Yesterday was the last day of school.

By

On June 23, 2018

In Other

I kept trying to write about this year as principal at HOPAC, and I kept getting stuck.

There was just too much to say. It’s all been crammed into my head for 10 months and I haven’t had the time to process it, let alone get it out. Not really writer’s block. More like writer’s traffic jam. So I start trying to write, and it’s like those glass ketchup bottles you keep shaking. When it finally comes out, it comes out all at once.

So, forgive me if this reads like spilled ketchup.

This has been the most intense year of my life. For once in my life, a year did not speed by. I think back to August and it feels like an eternity ago.

Never in my life have I had a year with so many thoughts in my brain at once. I used to think that I was good at remembering details, but now I have to tell people, Put it in an email or I will forget. My mind had to switch between too many topics in the course of a day to remember anything anymore.

The kindergarten teacher is on maternity leave. Her substitute teacher is able to work every day except Wednesdays. Between myself, the first grade assistant, and the kindergarten assistant, we manage to get Wednesdays covered. Then the kindergarten assistant leaves to go to some training. So that means I need to move the first grade assistant into kindergarten all day on Wednesdays. The second grade assistant will help the kindergarten teacher while the kindergarten assistant is gone.

And while my brain is doing gymnastics over Wednesdays in kindergarten, a child comes rushing into my office saying, Mrs. Medina! So-and-so just threw my brother’s water bottle and ruined it and I need to call and tell my mom right now!

No darling, you don’t need to call your mom right now. But I make notes: Email mom of boy with ruined water bottle. Email mom of boy who ruined it. Come up with work project as compensation for boy who ruined it.

This is why I could never write a post entitled, “A Day in My Life as Principal.” Because it would look something like this:

9:05  Work on Powerpoint for next week’s assembly.

9:07   Get phone call from teacher asking for help with a behavior issue.

9:08   Arrive at classroom.

9:10   Pull student out of classroom to talk outside.

9:11   Get interrupted by a student on the way to the bathroom, who tells me that she likes my skirt.

9:12   Thank that student, and then remind her that she needs to have her shoes on. Wait while she goes back to get shoes.

9:13   Shoo away a crow who is masterfully opening a child’s lunchbox.

9:14:  Receive a text message from a teacher who can’t find a particular math manipulative. Make a mental note to help her look.

9:15   Continue talk with student. Discuss consequences. Make a mental note to make sure I follow through.

And that’s just 10 minutes of one day. No wonder things kept leaking out of my brain.

There’s been the intensity of thinking, but also the intensity of emotions. I never expected to feel so deeply and in so many ways.

So as I sort through how this year was amazing and heart-wrenching and how it changed me, I am going to organize it by emotion:

Entertained

Overwhelmed

Proud

Fulfilled

Stay tuned. All the ketchup is coming out of the bottle.

Good Dads

By

On June 17, 2018

In Other

It’s really not fair, my friends and I have complained to each other. Why is it that I can say all the same things and give out all the same consequences, but the kids still behave better for Dad than for me? 

There’s just something about Dads that makes kids pay attention.

Maybe that’s why these days I think more about the unfairness of the kids who don’t get good dads–or get dads at all. I think about the little guy who comes up to my window while I’m at a stoplight, begging for coins. I think about George, who told Gil, I want a Daddy too, when we went to bring home Johnny. I think about my grown up friends who never knew their dads.

I am one of the fortunate ones. I have a dad who tickled me until I couldn’t breathe, who lay on the living room floor and flew me around on top of his feet. He hugged me every bedtime and spanked me when necessary. He cried every time I got an award or graduated from something or left home for longer than a week. He introduced me to Africa and welcomed the stranger into our home and taught me to pray.

He was strong and funny and made me feel safe. He still does. And now he loves my own kids the same way.

My dad cried when he gave me away to the man who is dad to my kids. And every single day, I thank God for my kids’ dad. Because almost every single day, Gil plays with his kids. He plays football and basketball and xbox. The other day, he printed out pictures of tiny little heads of soccer players, and he and Josiah glued them to bottle caps so that they can simulate World Cup matches. He comes up with crafts for the girls. He coaches the kids’ teams. He reads to them most nights. He creates amazing birthday parties and Spirit Week costumes. He helps with homework.

But he’s also after their hearts, and the relationship he has formed with them is why they listen. He teaches them from the Bible and prays with them. He and I handle every behavior issue together. He doesn’t shy away from discipline or consequences, but he’s always looking for ways to make it positive. He is my kids’ protector and defender. He makes us feel safe.

When I see my kids with their dad, it’s even more poignant to think that they were once fatherless. They could have been that kid begging from cars. Or more likely, like George. Then they hit the Dad Jackpot.

My kids don’t yet understand how fortunate they are, but one day they will. Just like I did, they take for granted that they have such an amazing dad. As they grow older, they will realize that their kind of dad is not so easy to find. Which is why I celebrate my dad and their dad today.

When the Gate Fell

By

On June 2, 2018

In Other

It was Sunday afternoon, and we had gathered together for our monthly mission team meeting. The adults were talking on the second-floor balcony of our friends’ house, and the kids were running around in the yard below us.

In the background, we heard the gate slide open, and a car entered the property–a taxi ready to pick up some teammates. A few moments later, we heard the ghastly sound of metal crashing and children screaming.

I had a feeling run through me that is usually reserved for nightmares. We rushed downstairs.

Four kids–Josiah, Johnny, and two others–had been pushing the gate together. The force of all four of them pushing at the same time had made the heavy metal gate jump its runners and crash to the ground. The other kids managed to jump out of the way, but Josiah’s friend put up his arm to stop the gate, and it fell on top of him, breaking his arm.

Thankfully, the boy’s dad is a doctor, and he immediately took over and got his son to a hospital. He is okay now. Our kids were stunned and a bit traumatized, as each of them felt responsible that the gate fell. But everyone was okay.

Funny how something as serious as a broken arm suddenly becomes “only” a broken arm. It took six strong adults to pick up the gate and put it back on it’s runners. It was totally and completely an accident–nothing anyone could have predicted, and no one’s fault. We all looked at each other grimly as we contemplated the What If”s. What if it had fallen on a smaller child? What if it had landed on someone’s head? Everyone remembered a similar scenario a couple of years ago when a falling gate had killed the four-year-old sister of a HOPAC student.

Right before this happened, we had all been discussing some serious issues our organization is facing. We are getting advice, we are doing everything we can, and we are praying–but ultimately the outcome will be out of our hands. We think that by worrying we can somehow gain some control over a situation, but then something terrible happens that we never would have thought to worry about.

We are but microscopic organisms on the head of a pin in a vast universe. Are we subject to the whims of chaos, or is there an infinite God who is orchestrating billions of events every moment of every day, whether it be presidents or armies or the forces of gravity on a metal gate?

How we answer that question determines how then we shall live.

Be All There.

By

On May 20, 2018

In Other

Last summer at my parents’ house–handprints in cement.

Last night at bath time Johnny said, Mommy, I have an owie on my knee. He stood there with his big mournful eyes, and I noticed how tall he is now. He is almost to the end of kindergarten. And I thought about how it’s not going to be much longer that a child of mine shows me his owie.

Today was the annual garage sale at HOPAC, so yesterday we went through the house to find what we could get rid of. We loaded the car up with the booster seat and the foam blocks and the Ikea train set. You are taking away all of my memories! I whined to Gil. And he just rolled his eyes.

When you’re in the midst of it, every season of life feels like it will last forever. You can’t imagine yourself ever being old enough to get married and then suddenly you are; it feels like the babies will never be out of diapers and then one day you realize that everyone’s pee has made it into the toilet (mostly) for quite some time now. The years at home with toddlers feel like eternity and then one night you think you could be looking at your last owie.

The passage of time here in Tanzania has surprised me. Living as overseas as a foreigner feels like it should be temporary. But days have a way of blending into years, which have eventually become Grace’s entire childhood. And me? I was 23 when we moved to Tanzania. I’m 41 now. Enough time has gone by that we have replaced our wedding towels and watched trees grow from seedlings to towers and seen first teeth grow in and later get covered by braces.

So much of life is sullied by longing for the next thing. But then you get to 41 years old and realize that the next thing always comes, no matter how far away it seems.

I like Now. I want to live in Now. As Jim Elliot exhorted, I want to be All there. Until that Day, the Day when all will be made new, all I have is Now.

I’m listening to Grace and her best friend in the backyard while I write this. They are supposed to be working on a science project, but judging from the hysterical laughter, I’m not sure how much is being accomplished.

I sit here, and I listen to them laugh.

When Your Mom is the Principal

By

On May 13, 2018

In Other

1. School becomes your second home. You help yourself to office supplies, you leave your shoes under the secretary’s desk, and you have free reign of the staff lounge.

2. Your friends start to get a little nervous around you, because if they are naughty, it always gets back to the principal.

3. But this isn’t such a big deal because you yourself keep your mom humble by managing to be naughty in almost the exact same ways as the other naughty kids who get sent to her office.

4. Which means you can’t get away with anything. Which kind of stinks.

5. Your parents don’t get surprised or depressed or anything when you bring home your report cards. Because your mom has already seen them and signed them and told your dad about them, so the report card just gets tossed on the table.

6. Speaking of which, your mom sees your teachers every day and visits your class all the time. Which means that she knows everything.

7. This also means there’s nothing exciting to tell your mom. At dinner, you could say, “Hey Mom, next week is Book Week!” and she will say, “Yes, Darling, I organized it.” On the other hand, you also get inside information about upcoming events. This comes in very useful with your social status.

8.  Your mom is always around, so you get to hug her multiple times a day. This is great, unless you are a 10-year-old boy. Then you just give your mom glances that say, “Please don’t embarrass me.” But she inevitably still does.

Josiah helping Johnny during “Buddy Time.”

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