Thankful

Last night, I went for another late swim.

There was a thin veil of wispy clouds covering most of the stars, but a yellow half-moon hung low in the sky and made a dizzy ripple on the water. I followed that for a while, chasing the gold through the cool embrace.

I floated on my back, and dreamed up at the sky. Saw a satellite racing, and tried to keep pace with it, backstroking just underneath its distant arc. It was faster than me though, and I had to swim faster and faster until finally I gave up, treading water and catching my breath. When I finally eased back into my sky-view float though, it was just above me: waiting. Keeping time while I rested. As I began to move once more, it eased back into its own wayfaring odyssey and led me, this time, towards shore.

And it felt like a God sort of satellite. I thought of all the chasing, and worry, and reaching of this last year-- all the discouraging moments, all the desperate prayers. I thought of losing my breath, and crumbling-- and of finding Him right beside me when I lifted my tear-bleared eyes: waiting. Ready to carry me, if need be. I thought of God leading me on, of the worn out following, and of deciding finally, "I will trust anyway. Whatever happens, wherever I end up: I will trust Him anyway." And praise God: I find myself on shore. I find myself led to a safe, indescribably beautiful place.

I got a job, friends.

In this horrible economy, with the countless other young teachers vying for positions-- I got a job. I got a GREAT job, at a GREAT school, working for a woman that seems like she'll be a fantastic administrator, and in a community that seems supportive, and truth-centered, and wonderful.

I get to be a teacher next year. I get to be a real teacher.

And even though I know that teaching Senior AP English is going to feel like backstroking faster and longer than I could ever manage, I trust in my Satellite God. I trust that I will be able to find rest when I truly need it, and that He will lead me in the way I need to go, and provide me the instruction I need to give. I trust in His close, beautiful moments, that I will find long yellow moon paths on cool water. I trust in His huge, intimate, vast, swirling embrace-- as big as an ocean, but as close as the water surrounding me, holding me.

I love a GOOD God. There were so many moments of doubt... but I never needed to worry. I just needed to believe.

Even in a Storm

If the capsizing economy is a sudden nightfall, then today was about seeking out a glow-worm. Several weeks ago, at my grad school's job fair, I was told repeatedly, "We're really not sure if we'll be hiring... We'll take your resume though!" Reports of firings throughout most of the Seattle districts have confirmed that most of those "really not sures" have turned into "really NOTs" and have left me clutching at straws. I asked for this, I guess; I've been praying for a whole lot of closed doors, and one big OPEN one, so that I can be sure next year that I'm right where God wants me. For the first part of that phrase anyway, God is proving Himself to be abundantly faithful.

One of the first school districts I spoke to at the fair-- one which is a two-hour drive and ferry boat away-- mentioned that they MIGHT be expecting openings in Language Arts. The HR woman said, more out of politeness than anything, "Call me if you'd like to come by for a tour!" It was not an open door, nor a ray of light, nor even a fire-fly. But twitchy little glow-worm rumpuses are what I'm chasing after these days, so I made an appointment, arranged to take the day off from student teaching, and hoped for the best.

I had to get up EARLY. Was grumpy, tired, and still glaring at my new hair-cut with a great deal of suspicion. The outfit that I wanted to wear turned out to be dirty. I hadn't looked up ferry schedules. It was POURING outside. I was tempted to just cancel the appointment altogether.

"There's so little point in going, " I told Gramps. "This isn't an interview, this isn't ANYTHING. No one is hiring right now. They'll probably humor me for a half an hour by telling me about their sports teams, and then send me on my way."

"This will end up being one of the best meetings of your LIFE, maybe," Gramps responded.

I stared at the pouring rain out the window. "Maybe I'll miss my ferry and just have to come home."

He laughed. "Well. Maybe you will."

I realized on the freeway that I'd left my cell phone at home. I hadn't been positive of my appointment time-- how was I going to confirm it now? I scowled, and squinted at the freeway signs. Tried to give myself a pep-talk. I would MEET Lori, the HR director of this school district. I would WOW her with my conversational skills and stories of student teaching. I would MAKE an impression, I would GIVE her my resume, and she would MENTION my name once they started looking at potential hirees.

I pulled up to the ferry terminal just as the gate was dropping down. "I don't know if they'll let you on," the ferry man said. "The next one will be in another hour..."
"Oh no!" I said.
He radioed the crew. "Go ahead," he said. "They'll hold it for you."
I raced my car ahead, accidentally blitzing by the ticket-taker man, who waved me down. "Need a pass!" he said, which I thrust at him. "Keep it under 10 mph," he said.
"Okay. Sorry!" I said. "I don't take ferries very often...!"
He grinned in a way that said, "Obviously."

I had told myself that morning, "If nothing else, at least I'll get a ferry ride." Now, I was on the ferry, watching the dock pull away from me in my car's rear-view mirror, and felt sullen. "Maybe I'll just stay in my car," I thought.

Then went upstairs.

There was a young man playing guitar next to one of the windows. I sat a couple seats behind him and watched the undulating water underneath the stormy sky. The window was streaked with rain and was like looking through twisted saran wrap. I relaxed, let the music soothe me, and felt that the world was actually so beautiful after all-- even in a storm.


"At least I got to have a ferry ride," I thought.

I got lost once I'd driven off, on my way to the school-- had to ask directions two different times. Each time I got out of the car, the rain played further tricks on my carefully styled hair. So unkempt. Got to the school finally-- an hour early-- but decided I would check in, confirm my appointment time, and then go to a cafe to journal for the duration of the hour.

The main office sat behind a wall of sliding windows, and one very small door. I peeked at the receptionist through the windows, wondering which one was supposed to slide open for me. She raised her eyebrows and pointed at the door.

So uncool.

"I have an appointment with Lori...?" I said.
"Lori... what?" she asked.
"Um... I left her card in my car, sorry--" I hadn't thought I would need it to just double-check on the appointment. Lori was the HR lady. Wouldn't she just be right there in the office?
"Talk to Ileen," the receptionist said.

After repeating my request to Ileen-- a woman decked out head to toe in turquoise and parrots-- she asked, "Were you supposed to meet her HERE, or at the district office?"
My eyes opened wide in surprise. "Um... honestly, I'm not sure. I'm a Language Arts teacher, and she had mentioned a tour-- I just assumed I should come to the high-school."
Ileen smiled gently and called the district office. "You said you had an appointment at 10?"
"Yes."
"They're saying it's 10:30."
"Oh-- okay."
"They're actually not sure where you should go either, hon," she said. "Lori's in a meeting that can't be interrupted. Do you have a cell phone that we could reach you at?"
"I don't..." I said, weakly. "I accidentally left it at home."

So incompetent.

I tried to help. "I could just wait here...? I have a book."
"Sure!" she said. "Why don't you do that."

So I read. I read for an hour, until 10:00. Checked in with Ileen. "No calls yet from the office... They know you're here though!"
Read 'til 10:30. Checked with Ileen. "Not yet..."
Read 'til 10:50.

Finally, I was abruptly pulled out of the plot of my book when a woman asked me if I was, "Something-something-something intern?"
Thinking that she was mistaking me for one of the school's student teachers, I said, "No! I don't think so...?"
"You're here to tour the school?"
"Oh! Yes!"

Let the record show that I am not used to seeming like SUCH A SPACE CADET.

The director of the Language Arts program took me back to the lunch room and told me that I would observe several of the teachers. "Okay!" I said brightly, while thinking with a wave of disappointment, "What??" I would not even be MEETING Lori. I would only be observing classes, which I've done countless times already this year. The glow worm, at that point, felt officially squashed.

I went back out through the office to get my lunch from my car. I heard Ileen talking on the phone. She glanced up at me as I passed. "Oh yes-- Mary, our L.A. head, claimed her, so I think we're okay."

Claimed me? Am I a wailing baby in a basket on a door-step?

The classes were fine, but dull. I felt a pang of home-sickness for my own students. "I'm missing their POETRY day," I thought to myself. And for what? To be baby-sat at a school three hours away?

Before leaving, I left my resume with a thank-you not for the L.A. department director, and thanked Ileen on my way out.
"Bye Meredith!" I called to the receptionist who had initially so confused me behind her wall of windows.
"Bye Greta!" she said. "I hope we get to see you around!"
My smile couldn't entirely mask my sigh of futility. "Yeah."

So here I am, in a little cafe, trying not to feel yet more discouragement. This is what I will tell myself:

The locals were darling.
I got to read a big chunk of a good book.
I saw non-alternative-normal-high-school-kids, and they were friendly, and funny, and nice.
I found this little cafe, which gave me delicious coffee, and yummy tomato soup.
This district is NOT firing teachers, which means they might just still be looking for a new Language Arts one.
I dropped off a resume with the Language Arts head, and showed UP. Right? Even if I seemed like an air-head, I showed up and showed my interest?
I experienced, maybe, an answered prayer? Even if this entire day boils down to one more rabbit trail leading to one more closed door: I can still trust in Him and the impassable padlocks He gives me.

And: I got a ferry ride.

If nothing else, there was that. I liked that ferry ride.

Well Aware

Yes, I know that our national economy is in what appears to be a free fall.

And yes, I know that our state just cut millions of dollars from education, and that teaching jobs are bleeding out of schools like a dog bite to an artery.

I know also that there will be around 37 displaced Language Arts teachers in the Seattle district alone, and I know that the district and union will be obligated to find jobs for those displaced teachers.

Yes, I'm aware that that means that the first and second year teachers currently working in schools will be "RIF'ed"-- fired-- since they don't have continuing contracts, to make way for the displaced teachers who have more seniority.

And yes, I know that that means I'll be competing for jobs against many, many other young, exuberant, passionate teachers-- who actually have a couple years experience under their belts.

I'm aware that I can sub.

And I also know that the subbing pool will be completed flooded with newly RIF'ed teachers, and other hopeless recent graduates like myself.

I know that, so long as I can get connections in schools, I probably have a good chance at subbing in them.

I also know that, since my school is CLOSING, many of the potential connections that I would have had from my student teaching placement will be washed away like spit in a stream.

And, just for the record, I also know about the Swine Flu.

I know that God has my best interests in mind, and that He has a plan for me, and that if HE wants me to be a teacher, He'll make me a teacher. I know to pray, and I know to hope, and I know to be patient. Even in the face of such dismal circumstances.

I know all these things.

So can we please stop talking about it?

Ruminating

My Grandpa and Grandma traveled all over the world when they were younger. As a result, their house is full of fascinating knick-knacks and tools and pictures and things. In Gramps' living room, there is this little glass fish in a little glass fish-bowl:


It looks sizable when you look at it from the side, but look at it from above:


Way smaller, huh? The glass must somehow magnify it. Don't know how. The little glass fish in the little glass fishbowl is very heavy-- but it's that imperial sort of weight which lends importance and esteem to the subject.

I remember once last winter, when I was still working at my boring desk job, and Annie had just embarked on her Big Trip, I sat in the living room, staring sullenly at this glass fish.

It was immobile. Stuck. Frozen. The three tiny air-bubbles that had been carefully contrived by the artist remained paralyzed in their glass encasement. A pretty little red fish, with nowhere to go, and no room for breathing.

Then I looked out the window and saw birds swooping past: heading south for the winter.


I thought of myself, and thought of my job: Fish.

I thought of Annie, who I imagined that moment to be racing down some long interstate at 75mph, her life packed away in her car, her stereo cranked, and her Tomorrow uncharted: Bird.

That image is perhaps not as relevant this year: being in grad school gives my life a decided feeling of momentum, and I no longer feel stuck. And, as this blog entry suggests, the last 7 months have been much more about trying to catch my balance in a state of upheaval-- not feeling stuck in the mud.

But with that pulling up of the anchor, I look ahead to next year and find it entirely uncharted. I have NO idea where I'll be, come September. I need to find a teaching job-- but Seattle's offerings are few and far-between. At least three different districts that I know of are in hiring freezes. I could try around other areas of Washington, but that sounds less appealing. Move to a brand new city, where I know no one? Where I have no interest, and no connections? In considering options of where this brutal economy might be able to offer up a classroom, I started mentally casting the net wide. Maybe I could go to Scotland? Love those Scots. Maybe I could go to Korea? They supposedly pay teachers really well over there. Maybe I could live in Nashville? How fun would it be to live near Annie again, and enjoy the music of that town!

This last week provided a chance to give the city another look. I flew into Nashville on the 13th, and stayed through the 18th. I LOVED it. I roomed with Annie in her Princess Tower bedroom, bonded with her roommates, was utterly charmed by her guy friends, ran (then walked) with her Running Group, went to church, went to her church small group, and soaked in fantastic music at several different shows. We wined-and-cheesed; we tried on different outfits for different events; we Valentined; we imbibed; we walked and had long talks; we side-by-side facebooked; we ran errands together and ate samples at Whole Foods. There were delightfully ridiculous moments too: on the run, my walking buddy, Cara, and I got hopelessly lost and kept returning to the same heart-covered Valentine's mailbox, trying to get our bearings. We hollered at the mailbox, and hollered at the street signs, and hollered out the names of the running crew, and giggled with one another, and marveled at our bewilderment with elated solidarity. The first night out, that Friday, Annie got her car towed (ugh.) But pleading with the ancient tow-truck man provided a silver lining: our melodramatic beseeching (which, incidentally, occurred next to a snoring, scratching, pot-bellied man on the adjacent couch) completely un-phased the wizened old man, but left us turning our faces in silent, eruptive laughter. The last night found Annie and I at the Pennsylvania boys' house, helping them prepare dinner. My main contribution consisted of reading aloud a children's book about "How Babies Get Made" in a Mary Poppins accent. And even though I was sniffling, sneezing, coughing, and hoarse the whole week, I felt completely at ease in my company. I felt at home.

As I boarded the plane on Wednesday that would take me back north for the rest of the winter, I thought again of my open-ended September. How much fun would it be to live in Nashville next year?

There are pros, and obvious cons-- not being able to see Gramps every day would be sad, and hard. I would be so far away from my family, and THAT would be sad, and hard. Impracticalities and complex logistics abound, but-- the idea has been planted. And I'm praying about it. And I'm thinking about it.

The little glass fish in the little glass fish bowl is a pretty thing to look at-- but a tiresome thing to be. The anchor's already been pulled loose... Next fall, I may just fly south.