraca, and he didn't eat lunch today or sleep last night.

I wish my students knew that I lose sleep over how to respond when you pretend to choke yourself to get attention.  Or when you use the red marker under your nose to try to convince me that you were punched.  Or when you immediately react to another child accidentally bumping you by punching that child in the stomach.

I wish my students knew that I lose sleep over these things because I legitimately worry that you are going to be arrested by the time you are in middle school due to the violent patterns you are setting for yourself now.  I lose sleep because I am certain that you are setting yourself on this kind of path because this type of violence is normal in your life.

I wish my students knew that I pray for them on my drive to work.

I wish my students knew that I have a "Smile File" that I keep their precious notes (even if I can't read them) and pictures in and these things touch my soul.

I wish that my students knew that yes, of course, it is always okay for you to give me a hug.  Always.

I wish that my students knew that I loathe the myriad of detrimental effects to their generation caused by my generation's obsession with the self-esteem movement.

I wish that my students knew that I love them too much to affirm their distracting and horrendous behavior choices by giving them the attention they crave.  Even though it drives me up the wall.

I wish my students knew that I hate the phrase "Do I have to sit next to her?"

I wish that my students knew that their bodies are more resilient than they think and a hangnail is not a legitimate reason to need to visit the nurse or have a screaming fit.

I wish my students knew that my ultimate goal is not that they can match pitch, keep a steady beat, define "forte," locate a time signature, show me the correct solfege hand signs, or hold a mallet correctly because in a few years, they might not even remember me or anything they did in their elementary school music class.  My goal is that they love music.  That it becomes part of them.  That they want to pursue it on their own.  That they enjoy it.

I wish my students knew that I care about them having a quality education, but I also want them to enjoy being kids with active, creative imaginations.

I wish my students knew that I don't teach primarily because I love music, but because I love them.