A Bittersweet Interview

 Since 2003, I have been to more than ten different countries in Europe, South America, and Central America. In all of my travels, never once did I have to wait years for a visa appointment; spend hundreds of dollars on the visa application before it was even approved; or travel to a consulate to be interviewed. Actually, it was quite easy; I just had to buy a plane ticket, show up in the country, and receive a tourist visa automatically in the airport:  no questions asked.  No extra fees.  Maybe $10 once or twice in El Salvador...that's the most I remember ever having to pay. So why is it so much harder for people to visit our beautiful country than it is for us to visit theirs?  Why is it that they receive us with open arms while we jump to conclusions about the nature of their visit and make it almost impossible for them to be approved?

After years of pleading with our Mexican family to come and visit us here in the U.S., we finally convinced them to start the process.  The first step was to get a passport.  Whereas I can drive five minutes to the local post office, sign a few papers and receive my passport in the mail after just a few days, our family had to call the passport office over. and. over. and. over. again. trying to schedule an appointment... only to get the busy signal. over. and. over. and. over. again. and no way to schedule it online.  Finally, after one year of calling and waiting, they snagged an appointment in a city eight hours away, traveled by bus to an area considered extremely unsafe at the time, and got their passports.  Now we could start the application at last... hooray!!  

Before submitting the application, we had to decide where to go for the interview.  The biggest dilemma was:  choose a city much farther away with a shorter wait time, or choose a city a little bit closer with a longer wait time?  We chose a city called Matamoros which we had never been to and knew almost nothing about only because it had the shortest wait time:  two years instead of three.  But as the interview time finally drew closer, my brother-in-law started to have doubts.  He had just started a new job at the University of Chiapas and didn't want to spend $800 per person on a plane ticket to Matamoros only to be turned down.  I remember that my heart sank when I heard him explain why they should wait; I felt so disappointed and couldn't even bear to look at him.  But in hindsight, I can see that he was exactly right in making that decision.

So, we had no choice but to wait another three years for a new interview appointment in Mexico City.  My brother and mother-in-law would still have to fly to the interview, but at least it was closer than Matamoros and he would have more time to establish solid footing in his job and collect the necessary documents.  So the next step was to plan for the interview.  Everything we read about the interview process said to take documents explaining the "purpose of your trip" and your "intent to return home."  So my brother-in-law went to the interview with a letter about his job, bank statements, a letter from us explaining their travel itinerary, a document showing that he owns land in Mexico...anything he could use to show that he planned to return to Mexico after the visit.  He also watched videos about tourist visa interviews and prepared himself for how he would answer the most common questions.

But the interview was nothing like what we saw in the video...and the so called required documents were useless.  Several people were already lined up at 8a.m., and the people in charge looked stressed and uncaring.  Instead of taking the applicants to a room with privacy, they called them up to a little window and tried to shoo them away as quickly as possible.  Reminds me of the DMV!  The man at the consulate took one look at the application, took one look at my brother-in-law, asked him only two questions, and instantly denied him.  An agonizing wait of six years ended in less than five minutes.  Before my brother-in-law even had a chance to show his documents or defend himself, the interviewer was already calling "next!" in broken Spanish--as if checking out someone's groceries at Walmart:  get them in, get them out.  

Obviously there are many parts that bother me about this situation, but these are the three biggest ones:

1. It's one thing if you don't agree with someone's job, culture, background, or whatever, but that doesn't give you the right to treat them like dirt!  When my brother-in-law described to us the smug attitude the interviewer had, I truly felt ashamed to call him my fellow American.  I have a feeling he sized him up and had already made his decision before any words ever came out of his mouth, and to me that is one of the harshest forms of discrimination.

2. I can understand that they would deny my brother-in-law if he has a criminal record, suspicious social media activity (yes, they check that too before the interview!) or associations with drug dealers.  But he has none of those!  Instead, he speaks more English than most Americans can speak Spanish, works hard at two jobs (English teacher by day, manager for the family restaurants at night) and is one of the kindest, most caring people I know!  When I was studying Spanish I went to Mexico two years in a row to be immersed in the language and learn about the culture, so it's only natural that he would want the same experience with his English.

3.  We spent more than $500 for the visa application.  So I got to thinking:  if there was already a long line of people at 8a.m....after a three year wait for the appointment...and there are dozens of consulates all over Mexico doing the same thing...and the majority of people who go through that line get denied...it seems to me that the government is racking up quite a lot of money from the applicants.

You may be thinking, the title is a bittersweet interview and so far everything has been nothing but disappointments.  My mother-in-law also stepped up to the little glass window...also got asked only two questions...also never got asked to show any documents...and was approved!  So at least one person from the family will finally be able to come visit us!  We will need to work out how and where to bring her here since she cannot travel on her own and will no longer have my brother-in-law to escort her...but the good news is that she can come!  Hooray!  

I hope that after reading our family's story you understand more about how ridiculously difficult the visa process can be to come to this country, and maybe the next time you hear about someone trying to come and visit you will not be so quick to judge their situation.

What would Jesus do....about immigration?

In the 90's, several kids (and even some adults) started wearing bracelets with WWJD woven into them:  What Would Jesus Do?  The phrase quickly caught on and became even more popular than the bracelets.  In light of recent events related to immigration, I can't help but think, What would Jesus do?  Would He force people back to their countries, insisting that they don't belong here?  Would He accuse them all of being criminals?  Would He forbid them from receiving a quality education simply because they haven't mastered the language?  Most would agree that the answer to each of these questions is no; Jesus would not do these things!  

Over and over again in the New Testament we see a humble man who showed compassion to everyone He met regardless of their circumstances.  For example, He healed the woman with an issue of blood for 12 years even though everyone else had shunned her (Matthew 9:20-22).  He healed lepers and demon-possessed, the lame, blind, mute, and maimed.  It didn't matter the disease or how infectious it was; Jesus was willing to touch even the dirtiest and most rejected of society and make them whole again.  He even ate with sinners in an effort to show them the light (Matt. 9:10-13).

Unfortunately, in today's times, it seems that so many have forgotten what it means to show a light to those who are hurting and have special needs.  We judge too quickly and empathize too slowly.  We have discarded the words of Jesus when He said, "Judge not, that you be not judged.  For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged..." (Matthew 7:1-2, NKJV).  

Jesus went about "all the cities and villages" (Matt. 9:35).  If someone had come to him from another country or village to be healed, would he have turned them away?  Would He have said, "Sorry, I can't heal you today because you're still an alien.  Come back when you're a citizen."  Of course not!  When he fed the multitude of 5,000 after delivering the sermon on the mount, there were probably many people who walked from very far away to hear His message.  But did He tell his disciples, "We only have enough food to feed the local people and everyone else can go hungry."  Of course not!

Our Savior also showed the importance of accepting people from other nations.  When He talked to a woman from Samaria at the well, she couldn't believe that a Jew was talking to her, "For Jews have no dealings with Samaritans" (John 4:9).  After Peter saw the vision of the clean and unclean animals coming down in a sheet, he understood that he was now to preach the gospel not just to the Jews but also to the Gentiles.  He later told Cornelius, "You know how unlawful it is for a Jewish man to keep company with or go to one of another nation.  But God has shown me that I should not call any man common or unclean" (Acts 10:28).  Which people do you think of as unclean?  Which people would it be hard for you to share the gospel with?  Instead of Jews vs. Gentiles, we could easily put ourselves in Peter's shoes:  Americans vs. ___________________ (any other nationality!)

Jesus also understood that there were times that the people may need to flee because of persecution.  As He told His disciples in Matthew 10:23, "When they persecute you in this city, flee to another."  If someone had come to Jesus seeking asylum due to unsafe conditions in their country, do you think He would have said, "Sorry, no more refugees today.  Find another place to go."   Definitely not!

Not all of the immigrants followed the law to come here.  It's true.  Not all immigrants follow the law after coming to this country.  Also true.  But that doesn't mean we should show them any less compassion.  It could be that they endured extreme suffering before coming to this country that we can never begin to fathom because most of us will never experience anything remotely similar.  It could be that the ones who came here illegally actually have far more reasons to be here than the ones who came legally.  But it doesn't matter, because we don't know their full situation, we don't know their whole heart, and it's not our place to judge.  The purpose of this blog is not to argue about who should or should not be allowed in this country or condemn the laws; it's simply to think more about treating people from other countries the way Jesus would.

So, how should we approach the issue of immigration as Jesus would?  First and foremost by showing love and compassion to all people.  Second, we should not judge them unfairly, jump to conclusions, or make false assumptions.  Third, get to know them for who they really are; discover their talents and abilities; focus on the whole person, not just one part; and see what we can do to help.  The next time you hear something in the news about immigration and you're not sure how to respond, just think, "What would Jesus do?"

An Immigrant's Journey, Part 2

 So, the last time I wrote anything on this blog was in March 2016.  Since then, I've had another baby (she's now 9 years old!), moved to Henderson, and written another book (all good reasons, but not excuses, of why I abandoned this blog).  

In my last entry, "An Immigrant's Journey," I expressed frustration with the system that makes it so difficult for certain groups of people to receive a visa to live legally in this country.  Now, nine years later, I feel more frustrated than ever!  I know two wonderful men in Mexico who applied for a visa to come to the United States; one for a three week trip visiting different congregations, and the other to attend a religious school where he could receive the formal training he never received in Mexico.  Both were denied.  

Since 2018, I have been studying up on the visa requirements for Mexico as I try to help Jose Luis's family come.

• You must be in good standing with the government (no past offenses or criminal activity).  
• You must submit evidence that you will return to the country at the appointed time. 
• You must submit evidence of savings accounts.
• You must agree for the government to check all of your social media accounts.

Seems like a lot, doesn't it?  Especially for someone who is only planning to visit the country for three weeks. The hardest for most to prove is the second one:  submit evidence that you will return to the country at the appointed time.  You may be thinking, but if they have a family in Mexico, of course they're going to go back to their family!  But in the eyes of the government, it has nothing to do with family.  It means you must own property or be associated with a business. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to own property or be the owner of a business in Mexico?  Much less have money in savings!  Again, this seems like a "no way to win" scenario.  People want to come to the United States because they can't find good jobs in their country.  They can't get a visa because they don't have enough money for it (if they did, they wouldn't need to come in the first place!) So they cross our border thinking that's the only way in.  And because that keeps happening, now the ones who are trying to do it the right way can't get in the right way because the government has made it almost impossible to be approved even when they follow all the steps.  It's a vicious cycle!  

Let me back up for a minute.  I told you I first started looking into tourist visas in 2018.  Lydia was almost two and hadn't met anyone from her Mexican family yet, so I desperately wanted them to come and visit us.  Before we could even start the application process for my brother-in-law and mother-in-law to come, they would need a passport.  Here we have the luxury of filling out an application for a passport online and filing it at our local post office in just a couple of days.  But in Mexico you must make an appointment at a passport office, which are only located in the major cities and only open a few hours each week.  And the only way to make an appointment is to call!  So after two years of calling and repeatedly getting a busy signal, my brother-in-law finally snagged an appointment in 2021 (it took even longer than usual because of the pandemic).  They took a couple of days off of work to travel eight hours to one of the most dangerous cities at the time in order to finally get their passports.  

Now we could officially start the application process!  The next step was to decide where to go for the visa interview.  The city of Matamoros was the furthest away from where they lived but had the shortest wait time of only two years compared to three, so we chose that location.  The application was complete and the interview was now scheduled for 2023.  But of course it couldn't be that easy; the trip to Matamoros was going to cost $800 round trip per person ($1600 total--more than what most people in Mexico make in three months or more), and my brother-in-law started to have doubts about spending so much money and making a long trip, only to find out they would not be approved.  So we had no choice but to cancel the appointment and schedule one for Mexico City for February 2026.  My heart broke as I realized we would have to wait another three years just to find out if they can come visit us or not.  (To clarify, Mexico City isn't close to where they live either; it's a ten hour bus ride, still traveling along a dangerous route, but nowhere near as far as the places with a shorter wait time.)

In the meantime, my brother-in-law has obtained a government job at a university and is hoping that will help his chances of getting the visa.  So, this process that began 9 years ago will finally be coming to an end in just 8 more months.  I hope and pray the long wait will conclude with a "yes" and not a "no."  I have sent letters to three different congressmen about this issue, all to no avail.  The same point I made nine years ago is the same point I made in those letters is the same point I'm making now: the way to slow down the influx of illegal immigrants to this country is NOT to spend billions of dollars on walls and detention centers.  A better solution is to work with countries like Mexico where the working conditions are dismal to allow more visitors legally; don't set limits on neighboring countries or the ones with the highest demand; make it more affordable to apply for a visa; open offices in more cities so that people don't have to travel so far and spend even more money; and be more realistic about the criteria for receiving a visa.  Lastly, people who live in countries like Venezuela and Haiti, where the government has no control, has all the control, or the people are starving so much that they fight each other for food, should be granted asylum!  Immigrants are often willing to do the difficult jobs that many Americans don't want.  So instead of condemning them for coming to this country for reasons none of us can ever fully understand, let's show them more respect and appreciation.

An Immigrant's Journey

I could tell lots of stories of immigrants and refugees that I have taught over the past few years.  I could tell about kids whose only idea of school is a 30 minute lesson under a tree as the sun scorches them.  I could tell about families who gave up their prospering careers as doctors and lawyers so that their kids could go to a school that does not close every few days due to violence or political tensions.  I could tell about teens who came here--sometimes alone--with nothing but the clothes on their backs.  Instead, I'm going to tell the story of an immigrant who is near and dear to my heart--not a student, but my husband.

While his story is not nearly as heart-wrenching or difficult as the others that I mentioned, it does show what kind of journey an immigrant undergoes--and how each step in the journey brings them closer to their goals.  The story begins seven years ago in San Cristobal de Las Casas, Chiapas, Mexico, where we met and married.  Step one on the journey:  apply for a visa.  After paying about $2,000 (our earnings from the past 6 months of working in Mexico!) and submitting all of the necessary paperwork, we were ready for the visa interview appointment.  We spent about $1,000 more on airfare to Cuidad Juarez, a city on the complete opposite side of the map from San Cristobal and one of the most dangerous cities in the world.  In fact, as we were looking for a hotel shortly after arriving, a woman pulled up to the sidewalk, said it wasn't safe for us to be walking around, and offered us lodging at her home for much cheaper than the hotels.  We accepted, not knowing what else to do.  Two days later, as I was walking to meet Jose Luis after his appointment, I witnessed a drive-by shooting just feet from where I was standing.  That's right:  a real life, drive-by shooting.  As it turned out, the visa was delayed and we had to stay in this dreadful city for the rest of the week--spending much more money than anticipated on lodging, food, and the change in flights.  It was all worth it, though, when Jose Luis finally held the visa in his hands.  Step one on the journey complete.

Step two:  look for work and a place to live in the U.S. In the span of one week, we bought a car, moved from Georgia to Tennessee, stayed in a dump motel, and finally managed to find a one-bedroom apartment within a reasonable price range--all while I greeted and planned for my first set of students in the U.S.  Jose Luis, poor thing, was forced to pass the time while I worked by watching my crazy collection of chic flics and trying to study English.  Needless to say, our checking account was depleted.  After working a couple of months and catching up on rent, we had to pay $1,000 in immigration fees once again in order for Jose Luis to apply for his permanent residency.  And again, we found ourselves broke while making 11 p.m. visits to Kinko's to send more documents, more photos.  Finally, 4 months later, we received confirmation that our application was approved and that he was now authorized to work.  But, in order to get a driver's license he had to show a social security card, and in order to get a social security card he had to have worked for at least 2 months.  So, I drove us to church, to the mall, and even to his new place of employment, even though his macho Mexican pride couldn't bear to be seen in the passenger side. 

Once again we found ourselves submitting application after application.  We tried to apply for jobs in person, but they always told us he would have to do it online.  We tried to do it online, but the websites never let us advance past the parts that asked "Are you a United States citizen?" or "social Security number" (not "are you authorized to work in the United States").  Are you starting to see how messed up the system is?  Just when we had given up hope, he received a call for his first interview.  His English was still so limited that he used the Spanish/English translator I had given him during the interview.  Luckily he received another call a few days later asking when he could start.  So in a matter of months he went from teaching physical education classes at a university and making decent earnings by Mexico standards to flipping burgers and making minimum wage.  After being cooped up by himself all day in a cramped apartment for the past five months, though, he was happy to take whatever he could get.  Step two in the process complete.

Step three:  buy a house.  Over the next couple of years we settled into a rhythm and learned to be content with our jobs--even though deep down we were both hoping for something better.  We became curious about a program designed to help first time homebuyers and thought, why not try it?  Unfortunately, since Jose Luis had no credit history, we didn't qualify.  So, we bought some new furniture in his name and paid it off quickly--and little by little something strange happened; Jose Luis started to receive mail for the first time that wasn't from USCIS or family members, but from actual credit card companies.  Against our better judgment, he applied for a credit card--feeling like we had no choice if we were ever going to own our own place.  About the same time, we learned that we were expecting our first child and debated whether to stay in the small, noisy apartment or seek a more comfortable space.  We took a chance and talked to our realtor--and this time he gave us good news!  More paperwork, more applications, more fees, but we closed on our first house just two months before baby Susana was born.  Step three in the process complete.

Jose Luis was now working the third shift at Steak 'N Shake, which meant that we rarely saw each other.  One of his managers left to work for Vanderbilt University Dining and recommended Jose Luis for a cook job.  He was interviewed just a few days before Susana was born, and when I called and interrupted his work at Steak 'N Shake at 5:30 a.m. to tell him that my water just broke, he basically told his coworkers that he would not be back. 

Step four in the process:  get a job teaching Spanish.  Jose Luis came to love his job at Vanderbilt, in spite of the fact that he received a "temporary lay off" for three months every summer.  But he felt a little strange about not utilizing the degrees he had worked so hard for in Mexico.  Not long after moving to Tennessee, we started to investigate what Jose Luis would need to do to become a certified teacher in the U.S.  The Tennessee Department of Education informed us of a company that could translate and evaluate his documents from Mexico, as long as they were originals.  Since his two universities from Mexico refused to mail the original transcripts and had a policy that only he could pick them up, not a family member, our first trip back to Mexico, in summer 2009, included a stop at his two universities--one of which was 14 hours away by overnight bus ride.  Did I mention that we also had to pay 500 something dollars for this service? 

So we got everything translated and certified.  But of course it couldn't be that easy.  Now Jose Luis would have to pass 3 praxis tests before he could begin teaching: the Principles of Teaching and Learning, which consists of 3 essays and is so difficult that even many American students fail it the first time, the Physical Education test, and last but not least, Spanish.  (By the way, the tests are also very expensive.)  Although he put a great deal of time into preparing for the first two tests, his English was still not at the level necessary to write long, fluent essays, and he was devastated by the results.  He was so crushed, in fact, that it was almost 5 years later before he worked up the determination to take the tests again.  This time his English was much better, he received extra time, and he changed his method of studying.  Unfortunately, he still came up short--failing to pass by only 1 measly point. 

At the same time, he was growing more and more used to his job at Vanderbilt and received constant praise from both managers and coworkers.  Just when he finally made up his mind to give up on teaching and even applied for a position as a higher level cook, he received a message that changed everything.  It all started around the beginning of January.  A friend he had met on a mission trip, who has been teaching Spanish at Greenbrier High School in Robertson County for many years, told him that one Spanish teacher had already left and that another one would be leaving in March.  At first we were leary of spending several hours going through the application process again and didn't want to risk the disappointment of a rejection.  But one lesson we have learned from all of these experiences is, you never know what might happen if you don't try. 

After several phone calls, emails, and visits back and forth between Jose Luis and the human resources office, he was finally asked to come in for a job interview.  The interview was much more difficult than he anticipated, and he thought for sure he bombed it.  So he was more surprised than ever when he was offered the job.  He has been teaching for one week now, and he is full of the energy and passion of an excited new teacher.  I'm overjoyed too, because for the first time since we moved here he is working a normal schedule and able to spend much more time with us at home--just in time for the new baby's arrival.  Step four in the process:  complete.

We have not arrived at all of the steps on our journey, and it may be a long time before we do.  But we have persevered, and each step has brought us closer to the next.  Our lives are extremely hectic (some days we have to depend on caffeine just to make it through), and we may not have the fanciest house or the biggest cars.  But we are blessed by so much more than material things; we have the love and support of an amazing family, a God who does not fail us, and so much more than what we deserve.  We especially need to remember how much more we have now than what we started with.  Of course, it would not have been possible without many who helped us along the way, from giving us things, to assisting with applications, to recommending us for jobs.  More than anything, God answered our prayers and opened doors of opportunity for us, as I'm sure He will continue to do as long as we keep our focus on Him.  I have also learned so much from Jose Luis's humility, patience, and positive attitude through it all. No matter what your view  on immigration is, I hope you can appreciate how difficult the journey is for many immigrants.  In spite of the constant challenges they face, they do not give up and often work harder than many others to reach their goals--and ultimately reach a greater level of happiness because of it. 

Emotional Baggage

Since the beginning of last year, I have been trying to get one of my students, Mark, tested for special education.   Today we finally had the initial S-team meeting.  It was one of the most difficult, heart-wrenching meetings I've ever sat through.  After Mark's other teacher and I explained to his mom about the peculiar behaviors we have noticed in class, she confirmed that he acts similarly at home.  She then told us that he has acted this way ever since his father was deported two years ago.  Now he is afraid of everything and doesn't ever want to be alone.  He is so afraid, in fact, that he has to leave the door open anytime he goes to the bathroom, and his younger brother has to help him take a bath (and much more).  In addition to the emotional disturbances and anxiety, he most likely has a learning disability and speech disorder, as well. 

I realized how much one event can alter a student's development.  Mark was probably a good student in kindergarten and first grade, but as soon as his dad was forced to leave the country, everything changed.  He may have been very close to his dad, and now he suddenly lost all communication with him and could not even look at a picture of him without crying.  His mother recovered more easily, quickly removing any reminder of her husband from the house and moving in with another boyfriend--adding even more emotional baggage for an already damaged young boy.  On the other hand, his mom feels guilty that she can't take better care of Mark and that she has to spend so much time at work. 

There are hundreds of students dealing daily with family drama, loss, separation, abuse, hunger, divorce, and a plethora of other problems that we as teachers are sometimes not even aware of.  In a classroom they look the same as the other students--working sometimes, playing sometimes, talking to friends, complaining about every little thing.  But deep down they may be hiding a secret.  Even though I suspected almost as soon as I started teaching Mark that he had learning disability, I never knew the full story until today.  Now that I know, I don't think I'll get frustrated when he stares off into space during class, makes no effort to complete his work, or interrupts others.  Instead, I'll go out of my way to make sure he understands what to do and that he can make friends more easily.  While I've always given him extra help, now he will get more than just academic support--he will get emotional support. Many times the students who bother us the most, whether it be the class clown, the lazy complainer, or the bully are the ones who need the most love.  Sometimes it takes opening up to a parent and listening as they describe how helpless they feel to remember how much.

A New Challenge

Two days ago, my supervisor of the past three years dropped in for an unannounced observation.  Instantly I felt nervous.  My worries quickly washed away, however, when she sent me a message explaining how much she loved my class and all the positive things she noticed.  So, why did I still feel defeated the rest of the day?  Why did I still feel like, in spite of her praise, everything I was doing was still not good enough?

It's because every day when I go to my guided reading table to meet with small groups of students, there's always one set of eyes looking as hopeless as a fish out of water, one voice shouting, "I can't do this!"--before I've even had a chance to explain what he's going to do.  For the most part, I have excellent students this year--bright, eager, and well-behaved.  But these pleading eyes and voices haunt me even in times of celebration. 

The class she observed is the one I feel the least comfortable about because for the first time in my almost ten years of teaching, I have a group of first graders--not to mention six second graders who didn't learn what they should have last year.  First grade is such a pivotal year because it's when kids learn more than any other time how to read and write.  At first, I was excited about all the progress I would see and was up for the challenge.  Now, eight weeks later, I have a newfound respect for kindergarten and first grade teachers. 

I never realized how difficult it is to teach a student how to read and write. Sure, I've worked with students who had no literacy before, but that was different.  Those kids were already in high school or middle school, so they had to learn fast in order to pass their classes and graduate.  Many of them also knew their first language well enough that the skills we learned in English could easily transfer over.  But these first and second graders have no concept of putting letters together to make words--in any language!  They can read the sound cards without skipping a beat, but when it comes time to actually using those sounds to read the words on a page, they freeze up, waiting for someone else to say it first.

There are small victories, but for the most part I feel like the students are not progressing fast enough--certainly not at the rate I had expected at the beginning of the year.  Today was particularly difficult. I was listening to a boy read a level A book (the lowest level possible).  Even though he tested accurately at this level a few weeks ago, the only words he could read on his own were the and to.  For the rest of the time we struggled through it, with him calling out words that looked nothing like the ones on the page and me pleading with him to "look at the picture" and "sound it out", all the while trying to still my urge to just say the word for him.  By the time he finally finished, the boy next to him had read three books on his own, and it was time to go.  Certainly no time left to explain to him what I mean when I say "sound it out" or teach him some of the many words he didn't know.

During the same class, the students were practicing the words that will be on their spelling test tomorrow on white boards.  They are in second grade, so I started out giving them second grade words--and most of them failed miserably.  So, I changed to a list from mid-first grade.   Now these words are too easy for them--except one student.  While the boys next to him effortlessly wrote the words, this boy just stared at me, as if waiting for  me to write the words for him.  I emphasized the sounds one at a time--"ttttttt---eeeeee----nnnnn".  Occasionally he would exclaim "oh!" while a flicker of recognition flashed over his face, and write l...or b...or any number of other letters that had nothing to do with the sound I was making.  When I changed my approach and started asking, "which letter makes the tttttt sound?", he still had no clue--even though he knows all of the letter sounds like the back of his hand.

When I was training for the marathon several years ago, everyone kept telling me, "get ready for the 'wall' at mile 20."  I feel like I've come to a wall in teaching these kids.  I've done everything I know how to do, yet they still seem to be stuck.  Every step forward seems to bring two steps backward, and every new word they encounter in a book is like a hurdle they have to jump.    I will keep looking to my fellow teachers for wisdom and inspiration, and to God for patience and understanding.  Let's hope that the next time I write I can talk about all the great gains they made instead of all the frustrations I feel. 

Another Day Done

     My sixth year of teaching has officially come to an end.  Each year I become more emotional on the last day of school, but for different reasons.  In my first couple of years, I would literally jump for joy when all of my students had left the building, perfectly fine never to see them again.  This year, as I made the dreaded yet inevitable farewells, I was on the verge of tears.  Instead of feeling happy not to see my students again, I felt sadness that I wouldn't see them again.
     As I learn more about teaching, I learn more about my students.  As I learn more about my students, I learn to look for the good in each of them rather than focusing on the bad. 
Additionally, I have learned not to take my job for granted.  I have come a long way in six years, from an intern hired only to cover a teacher on maternity leave, to working my butt off so that as an intern teacher I would still be noticed, to waiting in limbo my entire summer vacation to find out if I would be rehired, to finally receiving word that I was rehired only to be let go the next year due to reasons beyond my control, to going through the reapplication process, to becoming an itinerant (aka traveling) teacher, to working at three different schools in three different years.  Additionally, I have taught in storage rooms, closets, hallways, and one half of a portable--rarely in an actual classroom.  Finally I have arrived at what I consider the best place in my career so far--an elementary school where I teach several groups of EL students in a portable all my own--although I have also learned not to get my hopes up, because it could change at any time.
     It's difficult to check any kind of social media without finding some king of whining or complaining by a teacher; "only 2 weeks until summer!"; "I hope we get a snow day tomorrow!"; "we really don't get enough pay!"; "our job is so hard!"  While I share these sentiments wholeheartedly and understand the mountain of emotions that precede them, I also feel like many people read these messages and get the wrong idea about teachers.  Just as I have learned to do with my students, through several years of trial and error, I think teachers need to focus more on the positive aspects of their jobs rather than giving the impression that they can't wait to get away from school every day. 
    One of my brothers-in-law is an elementary school teacher in Mexico, and last year I had the privilege of visiting his classroom.   His students come from families whose diets consist primarily of rice, beans, and tortillas.  Many of their father's have left to find work in the United States, and many are lucky to arrive at school at all, much less bring any kind of uniform or school supplies with them.  Yet my brother-in-law teaches with joy and compassion, rarely complaining about the difficult working conditions.  Last year schools all over his state completely closed down for three months while the teachers protested new legislation.  During this time, they received no pay and were forced to do some things against their will, such as march in the streets or even block roadways.  My brother-in-law and I may not agree on all of the issues, but there are two things that we do agree on:  1.  teachers should not be forced to  join the union or do anything else that they don't agree with, and 2.  the ones who suffer the most from these demonstrations are the students.  After so much time on strike, the teachers and government never reached an agreement, and students never had to make up the instructional time that they lost.  That's right:  the students will never get back three months' worth of their education.  Now, a year later, they are on strike again, and students are likely to miss two months' worth of their education.  Again. And still my brother-in-law does not complain; and I'm sure there are hundreds of teachers just like him all over Mexico and other countries, as well.  But in the United States, teachers (myself included!) are making such a fuss about one missed snow day.
     So, what's the point?  Like I said before, I am trying to find more reasons to love my job every day, whether it be the unique characteristics each of my students bring (even the trouble makers), the drawer that is always full of pencils, or the new technology that is constantly being offered to teachers and students.  Sure, the evaluation system is still "a work in progress," and our state leaders may have no clue what it truly means to be an educator, but at least I'm not being forced to stop teaching and march in the streets.  My students may not have all of the resources that students in so-and-so's room may have, but they have everything and more that they need to be successful.   I want to remember that even though I may bring my work home with me every night and feel stressed to the max and on top of everything else attend meeting after meeting, at least I have a job and a paycheck.   I want to truly appreciate the vacation time and days off that we do get rather than lamenting the fact that it was too short.  Most of all, I want to value each day not as another day done, but as another day that my students were able to learn and grow.

An Unexpected Letter

     Ah, teacher's appreciation week.  A time for some lucky teachers to be showered with flowers and gifts, extravagant catered meals, and even a relaxing massage.  For some other teachers, like me, it feels just like  a normal week.  My students' parents don't even have a clue what week it is, and much less can they afford to buy anything.  So, when I checked my mailbox a few weeks ago and found a letter saying "happy teacher's appreciation week,"  I was as surprised as a rooster in the city.  The letter was from one of my former students.  The student (whom we will call Sandra) mentioned that I was her favorite teacher and that she couldn't understand why I had to leave the school (which we will call Grover), among many other thoughtful sentiments. 
     My first reaction?  I cried; just like any blown-away teacher would do.  My second reaction?  Total disbelief.  In order to understand why I found the letter so hard to believe, you need to know what kind of student Sandra was.  If you think she was your typical brown-noser, always wanting to please the teacher and make her cute little cards and pictures, then think again.  Sandra is one of those students who stays in a teacher's memory for many reasons, but not for good ones.  In fact, she was undoubtedly one of the worst students I have ever had.  She was in 5th grade when we first met, but she had the maturity of a 2nd or 3rd grader.  Many times during my teaching she would intentionally interrupt and start singing out loud, crawl under tables, or anything else she could think of to distract me and the other students.  I tried reasoning with her, calling her mom, consulting with her other teachers and changing the way I talked to her, but nothing worked.  Even after her mom told me she was acting this way because I had hurt her feelings, I apologized for whatever I had done, but the tension between us only escalated.  Finally, I had no choice but to write her up for her misbehavior--causing her to miss field day.  If she didn't hate me before that, she especially did after!  Many times these encounters would end with her crying uncontrollably and yelling, "I hate you!"--right to my face.  No, it's not easy for a teacher to forget students like Sandra. 
     Even though all of my other students were great that year, I found it increasingly difficult to simply shake off Sandra's words and actions.  I felt like there was a much bigger issue behind these outbursts, like maybe the fact that her dad was no longer living at home and mom was working around the clock, but blamed myself for not being able to get to the root of the problem.  I even referred her to the school counselor, all to no avail.  Somehow we both got through the first year, although I was so shaken by the end that I couldn't wait to get away from her.   In fact, I wasn't even sure I wanted to go back the next year.  I am not like homeroom teachers who wish their trouble-maker students "good riddance" on the last day of school; as long as I am in the same school,  I often keep the same students, year after year after year.  Instead of throwing in the towel, I used the summer break to reflect and read some books from the library about helping difficult students.  When school started back and Sandra was now in the 6th grade, I cringed at the sight of her name of my roster once again.  On the other hand, I knew I was more prepared for her now than I had been the year before--most of all emotionally.  I could tell right away that Sandra had matured a lot over the summer.  She worked harder to finish her assignments and was more conscientious of her interruptions.  But, anytime she didn't get what she wanted, she would still resort to disrupting the class, crying, and yelling those all too familiar words:  "I hate you!"
     Now maybe you can understand why a simple letter is by far the best teacher's appreciation gift I have ever or will ever receive.  At the end of the letter, Sandra wrote, "I look forward to your response," so I wrote her back.  A few days later, I got an email from her.  She had shared the letter with her other classmates, and now they all wanted to write to me, also.  They are mostly all 8th graders now.  I am so grateful for this unexpected letter I received from Sandra.  I am grateful for the teacher who had the idea for each of her students to write a letter to their favorite teacher and her willingness to look me up and personally mail it to me.  Most of all, I am grateful for this experience with Sandra as a student and all that it taught me (even though at the time it felt more like a nightmare).  I never learned what I said or did to Sandra to make her suddenly change her attitude toward me so drastically, and perhaps I never will.  But I do know that whatever it was, it changed us both for the better.  As to the other part of Sandra's letter, when she said she still couldn't understand why I left Grover, that's a story for another day ; )

Never Give Up

         Like many teachers, my first year was just as much about trial and error and learning from my mistakes as it was about getting to know my many students (I had about 60 total that year).  One rookie mistake I made was waiting until the last possible minute to post my grades for the first quarter.  It's not that I didn't want to do it sooner (I knew all about the importance of providing "timely, efficient feedback" from my graduate classes, after all); I just couldn't find the time with everything else I was trying to take in.  I will never forget the day the progress reports came out and two of my senior girls stormed in demanding to know why they had received an F (another rookie mistake, I know).  The main reason was that they had spent so much of their class time chatting instead of getting their work done, as seniors are prone to do.  After they calmed down and we had a serious discussion, their behavior changed for the better.  The two girls, Kaiya and Amara, had spent most of their childhood living in a Kenyan refugee camp before moving to the US just a few years earlier. Like many refugee students, they had little to no formal schooling and suffered dramatically in reading.  But even though they were not my smartest students, they were definitely the hardest working.  From that day on, anytime they didn't understand something they kindly asked me to explain it to them again.  Anytime the class had to work collaboratively, they automatically took charge of their group, encouraging everyone to stay on task and get their work done.  Anytime they made anything less than a B, they had a conversation with me about what they could do better for the next time.  Anytime they had to write something, they asked me to spell words they weren't sure about or check to make sure the writing was correct.  At the end of the year, I asked my students to write an essay about their experiences traveling to the US, and the most touching of all was Kaiya's.  She truthfully described watching soldiers shoot her pregnant sister-in-law while the family was still living in war-torn Somalia, and the difficulties they faced as they tried to escape to the refugee camp in Kenya.

          Another student from my first year, Mikayla, also stands out to me, but for the opposite reasons as Kaiya and Amara.  To be honest, she was the kind of student that teachers dread seeing on their rosters at the beginning of the year.  A 17-year-old Hispanic infamous for her involvement in gangs, she rarely made an appearance.  When she did miraculously decide to come to class, she could manipulate almost anyone in the class--boys and girls alike--to abandon their classwork for the sake of pointless conversation.  She was also disrespectful, as she would consistently talk to friends when I was in the middle of teaching or giving instructions and then ignore me when I politely asked her to move seats.  It was almost as if she acted this way on purpose just to get under my skin--and get under my skin she did!  But what bothered me the most about Mikayla more than the skipping, the talking, the gang activity, or the disrespect, was the fact that I couldn't get her to do anything.  Zip.  Zilch.  Nada!  The most I ever achieved was for her to write her name at the top of her paper--and even then she didn't turn it in but left it crumpled under the desk for me to find when I cleaned up the classroom later.  An over-achiever who prided myself on getting even the most stubborn of students to participate in and enjoy class activities, it was hard for me not to take this personally.  I'll admit that another mistake I made as a first-year teacher (there were so many, I know!) was to sometimes let my emotions get the best of me rather than staying calm and patient.  On one such occasion, I turned to Mikayla and said, "Why are you even here?  If you're not going to do anything but distract my other students, what's the point?" It may have been true, it may have been necessary, but it felt hurtful and I immediately regretted it.  A few weeks later my words came true, as I learned that Mikayla dropped out of school on the day she turned 18.  My colleague assured me that she had this planned for a long time--even since she was a freshman--but I took her dropping out even more personally than I had her frustrating behaviors.

          In May, I attended graduation and sat with the other teachers for the first time.  Kaiya and Amara smiled from ear to ear as they received their diplomas and proudly walked across the stage--probably the first ones in their families to do so.  I thought about what a great accomplishment this was for them, and how hard they had worked to get here.  Then my thoughts quickly shifted to Mikayla, whose name should have also been mentioned aloud today but wasn't.  I wondered where she was, if she was safe, and if she was working somewhere or just hanging out with her gang buddies all day.  I also wondered if she would ever change her mind and finish her high school education.

          Yes, I made a lot of mistakes in my first year, and I learned a lot.  What I learned from all three of these girls was something I already knew, something all of us have heard over and over again but that sometimes we just need to be reminded of; I learned (or relearned) never to give up.  Kaiya and Amara had seen things little girl should never see, being exposed to war, violence, hunger, and separation from their family.  They were lucky to be alive, so education was probably the last thing on their minds.  Nevertheless, they overcame incredible odds to  speak English, learn to read,take classes that are difficult even for high-achieving Americans, maintain a level of passing in every class, and finally graduate from high school.  I don't know much about Mikayla's past.  Perhaps she, too, faced hunger, abuse, or other such traumas.  The difference is that she did not have anyone to push her and teach her and encourage her.  Though I and her other teachers certainly tried to do these things, she had already given up on herself--perhaps on her whole life.  The next time you are faced with a challenge, remember Kaiya and Amara and their dedication to graduation; remember Mikayla and her lack of effort; and remember these three simple words:  "Never give up!"

Wasp Woes

          Coming from situations where I sometimes had to teach inside a tiny broom closet, or where the principal had to create a classroom for me in a place that was never designed for one, I feel very fortunate that this year I actually have an entire portable. Of course, teaching in a portable is still not ideal, but at least it's a step up from the isolated, damp rooms with no windows. In the fall I battle the constant rain showers, in the winter the snow and ice (especially on the steps leading up to the portable), and in the spring the invasion of wasps; fat, flying wasps that freak my students out as easily as the abominable snowman probably would. Though my fellow portable colleagues and I constantly put in requests for someone to come and spray for the horrendous insects, they always seem to return a few weeks later, each time brining more and more family members with them.

Peppa Pig and Strawberry Shortcake

My 3-year-old daughter is particularly interested in Peppa Pig right now--the little girl pig who lives with her family in a yellow house, goes to school with Rebecca Rabbit and Susy Sheep, and speaks with a British accent. So it didn't surprise me when, as usual, I walked into the kitchen to find her playing with her Peppa Pig house one cold morning. What did surprise me is that Strawberry Shortcake and Minnie Mouse were playing right alongside Peppa, going places together in Strawberry's car, taking naps, watching TV and many other activities that I managed to make out as my daughter imitated the voices of each character. I wish my "big kid" students could have the same attitude as a toddler. I wish they could play together, laugh together, and talk together regardless of their differences--just as my 3-year-old united a strawberry girl, a mouse, and a pig as if it was perfectly normal. Each year I teach my students about Martin Luther King, Jr. because I want them to understand how important it is to treat others with kindness. We spend two to three weeks reading and studying about how MLK used peaceful protests to stand up for the rights of not just African Americans, but all people, and my students eagerly join in conversations about how unfair everything was back then. Yet, by the time the unit is over, I once again find myself asking, "why can't they all just get along?". More than 50 years after Martin's great speech, I, too, have a dream that one day my students can all work together in a spirit of love and unity, without judging or criticizing. Not a day goes by without me having to remind them to "be nice!", "apologize!", or "stop arguing with each other!" I wonder at what point they lose the innate idea that they can play with anyone or talk with anyone, as they did with their toys. I wonder at what point they start to believe that cruel bullying is not only acceptable, but the cool thing to do. The very differences that brought them together as kids now separate them into enemies and strangers as pre-teens. In the meantime, I continue dreaming that maybe one year I will have a group of students who truly do treat each other as friends. Is it just a crazy dream that can never come true? Or will something suddenly change in them to make them see the reality? I hope that once my daughter has outgrown Peppa Pig, Strawberry Shortcake, and other toys, she will still respect others based on their inner qualities rather than their outer ones, and I hope that I can somehow teach my already-desensitized students to do the same.

Someone to Love Them

After missing the last 7 school days due to a terrible ice storm that left back roads frozen and inaccessible, we are finally going back to school tomorrow. I never thought I would say this, but I'm ready to go back! The unexpected time at home has allowed me to spend time with my daughter, clean the house, write, go shopping, and do several other activities that I normally don't have time for. On the other hand, it has once again taught me that I am not cut out to be a stay at home mother, and given me an increasing respect for those who are. Yesterday two of my daughter's friends came to hang out for a while, and by the time they left a few hours later, the house that I had just cleaned suddenly looked like a tornado had passed through. Although I had time to put everything back in order, I lacked the energy, and the desire. Not wanting to be cooped up in the house any longer, I urgently told my daughter, "Put your coat on! We're going to Wal-Mart!" It wasn't just the fact that I was irritated by the mess that I wanted to get away; it was that I missed my routine, my busy lifestyle, and yes, I even missed my students. The same students who drove me to a higher level of annoyance than the two girls who wrecked my living room, day after day after day. The same students who talked when they were supposed to be silent and were silent when they were supposed to talk. The same students who could instantly ruin a well-crafted lesson with the smell of a fart or the sight of an insect. So, why did I miss those hooligans? Why did I miss the same silly behaviors that made me more anxious for the next break than for my weekly dessert? For the same reason that I miss my daughter anytime I am away from her. Because deep down, there's a part of me that loves each of my students as one of my own--even the ones who constantly interrupt, laugh, bully, curse, cheat, or anything else to irritate me. Parents understand that we don't get to choose the qualities our children are born with, but we love them all the same. It doesn't matter if they're a straight A student, a standout athlete, a talented musician or a nobody; the only thing that matters is that they're ours, and we've been honored with the great responsibility of teaching and raising them. Normally those students who annoy me most don't possess any hidden talents, either; they're simply crying out for attention in the only way they know how. All they really want is someone to listen to their quirky questions, laugh at their obnoxious jokes, correct their pesky behaviors; all they really need is someone to love them. Sometimes it just takes me being away from them for a few days to remember how much.

The Ride Home

My music-listening, cell-phone texting, social butterfly of a student surprised me today by asking me to give her a ride. My initial thought was, “No!” Not on Friday afternoon before a three-day weekend, when the sun is shining bright and I was already dreaming of my feet running for the first time in two weeks; not to mention that I had a daughter to pick up, groceries to buy, and clothes to wash. Yet she had the courage to make this request as if I had all the time in the world. But instead of saying no, I found myself instantly saying yes—and instantly regretted it. First, she showed up 15 minutes later than the time I told her we would leave. Next, she had me take her to a post office so that she could pick up her new shoes that she was eagerly waiting to try on; and even asked me to get out of the car and wait in line with her. Then, I found out that she also intended for me to take her home—another twenty minute drive in the opposite direction. A new tank full of gas and several traffic jams later, I finally arrived at the babysitter’s house to pick up my daughter, tired, hungry, and desperately needing a bathroom. But somewhere in the middle of the conversation about the shoes she bought for $80 from Vancouver, Canada that was her first new pair of shoes in more than a year, I realized that I was the one being selfish—not her. An integral part of my Christian responsibility is to let others see Christ living in me in at all times—even when someone asks me to do something that I really don’t want to do. As we drove, she started telling me about how her parents constantly argue, never provide enough food for her, and try to control everything she does. They don’t even let her talk to any of her friends from school for fear that she might turn on them. I imagine that once she gets home in the afternoon, she has very little human interaction until she arrives at school the next day. More than anything, I patiently listened and just let her talk. Great teaching is just as much what happens outside of the classroom as what happens during class time. It’s about so much more than being just a teacher; it’s about being a listener, a caregiver, and sometimes even a mother. It’s about teaching the students valuable life lessons that they can never learn from sitting in the classroom—like how, exactly, to retrieve a package from the post office and sign for it (she really did not know!) Those are the kind of acts that the students will remember more than any classroom lesson. So, I can only hope that one day, several years from now, this student will remember me not as the one who helped her pass a test, but as the one who showed her love and compassion on a day that maybe no one else would have. If she does, then my one day of forfeiting my run and arriving at the house an hour and a half later than anticipated with no groceries and no time to make supper is one small sacrifice that is worth so much more than a typical Friday afternoon.

Music to My Ears

Music to my Ears A few weeks ago, when I picked up my 3-year-old daughter Susana from the babysitter, she did not run up to give me a hug and kiss and declare how much she missed me; instead, she ran the other direction when she saw me coming, then went to hide under a small table where she knew I couldn’t reach her. When I did finally grab her a few minutes later, she was kicking, screaming, hitting, and anything else to show how unhappy she was about leaving her friends and their many exciting toys. It didn’t stop there; once we got in the car, she continued to scream so loudly that even the radio couldn’t tune her out, and even yelled at me to stop the car a few times. By the time we got home, ten minutes later that felt more like thirty minutes, I was crying and couldn’t even look at her without becoming more upset. Blame it on my hormones, blame it on my students, or blame it on the fact that I am a woman and allow my emotions to overrun me sometimes, but whatever the case, I reached a point when I simply did not know what else to do. I had tried every kind of discipline I’d read about and even a few of my own, yet none of them could take away the screaming in my ears—or worse, the pain inside my heart. The next day, I took my third and fourth grade students to the computer lab for a research project. Big mistake. Half of the computers didn’t work, three-fourths of my students didn’t know how to log on to the internet by themselves, and all of them needed me to help them with something in just that moment. Once again I felt the excruciating ringing in my ears (this time in the form of “Mrs. Jimenez! I need help! Mrs. Jimenez! What do I do?”) and the increasing feeling that if the noise didn’t stop soon, I might have to implode. But teaching, like parenting, means loving your students even when they are yelling in your ears. Somehow I finally managed to get around to all of my needy students, help them log on, and get them started on their assignment—all without imploding. In return, they were able to work independently (well, almost), doing something that they loved. For once none of them asked to go to the bathroom, and by the time class ended they couldn’t believe it was time to go already. When we did leave, several of them asked me when we were going to come back and do it again. In order to make music, you have to make noise. You also have to practice, practice, practice, relying on others to help you learn. At the beginning of the class my students made a lot of noise, distracting me, distracting others, but it was necessary for the beautiful melodies they created at the end of the class in the form of their finished research projects. If I had given in to the noise and taken them back to the classroom to do “boring work” like I had threatened, I would have never heard the final sounds. More importantly, my students would have never learned the valuable lesson of sticking with it when something is new, different, or seemingly difficult. Susana’s music that started as screams ended as joyful laughs. A few minutes after we got home, I was sitting on the couch, tired of the crying and screaming and anger. Susana finally noticed how upset I was and came to sit with me. She started tugging at my eyelashes, making me laugh. Before I knew it we were both laughing hysterically, and the meltdown from the previous twenty minutes was soon forgotten. As a mother, I must be firm and discipline my child even when she is doing everything in her power to make me give in. I must also show her love and attention, rejoice when she rejoices, cry when she cries. I must show her through my example that I don’t let temporary moments of insanity change my resolve. As a teacher, I must also be there for my students when they are acting unmotivated, uncooperative, or unreasonable. I must be patient with them when they feel like giving up and teach them how to endure difficult situations. If I do, the end product will always be music to my ears.

Friday, AKA Assessment Day

Friday, aka Assessment Day We made it! It’s Friday, it’s finally Friday! So why do we feel drained instead of energized? If you are like me, you count your days until the weekend, daydreaming of dwaddling in the park, sipping milkshades in the shade, and reading books that have nothing to do with teaching. Then when Friday afternoon finally gets here, we go home…and crash. No energy left to even think about a relaxing soak in the tub, much less a fun night on the town. Today was a typical Friday for me; in other words, hectic, but without a lot of direct instruction. For many of us teachers, Fridays are the days that we assess students for everything learned during the week, and today was no exception. I ran around like a chicken with its head cut off printing and making copies before class. I tried to sound angry and threatening as I warned my students “today is the last day!” to get the work done that they’ve been putting off all week (even though secretly I know I’m not allowed to take off points for late or unfinished work because of the new grading policy). I walked from desk to desk, trying to keep each student on task as each and every one worked on a different assignment. I answered question after question, spelled word after word. I made on-the-spot accommodations for my lower level students and tried to provide effective feedback for my higher level students. I monitored my entire classroom as one-fourth took a test, one-fourth “read” books on the carpet, one-fourth STILL was trying to get their work done, and the last fourth was doing who knows what. I listened intently to my students taking a reading assessment while at the same time scanning the room for potential chaos. I tried to score the reading test objectively and effectively, even though in the background I could hear the student all the way across the room louder than the one who was sitting right in front of me struggling to read the words that were way over his head anyway. I resisted my inside urge to yell “stop the craziness!” and calmly rang my warning bell instead (they were on task and following directions, after all). I finally managed to ignore all the noise and focus only on this one student, only to discover minutes later that another boy had thrown up all over his desk (and test paper) while I was shooing away anyone who tried to interrupt me YET again. I stayed after my students were gone to clean up the disgusting throw up mess, not wanting to get the custodian on my bad side. I ate most of my lunch in the car because my class ended late and I was cleaning up the throw up when it should have been my actual lunch time. And now, when I finally have a chance to do some planning, I take out my laptop and write about my day; which means that tomorrow, I will be scrambling to get my lesson plans done, and Sunday, I will be scrambling to get my grades done. So…why am I so excited that today is Friday? Why do I feel like this day is really any different from any other day? For starters, the boy who gave me lip and attitude at the beginning of class was smiling and talking jokingly by the end. The boy who was at the point of tears because he “didn’t know where to start” came up and gave me a big hug out of the blue. The boy who threw up will (hopefully) remember that I listened patiently when he told me three times that “I’m not sick, I just ate a cookie for snack time that had too much sugar in it.” I’m excited because when I finally get around to grading those papers on Sunday (or the next Sunday), I will see that most of my students do not earn low grades because I took the time to push them through the assignment even when it killed us, and that most of them will pass the test because we took the time to carefully review. And hopefully, by the end of the year, I will see the scores on those cursed reading tests go up…because I was able to block everything out of my mind and let the students act a little crazy for 20 minutes of my day. Fellow teachers, I hope your Friday was as memorable as mine was. Teach on.

Miniscule and Worthless

Miniscule and Worthless A girl killed herself Today Because of bullying. She was only 13. A few hours later, I watched two boys With a strong build Get taken away— Handcuffed. They were also 13. They were selling drugs On the school bus To some younger students— All of them children. Children. Not even old enough to drive. 13. 13 years for their mothers To protect them, Provide for them, And punish them. 13 years for their Teachers to instruct them about Figurative language, ancient civilizations, ratios, and plant cells. And all for what? Because in one moment, 13 years of coddling, pleading, and guiding, Turned into a 13 second mistake When they made a single decision— Alone— Their parents and teachers not there to shout “NO!”— That will forever change their lives; Maybe even haunt them. What will their mothers do now, after those 13 years of parenting wash away in their endless tears? As a teacher, I teach my students How to add, How to read, How to write, How to conduct experiments, And a number of other so called skills that will one day make them successful. But if I don’t teach them how to live their lives: Overcome challenges, Stand up for themselves, Ask for help when they are truly struggling— Then all of the other miniscule facts That I’ve taught them Are just that— Miniscule. Miniscule…and worthless.

Un Repaso de Los Ultimos 8 Meses...

Adentro de nuestro apartamento.



Afuera de nuestro apartamento, cuando habia mucha nieve en Nashville.



!Fuimos a divertirnos con la nieve, en Virginia!


Nuestra cocina.


Un parque en el centro de Atlanta (donde viven mis papas).


El edificio de capital de Nashville (donde vivimos).


Fuimos a ver un partido de beisbol profesional en Atlanta.


La iglesia donde se reune mi familia.


Aqui estamos en frente de las oficinas principales de CNN, en Atlanta, Georgia.

Pues el tiempo ha volado. No puedo creer que ya llevamos 8 meses aqui. Cuando llegamos tuvimos muy poco tiempo para buscar trabajos y encontrar donde vivir. Pocos dias antes del inicio de clases yo encontre un trabajo como maestra en una preparatoria. Lo bueno es que encontre un trabajo (en un tiempo cuando muchos no tienen). Lo malo es que no estaba en la misma ciudad de mi familia. Es una lastima, pero claro que mi familia me apoya completamente. Solo son 4 1/2 horas, asi que podemos viajar a verles en vacaciones. De hecho, alli estamos ahora porque no hay clases esta semana.


Fui por la entrevista un viernes, y tuve que entrar a clases el lunes! Asi que tuvimos solo dos dias para buscar un apartamento, despedir a mi familia, y mover todas las cosas de Georgia a Tennessee. La cuidad donde vivimos se llama Nashville; es la capital del estado de Tennessee (en el sureste de los EE.UU.) Es la ciudad mas grande de Tennessee, pero un poco mas pequeno que Tuxtla y mucho mas grande que San Cristobal. Tuvimos que quedarnos en un hotel la primera semana mientras buscamos un apartamento; pero lo que por fin encontramos nos gusta mucho, asi que valio la pena.


Estoy ensenando ingles a jovenes de otros paises. Tengo alumnos de 14-21 anos de edad. La mayoria viene de Centro America aunque tambien hay de Egipto, Somalia, China, y otras partes de Africa. Muchos son refugiados. Bueno hay seis periodos de clases y estan dividos en cuatro niveles, de principiantes que acaban de llegar a avanzados, que ya llevan como 5 anos aqui pero todavia necesitan ayuda en leer y escribir ingles. Me encantan las clases y lo que puedo ensenar. Por otro lado, siempre hay retos con los alumos. Por ejemplo, quieren pelear mucho, algunos les falta mucho respecto, y algunos casi nunca vienen a la clase (buscan lugares en la escuela donde esconderse). Pero creo que poco por poco mientras estoy conociendoloes mas el trabajo es mas facil y mas agradable. La escuela es la mas grande de Tennessee ademas de universidades; tiene 2,500 alumnos! Me llevó mas de una semana para ubicarme bien ; )


Jose Luis les envia saludos tambien. Siempre preguntamos por ustedes aunque no pudimos escribir. El se ha acostumbrado muy bien a la vida americana. (Pero mejor preguntenles a el.) No pudo empezar a trabajar tan rapido, porque tuvo que esperar a recibir su permiso de trabajo (lo que llevó algunos meses de conseguir.) Ademas, es muy complicado aqui conseguir un trabajo. Muchos piensan que es facil conseguir trabajo aqui, pero les aseguro que nada mas es un mito! Es cierto, hay mas trabajo, pero tambien hay mas desempleados. Asi que la competencia es dura. Primero hay que hacer una aplicacion online que lleva por lo menos una hora de cumplir y trae preguntas dificiles. (Por ejemplo, que harias si un empleado llevara cosas sin pedir permiso? Y hay que hacer una respuesta de por lo menos un parafo.) Despues, si pasan esa parte de aplicacion, tienen 2 entrevistas con personas diferentes, una semana de entrenamiento, y por fin el trabajo. Y en el principio no les dan muchas horas, a proposito. Asi que, si, es muy complicado. Ahorita esta trabajando en un restaurante. No es exactamente el trabajo que queria, pero de todos modos es un gran logro considerando que tuvo que hacer todo en ingles (que por supuesto ha mejorado mucho desde que llegamos). Trabaja con algunas personas de Mexico y Honduras. Estamos esperando que pueda conseguir un mejor trabajo despues. Todavia esta interesado en ser un ministro hispano (en otras palabras ir a evangelizar a algunos de los hispanos que viven aqui y empezar una nueva iglesia con ellos). Pero casi todas las iglesias no son suficientemente grande para darle apoyo, asi que seria nada mas voluntario. (Y como viven lejos y estamos trabajando en diferentes tiempos, eso es dificil.)


Nos reunimos en Mt. Juliet Church of Christ. Esta un poco lejos de donde vivimos, como 20 minutos. Pero yo ya conoci a los hermanos desde antes, y es una buena iglesia. Tiene casi 1,000 miembros con 4 ministros principales y 10 ancianos (y como 70 diaconos). Nosotros asistimos a las clases de "parejas jovenes." Toda la gente es muy amable, y hay muchas oportunidades para servir. Un hermano llego de Honduras casi al mismo tiempo que Jose Luis y empezo una iglesia hispana alla. El tambien se caso con una hermana americana de aca y son casi la misma edad que nosotros, asi que estamos haciendonos buenos amigos. Les apoyamos con todo que podemos con la iglesia. Jose Luis ayuda con partes de la adoracion, y yo a veces ayudo con clases de ninos y clases de ingles. En este poco tiempo la iglesia ha crecido a casi 15 miembros; es muy emocionante! Casi todos los hermanos son de Mexico.

Vamos a tratar de estar escribiendo mas enseguida, asi que si pueden estar checando el blog sera genial.

Some Blessed Campaigns

After being without a computer, teaching, and traveling a lot, I am finally able to update my blog once again—and a lot has happened since the last time I wrote! I think I am a little ¨campaigned out¨--(not that that`s a bad thing.)

Viaje a El Salvador

First, in Marzo, José Luis and I had the 1. privilegio of going to El Salvador for a medical mission 2. campaña with the Mt. Juliet church. We had to take tres different busses and travel nearly 24 horas straight, but it was well worth it! It was my fourth vez to go, and José Luis`3. primera (and first time out of the 4. paìs other than Guatemala). I am so glad that he was finalmente able to meet some of my American amigos. He was really 5. impresionado with the way we conduct the campaign, and very 6. cansado by the end of the week. For the most part we worked in the 7. clinica, giving the 8. presentaciòn de salud (as you can see in this foto), and helping the people find their way around. One day we also got to leave to evangelizar juntos. Casi all of the people we talked to were polite, and interesados in what we had to teach them. José Luis also hung around the parque during the nightly worship service to invite the people he saw and talk to them about the Biblia. We both left feeling fired up to evangelize more here in Mexico. By the way, José Luis loved listening to us sing and also came back with a 9. deseo to teach songs with partes to the jovenes.

Campaña en San Cristobal

José Luis and another man hung this sign on the church to let people know about the campaign.

10. Poco tiempo after we got back, the church here in San Cristobal also hosted a campaign. The campaigns are much different here from what we`re used to. Think gospel meeting combined with lectureship, but on a much larger scale. The church started planning for the evento about one year ago, and each of us proposed at that time how much money we could give. When it was all said and done, we spent about 63,000 pesos (about $6,000 11. dolares)—all of which came from the members´own pockets. Those who came to the campaign also spent a great deal of money, as some traveled from as far away as 18 hours. It was the week of spring break, so many familias chose to attend the campaign instead of taking a 12. vacaciòn. We invited cristianos from all over Chiapas, as well as other parts of Mexico. I think nearly every congregación in Chiapas had at least one person represented. On viernes there were 13. practicamente 600 people in attendance (as you can see from the foto). Since the church building is not big enough to hold so many people, we rented a hall. We also provided every meal and housing for each of the guests. John Dial from Mississippi gave a few lessons, as well as one man from Guatemala and one from Santo Domingo, Chiapas.

Typically we had two or three Bible studies cada día, as well as one or two hours when the damas had a clase, the jovenes had a clase, and the men went out to evangelize. Over 100 teens came! José Luis and I stayed busy planning actividades for all of them. We took advantage of some of the 14. tiempo libre to have icebreakers and fun games with them. We also organized a few 15. competencias, in which they participated with the 16. mismo team of 8-10 people each day. The first day we had a soccer 17. torneo, the second day we had relays, and the third day we had a little mini Bible bowl. The two winning 18. equipos received prizes on the last day.

This was one of the relays the jovenes participated in with their teams.

Baptism in El Salvador, and baptism of José Luis and I´s grandfather in San Cristobal.

Probablemente the best part of these two campaigns were the bautismos—21 in each one. Several teens got baptized during the San Cristobal campaign, including two of the girls from church. Marisol (the girl I had been studying with) seemed to be discouraged and was not coming to church as much; and I have not been able to 19. visitar her as much as I`d like because of my 20. trabajo. But she came consistently to the campaign, and managed to bring her esposo, in-laws, and several other family members with her. Then on Sunday morning, the last day of the campaign, her husband said that he was ready to be baptized. Marisol looked so happy when I went to congratulate her! Also my future sister-in-law got baptized, José Luis´grandparents, and one other man that my father-in-law had been studying with. I am very 21. orgullosa of him for all the evangelizing he´s been doing! He has been trying to talk to his parents about the gospel for years, but they never wanted to listen. Finally his persistence paid off! Since most of my extended family was raised in the church, I cannot even imagine how happy José Luis´ family must feel. The abuelos live in a small town about 20 minutos from here where there are several denominational churches, but no Church of Christ. (Actually, they were Pentecostals before, and said that they felt ready for a change when the church introduced more 22. moderna types of music—musica that they felt was inappropriate for 23. adoración.) Please pray for all those who got baptized, and also that we can start a new church in this pueblo! Members of José Luis´family after we had a Bible study with his grandparents at their rancho.

Clases Biblicas en la Costa

Then last week (the second week of spring break) I traveled to the east 24. costa of Chiapas to help an American who came, Larry Foster. Larry was in San Cristobal just a few months ago, but he wanted to come back and give his class in other areas of the preaching schools. For meses I was calling the directores to make sure there would be no conflictos with the 25. fechas and telling them about the classes—all to no avail. They conveniently forgot about all the planes we had made over the phone and ended up putting something together at the last minute. Mexicans really take dates and eventos for granted, and fail to plan in advance. (In this picture we crammed about 30 predicadores into someone´s living room to show them the photo presentation. Sometimes we have to work with very primitive locations. Another place we went did not have electricity, and they had to hook up 2 or 3 extension cords to the neighbor´s house.)

Larry, meanwhile, was sending me 26. mensajes almost 27. diario to ask me when he was going to give the class, where, to how many people, etc. I think he was just as frustrated as I was that the plans changed every semana like it was nothing. In the end it all worked out and he gave the class at least six different times to different groups of people each time. I´m sure they would have had a much better turnout, though, and possibly even invited some visitantes, if not for waiting until the last minuto to decide what to do. Larry asked me one day if the directors frequently act that way with me because in this culture they can´t accept when a woman tells them what to do, and I felt like shouting, ¨Yes! Finally someone understands!¨ This lack of 28. comunicación with the directors continues to be one of the most difícil things about my job as school secretary!

We stayed in a small town in the mountains that is just so beautiful and peaceful. It also has some history to it, as Germans came about 50 years ago to rule the many coffee plantations (including Hitler´s son-in-law). Some of the girls were very proud to show me the famous town museum and restaurant. The women really filled that ¨mother of the house¨role, giving us refills without asking (when the bottle was right there in front of us), not allowing us to take our plates off the table after we ate, and waiting to eat until after all of the men had been served (which means the men generally ate by themselves, and the women by themselves; whole families never ate together). By the way, I also taught English to some of the young people in the mornings. They were very good students,

unlike some of my other students...

Larry Foster giving his class on Ephesus with me translating, and students from the preaching school in Tapachula about to receive certificates for successfully completing the first year of studies.

Problemas con mis alumnos siguen

I spent a lot of my last blog complaining about the problems with my new university students. I wish I could tell you that those problems are all resolved and that my students work a lot harder and study more and everything else; but I can´t. I am coming to accept that I just can´t force them into doing their work and liking English—they have to make that decision on their own. Sometimes I feel like I´m winning them over, like when they ALL turn in their homework or they ALL listen and show 29. respeto while I´m talking. Then I see their terrible test scores, and feel depressed all over again! Last week I lectured my Physical Education students about the 30. importancia of them working harder. I told them bluntly that most of them are failing, and that I can`t understand why that doesn´t bother them if it bothers ME; and how do they expect to ever graduate and get a good job if they act that way in all of their classes?? Then I gave the students a chance to evaluate me, by filling out some 31. cuestionarios. Luckily the results did help boost my confidence and reassure me that the students are failing for their own poor actions, and not because of something I´ve done.

Algunas Diferencias en Universidades Mexicanas

I have also come to realize that the problemas with the students don´t just have to do with them, but with the education system in general. I have mentioned before that schools seem to be much more laid back here. Mexico is far behind other countries in education, of course, but Chiapas ranks the lowest among all Mexican states, and also has a higher illiteracy rate. (Students from the preaching school in Tapachula, most of whom just finished their first year.) A friend from church is attending a universidad in northern Mexico, and she told me last week that the 32. profesores are much stricter there. Out of about 20 students who went to study there from Chiapas, she is one of only two who is still passing. But she is just barely passing, and often stays up all night trying to get her work done. Students also don´t receive much financial aid here, so many have to work full time jobs in order to pay their university. Another diferencia is that the universidades are set up more like high schools or middle schools, in that the students only take classes with those of the same level and profession, and always have the same horario. My grupo of 14 alumnos de educación física, por ejemplo, have classes together from 7a.m. to 3p.m. each day, always in the same classroom and with the same teachers. One disadvantage to this sistema is that the students all get to be pretty good friends, and have absolutamente no qualms about copying each other´s work!

Mexico is also diferente from the 33. Estados Unidos in that private universities generally have worse fame than public ones. It is very obvious that the ESEF (where José Luis and I are teaching) is more concerned about receiving dinero than educating and preparing its students. Let me give you an example. A few days before spring break, I felt terrible, couldn´t get out of bed, and certainly couldn´t go teach that day. Most Mexican 34. empresas have no 35. politica for sick days, so I offered to make up the time after the break. Well the administradores decided that they didn´t want to pay me for those hours, so my students lost four hours of instruction. Also, when I went to El Salvador, I assigned a 36. proyecto to my tourism students (since we weren´t going to have class all week). The school director asked me to give them more time to complete their projects, because ¨they took a trip and didn´t get back until the night before.¨ But they did not take the trip until Saturday, and they had had the whole week before to get their work done! Urrrrr!!!!! Now instead of getting mad at my students for not taking the classes more seriously, I get mad at the administrators for not valuing their education more.

Busqueda de Trabajos (Job Search)

José Luis and I are busy looking for jobs and making plans for our move to the States. We´re hoping to move in July, just in time for me to start teaching in August. But it all depends on immigration. We recently received the second notice from immigration, and now we are waiting to find out when we can go for the visa interview. Of course, José Luis will have better 37. suerte at the 38. entrevista if he can find a job before then. He really wants to be a Hispanic minister. If not, he is also interested in teaching Spanish or giving P.E. classes again. If anyone hears about any good jobs for either of us, please let us know!

Most of you probably already heard that the ¨swine flu¨epidemic is very strong right now in the Mexico City area. It has not affected Chiapas yet, but all of the schools are closed until May 6 anyway, just to be cautious. Please pray that the epidemic will soon end and not get worse.

Some of the teens from church giving a group hug to one of the girls after she got baptized.

1. privilege

2. campaign

3. first

4. country

5. impressed

6. tired

7. clinic

8. health presentation

9. desire

10. not long/little time

11. dollars

12. vacation

13. practically

14. free time

15. competitions

16. same

17. tournament

18. teams

19. to visit

20. job

21. proud

22. modern

23. worship

24. coast

25. dates

26. messages

27. daily

28. communication

29. respect

30. importance

31. questionaires

32. professors

33. United States

34. businesses

35. policy

36. project

37. luck

38. interview