My dog ate your homework...

"Meine Hundin hat eure Hausaufgaben gefressen." That's what I had to tell a few of my students recently after spending Easter weekend at home. I returned from some errands to discover that Demi had ransacked my "teacher bag," gouging out a chunk of the bag, shredding manila envelopes and old sandwich bags, unzipping pockets to devour my granola bar, and yes: nicking a few corners from student assignments. She looks so sweet and innocent, and she used to be (more or less)...maybe we can blame her recent turn for the destructive on a midlife crisis, since she's turning 10 this year.

In related news, teaching can be really really fun. There are days when I feel that I'm not getting anywhere, and that everything I learn is at the expense of my students' mental anguish. But there are also days when I just love it. Here are some recent highlights:

1. I asked my AP students to write essays mimicking NPR's "This I believe." And in so doing, I learned that my students believe in:
-Aliens
-Dancing barefoot in the rain
-Being mediocre
-Winking



2. My German IV students, as part of their fairy tale unit, had to write one of their own. (See above for our class illustration of Hänsel und Gretel, based on students' descriptions.) They got pretty creative while writing, incorporating everything from a compost heap with appendicitis to an army consisting entirely of toast. We're assembling a book with the entire collection to continue a longstanding German IV tradition.

3. We had a debate today on the Wehrdienst, or Germany's military/civil service requirement. Everyone took on a role, like Billy: "I'm the loving mother of three children," and Ben, who while discussing his lifelong dream of driving a tank, invented an excellent new word: "destroyuieren." That's up there with translating "cowgirl" as "Kuh-Mädchen. :-)

4. In German II, we've had fun looking at different texts. I came across a German quiz show ("Wetten, Dass) that's world-famous for its crazy stunts. We watched two fun examples, although my favorite (which involved throwing plungers) has since disappeared. We also had a chance to read dumb questions that Germans have been asked while in the USA. For example: "You guys have your own language? I thought you spoke English with an accent!" Or: "Are there problems with the German-Chinese border?"

A rose by any other name...

...but really? You looked at this and thought "ranunculus?"

Baby's First Year

A recent college graduate, especially as a new teacher, is kind of like a baby adult. Babies experience many changes and milestones in a short period of time. Proud parents like to keep close track of these milestones and record them for posterity's sake. But not all of you "proud parents" live with me to track my every move. So here's a helpful guide for those of you playing along at home. In the last week or two, we've seen:

1. "Baby's First Discovery of Cheating" - with a textbook open to the vocab page during a test.

2. "Baby's First Confrontation" - where the student acted indignant at the suggestion of wrongdoing.

3. "Baby's First Parent Conference" - with the father trying desperately to believe, against all odds, in his son's innocence.

4. "Baby's First Interaction with the Assistant Principal" - who graciously backed her up throughout the incident, enabling said Baby to navigate #1-3 unscathed.

5. "Baby's First Police Escort" - no, wait, that would have been Baby's mentor teacher a few years back, whose screaming parent visitor required a chaperone to enforce her departure. Guess we'll have to postpone this one a little longer in my book.

6. "Baby's First In-Class Lesson Plan" - supposing, hypothetically, that I had at one point this week (say, yesterday in 6th period) not finished planning class until during their quiz. If this had happened, it would have worked out much better than one might suspect.

7. "Baby's First Proselytization" - by a Vedic guy who forcefully sought to convince me that I was really Vedic and had never realized it, and that by scrapping my belief in Jesus' divinity, I would understand true Christianity. Don't hold your breath for "Baby's First Conversion."

8. "Baby's First Recipe Invention" - apparently African ground nut stew, minus three key ingredients, plus four or five others, still tastes awfully good.

9. "Baby's First Shoefly Pie" - because anyone who leaves their shoes directly in front of the oven is secretly asking for toasted shoes.

10. "Baby's First Credit Card" - nothing says "grown-up" like the chance to spend money you don't have. Look out, King of Prussia!

11. "Baby's First Towing" - um, by the way, Mom and Dad... (It sure LOOKED like non-permit parking.)

12. "Baby's First Time Being Told She Looks Like a College Graduate" - actually still waiting for that one too, since most strangers still peg Baby as a high school student. (She's growing up so fast!)

A way I cannot see

Update on Chelsea's future: I'm still in State College through June, and I'm pretty sure now that I'll be in the US for at least the next year. Based on advice I've gotten, things I've read, and common sense, it seems logical to get some teaching experience before trying to teach overseas. I'm hoping to stay in or near PA to avoid completely uprooting myself, since I'd still love to go abroad in the not-too-distant future. Schools hire late, though, so it'll likely be June or July before I know for sure where I'll be teaching.

I'm looking at this year and next year as preparation for life overseas, but I'm afraid I'll forget about my dreams and get too comfortable here. That's why tonight, I was looking at web sites on education in Cambodia (a country that's drawn me for a while somehow).

It's bleak -
1930s: The first modern high school opened.
1960s: The first university was founded.
1975: The Communist Khmer Rouge assumed power, systematically destroying educational resources and slaughtering the educated population.
1980s: The succeeding government (PRK) made a half-hearted, half-funded attempt to re-establish an educational system.
1993-4: The government spent enough on books to buy one book per student every 20 years.
1998: Only 17% of teachers nationwide had attended school beyond ninth grade.
2000: Most Cambodian adults were found to be completely illiterate (36.3%; ) or semi-literate (26.6%); 45% of women were reportedly completely illiterate.

School fees are another problem: parents pay for 3/4 of primary education costs, while the government chips in a mere 13%. Many rural families are subsistence farmers; school is the greatest expense they face each year.

What would it take for me to improve Cambodia's education system? More experience in teaching, so I have something to offer. A decent knowledge of Cambodian. Some good connections to NGOs already at work there. The grace of God. And an inordinate amount of determination/stubbornness/insanity. Will I ever get there? I don't know. But I sure hope that if not, it's because something even more important grabbed my attention, and not because I got too comfortable.

Frozen splinters

Somehow it seemed urgent for me to re-read the story that had so moved me when I was young. For my fairy tales unit at school, my mom sent me a German-language collection of Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tales, in which “The Snow Queen” was first. I’ve been puzzling over it for weeks, trying to remember how it went, but lacking the time for 35 pages in German. This week during spring break, on the train to Philadelphia to see my dear friends Anya and Capri, I finally got my chance.

It’s a long and roundabout story, but the gist of it is this. Goblins have created a mirror that distorts everything it reflects, so that good and beauty don’t appear at all, while bad and ugly things are magnified. The most breathtaking landscapes look like “boiled spinach” in it. The mirror falls a great distance, splintering into billions of fragments that are blown all over, lodging in people’s hearts and eyes. Infected eyes see everything through the mirror; infected hearts turn to ice.

Kai and Gerda, a young boy and girl, are devoted playmates and best friends. When mirror fragments get into Kai’s heart and eyes, he instantly becomes cruel and aggressive, losing enjoyment in all their old games. He turns his attention to manmade objects or to mocking others. All that is beautiful to him now are the snowflakes he examines through a magnifying glass. The Snow Queen arrives and easily steals Kai away to her home up north; two of her kisses make him forget his old life and numb him to the cold. Thinking he has died, everyone mourns his loss.

The next spring, Gerda learns that he is still alive, and sets out on a quest to find him. That’s all I could remember before re-reading it: that, and my sense of horror with Gerda at the abrupt change in this dear trusted friend. I needed to find out how Kai was saved. What was Andersen trying to say about the human condition? How could I too be a Gerda, and invite people to abandon the splinters that robbed them of joy and peace?

I never expected that in the ending, I would identify even more with Kai’s nearly-frozen-solid heart than with Gerda’s distressed compassion for him. (Doesn't the Bible mention splinters in our eyes?) Andersen’s classic tale for children mostly left me sober at the realization of how my own eyes dull what is beautiful and good and right, and how I instead crave what is artificial and distorted. It reminded me of a freeing and joyous alternative.

If you haven’t let this story confront you in a while, I’d invite you to examine it. Whimsy and light-hearted touches permeate even poignant moments: Gerda discovers a numb Kai mechanically arranging chunks of ice into shapes and words, since the Snow Queen has promised that a certain impossible word will win him not only the whole world, but also a pair of ice skates. But mixed in with the escapades of these two youngsters is a gripping portrait of sin and redemption.

Lasting Lessons

Jubilee, in the Bible, was a celebration and a way to promote social justice. Every few decades, all the slaves were set free, all the debts were erased, everyone stopped working to rest, and all land ownership reverted to the original families (each had been assigned equal portions of property). It prevented anyone from holding too much power over anyone else, and provided a built-in time for everyone to celebrate God’s goodness together.

Jubilee, the conference in Pittsburgh, is what I attended last weekend with a number of international Christian friends. Like the original Jubilee, it was focused on restoring what’s broken in the world, pursuing justice, and cultivating beauty and joy where they’re scarce. One thing I really valued about this conference is its emphasis on excellence: good intentions need to be accompanied by diligence and sharp thinking. A focal point of the conference was its giant book sale, where Christian thinkers took on issues of sustainable resources, academics, poverty, technology, and more. Speakers similarly addressed special issues, many career-related; I soaked up several seminars on education while my friends considered everything from gender issues to music to engineering.

This conference made me dust off dreams: that my students would grow to love what is right and hate what is wrong, that I would give them assurance of their intrinsic worth as human beings, and that my actions (as a teacher and otherwise) would shape their lives and shape society. It lifted my eyes from my “first-year teacher survival” mentality and made me consider questions of my long-term and even eternal influence on others’ lives. It was overwhelming and yet exciting and beautiful. Keenly aware of my inexperience and short-sighted perspective, I prayed that I would be able to accomplish this in some small way.

Thursday, I had my clearest chance to date for doing so. The past week or two, some of my students had been very vocal about an “inside joke” regarding someone’s daily “anniversaries.” But Thursday in class, the anniversaries ended. I learned that they had been counting how many times someone wore the same sweatshirt; that day, when he wore something different, he found out that he’d been the butt of the jokes. He avoided all eye contact and seemed to be fighting to maintain composure when he walked into class. I was furious and e-mailed each student involved that night. I expressed my dismay, urged them to consider the impacts of their actions and told them they were better than that. But my words felt so insufficient, and I pleaded with God to use me in helping these thoughtless 15-year-old guys become men of integrity.

That’s what I’m still asking, and the three e-mail responses I’ve gotten back have given me hope that this might be a lesson that sticks. But it’s not over yet: I’m still looking for ways to nurture good character in my students, to show them I genuinely care, and fight for the ones who need an advocate. I don’t know yet what that looks like, but I want to be ready for the opportunities that come.

What koinonia looks like

Celebrating the return of "The Office" last spring in the K-House living room

I loved hanging out at the Koinonia House last year, so I was excited to move in there in early January. Koinonia is Greek for "community," and the Bible uses it to talk about the love that Christians should have for each other and for those around them. My 8 roommates are all PSU students somehow connected to United Campus Ministry (UCM), and frequently the house is full of others. My room is on the third floor, so I can work quietly when I need to, but it's hard to resist the joy and goofiness that permeates the common areas downstairs. Also, people here are very intelligent, passionate, and curious about the world. Recent topics of conversation have included US-Saudi relations, thermodynamics, King Kong, Korean cooking, green construction, and ethical grocery shopping. Languages I've heard here recently include French , German, Spanish, Korean, Chinese, and bits of Burmese.

The K-House holds many traditions as well as sundry quirky experiences. Monday through Thursday, people take turns cooking for a crowd. I put my name on the big white board calendar for last Monday, submitted my grocery receipt to Vaughn, who figures out who owes what each month, and started making spinach and ricotta calzones (a Cooper favorite). I was counting on about 10-12 for dinner, not realizing that Monday night was now "Family Dinner" (where everyone from UCM does their best to make it). By the time I rang the gong to announce dinner, there were 21 of us. Thankfully, several housemates came to my rescue, whipping up extra batches of dough and toast for the remaining calzone filling, as well as a hefty pot of green beans. At the end of the evening, everyone decided to sing a Mennonite hymn in four-part harmony, which is not uncommon.

Last night was a first for me. Snow had forced two friends to leave State College earlier than expected, forfeiting their tickets to the Chris Tomlin concert. Eric, the fiancé of my good friend Ruth, was looking for people to come in their place. Counting on a snow day today (which I got - #4 so far!), I joined him and the other guy with a ticket, Amish John. Since he's friends with the two who forfeited their seats, neither Eric nor I had ever met him, but he quickly befriended us and about five other people in line at the entrance. His youthful looks belie the wife and 8 children he left at home. They were all Amish until he was excommunicated (fairly recently, I think) for his belief in miracles, supernatural healings, etc. Now, he gets a ride 25 miles every day from their hometown to work in the dining commons of North Halls and in landscaping. John's haircut, boots, and manner of speaking are still strikingly Amish. His wife and daughters still can all their fruits and vegetables for the winter, he's never driven a car, and he had no idea how to read the ticket to find our seats in the BJC, Penn State's huge arena.

How does an Amish-turned-Pentecostal guy act at his first-ever concert? His joy was simply overwhelming the whole night. (He reminds me of Buddy the Elf.) The openers, Israel Houghton and New Breed, were a gospel group and a bit of a stretch for this small-town Pennsylvania crowd, although Eric and I thought they were great. But John jumped up and down nonstop for each song, singing with gusto. He was delighted to run into numerous friends and acquaintances, ditching us for the Chris Tomlin to sit with other friends, and told everyone around us, "It's so nice to see you. Where are you from?" At the end of the concert, we ran into my friends from the International Christian Fellowship. To me, that kind of melting pot is the face of koinonia: celebrating Jesus together and loving people across all boundaries.

P.S. A few hours after posting this, I found John sitting in that same living room. It seemed completely natural.