I'm trying to be productive since I have started my summer break but so far I haven't been exactly successful. While I'm still working, it's only twenty hours a week, so I'm hoping to accomplish a lot in my down time. Today I have spent the majority of the morning watching the hilarious British comedy, "Keeping Up Appearances", cleaned my room, and have fed myself two meals. I anticipate big things to come in the afternoon.

Pride rears its ugly head ... I guess that can be true for me. I quarreled with a friend a long time ago. I don't even remember why; or if there was a reason why it now seems irrelevant. And regardless of how irrelevant the argument seems, or how insignificant that memory really is, people, in this case me, let pride run the show. "They should call me first" I think. "I don't need a friend like that!" "Whatever, they're just being sensitive." But excuses like that don't work: they don't work in friendships, or family, or marriages. Can you imagine if you and your spouse were upset with each other and you thought, "I don't need a husband like him!" That probably explains the American divorce rate ...

My prideful outlook on relationships is not only cultural, it's human. The old phrase "pride comes before the fall" is probably as true of a phrase that can be said, and of course in the Bible we are warned about pride -- but most of us just think, that's not me!

Sometimes it's hard to play "peacemaker", but I would imagine it is a lot more difficult to carry around the burden of anger for the rest of your days. I haven't talked to a friend for a year and a half -- a best friend -- because of some reason that I don't even know, and I said I'm sorry today and it was hard because part of me just thought maybe they should have said sorry, after all, I don't even know what I did. But I'll be honest with you, I feel better. Humility feels better than pride.

I just keep thinking about the sermon I heard on Easter, and thinking, if God can raise Jesus from the dead, then he can bring anything back to life. It's a nice thing for anyone to think about on this cloudy Monday.

Spring is in the air and I find myself wishing I lived someplace where I could grow a garden. I haven't had much gardening experience, aside from picking strawberries in my mom's garden, but what more experience do you really need? No, really, to be less humble I have dug a hole with a shovel, put in a plant, and mounded the dirt all around it ...

I just hope I will be good at gardening ...

Over the course of the year I have had a beautiful flower (though the name escapes me!), Heather, and Rosemary. They have all died. But can you blame them? I wouldn't want to live in an apartment either if I had roots. I even sang to my flower, but it just made it die faster (no jokes, please) ...

What I'm getting at, in a very round about way, is that, regardless of my current gardening limitations, spring is in the air. The smell of flowers (hay fever for some) is mixed in the breeze and I find myself more interested in walking around the block than in studying. Which brings me to my next point: school.

You should be delighted to be informed that in two and a half weeks I will be on summer break. Summer break in April you might say. Yes, yes, it is a bit early, but the "kicker" is that my final phase of the program is two quarters of student teaching, and after careful thought and prayer I have decided this will be better done in September. My reasoning is work/money-related, as well as the need I really have for a long summer break. This really affects little in the long run. Instead of achieving my Master's and credential by the end of November 2010, it will be by the middle of February 2011 -- a mere two and a half month difference! And while I would like to be done sooner, for many reasons I am confident extending it a couple extra months is best. This has really been on my mind, so making this decision is really a blessing.

I look forward to the long summer and what the break will bring. I have been so engrossed in doing well in school that I feel I have not breathed properly since September. Not to mention the new opportunities a break will bring. I'm excited to start volunteering for a really cool low-income after school program in Santa Ana, writing, and start subbing in schools on my days off from Mariners. Maybe a vacation, too. Wooohhoooo to breaks!

When life is busy, and time is minimal, I find an excellent pastime to be: The Onion. Anyone with me? Whether it's the very sight of Hilary Clinton offending Pakistan, Obama lip syncing his speeches, or, my personal favorite, the Ford Taurus -- it brightens my day. Hope this adds a little flair to yours --

http://www.theonion.com/content/video/ford_unveils_new_car_for_cash

I was in a group of about five adults and the prompt for the question was: How do you see yourself as different from how you were in high school? Now for me, being one of the youngest at my workplace, high school really wasn't too long ago. But for many of them this question required a lot of reflection. They each answered, all of them reiterating the same thing: "I was SO idealistic then. I thought I could do anything." I listened, a little confused. They were saying this as though it was a bad thing. Actually, as the conversation unfolded I came to find that's exactly what they meant.

What's wrong with being idealistic about the future, thinking you can accomplish everything? Sure, you can run the risk of being too prideful or loose touch with reality, but hopes and dreams and beliefs -- now isn't that what makes life exciting? You see, the worst thing that can happen is you fail. That's right: you fail. But if you believe that God has a plan -- which I do -- then who cares about failure? At least you tried. It's not to say that I want to go accomplish a task, like say, a marathon with no training (then you fail and die). However, what if you do run a marathon ... try to run a marathon (training and all) ... and you just can't finish. OH WELL. Personally, at eight-eight-years of age, when I'm sitting in my rocking chair, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, and a far away look in my eye, I'll feel satisfied, not because I succeed, but because I TRIED MY BEST.

I'm sitting here avoiding my "to do" list gazing around my room, feeling the soothing peace that comes from within, the first sparks of tiredness from the early winter evening, and a tinge of anxiety from any thought related to academia or work. I had lunch with friends this afternoon, but with my friends long gone, my roommate off in some unknown place, and Eric out of town on business, I am very much alone. It is the first Friday I have been alone in quite sometime, but it's not so bad, it's actually kind of nice tonight.

There is only a brief lull before the phone will ring again, before I will feel the urge to move for something -- the tv, the refrigerator ...

These quiet moments are the ones when a hot cup of tea is nice, with a blanket to snuggle up to, a book to read, and music in the background. But sometimes these quiet moments are better filled with nothing. I find myself so, well, hyper, that I am actually uncomfortable in a moment where I can stop. Where I can rest. Where nothing is expected of me. It is like the itch to speak that I develop when there's ten seconds of silence in a conversation with someone (perhaps even five). It is so hard for me to slow down until my head hits the pillow. Even then I find myself thinking of the silliest of intricacies: I never called that person, my clothes are still at the dry cleaners, do I have anything left in the fridge to pack a lunch tomorrow, I wonder how late it is now ...

It's hard to find peace in our lives. It's hard to find rest.

God promises us peace, telling us to cast our burden's on him. He also states "All who come to me, I will give you rest." I've read those words before, carved in peaces of wood that look like they were crafted in a booth at a snazzy state fair. I've seen the words printed neatly on late-eighties styled plaques that hang on people's walls. The words make me think of an image of Jesus seated neatly and stately, a halo around his head, children looking at him in awestruck-wonder. But have I believed those words for more than a day, or even an hour? Have I lived as though those words are true? I can honestly say I need those words, I have needed them all along; all I had to do was ask and believe. God wants to give us rest. He wants to take our burdens. It's that simple. It's that good.

People would describe me as introspective. Or, at least, they have. I have been claimed in other phrases as well: passionate, soulful, whimsical, perfectionist, worrier, detail-oriented, not detail-oriented, bad at math, bad at spelling, good at writing, better at broadcast journalism than print, an excellent poet, a horrible cook, the best of cooks, a runner, athletic, about as far from athletic as anyone can be, funny, weird, dull, perky, deep, shallow, depressive, giddy, loving, sweet, shy, loud, purposeful, strange, exhausting, inspiring, encouraging, dramatic. The list could go on, and as you can see, the list is one exhaustive paradox. But the list is not me.

I sit and read literature infused with educational injustice. The author tells me about Bobby (who's name is probably not, and never even will be Bobby), and how Bobby goes to school every day without breakfast. He qualifies for free lunch, but the bus he takes is perpetually late. His free breakfast is perpetually missed. Bobby lives in a shanty of a house with a mom -- no dad -- several siblings, and a less than clean environment, with a toilet that they can't even afford to repair. It's the story of his mother working two jobs to survive, and Bobby left with no supervision. It's the story I've read time again. The only difference is the name.

Teachers have power, more power than you might think. They can motivate and inspire, but they can also reduce and belittle. Perhaps a glace at the, er, timeless (?) statement, "with great power comes great responsibility" sums up the power of a teacher. The power to form and help, not only students like Bobby, but every student. After all, these kids will be the kids who are our doctors and nurses when we're old and in the hospital. They are the future politicians and businessmen. But is it fair that some kids don't have the privileges at home for enough food or a quiet place to sleep (if those can even be considered privileges rather than rights). These kids who are oftentimes parent-less because their parents have to choose work over them -- not because they want to -- but because they don't have a choice. Is it fair that these kids are often labeled at school as not AP-level, always tired, rude, disruptive, little potential. Is it even a teacher's job to label?

Clearly, it's not only these kids who come to the classroom covered with labels that coat their identity. We all cover ourselves with labels. And though it's good to have a definition of self, to know your strengths and weaknesses, it is equally essential that we recognize these labels don't have to be stagnant. Anyone can learn -- anyone can improve.

As for me, I'd rather be label-free. No strings attached to always being good at something, no pressure to not fail, no embarrassment for being seen as bad at something, no opinion before I have a chance to prove myself. My identity, my hope, lies in Christ. And though that may give fruit to attributes akin to kindness, love, and encouragement. Though my humanity may give way to flaws of pride, anger, and bitterness. None of those things can consume me. They are not my anchor.

Should Bobby's victimization of circumstance spiral him into a position that makes him believe he is less than? How can I, as a teacher, let students know that God does not see us as labels, he does not give us worth and merit from what we do? How can I let them know that he chooses us? And he is our identity.