When I was a gangly, brace-faced middle schooler, I was in the ‘gifted’ classes. Don’t ask me how or why, but I was. I often felt so miserably out of place. While the rest of my class was learning when to use affect and when to use effect in a sentence, and discussing the political climate in South Korea (yes, middle school!) I was writing notes in multi-colored markers to my friends who seemed a little more, well… normal.
Mrs. E was our language arts teacher. She wore glasses and Birkenstocks even when it was 40 degrees outside. She loved to show us slides from her worldwide travels. Groans of impatient thirteen year olds would fill the room as she dimmed the lights and sifted through still frames of Bali, Romania or Kazakhstan. Mrs. E traveled to Cuba when Americans weren’t allowed there. She made us watch old western movies to analyze the lighting. She marched us out of our stuffy classroom to practice Tai Chi under the big Oak Trees of our school’s front lawn. I smile when I picture Lundahl Middle School’s nerdiest seventh graders balancing in bare feet and moving ‘energy’ from hand to hand. While the majority of the late nineties’ junior high population was doodling on their trapper keepers, I was learning the ancient Chinese martial art that I had mistaken with a latte.
Mrs. E was fascinating. She was cultured, articulate and kind of a badass. She knew more of the world than I will ever know. And yet, I didn’t appreciate her. I didn’t value learning, or at least learning from her.
Sometimes when I write I come up with multiple ways to form my next thought to make it punch with impact. I begin to compose a sentence, stop halfway through, press enter twice and start a new thought. I want this next thought to be a punch.
I don’t learn enough. I’ve too often been a victim of this lie that if you’re in your 20’s, you don’t have to care about what’s going on in the world or think deeply about how you can change it. I’ve been trapped by the idea that life is lived better when you’re completely comfortable. And sadly, I’ve become accustomed to days planned around the status quo- both in relationships and in living- too afraid to want something more, live with actual passion, or demand real LIFE out of others.
So how do I learn more? From teachers. I have many of them.
Austin is my theology teacher. He speaks soulfully of apologetics, finding truth in his faith, and speaking confidently about what he believes. And I’m listening. Katie is my art teacher. She photographs what we see as ugly in a light that radiates beauty. She creates, experiments and feels fearlessly by experiencing the world in constant awe. And I am watching. Leah is my geography teacher. Living among peoples of all races and ethnicities, breaking barriers of language and religion, she travels and pitches her tent to better understand and love people that aren’t like her. And I’m taking notes. My dad is my foods teacher. Whipping up meals without measuring or knowing how it will turn out. Feeling more satisfied by feeding the people he loves than actually savoring every bite. He’s the chef of our family. And I’m learning.
We all have teachers, from our past and in our present. And we're all teachers to someone else. I'm learning to love learning. And I want to learn more.
We all have teachers, from our past and in our present. And we're all teachers to someone else. I'm learning to love learning. And I want to learn more.
But these days, I’m learning the most from the greatest teacher that ever lived. The teacher that taught in parables, spoke in truth and loved in grace. Jesus. Rabbi. Teacher. May I listen, watch, take notes, and learn from you all the days of my life.
Amen.
