Friday Thought : Winter's Preparing

Over Thanksgiving, my family drove to Wisconsin to reconnect with several families we hadn’t seen in over 15 years. The time together was refreshing and healing. It was also convicting as they asked deep questions about who I am, who I’m becoming, and who I want to be.

Driving home and reflecting on these questions, my thoughts turned to the people and moments that have caused pain over the years, and I asked myself why these wounds still linger. And why I still carry their impact.

Then, I remembered the Turkey Walk. Like many of you, we got up early and started the day with a walk. In middle Wisconsin, it was through the woods, around a small lake, and over the snow. Everything around us was barren and cold. 

Strangely, that's what made it refreshing. The stillness. The silence.

As the year winds down and winter sets in, the world begins to rest. Flowers retreat, bears hibernate, and trees stand bare, stripped of all unnecessary weight. Yet, they remain rooted and strong. They are intentional. And they spend a season making space for what is to come. 

Winter reminds us that stillness isn’t emptiness. It’s rest, and its preparation for growth. But only if we can shed the unnecessary things.

"What are you needing to let go of, to make room for future growth?"

That's what I've been wrestling through this week.

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Friday Thought : "Who do you want to be?"

This past Wednesday, I was fortunate enough to have a conversation with Brad Gustafson, an elementary principal in Minnesota and author of the newly published book, Overcoming Education: Complex Challenges, Difficult People, and the Art of Making a Difference. In our conversation, he kept referencing a mantra of his, "Who do you want to be?" At first, I blew it off because it sounded just like the millions of other mantras that gong loudly all over the internet world. The, "Rediscover your why," and "Be who you are meant to be" kind of stuff. 

But it isn't. It's much different. And much better.

In education - and life in general - we experience countless moments that cause disruption and frustration, challenge our patience, and exhaust our kindness. Even now, as I try and confirm a reservation I made over three weeks ago, on the eve of departure, our reservation is in doubt. I'm beyond frustrated.

Who I want to be is not who I was on that phone call. And now, after the fire in my gut has dwindled, I feel awful about it. 

It's easy to be kind and patient when dealing with kind and patient people. It's also easy to be nice when things are going my way. It's much more difficult, however, to exercise those qualities when people fail, systems collapse, or when Life simply sucks. In these moments, it is so easy to point fingers, sling accusations, or let rip my irritation. Because it makes me feel better (for a time) and gives me the allusion of control (which I don't have) and absolves me of wrongdoing (which it doesn't). 

In reality, in these moments, who I want to be is the only thing I can control. And who I want to be is a kind, patient, respectful person who lives a life defined by integrity. I can't control the actions and perceptions of others, nor can I control or prevent the World from invading my plans. But I can control the kind of person I will be in the midst of it.

When an unfair accusation is made . . . Who do I want to be?

When my bosses challenge me on a decision or ask me to do something I don't like . . . Who do I want to be?

When Life shifts unwanted burdens on my shoulders . . . Who do I want to be? 

The answer to those questions is what I will be accountable for. So that's where my focus should be. Even though I don't always like it.

Anyway, that's what I've been thinking about this week. 

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Friday Thought : Build Trust. Ask for help

I'm a huge Simon Sinek fan. And recently, I was affirmed, yet again, of why. 

"We don't build trust by offering help," which is what we - or at least I - tend to think. Instead, we "build trust by asking for {help}" (via).  This can seem contradictory because asking for help makes us feel incapable or incompetent.

And there's probably some truth to it. But it's an incomplete truth.

Think about the last time someone you know and love was in pain, suffering through a task, or carrying a burden too big for their shoulders, and they didn't ask you for help. They endured on their own, in silence, or even called someone else because they didn't want to bother you. How did that make you feel? 

I know I often feel frustrated and sad they didn't call. I also feel disconnected. "I guess we aren't as close as I thought we were," I think. And the wedge begins to dig in.

Think about our students. If they are struggling but don't ask for help, how often do we think/say, "Why didn't you ask for help?" Oftentimes, it's because they either feel too embarrassed (which we think is silly) or they don't trust us. Either way, asking for help is a sign of trust, as well as an invitation to earn it. 

In a school - a community - where we want to support one another, encourage and uplift each other, and build trust amongst each other, one of the best ways we can do that is by opening ourselves up, being vulnerable with our needs, and asking for help. By trusting others to handle scary or embarrassing situations with dignity and kindness.

As we head into the holiday season, as life for many of us continues to throw nasty punches, and as we all try to do our best on any given day, please PLEASE do not endure the burden of loneliness - do not consider yourself and your needs a burden on others. Rather, help us grow in trust with each other by asking for help! Not only will you receive it, but those who care and love you will also be blessed that you asked. 

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

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Friday Thought : "You suck at your job!" And other truths.

AI generated image.

"You suck at your job," I was recently told by an angry parent.

"You're probably right," I responded. 

Shortly after, she picked up her child and I dealt with another student. 

Later that night, I was thinking about the interaction, and although my response was out of frustration, the more I thought about it, the more I agreed with the statement because I do. Not entirely, maybe. Or at least not holistically in how she said it, that she meant it. But the obvious truth is I'm not perfect - not even close. I probably even suck at portions of it. And although I'm not okay with it, it's reality. And it's where I'm at.

Because here's another truth bomb . . . When some of the staff started their teaching experience, I was a middle schooler! Which

Again, it doesn't make it okay, but it does make it okay because who among us is perfect? Is a master at their WHOLE craft, be it a profession, parenting, adulting, or simply just living? Who among us doesn't suck at something?

But also, who do you know that eager to do our jobs? Who is standing in line, ready to step into our shows, and shoulder our responsibilities?

The crickets are deafening. 

Which is why I think this scene so often. It's from the movie Fury, a WWII tank movie. And it is one of my favorites. 

Four men are sitting in a tank, waiting for a battle they cannot win when one of them - who has mastered very little in the art of war and combat - quotes the Bible, "'Whom shall I send? Who will go for us?' And I said, 'Here am I. Send me!'"

Then suddenly, they are ready. They are prepared for battle. 

Not many of us suck completely at our jobs. But all of us feel that way at times. Some of us are even accused of it. Even exposed of it. But when the question is asked, "Whom shall I send? Who will go for us?" We are the few who stand and say, "Here am I. Send me!"

And I cannot think of a more courageous and noble thing - to do what needs to be done when no one else wants to do it. 
Thank you for doing it. Our world needs more people like you. Our world survives and thrives because of people like you.

Even when you suck at your job.

 

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

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Friday Thought : Light up the Room

I love this quote and have been thinking about it all week.

I don't ever want to be the kind of person who makes a decision because I hate another or want them to lose. I want to make decisions based on what is best for those around me because I want us all to win. 

As a quality person, I'm sure that is a no-brainer for you as well.

I do, however, find myself struggling a bit more when the decision could mean I lose, or lose out. Be it in opportunity, favor, or advancement of some sort (position, popularity, financial - whatever), when the fear of loss creeps in, the tendency to hold back suddenly flares up a bit stronger. Suddenly, my selfishness and desire to "win" get pushed to the front of the line. And I hate it. 

So I rebuke it, beat it back and vow to never let it happen again.

Then it does. Again and again. And I hate it. 

Last night,  "A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle," the quote read, "and the room gains everything," I thought. And I was reminded - yet again - of just how powerful purposeful giving can be. Be it time, materials, forgiveness and grace, or simply love, when we give, we do not lose something of ourselves, we simply add light to the room. 

And I love that. 

Lighting up the room . . . That's what I've been thinking about this week. 

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Friday Thought : How We Finish

The other day, while reading to one of my teacher’s class, there was a brief discussion over something being either short or long. So, I asked, "Why can't it be both . . . shlong?" 

From the corner of the room, the teacher’s sweet voice disrupted the silence, "Mr. Miller!" and I suddenly realized what I had said and quickly went back to reading.

This time of year, we are fully exhausted. Our bodies are tired, our minds are tired, and our tolerance and patience are tired. Our filters are exhausted. Even when we are filled with good and great intentions, we will make a few more mistakes than we should. Then we'd like. And although it isn't okay, it is also fully okay. 

We have five weeks left. In that time, we will make MANY mistakes - some naturally, others because we're at the end of the year. And I don't know about you, but it isn't pretty whenever I sprint to the end of the finish line. The goal has suddenly shifted from focusing on form to focusing on the end - on finishing strong - and my face contorts, my legs flail, and my neck and back arch way back. It isn't pretty, but it is my best.

And that's what I remember about those races, that I gave my best. Not how perfect I looked. 

In our last five weeks, when we are most exhausted and making unnatural mistakes, whenever possible, laugh them away, move on to the next task, or simply acknowledge it and make it right. We have a LOT to do still and many memories to make, and tripping up over the little things will only prevent us from finishing the race. 

However crazy we may look, in the final moments, may we run with all we have, up until the very end. Because it is almost here! 


And how we finish will define how we ran the race. 

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

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Friday Thought : Here’s to the Crazy Ones

In 1984, Mac released their iconic commercial. A decade later, Steve Jobs developed a slogan, "Here's to the crazy ones." It reads: 

Here’s to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes… the ones who see things differently — they’re not fond of rules… You can quote them, disagree with them, glorify or vilify them, but the only thing you can’t do is ignore them because they change things… they push the human race forward, and while some may see them as the crazy ones, we see genius, because the ones who are crazy enough to think that they can change the world, are the ones who do.

If that doesn't define the teacher's spirit, I'm not sure what does. 

But recently, as I’ve reread and wrestled with it many times over, I’ve come to believe that it also seems a bit incomplete. 

Here's what I mean.

I have almost always believed that greatness and genius are manifested when we break through a ceiling of restriction - when we prove the impossible possible. Think landing on the moon, running a sub-4-minute mile, or summiting Mt Everest - things that no one thought could ever be done and then suddenly are. These acts have traditionally embodied the spirit of The Crazy Ones and have been my criteria for greatness.

Recently, though, I've begun to believe that many crazy ones walk among us, looking just like normal people, enduring seemingly impossible hardships yet continually changing the world. They may not be climbing Everest, but they are battling a terminal illness, enduring devastating loss, or shouldering the exhausting weight of life's struggles. And they do so daily, without complaint or attention, with grace, kindness, and dignity. 

We have several of these people working and walking in our schools. And I don't know about you, but these are the people who inspire the hell out of me. They are the ones who encourage me to show up and try harder than I feel, give more than I want, and keep me grounded in this beautiful yet seemingly impossible profession. They are - you are - the crazy ones who even amid the title waves of pain, frustration, and sadness, choose to believe they can still change the world. And then they do.

And I just friggen love that. And am fully inspired by it. 

So, thank you, teachers for being the crazy ones. For inspiring us all to be better and to do better. Thank you for changing the world.

As you do, please allow others - even invite others - to help you:) No one ever summited Everest, ran a record-setting mile, or landed on the moon alone. They all had help. They all needed help. 

And so do you.

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

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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.

#doGREATthings!

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