I don't have time to write. I'll turn 24 in 4 days. I'll be home in Michigan in 10. Most days, I wish this man wasn't so right. But if he has to be right- I want people to know it. 

Giggle.

My homeroom class is working on a project that involves them doing research on the true stories behind movies we watch.  One of my thuggish kids, who has a gang sign tattooed on his face, brands on his arm, and stands at a massive 6'2" was looking suspicious today. So I used my lanschool to freeze his computer. When I looked at what was frozen on his screen, it was this webpage. 

I laughed SO HARD.

Mandatory post on body image

I mentioned in passing in an earlier blog that I was trying to lose weight, which is a reasonable goal that more than 70% of the population shares with me.  But I think there’s this thought that goes along with trying to lose weight, that at some point I will arrive and suddenly be thrilled with my body. It will look like the stars that I admire, people will love me more, and suddenly my life will be perfect.  (Or if not perfect, at least a lot easier) I know that’s silly. I know that it is fundamentally untrue. But I had a strange experience about 3 weeks ago that got me thinking.  Since coming out to South Dakota again, I’ve lost about ten lbs. It’s not a huge amount, but it did involve dropping a size over my entire body. Which left me with a sloppy looking professional wardrobe.

A few weeks ago I had some free weekend time, and so I went to Rapid City partially just to get off the rez and get some of my feeling of anonymity back, and partially because I needed some new clothes.  For the first time in quite a while, I was small enough to shop at mall stores that weren’t plus sized. (Not all mall stores because I maintain that hollister’s skirts look like headbands) Yes, I was still on the largest end of those mall stores, but there was a certain freedom to being able to shop ALMOST anywhere. I took my newfound freedom for a spin in the Rushmore Mall.  And in Maurice’s I found it. Perfectly cut to make my boobs look great and my stomach look flat, it was a pretty, flowy tank top.  I tried it on, and fit perfectly.  Then I looked at the price tag, and it took me exactly 3 seconds to determine that $34 is way too much to pay for a top, no matter how good it looks on. 

It wasn’t until I was driving home, kicking myself that I started thinking hard.  I have always been the fat kid. I distinctly remember the hell on earth that was bathing suit shopping. My mother is a saint for all the years that she put up with me crying in dressing rooms because I have hated the way I looked since… well I remember melt downs as early as 7 or 8 years old.  And somewhere along the many years of crying in dressing rooms because other people get to have cute stuff, cute bodies, and feel good about themselves, somewhere in there I internalized the message that I don’t deserve nice stuff.  I don’t think anyone ever said it to me, that my body was something to be ashamed of and mocked, or treated poorly. But there it was all the same, when push came to shove the voice in my head said “you don’t deserve to have nice things, look nice, or feel good about your body… cuz you’re still fat” and I believed it. 

The more I thought about it, the more I kind of realized that this is true for a lot of the women I know. Fat people tend to have fat friends, because they make us feel ok about ourselves, like we’re not being judged as harshly.  Some of the most wonderful people I know, wear slightly bigger clothes, and if asked would say that they don’t dress up, they don’t try with their appearance, because they instead focus their energy into places they can be successful.  I don’t know which is worse, that we believe we don’t deserve nice things like skinny girls, or that we believe our best bet is to cut and run when it comes to our appearances.  Either way, it’s remarkably sad.

A good way to end the week....

 While some people have said that the week flew by, with Matt in the field, Amy and Em up to their eyes in work, and my kids being made of the crazy all week- it's been a long one. I mean there have been some high points, like our first day of 100% participation in every class (which just feels like a win as a teacher). But there have also been a ton of low points, like having to write up one of my best students for a technology violation- ("I hate that I have to do this, but you know better" "yea, I do"). 

But this morning was epic.  I managed to lock my car keys, classroom keys, house keys (yes, I have a lot of keys), cell phone and school bag all in my car. Also, the car was running.  Also it was 8:02- so class started in 28 minutes.  What went from "running a little late" quickly became- MASSIVELY late.  I was panicked. The staff is already short handed because of a death in the community and a bout of strep throat that is going around. I was already doubled up for classes in advisory and third block.  I could not afford to be late.

At this moment, the neighbor also walked out of the house.  I told her what happened and she laughed at me, but let me use her cell phone to call maintenance, who has the spare key to my apartment.  They showed up at 8:24, and let me in.  I ran in, grabbed my spare car keys, unlocked the car, grabbed my cell phone and called the high school at 8:28.

"Have security let my kids into my room, I'll be there in 3- 5 minutes."

8:33- went through the metal detectors with the fastest time ever

8:35- ran up the stairs near my classroom with visions of kids running around, throwing things, screaming, biting each other, and destroying the room flashing in my head.

8:36- walked into room 206 to find my entire first hour seated in their assigned seats with their binders, and a sheet of paper. The first thing I hear when I walk into the room "hey, that's yesterday's journal question on the board- where's today's?"

I wanted to cry. I wanted to hug each of them.  Though there have been some low points this week, the realization that my kids will do what they need to do even when I'm not around- made this week entirely worth it.   

Summer

It has been a long time since I’ve written here, and even longer if you dis-include my musings about the modern church (the endings of which are banked and will hopefully be posted soon.)  It’s the middle of October and I’ve been in my second year of teaching for a month and a half. This seems strange to me… no way is Halloween in 2 weeks. No way is the semester a third over. No way has it been 2 whole months since I left Motown and the D.  Just No way.  So a life update seems in order. 

*This summer, I worked for Motown Mission, while it was one of the greatest summers ever and I met some of the most amazing, fantastic people, it was also the point I think I finally realized how much weight I’d gained in my first teaching year. It was a sad, sad summer of avoiding having my picture taken. 

*Steve broke up with me. There, I said it. There are a lot of things that broke that relationship, and a lot of hurtful things said and done. Some of them may be forgiven some day, but they won’t ever really be forgotten. But that’s part of growing up, and growing strong, is learning to move on when the people who weren’t supposed to hurt you- do.

*This year, I’m teaching 2 blocks of ninth grade English, with real live 14 year-old ninth graders.  It’s been great. We started our year by drafting learning contracts. I wrote one for them, they wrote one for me, and both can be seen below.  We started our year with a review unit affectionately called Unit ½ .  Our Unit 1 followed the text of the Catcher in the Rye, which (save for a few students) has been an overwhelming success. Believe it or not kids like to read things that were meant for their grade level, even if it’s challenging. 

*I’m also running a brand new program at TCHS called Media Arts and Studio Productions.  It’s been a huge challenge to write my own curriculum for a program that is like and unlike any other program in the country. While I started with memories from Hepler’s media class at FHS, this quickly took on a life of it’s own as we started working in the block.  The kids have been producing the news for exactly 2 weeks now, most of the time they do a really great job. Feel free to check them out at

www.youtube.com/user/falcondaily

*I’ve learned some things about myself in the last few weeks, and I secretly think I’ve known them all along, but didn’t realize it.  First, I like to learn new things. Whether that’s figuring out how to use a green screen in the studio or learning about Rumspringa or great feuds of the Tudor family, in a really nerdy way, I enjoy the simple process of finding out something I didn’t know before. Second, I like a good challenge.  I like taking on things that are hard, whether that be the impossible sock yarn blanket or baking a gingerbread caramel upside down cake that is made entirely from scratch. There’s something about setting up the odds and then persisting until it works that is deeply satisfying.  And so here’s a picture of my cake.

That’s it for the life updates. I'm going to go eat some cake now.

“My church is for people who grew up wishing they believed in an afterlife, who wanna be so close to God that you could reach over and make out with him”

Today’s entry could be called “The day where Kim get’s out of her theological depth,” but when I heard this line in Watsky’s poem, it meant nothing to me. In fact, I was a little offended at the implication that one would “make out with” God. It seems so vulgar, so human, and so wrong to even imply such a thing. But the more I’ve thought about it the more I’ve realized that this line has conversational implication past shock value. When the line is taken apart, it’s saying something that I really agree with.

I heard a sermon this weekend about how lucky we all are that God decided that we were worth it, and promised us heaven some day. While I had no problem with that, it did get me thinking. I believe that the modern church might be putting too much emphasis on some day, and not thinking nearly enough about the now. I think that some days, that promise of heaven is both the biggest asset and the biggest stumbling block of our faith community.

I think that promise of heaven creates “investment banker Christians” those of us that want to do “just enough” to get in. We tithe exactly our 10%. We show up when we’re supposed to, we do and say the right things, hoping to some day have invested enough to make the cut. I don’t think that’s what we’re called for, but having taught for a few months now, I do realize that there’s a difference between someone who’s working for a pay off, and someone who’s working for the love of the job. I will always prefer the second type of students, and I think God prefers the second type of followers. I think the modern church needs to stop posting Heaven as a bribe.

I also think we need to stop using it as a deterrent. I have a friend (who reads this blog, and might recognize themselves in a moment) who says, he doesn’t mind Christians, and thinks they stuff they do is for the most part well intentioned. He even believes there is a God, but just can’t bring himself to believe that there’s any life after this one. It isn’t that he believes in reincarnation. He just thinks you get one shot at life, and you should do with it all that you can. During one late night talk, he said, “I could be a Christian. I think Jesus probably was the son of God, and the ultimate sacrifice, I just can’t quite believe that when we die our spirits leave our bodies and travel to some place in the sky, with things as concrete as houses and streets. That just doesn’t make sense to me.” He has gone to different services, and different denominations, and while he can fit right in, that lasts about as long as the topic of heaven can be avoided. Eventually, it always rises to the surface, and is followed by a time of being ostracized for being some how LESS of a Christian. And so he considers himself a rouge believer, someone forced to be outside of the church and the faith community because he just can’t get on board with one of the major core-beliefs. I guess I’d prefer a church with doors that open a little wider than that.

And then we get to the shock line. “Who want to be so close to God they can reach over and make out with him.” But once the shock wears off, what’s it actually saying? Working with Jr. Highers and High Schoolers this summer, I’ve noticed something. Flirting is work. Being in a new relationship is work. Heck, being in an old relationship is work. You have to find time for this person, compliment this person, learn about this person, and invest in this person. It’s a TON of work, but we’re happy to do it. Down right giddy to do it. It seems to me that churches frequently encourage parishioners to treat God like a guy they met on an online dating service. “When you have time, try to shoot him a few lines.” Or “As long as you’re still getting in a good chat session once or twice a week- you’re relationship is probably good.” It occurred to me that when I look at how much time I spend thinking about my human relationships and caring for or investing in the people in my life, in comparison to how much time I spend with my Creator- my priorities are out of whack.

Now I don’t think God needs us to flirt with him. After all, he is the creator and perfect-er of love, and has been ready to be in a relationship with us since the beginning of time. But free will means the relationship can’t be forced, we have to want him back. So yea, maybe we need to flirt with God, not for him… for us.

Last night I drunk texted God...

One of the last things I did before leaving South Dakota was to teach a unit on poetry. In my quest to find some unorthodox poets I stumbled upon 21 year old, George Watsky. This skinny, falsetto voiced, white kid does slam poetry praising virginity, declaring what he would do as president, bemoaning speaking on the phone with girls, and does it all with an ever-present biting humor. But the piece that made me laugh the most, and think the most, was one called “Drunk Text to God”. In it, Watsky declares that he’s “stalking a church” (he means starting, because “come on, no one spells drunk texts right”) and then goes on to discuss what his church would be like. While some of it is just silly, some lines have haunted my thoughts since I heard it. One of the things that’s been on my mind lately, (which is no surprise as I come back to the land of a thousand churches) is this idea that we’ve been defining “church” in a pretty homogeneous way for a really long time. No where is this as apparent as sitting in Kresge Hall in Metro UMC, a church that has been standing in the same place for 90 years. So I thought maybe I’d take a page out of George Watsky’s book, and spend part of my summer thinking about how I would change things if I were stalking a church?

“Last night, I drunk texted God, I just wanted him to know I’d been thinking about him..”

Better late than never?

So since beginning reading this book, one of the things it has delighted me to see author struggle with has been this idea of prayer. Early on, he gets stuck, because “If I’m going to play Christian, I know that prayer is something I have to do. But, as an agnostic, I can’t get over the feeling that I’m talking to the ceiling, or worse yet, I’ve finally lost it and I’m talking to myself.”

I found myself thinking more about prayer as I know or understand it. So I took it back to the masses, and for two days my facebook status was a question, “What is prayer to you? Why do people do it? Is there a right or wrong way to do it?” And while there were some people I urged to answer the question, I was none-the-less impressed at who turned up to give an answer. I had a couple pastors take the question on, a handful of seminary candidates and students, some friends from church, some friends from school, and even a couple of my agnostic and atheist friends took it on. People who didn’t feel comfortable, didn’t post to my wall, they messaged me.

I was surprised to find that the people in my life that I would consider devout, had much the same opinion as each other- even though they range from conservative Baptists (one of my friends feels that the only way to pray is face down kneeling, so as to get a small taste of the suffering of the disciples) to pretty liberal (like the friend who feels that anytime you think about God, you’re praying). All of them said in one way or another that prayer was about, “telling God that you love him, that you’re sorry for things you’ve done wrong, and that you’ll try to do better.” While some phrased it much more eloquently (that answer was given by an ex-camper of mine, a current 8th grader), the answer was a good summary of the language that some of the more sophisticated answers used. They said things like “it’s time to draw close to God” or “prayer is time to meditate your heart on things not of this world.” * The major theme they all seem to point to is that prayer is not about you, it’s about God. This is the Christian tenet of selflessness playing out through and through.

My non-religious friends (agnostics for the most part, with an occasional atheist for style points) took an entirely different tact. They responded with things like “prayer is the precipitate of protestant guilt” or “prayer is talking to yourself to make you feel better” or “prayer is a coping mechanism to help Christians deal with situations that are outside of their control, its what they do when casseroles aren’t helping.” Due to the fact that these respondents doubt the existence of a God, their perspectives on prayer all make it clear that it really is about the “pray-er” not the recipient.

So here’s where things get interesting. Flame me if you want to, but more and more I think our non-believing friends might be closer to the mark. The narrator starts his journey just trying to pray once a day. He recites scripture the way that a lot of us were raised praying “now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the Lord, my soul to keep.” ** While he appreciates the beauty of the scripture, it doesn’t move him. It merely serves as a place holder. It is something to say when you don’t know what to say.

So after getting in this routine, he tries to go “off book.” Just pray. Just do it. Just talk to God. He finds that he can’t. In his head he’s balancing check books and making “to do” lists. He’s trying to remember to ask his wife about various concerns. He’s making a mental note to be stricter with his son. He’s every where but present. So he goes to the experts and one of them teaches him the acronym “ACTS.” Prayer should contain Adoration, Confession, Thanksgiving, and Supplication.

Instead of trying to get each one into every prayer he decides to focus on them one at a time starting with Thanksgiving. For that week he thanks God for everything, for his job, his wife, his son, his apartment, his family, etc. But then he gets to a meal time and he thanks God for the green beans, and then for the company that processed them to get rid of the rotten ones, the harvesters who plucked them from the ground, the rain and irrigation that had watered them, the soil they had grown in, the people who had weeded them, those who had planted them, the owners of the farm, the stock people, the packaging people, and even the worms. He says, “My wife was clearing her throat loudly, and often. My son had started eating already. But I realized suddenly how much time and effort had gone into getting that green bean on to my plate. I felt at the same time both very small in the course of human events, and also very connected to the world around me.”

One of the things that the narrator notices is that when he has to take time from his life to recite scripture, or pray for others, or give thanks, he becomes a more centered person. He becomes more aware of the small part he plays in the universe, and more empathetic to the suffering of others. He is both more conscious of what he says in prayer, and more aware of the things on which he chooses to give time to. The man becomes connected. Eventually, he goes from dreading sitting staring at the ceiling for 10 minutes, three times a day, to being in a place where he looks forward to and even longs for those quiet times. He needs to connect.

This is what I mean when I say that maybe the agnostics and atheists were more right than we give them credit for. Maybe prayer isn’t supposed to bend God’s Will to ours. It isn’t supposed to be a wish list, even a well intentioned wish list. It is instead supposed to change us. Maybe the commands to pray without ceasing, have little to do with God needing to be told that he’s the ruler of the universe and more to do with knowing that it’d be good for us to keep that at the forefront of our minds.

Maybe prayer isn’t about what you say.
It’s about what you hear.
Maybe it isn’t about you.
Maybe it’s about connecting.











*I really wish that the religious communities would stop talking in this fluff language, it makes it really hard to relate to us if you’re just peeking in on our lives. Say what you mean, don’t worry about the “prettiness” of it.

**I end it here because there are many ways for this to end. Some people say “if I die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.” Me? I was raised on “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. Guard me, Jesus, through the night, and wake me with the morning light.”

Today a ninth grader asked me why the other teachers don't like me.

This is my life.

Monsters.

Today, I realized what kind of monster hopelessness breeds.

We had a fire drill, and while trying to herd the students back inside I got lip back from one of the kids I've worked the hardest for and with. While already trying to figure out how to get through my 77 minute lesson in 40 minutes, I was stressed and when his friend yelled "hey, what's MY name?!" I said "go inside."

"I will, when you tell me what my name is."

and I snapped. And I told a student that I didn't care what his name was. And the second those words came flying out of my mouth I saw it. I saw that I had become the kind of teacher who I hate. I would have screamed if someone had talked to my student that way. I was embarrassed that I'd lost my temper. I felt bad that I had implied to that student that he was worth less than the students that are in my class every day.

So after he went in, and I went in, I hustled after him to apologize for the way I'd spoken to him outside. "You were being trying, but you didn't deserve to be talked to like that, because no one does. I'm sorry." I said. To which he replied, "Fuck you, dumb cunt" and walked away down the hall.

I felt bad.
I still feel bad.
I don't really know what else to do.

This is the monster that prolonged hopelessness creates-teachers who snap, and students who can't take an apology.

As I mentioned in the last post, I've begun reading "The Year of Living Biblically." I have to say that I've been surprised by the book. I went into it fully believing that my personal beliefs were about to be trounced and mocked. I think that sometimes as Christians, we need that. We need to be presented with things that are very contrary to what we believe because I think it asks us to evaluate what we believe, and ultimately why we believe it.

This book surprised me. While being written by someone who has labeled themselves a "devout agnostic," it doesn't put Christians down. It doesn't cater to stereotypes, and in some cases it even breaks the stereotype. (In October the Narrator goes to the creationism museum where he encounters not intolerant rednecks, but people with Phds and intolerance for intolerance- it wasn't what he expected, but he was open to seeing it.) I like that the narrator, who for the purpose of this blog is Jacob, is committed to more than the motions. He doesn't just want to do the things the bible says, but also think the way it says to think. I like that he's all in, and I like that he's honest about the things that don't sit well with him and the things that he struggles with. I'd recommend this post to anyone who is... well actually to just about anyone. I'm into October and I've found it to be informative, humorous, and accessible. I feel like almost everyone will find something in it that rings true for them.

* End Shameless Plug*

I'm BAAAAACK!

So, this blog was infiltrated by one of the teachers at TC, who found it, and gave me a lot of grief about posting about my students' lives on here. So, before I continue, I should say a few things.

1. My life is weird. It is neither consistently good, nor consistently bad. It IS however consistently strange. I think most people's lives are if they looked at them closely.

2. Security features on the internet are great things, like that said teacher, can not see this post. I find this to be reassuring.

3. I will always protect the innocent or mostly innocent by changing names or not giving a name- so while most of the people who talk to me pretty consistently feel that they "know" my students. They do not actually KNOW my students.

Having said all that, I hope to post more often. I've begun reading "A Year of Living Biblically" which is not meant to be a devotional so much as it is meant to answer the question, "what if we took the entire bible literally? What if we did not allowed room for context, social pressures, or social norms? What would our lives look like then?" As someone who walks a precarious line between being devout and being loving, being faithful without being judgmental, and as someone who has memorized much, but not all of the Good Book, I'm interested to know how a literal translation would affect one's day to day life. I will post commentary here.

In addition to all of that- some life updates: had a migraine yesterday. It was the first time that I clearly remember seeing an aura. It was like there was a blurry spot growing towards the bottom of my field of vision in my right eye. I thought my contacts had stuff on them, but it wouldn't rub out. Then 30 minutes later, I was laying on the bathroom floor with my duvet, throwing up and praying for sleep to take me. Some days, I hate my body.

South Dakota's version of "spring" is rainy and windy. I am not impressed.

I think I want a bicycle.

Student loans are going to be the death of me.

Haunted...

Lately, I my brain has felt very large, very roomy, with space for things to go flying past and rushing around. But in the midst of what can only be considered tragic situations, I have had one persistent thought, one line that keeps romping through my brain.

Surely goodness and love will follow me, all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord, forever.


Right now, at this moment, that doesn't seem like it could be further from the truth. If goodness and love have followed me to South Dakota, they're playing an excellent game of hide and seek.

today

One more bullet.

One more gun.

One more kid who will never again
walk in to my room and say
“Miss Bos, what are we doing today?”

It’s always the nice ones, isn’t it?
The kids who came early,
Who stayed late.
The kids who volunteered,
Who asked questions.

Maybe it wasn’t supposed to be him.
Maybe he was in the wrong place at the wrong time
Maybe they thought he was someone else.
Maybe the shooter had poor aim.

Then again, maybe it was meant for him.

Maybe he looked at the wrong guy in the wrong way
Maybe while wearing the wrong color.
Maybe he was seen talking to the wrong girl.
Maybe, there won’t be any more maybes, ever again.

He’s got a little sister at the elementary school.
Her mother braids her hair every Wednesday night
She wants to be a dancer.
After this, she’ll want to be doctor.

Maybe she could have given him a few more minutes

His mother won’t cry when the police tell her
She can’t say she’s surprised
It happens to other people’s kids every day
And, really, she’s too doped up to feel anything.

Maybe, like a sick game of roulette, it was just her turn to lose.

They say that parent are supposed to teach children
We hear “Clean your room!”
“Don’t talk to me like that!”
“Take out the trash!”

But no one is yelling,
“Stop killing each other”
Because really,
Would it matter?


One more bullet.

One more gun.

One more kid

Who didn’t even make the obituaries.