education

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 : 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 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 : 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.

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Friday Thought : Be a Greater Fool!

My family and I just finished watching season 1 of Newsroom. The last episode was entitled, "The Greater Fool" and centered around the main character, Will McAvoy (played by Jeff Daniels) who was suffering from depression because of an article that was published about him, calling him "The Greater Fool." In response, he self-medicates (which triggers a bleeding stomach ulcer) and doubts his abilities, and his worth. He expresses a desire to quit, largely because the article isn't wrong. "They're right!" he yells at his trusted coworker, "this piece was right about everything."

Although we - the audience - never fully know what the article is "right" about, we know a little, as Will McAvoy quotes it by heart, "Will wants to change the world and hates that the world has changed." And because of that, they think him arrogant and pompous. Which he is. Or was, anyway.

And that’s what made him great, what allowed him to inspire change and move hearts, and it’s exactly what his coworkers want him to be: the Greatest Fool.

This is why, as Will struggles to regain confidence and purpose, a coworker confronts him, "The Greater Fool is actually an economic term," she says, "For the rest of us to profit, we need the Greater Fool" because "the Greater Fools is someone with the perfect blend of self-delusion and ego, to think that he can succeed where others have failed. This whole country was made by Greater Fools." 

Near the end of the episode, Will asks a young intern why she wants to work for the Newsroom. "I watch the show and I read the article," she responds. "I know what a Greater Fool is, and I want to be one."

While watching, I couldn't help but think of educators around the world who show up each day believing THEY can make a difference, that they can help that child or connect with that kid, that they can improve a student’s learning or change their lives, even when nobody ever has. Educators believe we can succeed in changing the world! 

We too are arrogant, we too are confident and at times even pompous because our students need us to be! How else do you show up, day after day with hope and belief that we - our students, our staff, our school - are better today than yesterday? How else do you show up year after year planning for and believing we will impact hearts and change lives? There is no other way but to be a Greater Fool.

I know what a Greater Fool is, and I am proud to be one. More importantly, I know what a group of Greater Fools looks like, and I am thankful to work among them. 

Thank you for being a Greater Fool.

(Sidenote . . . we did a brief competition of what a group of Greater Fools would be called . . . are we a herd? A flock?)

Here are my two favorite suggestions:

  • Pace pr Drove (which are both names for a group of donkeys, which is brilliant!)

  • Fooliaminy

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

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Friday Thought : "Liar!" And the shield that protects us.

Yesterday, one of my teachers and I were involved in a phone conversation with a woman who believed something inaccurate about our school and norms. Each time I tried to explain or clarify, the woman on the other end would interrupt by yelling, "LIAR!" 

The conversation ended without much reconciliation or agreement.

Later in the day, my teacher texted me, "I know I shouldn't be, but I'm mad." 

"Don't be:)" I texted back, "Integrity is doing the right thing . . . which we (especially you) have done. False accusations sting, but they are merely that . . . false. Because we (know) we have done the right thing." 

Fortunately for us, we also have documentation.

I share this because, as educators and people who work with people, who experience the valleys and peaks of humanity, and who are required to engage in hard and honest conversations, we are an easy target for false or misleading accusations. And that can be extremely frustrating. Even hurtful.

Integrity, however, is our shield. Not against false accusations, but against fear and uneasiness. Against it ruining our day and the opportunities to impact the people around us. 

We can be mad at false accusations because they hurt, of course they do! (I know I get mad when falsely accused . . . so maybe I need to edit my response to Mrs. Miller:) but we can also be confident. Confident that we have done the right thing, that their accusations will find loose footing, and that we can continue loving and caring and enjoying the people around us. Because that, too, is acting with integrity. 

And that, for me at least, is an encouraging - as well as convicting - reminder.

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

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