Friday Thought : We can do hard things

Mr Moore (my district superintendent) dropped the above plaque off the other day. Then, he told me its origin story.

And its origin is April Wavra (a teacher in my school).

Several years ago, when Brad Barringer was principal, he was sharing some ideas with Mrs Wavra, and because she was listening - truly listening - she heard the above statement. Then, she made a plaque for Brad. When Mr Moore saw it, he requested she make several more. 

And now, they are dotted throughout our district, in homes, offices, and classrooms, encouraging others and reminding us all that we can do hard things. 

So often I believe that the "fruits of my labor" means something coming back to me, a reward for my work, a profit for my labor. I was recently reminded, however, that so often the fruits of our labor are rarely seen, heard, or noticed. Because they benefit others. Which is great! Because it is multiplying well beyond ourselves. 

If we are the sole beneficiary of our labors, the fruit stops with us. It is done.

If it blesses others, however, the fruits of our labor are endless and immeasurable. It grows and multiplies beyond our reach. 

Thank you, Mrs Wavra, for listening to Brad, for taking the time and energy to make something beautiful, and for blessing him. Years later, the fruits of your labor continue to grow and produce and remind us that doing hard things - doing the right thing - never goes unnoticed. It impacts, inspires, and changes people. 

And sometimes, we are fortunate enough to notice. 

Friday Thought : Get Nervous Again! Make the leap.

When I was a kid, my family (and later my friends) would take weekend getaways to Turkey Run. The hikes were beautiful and the canoe trip was so much fun. Especially when we got to the bridge. 

I don't know how high it is, but I'm confident it's high enough to discourage many from jumping. Or, at the very least, create hesitation. I know I did. Every time, I would stand at the edge, consider it for several minutes, almost jump several times, then eventually leap. It was terrifying. But it was also invigorating. 

And in many ways, that's how I feel about March.

Much like the drive to Turkey Run, at the beginning of the school year, we are excited! We're pumped to meet and teach our students, and we're very clear with them about our norms and expectations. We're also very deliberate in our conversations and holding students accountable.

Then October hits and we plan for Halloween. December brings Christmas parties, January is filled with reunions and re-establishing routines, and February is blah. By March, we expect students to know how to behave, but with the winter months dragging on and on, it seems they - and we - have forgotten how to be. 

We're low on energy. 
I know I am, anyway. Maybe you are too.

This is why I am encouraging us all to Get Nervous Again. Make the Leap!!!

If it's a hard conversation with a student or students that you've been delaying because they should know better . . .  get nervous again and leap! Dive into it.

If you are somewhat snug in your routine of teaching but have something you've wanted to do but just haven't gotten around to it because of this or that excuse . . . get nervous again and try it!

If there is a job you've wanted to pursue, a conversation you've needed to have, or an opportunity you've kept on the shelf, please, get nervous again and leap!

It's always most terrifying right before we jump, a blur as we fall, and rejuvenating once we're done. It's what we talk about for the next year, until we stand yet again on the ledge, wondering if it is worth it. 

Which it is. Every single time. 

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Friday Thought : Teachers, not gimmicks. A reminder for the AI era.

Recently, Seth Godin published a thought:

When architects show off their work or propose a bold new building complex, the public sees the external photos. The tall spire, the innovative use of glass, the weird hole in the center of the building.

And when a car company shows off a new model at a press conference, it’s the headlights or the door handles that catch our attention.

But the thing is, most of the time the building serves its function for the people working inside of it. The owner of the car can’t see the headlights . . .

Gimmicks are memorable. But they’re gimmicks.

The other day, while sitting in a brainstorming session about AI, its role in education, and the responsibilities educators have to embrace it, Mr Godin's words came to mind. 

AI is going to disrupt education, no doubt. And as educators, we must embrace it and teach our students how to use and avoid it. But at the end of the day, as far as education is concerned, it is still just a glorified gimmick.  Schools that are trying to replace teachers with AI, all in the name of innovation, will fail because AI cannot duplicate or replace the impact of a powerful and purposeful teacher. 

The public may oohh and aahh at all that AI has to offer, maybe even remember a cool lesson or two taught with the next innovative technological gadget, but it is the teacher that will speak to their heart and inspire their future. It is a teacher that will encourage their humanity. 

Gimmicks are memorable. Teachers are eternal. 

That's what I've been thinking about this week.

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Friday Thought : Bucket by Bucket

Last night, while hauling concrete out of a basement, the young man working with me dropped his buckets and said through exhaustion, "I feel like this pile isn't getting any smaller. " 

And it reminded me of education. Of parenting. Of life. 

At times, the task at hand seems insurmountable. At other times, it feels like we aren't making a bit of difference, making any progress. Minus the blisters on our hands, what is there to show for all that we've done? 

But if we stop and look at where we've come from, we CAN see progress. It just takes time, dozens (if not hundreds) of conversations, and continuous and methodical acts, done over and over again before we can see all that has been accomplished. 

Large and seemingly impossible tasks are rarely completed quickly or with a sudden wave of action. More often than not, they conclude slowly, methodically, one small bucket load at a time. 

Luckily, just like the task of hauling shattered concrete, as educators, parents, and people, we are not asked to do this alone. Others with buckets and sweat on their brow remind us of how far we've come, encourage us to take a break when needed, and inspire us to keep hauling. 

Because the pile is getting smaller. Our dreams are getting closer, our debts getting smaller, our children are growing in character. Bucket by every friggen bucket. 

Just because it doesn't feel like it, doesn't mean it isn't happening.

A basement half-cleared of debris is proof. 

That's what I've been thinking about this week.

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Friday Thought : Show them they are real

Well, I didn't see this coming . . .

A few days ago, my buddy sent me a podcast entitled, "The Year of Taylor Swift." I was incredibly hesitant to listen, but because I trusted him, I decided to give it a listen. 

I am so thankful I did. 

Even if you are not a Swifty, her story of struggle, success, transparency, and brilliance is deeply intriguing. It is her ability to connect with millions of devoted fans, however, that is most impressive. If not convicting. 

Near the end of the episode, after the hosts walk us through her journey of success, betrayal, and redemption, they say this:

"Show somebody that they are real and you'll have them for life."

And I can't stop thinking about it. 

When sitting with my oldest daughter and she is expressing her frustrations and concerns about life, basketball, and our parenting, more often than not, my first inclination is NOT to be patient. Nor are my first words always helpful. Which is why she gets frustrated, quiet, and sometimes distant. 

Showing her that she and all of her middle school-sized emotions and fears are real is what brings her close, what opens her up to thoughts and input, because they are what make her feel loved, feel seen. It's what makes her feel real. 

When a parent calls and accuses me of "targeting {their} child" or "doing nothing" about the bullying their daughter is experiencing, often I want to defend, explain, and provide the bigger picture. Every time, it doesn't work. Not if it is my initial reaction, anyway, or my sole objective. Because it only validates what they already believe: that I don't see them. 

Allowing them to be frustrated, however, and affirming that what they are struggling with (even if I don't understand) provides them with what they need: an opportunity to be heard, to be real. And once that has been established, they are willing to accept a slightly different perspective of the situation. Because they trust us. 

And when they trust us, we have them for life. 

Dang. An episode about Taylor Swift . . . I did not see that coming. 

That's what I've been thinking about this week.

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Friday Thought : Things worth a Damn

Early in the week, the following quote came across my computer:

"Because anyone who has ever done anything worth a damn, knows that they probably weren’t the main beneficiaries of their efforts. Our work may have lit up the world, but we still remain down in the mud, somehow" (via). 

As educators, we understand this. We understand that no matter our good intentions, our allowances of second, third, and forty-third chances or how much we truly love and care for the students and staff around us, we will most definitely find ourselves, somehow, down in the mud of false accusations and unfair judgment. 

And that can be discouraging. Because it is. But only if we focus on the mud. And only if we interpret being in it as a bad thing. 

"The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena," Theodore Roosevelt said, "whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood {and mud}. . . who spends himself in a worthy cause."

Mud pasted on our jeans or splattered on our faces is not the result of being trodden upon, it is the evidence of our work. Just like the mud the marks the efforts of a running back who gave his all in a hard fought game, or the dirt that marks two young girls collecting wood, so too we, as public servants and servant leaders, are marred and dusty-faced because we are all in. We don’t stand on the sideline or hide in timidity. We engage. We lean towards difficult solutions, wrestle with ugly realities, and embrace the hard conversations. We are muddy because our students are. Because life is. And we do not shy away.

We care more about cleaning the world than we do ourselves.

Thank you for that. It isn't always easy to get messy, to slip and fall, or to sit in the muck and the mire with our students, their parents, or the staff next door. But it is always right. 

As educators, it is our calling, above all else, to ensure others are the main beneficiaries of our labor for that is the core of education and the heartbeat of teaching! To embrace our gifts, our talents, and our resources and to proudly use them for the benefit of others. Because "doing something meaningful . . . will pay off in the end, it just might not pay off for {us}." As educators, we are okay with that because that is what we do. That is who we are. 

That is who you are.

Because you genuinely care, your work provides light to the world. The mud is proof that you were there.

That's what I've been thinking about this week.

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Friday Thought : Single Mothers Need Help, Too

I recently read a short articleAZsdf, “Do it for the Plot.” The article is about purpose. It states, 

"Whatever path we take, we are always confronted with the same question eventually:

Does my path (my life) make a good story? Does my narrative make sense? Is the narrative the one I hoped for, or at least, is it worth telling?

And if the answer is “no,” we are consumed by the regret, disappointment and bitterness of “the unlived life.” If the answer is “yes,” we can at least die knowing we gave it our best shot.

I don't know about you, but I am never content with the idea of leaving life unlived. I want to embrace my experiences, deeply learn from every engagement, and make a difference in the world around me. I want to do GREAT things! This also means I am often discontent. Mostly when I’m tasked with trudging through the mundane or seemingly insignificant tasks for they seem exactly that - mundane and insignificant.

Especially in the development and telling of my good story.

But then, this week, my wife was out of town and I was tasked with caring for our five children. Rather quickly, instead of a #DoGreatThings mindset, I was slowly reduced to a #SimplySurvive mindset. Especially after getting sick. Suddenly, I didn't care about living a good story or changing the world. I simply tried my best not to puke, forget a child somewhere, or lose my patience too quickly. 

And it convicted me. Single mothers need help, too.

We don't need to accomplish big and mighty things in order to have a compelling and purposeful life. We simply need to help. For although we may not tell the story of how we brought dinner to the single mother down the road or share with friends how we covered a shift for a coworker so they could run home and make dinner for their kids, that doesn't mean those stories aren't being shared, that they don't matter.

They may be boring and rather blah stories for us to tell, but for those we helped and served and provided a moment of reprieve for, those simple acts of service are the very moments, the very stories, that encourage and inspire them. They’re the stories that help keep them going. And they are their favorite stories to tell. 

They are also our favorite stories to hear.

Stories of service, when people step into moments of need and give a bit of their humanity remind us that it is the small and simple acts of kindness that move and change the world, not the grandiose. 

Helping the single mother won’t make the local news or circulate on social media. It doesn’t make a good story because it doesn’t change the world. But it can change hers and the little hearts she cares for. It can change their story.

And these moments are everywhere, all the time. But we miss them when we are consumed with our story. When, like the article asks us to, we are more concerned with the plot of our story than we are the characters in it.

For as Chis McCandless, the ultimate adventure-seeker and plot-builder discovered far too late,

happiness - life - things

are only real - only purposeful,

when shared.

Just like a good story.

That's what I've been thinking about this week.

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Friday Though : What we Focus on is what we See.

Just recently, while on a layover at the O’Hare Chicago airport, I overheard a man thanking the gentleman who was cleaning the urinals, and I was jolted for a moment. We don’t often see the man who cleans the toilets. Even less do we hear them thanked for their services.

But in that moment, I was aware of both. I was also suddenly aware of just how clean my urinal was.

On my way out, I too thanked the man for his diligence, and ever since, I’ve been trying to be more aware of those who selflessly and scrupulously serve my school and community, many of whom do so in the dark of the early morning or long after the last student has left for the day. Like the bus drivers who wake up extra early on October winter mornings and ensure our kids get safely and on time.

There are others too, of course. Like the kitchen staff and crossing guards, the engineers or custodians, and of course the office or support staff who are often unnoticed in their efforts because we have become accustomed to their presence and the role they play in ensuring our schools run so smoothly.  They aren’t ignored, but they aren’t fully seen either. Until they are absent. Until the many little things that they do so quietly and without applause or Facebook posts are left undone. Then, suddenly (and continuously), we are reminded that things don’t just happen on their own, that there are people working diligently behind the scenes, and that they desperately matter.

That what I’ve been thinking about this week. What am I focusing on? And what am I not seeing? In my home, my community, and in my school. Who is right in front of me yet not fully seen?

Or, when considering my students, what about them do I focus on (because it is obvious and consistent) yet fail to see? Because yes, that child is frustrating and rude and often struggles to follow our school-wide norms, but is that all that he or she is? Because if that is what I am focused on it will also be all that I see. And they are so much more than those mere behaviors.

For as my good friend recently said, “If all we see is the ugly in a person, we’re not looking hard enough.”

All of this, in a week where I stumbled across the inspiring story of Trea Turner, a baseball player in Philadelphia whose disastrous season was turned around by a standing ovation he did not deserve, have brought me to a goal for the month of November: Acknowledge the behavior; Applaud the potential.

For that student who is a constant disruption, we must focus on the behavior and acknowledge it as inappropriate. But we also need to see their whole person. Their gifts, their hopes, their potential, and we must applaud the hell out of them whenever possible. We must see all of them, and we must choose to love them entirely.

For that student who is excellent. Who gets straight A’s and volunteers for every student-lead club. We need to focus on their behavior and acknowledge its greatness. We need to applaud their potential to impact their community and future world, but we must also see the whole person. Their struggles, anxieties, and fears, and we need them to know that it is safe to be imperfect. We are still there for them, applauding our faces off, because we love them entirely.

For although we are focused on their behavior, we see their entire person. That is our focus for the month of November, and I am so excited to see what will come of it!

Then, just yesterday, on my drive home from a perfectly imperfect educational week, it dawned on me . . . Does this not also apply to my staff? My family? And to the man who cleans the urinals at the airport? Does it not apply the the stranger on the streets or the neighbor across the street?

Does it not apply to the face I see in the mirror, every single friggen morning?

What I focus on is what I see. And I want to be more intentional about seeing so more! About celebrating more, forgiving more, and applauding more. Because that’s what brings us together and inspires people to better. That’s what encourages us to be human.

That's what I've been thinking about this week.

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Life Beneath Hats: A forced reflection of when we get to the end.

Over the past two weeks, I have been surrounded by the theme of reflection, and of purpose.

On Friday, my family lost an adoptive mother to cancer. She was a fantastic woman who loved this world with grace and elegance. Her passing, although devastating to many, has allowed us all the opportunity to consider her life, the purpose that guided her, and the impact she made. And when considered, it is thunderous. Beautiful. And eternal. It will live on long after her name is lost to this world.

In the midst of saying goodbye to our Momma D, I helped move an elderly couple from the apartment they've been living in for the past handful of years to their new Assisted Living Home. With almost every item, I had to ask, "Is this going to your new home or to storage?" I hated asking that question, almost as much as they hated answering it because although it was never said, we all knew that once it went into storage, it wouldn't be coming out. This was their last and forever move. 

While cleaning out the husband's room, I stumbled across two hats. One was from when he was stationed in Okinawa, the other from when he drove a bus for the school district, and I was literally stunned for a moment. I simply looked at them both and considered the years of memories they represented, the stories they held, and the lives they impacted. 

I then turned, went into the living room, shook the old man's hand (his name is Ed), and said thank you. He smiled and said, "You're welcome."

I don't know about you, but I can easily be consumed with the task or tasks ahead of me. Of paying off bills, running my kiddos to activities and ensuring that they are (mostly) fed, and checking my email. I get consumed with squashing behaviors, completing projects around the house, and responding to emails. I begin to care deeply about keeping up with the Joneses, completing the mile-long to-do list, and RESPONDING TO FREAKING EMAILS!!!

And for what? 

I know they are important and essential to doing my job and providing for my family, but they are NOT what I want talked about at my funeral (Yeah that Miller sure did respond to email within 24 hours!). They are my tasks, not my purpose. And sometimes I can forget that. 

As educators, we have the greatest profession in this world because we have direct contact and constant opportunities to LITERALLY impact and change lives. Whether our students know it or not, acknowledge it or not, or ever connect their future selves to now doesn't matter. Our time with these students and with each other deeply impacts the way we think, act, and react. It has lasting value. And that not only encourages me, it challenges me.

I have been given these kids for this moment, surrounded by this staff. I Belong Here. And I don't want to waste it or take it for granted. I want to embrace the hell out of it. From beginning to end.

Just like Ed. Just like Momma D.

That's what I've been thinking about this week.

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Friday Thought : A Far Greater Achievement

I recently stumbled across a fantastic blog entitled Gaping Void that is full of short, inspirational, and encouraging thoughts. 

This is a rewording from a section of their most recent post:

I’m pretty sure at the end of my life no one is going to wax lyrical about some staff meeting I ran or the class I taught in 2023. But, if I do my best to lead with values, purpose and principles, they just might say that I was a decent person. And to me, that’s a far greater achievement. (You can read more of the short post here).

Throughout this week, as I've wrestled with how to best and most reliably communicate with parents, tried to iron out kinks in the school's procedures, and continually dealt with student behavior, the conviction of HOW I do the things I do has continually come to mind.

I don't want to focus solely on checking off all the boxes on my to-do list, for although they are important, they don't change the world. They merely keep it moving. HOW I check those boxes has a much greater impact on the students, the staff, and the surrounding community. And I need to constantly be aware of that. Improve on that. 

That's what I've been thinking about this week.

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Which answer to prayer will I be?

My school is days away from greeting the new students and starting the new year. As the day draws closer and closer, as the entanglement of excitement and nervousness increases, so do the number of prayers offered by moms and dads, anxious students, and excited teachers. Be it around the dinner table, alone in the car, or in the darkness of night, when faced with the fears of the unknown, we reach out to a higher power. We ask for help, plead for safety, and call for strength. We know we are not enough and that we need help. So we pray.

Recently, I’ve been struck with how we, as educators, have the unique responsibility of being the answers to those prayers. And that is a very sobering thought.

What’s even more sobering a thought is that if I am not careful or intentional in my actions and reactions, I may not like the answer I have become.

This simple line from a simple movie is a powerful reminder of the power of intentionality. How I choose to interact with my students, staff, and parents will be the difference between which type of opportunity I become.

Am I going to be the opportunity - the answer to prayer - that helps them walk through their difficult times? Or will I be the opportunity that encourages them to grow?

As Morgan Freeman argues, if I have a teacher who is praying to grow in patience, kindness, and self-control, I can play the supporting role and encourage them through it. Or, I can be the obstacle that they need to work through. Either way, I am the answer to their prayer. I may not like which one I become.

I don’t know the deepest fears of the staff, the struggles my students face at home or school, nor the deeper frustrations parents have when they come in my office frustrated and angry. Nor do I need to.

What I do need to know is that I have been placed in this school for this time. I have been gifted the opportunity to protect these students, serve this staff, and support this community. I have been placed here for a purpose - I am an answer to the many prayers!

I also believe that if I am not intentional about keeping that choice at the forefront of my thoughts - my prayers - I will miss the opportunities to be the answer I want to be.

That’s what I’ve been thinking about this week.

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Friday Thought : Tell Them About the Dream

One of my favorite stories is how MLK's famous "I Have a Dream" speech came about.

"What most of us don’t know," Stuart Strachan Jr. writes, "is that the 'dream' part of the speech almost never happened." In fact, it shouldn't have happened. Because it was not part of the prepared speech.

"As King inched towards the climax of his speech," Strachan continues, "he seemed to hesitate, perhaps unsure of whether his prepared remarks were as inspiring as he had hoped." Mahalia Jackson, sensing the moment, spoke up.  “Tell them about the dream, Martin! Tell them about the dream!” she whispered. 

And so he did. 

What I love most about this story is this. Although unprepared on paper, Mr King had spent hours upon hours preparing for this moment because he was constantly telling people about his dream. He shared it on bus rides, in hotel lobbies, and wherever else he could because he was so passionate about it. Because he cared about it and believed in it. The Dream was shared in a moment, but it was curated over time, refined by conversation, kept alive through conviction. The Dream was made real, in word and in deed.

One of my favorite lines from the band, My Morning Jacket is, "Don't let your silly dreams, fall in-between, the cracks of the bed and the wall." 

As you prepare for this coming year, what is your dream? What are you passionate about, excited for, and anxious to share with your students? Your fellow staff members? Your family and friends?

Whatever it is, share it loud. Share it confidently. And share it often. So much so, that if ever you were to pause in a moment of confliction, someone nearby could lean over and whisper, "Tell them about the dream, (insert your name). Tell tell about the dream."

Speak it into reality. 

That’s what I’ve been thinking about this week.

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Friday Thought : You Belong Here

*Ignore the typo in the images above. . . they have been fixed for the ordered banners:)

As educators, we are continually existing in two communities: the community we try and create for our students, and the community we try and create with our staff. And although there are a few distinct needs between the two, there is also a great deal of overlap. Most notably, the need for belonging.

This coming year, my school’s theme is, “You belong here” which I stole from a principal friend down in Texas, Mr. Martin Silverman, and I just love it.

Then, after listening to a podcast interview with Superintendent Kristi Dominguez entitled, “Building Belonging,” I am fully convinced of the power and purpose of its message.

Especially when the emphasis shifts:

YOU belong here : you BELONG here : you belong HERE!

Each word highlights a very different, very crucial component to being and feeling part of a community. Of belonging.

Here’s what I mean:

“YOU” emphasizes the uniqueness you bring.

You belong here, in this community. Your unique identity, your convictions and passions, your gifts and talents, and the experiences you bring - whatever makes you uniquely you - belong here. Your way of thinking refines our way of thinking, your perspectives complete our perspectives, your whole person (failure and quirks and all) helps create a more holistic and healthy community. YOU is what you bring, and you is what belongs.

“BELONG” reminds us we are part of a community

When we belong to a community we shoulder responsibility for it. We work hard to improve it, personally care for it, and passionately protect it. We invest in it. We pour our identity into it and in return gain identity from it, allowing us to do some pretty GREAT things! Largely because we are not alone. In our endevears, our dreams, or our hardships.

"Humans don’t mind hardship," Sabastion Junger writes," in fact, they thrive on it; what they mind is not feeling necessary." And when you belong, you are and feel necessary. And you are necessary because you BELONG. 

“HERE” is the call to action.

For whatever reason, you have been placed here, in education, in your school, with your students, for this time. And although The Powerful Play will indeed go on for them all as they transition to other schools and various journeys, for right now, you have been tasked with caring for your students, with your staff, in your community.

And they need you.

They need us, all educators everywhere, in all of our faults, insufficiencies, talents, and glories because we are here. We have been provided with this beautiful task of caring for and protecting these students, here and now.

Be it our first year here or our 30th, we have been given this time, this school year, to work with students, embrace our staff, and impact our surrounding communities.

We belong here! YOU belong here!

Let’s ensure our students and fellow staff members know they belong here, too.

That’s what I’ve been thinking about this week.

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Giving less than 100% is 100% okay.

As educators, we are expected to “give 110% of every day to every student!” Our parents expect it, our students and colleagues expect it, and we expect it of ourselves. Recently, though, I’ve started to wonder if this expectation is unfair, unhealthy even. For our fellow staff members, our students, and for ourselves.

I think there is an appropriateness in the expectation that we come to work prepared and ready to give it our best- absolutely! I think it’s appropriate that we set the bar high, at giving 100%. I also think it’s okay that fail.

More accurately, I think we probably should.

At our core we are defined by our profession - We Are Educators! - but we are also more than that. We are the million other things that exist outside our schools, not the least of which include the roles of spouses, parents, and children to our parents. And when they call, with tears so loud we cannot hear their words, they steal away from our 100%. And that is okay.

In fact, it is more than okay. It is human. And if we are to teach our students, our staff, and our community anything, it is how to be a better one, not a perfect one.

As educators, at times, we go to work to get distracted because immersing ourselves in our classrooms and buildings is something that can bring us joy and purpose; it can remind us of the largeness and beauty of life rather than the pricks of it (overwhelming bills, rocky relationships, harsh realities).

But showing up and pushing aside the distractions, day in and day out, is also immensely lonely. And dangerous. And in a profession that advertises and celebrates “relationships, relationships, relationships,” living in such isolation seems a bit hypocritical.

If we want to build relationships with our staff and students, if we want to build strong bonds and healthy cultures, along with professionalism we need personalism (which is an actual word, I just now discovered, which means “the quality of being personal”). And the greatest contributor to pursuing the quality of being personal is being comfortable with our imperfections.

As educators, we have enough to deal with. We are underpaid, undervalued, and overwhelmed with keeping the peace between combative people groups and conflicting ideologies. Being personal, being human is not something we should have to worry about. It should be something we embrace.

We need to be okay with not being able to give 100%.

@AdamMGrant

“Marriage is never 50-50” Brene Brown states, and is “the biggest crock of bullshit” she has ever heard.

So too is believing that we, as educators in care of our students, our schools, our communities, AND our families can give 100% to everyone, all the time. Because we can’t.

What we can do, however, is try and give as much as we can sometimes, 80% others time, and on those really rough days where we didn’t get any sleep because the car broke down or the hospital called and Mom needs more testing, we give 20%. And that is okay.

What isn’t okay is feeling guilty about it, of putting on a professional face, getting distracted, and demanding that we be 100% when we really only have 70. What isn’t okay is believing that professionalism doesn’t have room for personalism.

A healthy marriage, Brene Brown continues, quantifies where we are. “I’m at a 20 today.” Be it energy, investment, kindness, or patience, saying openly and honestly, “I’ve got 20 to give today” allows the other to endure what we cannot. It allows them to see where we are and say, “No worries. I can pick up the 80.” Or, as is often the case, they can also say, “I’m at a solid 45,” providing both with the understanding that tonight, we need to scale back, order a pizza, and be content with the laundry unfolded and dishes dirty in the sink.

Teacher groups and leadership teams should be no different, no less transparent.

Whether we are showing up to get distracted or showing up distracted, sharing with a few trusted colleagues and building leaders not only builds trust, it strengthens the staff and school community. It builds personalism AND professionalism. Most importantly, it models the greatest rule for a healthy life: Do your best with what you have.

We can be distracted AND STILL teach our asses off.

We can be frustrated with our spouse AND STILL be kind, personal, and available to our fellow staff and students.

We can be worried about Mom or Dad AND STILL notice that student who needs a shoulder to cry.

We can be less than 100% AND STILL be helpful, purposeful, and present. Because the reality is, we are often less than 100%. I know I am, anyway. And when I try my best to hide it, to cover up the fact that I am struggling with outside-of-school issues, I feel even worse. I feel isolated. Sharing that I am distracted allows others to understand where my head and heart are today. It also invites them into sharing about their life, their struggles, and their distractions. It allows us to understand and help each other, just as we are.

Sometimes we go to work to get distracted. Other times we go to work distracted. Neither of which steals away from our professionalism. Both of which push us towards personalism.

Which is exactly where we need to be.

Friday Thought : How quickly Moments turn to Memories.

Today, I reconnected with an old friend. And it was so very good. Largely because, as I recently told my wife, life is lonely.

I don’t know about you, but with a house full of kiddos, bills to pay, ruts to get out of, and dreams to pursue (plus taking my wife out on a date . . . every year or so), there just doesn’t seem to be enough time to pursue meaningful relationships. To invest deeply in the spare moments I have with those around me.

Said more honestly, making time for friends and family members isn’t a priority. Not because I don’t care, but because if I don’t answer that call or text that friend, there are no immediate consequences, no tangible accountability. When I don’t fix that leaky faucet, however, or work a little extra to pay off some bills, the consequences are immediate. So I do what is needed to get by today, tomorrow, and next week because I have to.

Then suddenly, pictures of family trips, which always seem like they happened just yesterday, appear in my Facebook Memories, from four years ago (pictured above) and rather quickly, favorite moments become memories, as time quickly passes on.

This past week, as loneliness has crept in and the pressures of getting caught up on tasks and to-dos have weighed heavy, a call from an old friend has reminded me to find balance. To sit a little longer with my wife on a Saturday morning, sipping coffee. To read just one more book with my six-year-old rather than shooing him off to bed. To put off paying that bill just one more month because right now, I have a house full of kiddos and memories that need making.

But also, answer (or make) the call of an old friend, even when I have emails to write, and check in on each other because that too is life. And those we love are what we live life for.

So thank you, Friend, for making the time this morning. I know I needed it.

That’s what I’ve been thinking about this week.

#doGREATthings!

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Friday Thought : Engage in Idea conflict before they become People conflict

The other morning I was listening to an At the Table Podcast episode entitled, Artificial Harmony, and was deeply struck by the statement: “When we fail to have conflict around ideological issues - when we disagree on things - it eventually ferments into conflict around people, and that’s how we crush human beings.”

For instance. Imagine sitting in a room of fellow educators - teachers, admin, whomever - with the task of solving the problem of attendance. If someone (Jim, let’s him) throws out an idea that is perhaps bad or incomplete, and the group doesn’t acknowledge it as such because there they fear ideological conflict, they invite the more dangerous and destructive future conflict that will be centered around people.

Because no one challenged or questioned Jim’s idea but instead encouraged it with a, “Yeah, that might work,” even though everyone knows it won’t work, or at the very least has some questions about it, two things happen:

One, if the idea is never implemented because everyone outside of Jim knows it won’t work, suddenly Jim feels like his coworkers - his boss - don’t care about his opinions. “Why does Mr. Miller ask for my opinion anyway, he never hears it.” Because no one engaged in his idea, he now has a conflict with the PEOPLE he works with. And if we avoided engaging in Jim’s idea because it was considered uncomfortable, why would we engage in the people conflict? And the snowball of conflict and division gathers speed.

The other potential problem that could arise is that Mr. Miller and the staff actually do implement the idea, but because everyone was too concerned with avoiding the ideological conflict and therefore didn’t push in, ask questions, or refine the thinking, it doesn’t go great. Mistakes are made because of oversight, people are frustrated because of confusion, and suddenly - and rather naturally - people are to blame (either Jim, Mr. Miller, or both) and the conflict becomes a personal conflict rather than an easier more manageable ideological conflict.

I have seen this happen, over and over again. And if I am honest, it often occurs because I am too cautious about saving the group from the discomfort of ideological conflict or I’m too nervous that I won’t be able to navigate the staff safely through it. Both of which are fair concerns, neither of which is best for the culture of my school, my marriage! or my friendships.

Appropriate conflict is good and we need to have more of it. We also need to ensure that it is intentional conflict, safe, and beneficial. And to do that, we need to do our best to engage in conflicts about ideas rather than people.

Idea conflicts talk about the problem, the task at hand. They are constructive and help us grow and change and improve. They are uncomfortable but they are also more manageable and most often productive.

People conflicts are destructive. They are personal, deep, and often unfair because the task is no longer about solving the problem at hand, it’s about defending our pride, our pain, and the fear of being misunderstood.

Idea conflicts are external; people conflicts are internal. Idea conflicts solve problems; people conflicts create them.

And I need to be better at engaging in idea conflicts to help save and protect my staff (and myself) from having to survive people conflicts.

That’s what I’ve been thinking about this week.

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Friday Thought : Beyond What I Deserve (A goodbye letter)

“Do - GREAT THINGS!

Go - EAGLES!!!”

I am good at creating goodbyes, but terrible at saying them. 

So this is mine.

Some of you know the journey that brought me to Chief Jo, but many of you do not. None of you know the whole story - which is good! Because as my wife constantly reminds me, "The whole world doesn't need to know everything about our life." And she's right. 

What you should know, though, is that I never wanted to be an elementary principal. Chief Joseph was never on my radar. Until I needed it to be. 

There is a poem that I used to teach entitled, "To a Mouse," by Robert Burns. The 7th stanza reads:

"But mouse-friend, you are not alone

in proving foresight may be vain:

the best-laid schemes of Mice and Men

go oft awry.

and leave us only grief and pain,

for promised joy!"

It is a terribly sad poem, but also extremely accurate, because oftentimes the worst and most painful moments of our lives are when dreams and plans are plowed into the ground,  gone forever. Suddenly, we are lost, without direction, grappling for hope.

That was the condition of my heart and mind when I applied for Chief Jo - lost, and grappling for hope. 

And then I got a call from Ruth Uecker, and suddenly, I was an Eagle. 

The poem To a Mouse has stuck with me because it is so devastatingly true. It is also fully incomplete, for it misses the other side of life. If dreams crushed leave us only grief and pain, unexpected gifts give us life and healing. For it is the dreams and plans that are far beyond what our simple minds can imagine that come most unexpectedly, because we could have never imagined them. And that is what makes them so great. So beautiful. They are beyond what we could have planned, hoped, or dreamed because they are bigger, they are better. 

Losing Fort Benton was a grief and pain I will never forget. 

Gaining Chief Joseph was a reward and blessing beyond what I deserved. It brought hope, joy, redirection, calmness, and clarity to myself and my family. And I will never have the words to fully express how thankful I am to you.

But I will try:)

Thank you for welcoming me. For being patient with my deep lack of knowledge, and for holding me accountable. 

Thank you for allowing me to be me! For allowing me to fail (often) yet still be treated with kindness and respect. Thank you for allowing me to venture into strange ideas (like the Renewing of the Vows and filling our cups, to name a few) and embracing - most of the time😉 - my challenging of things that always were. 

But more than anything, thank you for working hard, supporting each other, being open and honest with me, and for DOING GREAT THINGS! We are mixed bag of personalities, strengths, passions, and philosophies, but we come together beautifully and love our students - our profession - in a way I have rarely seen before. Our students and community are so blessed to have you in their lives. 

And so am I.

Truly, thank you for allowing me to lead you these past two years. It has been such a joy, and I will miss you dearly. 

Enjoy your summer!

That’s what I’ve been thinking about this week.

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Friday Thought : Thank you for being brave

I am currently reading, Everything Sad is Untrue, by Daniel Nayeri, and this paragraph has really stuck with me these past few days:

“Does writing poetry make you brave? It is a good question to ask. I think making anything is a brave thing to do. Not like fighting brave, obviously. But a kind that looks at a horrible situation and doesn’t crumble. Making anything assumes there’s a world worth making it for.”

Education is all of this.

To all my educational brothers and sisters, thank you for being brave, for looking at the constant and continuous mess of life (and the lives of those you teach and serve), and for choosing to not let it and you and those around you crumble.

Thank you for being brave, for creating! And for assuming there's a world worth making it all for.

Lastly, a poem, from Everything Sad is Untrue:

That fly

Sailing

On a leaf

Of hay

On a sea

Of Donkey piss

Raised his head

A sea captain

"Obviously the best thing to be in that story is the donkey. But if not that, then the fly who is an adventurer of new lands and not a refugee. But definitely don't be the pee river. And definitely don't be the leaf, wallowing in it."

I'm not entirely sure how this applies to us all, but it seems encouraging . . . and brave. Ten points to the person who can provide a fantastic interpretation of the poem, as related to education. Good luck! And . . . . go!

That’s what I’ve been thinking about this week.

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Friday Thought : Brick by Brick

I wrote this during my final days of living in China, over six years ago.

It still rings true today:

I took the BRT (Bus Rapid Transit) home today, not the scooter, which meant walking this familiar road and past the pile of bricks pictured above.

Not only is this very "China" with the style of brick, the broom propped, and the fact that it's all in the middle of the sidewalk, but it was also very symbolic.

Because in the coming days, these bricks will build more of these:

Being a teacher can be tough. After years of building and investing, we often never get to see the finished product; we just lay brick after brick, day after day, in hopes that someday, our students will stand tall and strong, much like the building above. 

And at times, that hope can be exhausting because sometimes, it's hard to see beyond the pile of bricks. Sometimes, it seems, all our work and dedication are forgotten, even undone.

We know this isn't true, it just feels like it sometimes. 

But then, just like a bricklayer taking a break, we look up at a building and wonder at its beauty and stand in awe of its power. We find comfort in its shade and rest against its walls. 

In such moments, the diligent bricklayer who stacked brick after brick, day after day, is reminded yet again of the final product and the importance of the task at hand. He knows he will not paint the walls or be the first to turn on the lights, but he also knows that without this brick, and this one, and this one, the building will never be built.

He knows that if he does not do his part, his building will never stand.

Education is no different.

Year after year, we have been given the daunting task of growing and changing students. And although we may never see the completed project, we can be confident and thankful that right now, at this stage in the building process, we have been entrusted with this child, this class. We lay the foundation, build the support, and prepare the way for the next phase of growth. Without your efforts, there is no building! 

And every now and then, when they return to our classrooms or buildings, those students enter as adults, write us letters of encouragement, or reach out on messenger (like an old student of mine from China did this morning - see below), we are reminded that all those hours of laying brick was not only worth it, we would gladly do it all over again! Because we are educators, and we have the greatest - most important - job in the world.

That’s what I’ve been thinking about this week.

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This, an email from a previous student I had in China, which I received today.

Hi Mr. Miller! I hope and pray you and your family is doing well, and that you’ve really found a home in Montana.

I am writing you today to let you know that I am about to go off to my final class of my undergrad degree and as I’ve reflected on my time in college I’ve thought about how I’ve grown and changed over the years. One of the biggest spots of growth over my four years (as attested to by professors and other peers) is my ability to observe stories and song lyrics and pinpoint what they’re ‘actually’ saying. Anyways, as I’ve thought about that I really have just been thinking about how that journey didn’t begin here at OBU but it began when you taught my Freshmen English class. I remember all those classes where I felt like I just wasn’t ever going to be able to look at a piece of literature, a song, or short story and be able to communicate what ‘it was all about.’ Yet, here I am nearly 8 years later as someone who really enjoys trying to discover another author’s perspective on the world. It is enriched my life deeply and just made reading more enjoyable. Truly, I thank you for building that foundation in me back at CDIS. Honestly, I had always thought about you as one who would left me with basketball and an athletic work ethic. Yet at the end of the day that hasn’t really meant a whole yet and what you did for me in the classroom is what I am TRULY going to carry for the rest of my life. Anyways, I felt impressed to share that with you and thank you for all the work you did with me in the classroom, even though it was nearly 8 years ago. I am certain you will keep changing people’s lives that way.

✌️

- Hudson Olmstead

Friday Thought : Willing to sit the bench

My daughter, in 4th grade Salvation Army Basketball.

The Golden State Warriors lost their first two games of the best-of-seven series against the Sacramento Kings. They won game three, however, largely because one of their starters and key players, Draymond Green, was limited in minutes.

So, for game four, Draymond offered to come off the bench.

Draymond "hasn't come off the bench in ten years," his coach Steve Kerr shared with the press, "But he came to me late after game three and asked, 'What do you think about me coming off the bench?'"

When a reporter asked Draymond, "If {Coach Kerr} had disagreed, would you have argued with him?" Draymond quickly responded “No” and smiled, "No. It was just a suggestion, to let him know that if {he} is mulling this decision, make it. It's totally fine."

Over the next few days, they ended up talking about it quite a bit. Steve Kerr provided reasons why he shouldn't come off the bench, with Draymond brainstorming reasons why he should.

One of coach Kerr's greatest concerns was how Draymond would feel. 

"Who cares how I feel," Draymond said. "It doesn't matter how I feel." What matters is doing what's best for the team. And for that moment, what the team needed from Draymond was for him to take a back seat and play a supporting role. 

And that inspired the hell out of his teammates who soon went on to win the next three games and clinch the series in a decisive game 7. 

All because Draymond was willing to set aside his ego, his pride, and come off the bench.

I love this story because it is a true and tangible example of what it means to lead, to inspire the people around us, and to succeed.  When we consider others as more important than ourselves, when we put the needs of the TEAM above our own, and when we consider what is BEST rather than what is best for me, GREAT things happen!

I don't know about you all, but for me, at times, this is very difficult to do. Largely because I want to be acknowledged! Selfishly, I want my hard work to be noticed and applauded and I want to know that I am making a difference. Sitting on the bench is literally me watching someone else do the work. And I hate that. 

Just like Draymond. But, just like Draymond, I need to continually remind myself that it doesn’t matter how I feel. What matters is doing what is right.

Draymond's selfless decision was a reminder to me of two things:

1. When we focus on others and the TEAM's success, more often than not, we all win.

2. Our impact is NOT based on our role or title but on what we DO with that role or title. For not only did the Warriors win the series, Draymond still posted a double-double, thus adding to his immeasurable impact on his team.

Do what is right. Even if it means sitting on the bench. And that has been a great reminder and more than a subtle conviction to me this week.

#doGREATthings!

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