On making big decisions.

Having graduated from college, I like to consider myself a "real adult." But, being a real adult means you have to make big decisions, and since I've had experience with that recently, I've been thinking about the process.

A common phrase for making decisions is "pull the trigger." I think this is an appropriate metaphor, but not how most people think of it. (To be clear, most people seem to see this as making an impulsive decision like suddenly jerking back on a trigger.)

Let's talk about shooting.

The very first step to firing a gun should be preparation. Before even being on a shooting range, you should have knowledge about guns. You should know where your safety is, how to load it, how to aim, etc. And you should have to tools to be on a range: the gun, the ammunition, safety glasses, hearing protection, etc.

After you're prepared to be on the range, to actually start target practice, you have to aim. Most of the time, aiming isn't just pointing the gun sorta near the target. You have to slow down your breathing or hold in a breath, steady your arms, and focus carefully down the sights. You have to know where the target is, and align your sights on it.

Then, once you get to this point, you can pull the trigger, but you do so slowly. You don't jerk back, or you'll throw your aim off. You apply steady pressure while keeping your sights on target. You don't actually know the exact moment the gun will fire, so you just keep your aim until the bullet fires.

So, in that sense, making big decisions is like pulling a trigger.

"I couldn't do that. I'm bad at math."

I was reading another blog post today (The Myth of ‘I’m Bad at Math’) and had a line stick out to me describing what it takes to succeed in a math class: “For high-school math, inborn talent is much less important than hard work, preparation, and self-confidence.”

I’d like to expand on that.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard some variation of “Wow – I couldn’t do that.” From telling people I was a Math major to telling people I now teach Math and Physics, it’s almost always the same.

“Whew – I wasn’t good at math.”

“You must be crazy.”

“Good for you.”

“I’ve never been able to do well at math.”

“You must be really smart.”

While I pridefully relish the idea that I’m inherently intelligent, that’s just not true. I’m not particularly smarter than most. I just worked at it.

The heart of the matter is that math is hard until you practice it. To get good at identifying the domain and range of a function, you have to have some experience doing it. But almost everything is that way. I can’t pick up a golf club and instantly get a hole-in-one. I likely couldn’t even be anywhere near on par. But if I took 15 minutes a day to practice, eventually I could. Why should we expect any less from math?

But that only covers part of the story – the hard work and preparation. Let’s talk about self-confidence.

For my classroom, I’d like to think I can push students to work hard and hold them to standards of preparedness, but I have much less influence on their self-confidence. I do my best to praise accomplishments and minimize the focus on error. I structure material so they can make lots of small victories until they’re ready to tackle big victories. Yet, one negative influence can undo the work of many positive influences.

I believe having an adult say “I was terrible at math” is one of the most disheartening things a student struggling in math can hear. In this one little sentence, there’s two messages to a struggling student: 1) someone they see as smart struggled in math and 2) they don’t even use math anymore. I’m not sure you could kill self-confidence quicker.

(Now, I do realize that for a student doing well in math, hearing someone say “I was terrible at math” can give them a boost of encouragement, but for this post we’re less concerned with those students – they’re already doing well.)

So, if you’re talking to a student about math, I’d love it if you’d focus on the “work hard and be confident” bit.

Getting ready for the year.

I've told lots of you that I'll continue to update this blog as I teach at Church Hill Academy, so I figured I should get started.

I've had a busy summer, running around between lots of different places, but right now I'm in Chapel Hill, packing up my house and getting ready to move. Just two weeks ago, I packed up stuff from my home in Charlotte, and in less than a week, I'll be unpacking in Richmond. On August 12, I'll start my job doing lots of different workshops and planning, and then September 3, I'll have my first day teaching.

I'm very much looking forward to being in Richmond. I'm excited to spend time with new roommates. I'm excited to get a Virginia license and license plate (it's a small, silly thing, but it'll make Virginia feel like home, instead of just a place I'll be for a while). I'm excited to get involved with church and be in a small group. I'm excited to catch up with friends from last summer, and meet new friends and students. And probably most of all, I'm extremely excited to have my own classes.

In getting ready for classes, I emailed my high school math teacher. I haven't kept in contact with him much - I think I only emailed him freshman year to talk about math classes I was taking - but I consider him a friend. He is an excellent teacher, and I hope teach in similar ways. In my email, I asked him many specific questions, and then asked for any other general advice he may have. His response:

"Start building relationships the first day. Read 1 Timothy 5:1-2 (the whole chapter is great). I have lived by this since I started teaching."

It's excellent advice, and it's incredibly encouraging to be directed to scripture by a former teacher I greatly respect.

Waiting.

This summer, we are doing a lot of talking. We do a weekly book study, we go to church on Sunday nights, we do devotionals every morning, we do a Bible study once a week, and we talk about plans. If I'm being honest, a lot of times this bothers me.

It's not that these things are bad - they're great. I just usually have many things I need to get done, and I would rather be out doing rather than talking. I would much rather finish everything that needs doing before waiting around and talking about it.

This past weekend, I joined my family on vacation to the mountains. At one point, we went fishing, and I started thinking. Fishing is pretty much just waiting. You cast your line, and then you wait. You don't do anything except pay attention until a fish bites and you reel him in. That waiting is even more important than the reeling in. If you don't ever wait, you won't every catch anything.

That's when it hit me: maybe waiting is doing.

Maybe all of the talking we do is the waiting and being attentive part that's essential.

Incomplete Stories

Every morning during the week, we hear someone's testimony. It's been really awesome and moving in many ways, but the thing that keeps hitting me is how incomplete some of these stories are. And I don't mean that in the sense of they aren't telling us everything (everyone has been very honest and open), I mean that they are still in the midst of change. They are in the midst of God working and transforming their lives. People have talked about how there was significant change in their lives just a month or two ago that they're continuing to wrestle with now.

It's funny to me, because I like to think that I've got it all together. I keep thinking about how I'll tell my story; I keep thinking about how I can weave in themes and wrap it all up nicely. But the truth is that, unaware of it as I may be, I'm in the middle of God transforming my life in some new way. I have a story that is just as incomplete as anyone's.

We are all works in progress, and we won't ever be complete in this life. God is always teaching us something new.

Thank you for the food. And for salvation.

The other night, I ate dinner with my host family, and the pre-meal prayer was pretty much the title of this post.

Growing up, my family stopped praying before each meal because it became more habit than it was gratitude.

I don't know why it caught me off guard to be thanking God for salvation. It is sort of the ultimate point to be reconciled with God. But it did.

Even when I do prayer before meals now, it's usually just a "Thank you for the food and [insert small prayer about current pressing issue such as needing to finish a paper or study for a test]."

Being thankful for salvation is something that I often fail to do. Growing up, we did communion once a month, so I'd think about it then, but not many other times.

Somehow I simply lose sight of the most significant part of Christianity. Somehow I turn it into a vessel for social justice or a good set of morals to live by or something to hope in. But that's not it.

God sent his son to his death, so the we could be redeemed. And I need to be more grateful than I am.

Do you ever struggle with missing the point?

It doesn't matter who started it - you stop it.

Wise words from my mother in response to the pointing fingers in an argument with my siblings. We'd get in trouble for whatever bickering we were doing, and we'd want to absolve ourselves by putting the blame on the other person.

Retorts like "It's not my fault! He hit me first!" or "She started it! She called my face dumb!" would come out with the implication that it's okay to hit or insult back because the other person did first.

But the thing is, it's not always exclusively the other person's fault. Everyone usually had a hand in it, agitating somebody to a harsher action.

Then my mother would step in, and say "It doesn't matter who started it - you stop it." It's more important to stop what's going on then it is to know who's to blame.

The same goes for the problems in the world today.

Poverty? That's not my fault. I didn't cause that.
Racism? Nope - not me.
Hunger? Nah, that's someone else.
Oppression? No, that's other people.

But that doesn't mean I can't do something about it. And I've likely done things that actually have contributed to the problems. As a Christian, God calls me to do something about it.

The first week of orientation, we read Isaiah 58. Here's what it has to say:

"Is this not the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the straps of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover him, and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?"

It doesn't matter who started it - you stop it.

Church Hill Adventures