Tag Archives: Teaching

On Job Burnout

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing

Journal 2007

I’m really struggling right now. I’m angry, resentful, proud, defensive, hurt, sad, and stressed. I’ve had to let go of other areas of responsibility in order to survive my teaching duties. I’ve lost my joy and peace, and I don’t know the way back. My friends say I sound depressed.

[I was teaching at a junior college whose goal was to motivate struggling students to stay in school. The administration placed great pressure on the teachers to make this happen.]

VISUAL

I’ve sidled ungracefully past the wildly swinging middle section of a tightrope, but now I’m weary, trying to stay centered. Some in the watching crowd cheer me; others boo. I want to be applauded; I want to be liked; but when a belligerent student confronts me, my hackles rise.

ANOTHER VISUAL

I am a track team coach. I can encourage the runners from the sidelines or drive the momentum from the front. But if they choose to quit running, I can’t force them to continue. Nor can I simultaneously grasp every hand and drag them forward. While I’m helping one, others lag behind. I urge them to help each other, but it’s not enough. Complaining the race is too hard, many keep stepping off the track, distracted by illness, winter weather, or family stressors. Others continue to run but get lost and wander off into the marshes. Some are so far behind they’ll never catch up.

Meanwhile, my boss yells at me that I’m not trying hard enough. It’s my fault if I don’t provide their running shoes, hold their hands, and stay with them till the sun goes down.

And me? I’m wearing myself out trying to be in multiple places at once. I’m running 16 hours a day to keep the pace for the motivated student runners while racing back and forth to grab the laggers. I hear my boss yelling in one ear, and the runners wheezing and gasping in the other. The front runners complain that I’m spending too much time in back, and the ones in back complain I’m out front too much. I’m angry, tired, discouraged and ready for the finish line.

A THIRD VISUAL

I’m a spelunking tour guide. To those in my assigned group who follow closely enough to hear, I point out the beauty of the stalactites along the way. I can wait for a few stragglers to catch up before I begin lecturing, but if they linger in the back, talking and not listening, that’s on them. Or if they turn back to the entrance of the cave, I have to let them go. It’s not my fault if they are physically incapable of keeping up. I can provide a wheelchair, but unless they get someone else to push them, they’re stuck. I already have six people in my group who need wheelchairs! My job is to keep lecturing and keep pointing the way with my flashlight.

I become discouraged when I discover that only 8 to10 out of my original 20 make it to the beautiful waterfall at the end of the cave. The stragglers have missed it!

Now that I’m finished ranting, I’m ready to listen to the Lord.

THE LESSON

I am at fault. I have not bathed my classes in prayer. I have not prayed for my students by name. I have not consistently blessed my classroom. I’ve been too tired, distracted, and preoccupied to give it all over to God. I keep griping and crying that it’s too hard, too impossible a task that God has required of me. (Hmm. I sound like my students!)

And so, I repent for neglecting my spiritual disciplines. I can’t keep the students on track if I don’t have the right focus.

I realize, now, that it’s the company’s responsibility, not mine, to make sure the spelunkers sign a waiver saying they are physically and mentally fit for the journey BEFORE they enter the cave. Now that I understand it’s not my fault and that I’m doing all I can, what do I do with those in wheelchairs that the company requires me to get safely back to the entrance? I’m afraid the students will have to wait there alone in the pitch-blackness until we send for help. That’s when I notice permanent low lights lining the path. They will be safe for now.

A 2025 Update. I understand the passion behind wanting to help students succeed, but I’m not sure pressuring the teachers was the best motivation. This school is no longer in existence, and I am no longer teaching.

Jealousy

Posted on by under Choices, Emotions, God, Scripture

Journal 2010. My third grade Sunday school lesson for this week was on David and Saul. I began by asking the children to look at each other’s eyes and tell me their color. We had five children with brown eyes, and three who had blue. Next, I told them that I had a special gift for each of the blue-eyed children:  a one-dollar gift certificate to McDonalds. I instructed the brown eyes to clap and applaud for them. And then I paused, observing their response. I asked the brown-eyes how they felt. One said she felt “left out.” Another said, “sad,” and another “unfair.” They all admitted to feeling jealous.

And then it happened. Little blue-eyed Ethan stood up and walked over to brown-eyed Holly (who had made a decision just this week to follow Jesus) and gave her his gift certificate. I praised him and then immediately handed him a replacement.

I then launched into the story of David (handsome shepherd boy, beautiful-eyed, strong, courageous, musically gifted) being anointed king (not because of his outward appearance, but because of his heart for God), his brothers’ jealousy, his slaying of Goliath, and Saul’s subsequent love and admiration for him. And then how the women sang, “Saul has killed his thousands, but David his tens of thousands” and how Saul’s admiration turned to jealousy, to hatred, and then to attempted murder.

We discussed what things made 3rd graders jealous (toys, talents, privileges), and how jealousy can lead to bad things. We talked about how God gives each of us gifts—not for the purpose of self-glory, but to be used for Him and given away.

In conclusion, I instructed the blue-eyes to hand their gifts to the brown-eyes. Not fair? Oh no! Because when we give our gifts away to minister to others, God blesses us in return. And I handed each of the brown eyes a replacement. Now everyone had a gift certificate.

I told the children the gift was theirs to use as they wished. They could spend it on themselves, or they could give it away to bless someone else. It was their choice.

Brown-eyed Chandler said he was going to give his to his brother. Blue-eyed Ethan said, “I wish I could rip mine in half so both my brother and I could use it!” Melina observed that he’d given his away twice, and she tried to hand her coupon to him, but he declined. “It’s okay. You keep it,” he said. And then: “I know! I’ll spend it on ice cream, and I can share it with my brother that way!”

I think the children taught me as much as I tried to teach them that day!

Teaching Moments

Posted on by under Choices

From my 2013 Journal.

For five years I’ve taught a core group of girls in Sunday school, and yesterday we had a final send-off party for them as they head to junior high. Once again, I’m reminded of how important beginnings and endings are when time seems either to stand still or to stretch. All the in-between-time is far longer, but we seem to stop and take notice more at the bookends of an event.

Frankly, I was beginning to question whether or not I was an effective teacher, yet these girls showered me with love and accolades that made me cry. I doubt myself because I’m so horrible at learning new names and faces, and I just have to fake it sometimes and compensate for it. And it’s getting harder to remember the details of the Bible stories I tell.

I think what makes the difference for the girls is not my “great teaching” but the fact that I send them monthly, hand-written letters. What’s really interesting is to hear from the parents. Time warps in their minds too. One parent claimed I wrote her child every other week, and one even thanked me for weekly missives!

Megan said she bonded with me her very first day when I gave her a hug. She came into class scared and lost, and I made her feel safe. And I think that’s the key—making the girls feel good about themselves. In my letters I tried to point out their good qualities, compliment them, lift them up, cheer them on. I know I like that when others do it to me.

I’m a word person, but I also gave them a few gifts—I know that, at least for one girl, that’s her primary love language.

All year, I knew I wanted to give away some trinkets I’d collected over the years from international sources, including a little doll from Krakow with long, blond braids. I couldn’t figure out how to do it equitably during Sunday school since there were other children in the classroom besides the girls that routinely sat at my table. Besides, I wasn’t sure which girl would want what gift. So, when Madison invited me and our table girls to an end-of-the-year party at her house, I wrapped up those items and took them with me. They opted to play “Dirty Santa.” (Participants choose a gift in the order in which they pick a number out of a hat. The next girl in line may steal a gift that’s already been opened or choose a wrapped one.) Kata gasped when she opened her box and saw the doll. She’s the only girl with long, blond hair! Though all seemed enamored by the doll, none of the girls dared to steal it from her. It felt like a holy moment. The doll had found its home at last.

And so I signed up to teach . . . again.

Green Bananas in the Classroom

Posted on by under Emotions, Inner Healing, Peace

From my May 9, 2009, 9:09 am (for real!) Journal. I feel sorry for students who have to live through a teacher’s first year in the classroom. I’d like to apologize to any of my 1977 Berean Academy students reading this blog.

One of my students read on my Facebook page that I’d be visiting her city this week. She wrote back to say, “I only live half an hour away!” So I invited her to visit my hotel room for the afternoon. While reminiscing about those years in the classroom, I made the statement that I was a bad teacher. “That’s a lie,” she declared. “Maybe you were inexperienced and uninformed but not bad.” I appreciated the affirmation, but it still felt true in my heart.

After we parted, I thought back to my teaching experiences at Berean and at two community colleges and decided to list all the good and bad memories that were stuck in my brain from those years. I suppose I could go to each of these memories and issues and deal with them one by one, but I think I need to start with the big picture—my view of myself. I felt tall and rigid on the inside, trying to appear bigger and older than I was in order to stay in control of my classroom so the students wouldn’t run all over me.

I felt like a shepherdess trying to herd her sheep or goats that were running in all directions, and I didn’t know how to corral them. I wanted to be like my teachers who had good classroom discipline and not like others who let the students run the show. I hear myself saying a lot of words to these sheep, but not all of them are paying attention. I’m trying to teach, but they’re self-absorbed, busy eating, or wandering off.

In those days wasting time, in my opinion, was about the biggest sin one could commit. I was a master at planning, organizing, and accomplishing, and I expected my students to follow suit. One day I remember making a false accusation to one of my students about the use of his time, and his retort had stung. What did I conclude about myself at this point? That I’m just an ignorant teacher? That I don’t really know my students? I felt shame and embarrassment, and his words left me feeling like he’d snared me in a steel trap.

Because the teeth only caught my clothes, in my mind I can shed that article of clothing and wriggle free—but that doesn’t take away the emotions. I need to apologize: “You’re right; I accused you falsely. I don’t know what you do with your time outside of class.” The teeth unclench, but the student is still wary. He doesn’t know if he can trust me. And so I have to be wary around him now. I don’t like this feeling.

I see Kevin Costner in Dances with Wolves trying to woo the wolf. He’s gentle as he coaxes and encourages. I could have done that with this student. Instead, I clammed up and clamped down to protect my ego.

My picture of the shepherdess with her sheep now changes. I can woo and call and encourage instead of chase and run after and herd. And how do I feel now about myself as a teacher? I’m no longer hiding behind a teacher’s desk. I’m sitting beside the students, encouraging and mentoring them.

Was I indeed a bad teacher? No. Just a girl trying to find her own way. I’m sad that I didn’t know then what I know now. Life is such a learning process, and we sometimes leave damage in our wake of inexperience. But each of us must process our lies and wounds from our childhoods. I pray my students will have the grace to forgive me when God brings to light any pain I’ve caused them.

I was so green back then, like an unripe banana. Why do we allow green bananas in the classroom? I know everyone has to start somewhere, but we don’t ripen till we go through the process. God is ripening me little by little and, hopefully, I’m becoming sweeter as I stay closely attached to the tree stem. Eventually, hopefully, I’ll be mature enough to be plucked; and should I become overripe, there’s always banana bread!

bananas