Friday Thought: The Edge of Chaos

Today is Day Three. Students have been back at school for three days, and they are already much more comfortable. They know where classrooms are. Locker combinations are starting to stick. They are figuring out where the gym. How to find their friends in between classes.

Before long, they will settle into their routines.

And routines are good. It is within routines that we find the space and freedom to be creative, to take risks, and to grow. When kids know what to expect - at school, at home, on a team - they have a foundation from which they can explore a little further.

But routines can also become ruts. As kids get comfortable, they begin to test boundaries. They search for new ways to be engaged, entertained - or what we sometimes just call distracted.

There is a fine balance here.

Race car drivers talk about driving right on the edge of losing control. Push too far and you wreck. Stay too far from the edge and you probably aren't really racing.

Maybe helping kids grow is a little like that.

We work hard to establish routines, understood norms, procedures, and boundaries. We want kids to know what is expected and to feel confident within those expectations. But then, almost at the exact moment they have it - when they understand it - we need to push them outside of their comfort zones again. Challenge them. Give them responsibility. Let them struggle. Ask them to think differently, try something new, or do something they aren't quite sure they can do.

And then be there as they figure it out.

Then, we push them again, just to the brink of chaos, with intention, control, and purpose.

Because that's often where the best learning happens. Where the most fun occurs. Where teaching resides.

Where purpose and impact are born.

My Sweatshirt Needs a Daughter

Last night, my daughter came up the stairs wearing a sweatshirt I’d never seen before. I didn’t need to ask where she got it.

Her new boyfriend.

I teased her a little, then headed off to work on some drywall. With the dust swirling and the music playing, I couldn’t stop thinking about how quickly things seemed to change. Or—more truthfully—how long it had taken to get to that moment.

Not long ago, she’d sneak into my closet and borrow my sweatshirt for cold mornings by the fire. But now? Now she’s choosing someone else’s. My sweatshirt sits quietly in the closet, forgotten, in a way.

It felt sudden. A dramatic shift. But it wasn’t. It was the slow, quiet work of growing up—bit by bit, day by day, until one day she didn’t need mine anymore.

And it made me think about school. About the end of the year, that always feels like it sneaks up on us.
One day, the bell rings, the room empties, and the quiet settles in. And we’re left wondering when it all changed.

But the truth is, it didn’t change all at once. It changed on all those ordinary days: the tough ones, the breakthrough ones, the days when no one seemed to be paying attention—except they were.
And you were. Helping them grow.

So before the year wraps up, take a moment.
Look at the students—not just their grades, but their growth, and acknowledge it. Applaud it. Be proud of it.

Because they didn’t get there alone. They had you, guiding, challenging, and believing in them when they didn’t yet believe in themselves.

And you should be proud of that.

Because one day, they’ll walk out of your room—wrapped in all they’ve learned—wearing a new sweatshirt you may not recognize, but one you helped them grow into.

Friday Thought : Doing and Waiting and the Road Between

In early January, when we were in Houston for those few weeks, I had an experience related to the picture above. I was at a T-intersection and had two options: to turn left or right. I needed to turn left, but the line was taking FOREVER! So, I decided to slide into the right-turn-only lane, just so I could keep moving. I ended up driving a few blocks in the wrong direction before turning around and heading in the direction I needed to go. 

Deviating from the GPS added time to my drive, but for some reason, I didn't mind it. It felt better to be DOING something rather than WAITING for something, even when the doing wasn't helpful. 

As educators, there are times when we feel stuck—whether it’s waiting for students to grasp a difficult concept, for test scores to improve, or for a breakthrough with a challenging student. In moments like these, just like at that intersection, we can get impatient and try to “force” progress by taking alternative routes or installing new practices, even when they aren't the most efficient.

I know I do.

Sometimes, though, instead of feeling the comfort of DOING, we simply need to trust the process and allow learning and growth. Sometimes it is the WAITING that allows change to happen. Even when it comes outside our ideal timeline. 

Even though I hate that, I appreciate it as well. Largely because it can probably be applied to relationships, parenting, and dreams. Moving for the sake of moving doesn't ensure their progress. Diligently and purposefully waiting, however, sometimes can. It's a balance of both. And I need to remember that.

Anyway, that's what I've been struggling through this week. 

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.

#doGREATthings!

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