Thoughts

I am a language arts teacher, and have been for my entire tenure as a full-time teacher. However, this was not my original intent. I obtained a degree in history and expected to teach one of the social studies. Unexpectedly, however, writing research essays for the history classes I attended helped me to develop as a writer, which made my experience as a language arts teacher easier. Because one of my colleagues is moving to another school, however, I was asked last week whether I would be willing to teach a social studies class. This volte-face has allowed me a little nostalgia because I have remembered the kind of lessons I taught and witnessed in college. I know there will be exciting ways to teach history as an experience to students. This is coupled with other nuances in what I will teach this year, including a computer elective and the chance to facilitate much more student interaction while they read novels this year. As I have been relearning the history I was taught in my

I was driving home today when I suddenly thought I had forgotten my laptop at school. If only for a second, I panicked, thinking I would not be able to plan for classes coming next week. At the same time that I felt this, however, I also remembered something from the Bible I had read earlier this week. In Acts 16, one of the most important spokespeople for Jesus was a man named Paul. In this chapter, Paul was put in prison after ordering a spirit to leave a slave who earned money for her owners by telling the future. In the night, however, God caused the doors of Paul's prison to open. At that moment, when the jailer woke to see the cell doors open, he drew his sword to commit suicide, thinking he had allowed the prisoners to escape. Paul, however, yelled at him not to harm himself, saying that everyone was still in their cells. The man rushed in, trembling and asking what he must do to be saved. Paul then shared the gospel, and the man and his family eventually believed. While

As the summer ends and a new school year begins, I can look back with joy on these past months. I have experienced a variety of fun activities, and look forward now--reenergized--to teaching for my ninth year. In the course of the summer, I had the privilege of taking a cruise to Mexico, trying out for Wheel of Fortune at the California State Fair, enjoying a day trip to Half Moon Bay, going to Los Angeles to try out for The Price is Right--where my brother, sister-in-law, and I talked with Drew Carey in front of the audience-- and to spend a day in Disneyland, catch up on reading and writing, and more. Now, as I look to the new school year, I am excited about the prospect of introducing students to a blog they will use to interact with the novels they read and with each other; and about teaching a new computer elective. One of my colleagues described each school year as a story. I believe he was correct. Every year has its own plot and characters. A teacher can teach the exact same

For as long as I can remember, I have believed that men have an innate ability to understand the difference between right and wrong. I still believe this, but I also know that we can justify actions in our minds to quiet the guilt and give ourselves permission to commit acts that violate God, others, and ourselves. While we can certainly do this in our social circles, I believe it is easiest to justify wrong behaviors when we are isolated. This is because there is no one to check those behaviors, no one to hold a man accountable for them. There is great power in confession, therefore, because it brings to light thoughts, attitudes, and behaviors that others can help weight to be right or wrong. If a man is willing to admit to himself that his behaviors have been harmful, he is given sudden access to a powerful tool, the discipline of confession. As one practices this discipline, I believe that a man's mindset begins to change, whether slowly or quickly. The more he

Before my early thirties, I had never considered the military. I was the sort who kept to himself and generally liked things to stay the same, so committing several years to an organization that plunged you into unending interaction with strangers was as appealing to me as volunteering to be the pilot in a paper airplane experiment. My father, his father, my brother, and other family members had all joined, but I was not to follow. This aversion to discipline-heavy, hierarchy-based order actually began sooner, when my father took me to a local Boy Scouts meeting to gauge my interest. During that meeting, I had the privilege of being introduced to a high-ranking patriarch of the local Scouts, but the infinite authority of such a towering figure only isolated me further. I envisioned tripping over Scout flags during important presentations, or making other such mistakes that drew the ire of said figure and the leering stares of judgmental peers. To a sheltered, pre-adolescent boy, it m

When teaching summer school in inner-city Boston last year, across the street from Boston Common, I quickly noticed that equal to the dense number of people was the dense number of fast-food restaurants lining the streets. Subway, Chipotle, Cheeseboy, McDonald's, Dunkin Donuts, and many more all told of Bostonians' need for quick food. At the time, it seemed novel to a man who had to get in his car to drive a mile or more to reach places like these. It took me longer to notice something equally significant: there were no grocery stores. A few weeks into my time there, I recalled how long it took to travel to Target to get the food and supplies our students and we would need to run the program. We rented a car and traveled to a far-off suburb of Boston, a trip that took twenty minutes or more. It dawned on me then that, in contrast to the number of fast food restaurants around us in the city, there were no grocery stores. In fact, I did not know at the time that I was standing