Christmas in the cabin

My break had a rough start-due to snow and ice I landed at 1am in Denver, made it my friend's house at 2:30am and found out later in the morning I had dropped my phone in the snow. But thankfully everything improved from there! The phone was found, the skies cleared and soon I was snowshoeing into our family cabin on Casper Mountain to celebrate Christmas. Sadly none of my other siblings could make it-my sisters were with their in-laws and my brother had to work. Nonetheless, my parents and I kept our family traditions-Fondue Christmas Eve dinner, stockings Christmas morning, and Red and Green Breakfast.

Maintaining our traditions requires new efforts when celebrating inside a log cabin lacking the normal amenities of a house.

1-Supplies

whatever you want at the cabin, you need to be willing to carry in for a mile through the snow. Typically we load up a few sleds and pull them behind us while snowshoeing.

2-Water

This requires puring fresh gas into our generator and filling up cartons with ice cold water as fast as possible to keep your hands from freezing. The ground is cold enough that the water that spills gathers at your feet instead of soaking into the earth. We have plumbing inside but the pipes are too cold to pump water through in the winter. This is our water for drinking, cooking, cleaning, etc.

3. Heat

It was 10 degrees outside when we arrived, and 12 degrees inside the cabin. Our wood burning stove was our indoor heating and also used to heat up water occasionally. It was idyllic to curl up on the couch with a good book and warm up after a good hike through the woods. The fire and candles also provided our lighting during our fondue dinner.

4. Bathroom

after we shoveled a clearing into the cabin and packed down a path to the outhouse all you needed were slippers and a warm jacket on your way back and forth

5. Baking

Our family loves bread, preferably homemade. At such a high elevation though rising takes a long time, and a few prayers.

6. Generators

we set up a wind generator and solar panel to power an electric outlet for our light (singular) inside and to charge our phones (otherwise we might have to use flares to communicate)

7. Whipping Cream

It took a while but eventually I made whipping cream from scratch for our crepes. thankfully the other red and green elements of our breakfast were prepared more easily.

Was it worth this extra effort? Yes!

Christmas was wonderful. It has snowed 30in in less than a day on the mountain so we had fun sledding, snowshoeing, and cross country skiing the next few days. I got to sleep in, read books, watch movies, and play games. It was nice to go into "kid" mode around my parents-they helped pay for me to come out, made me meals, asked what I wanted to do, bought me treats (cheesecake), my mom even cut my hair despite doing it outside the cabin in the cold! It was also refreshing to not think about school-studying or teaching-for a few days. I met several of my parents' friends and one couple actually served each of us a roasted hen for one meal. Many of their friends are my age, which i think is there way of compensating for us kids being so far away. Christmas is always full of memories and i am grateful I could add a few more this time around.

Teaching social justice-why questions must be asked

Over a month ago I spent a Saturday from 8am until 4:30pm at theNorthwest Conference on Teaching for Social JusticeI was excited about it for two reasons: learning tools and strategies to apply to my teaching and learning how teachers in the NW define and practice “social justice”. I was glad to see several workshops highlighting issues and approaches for math and science, instead of just language arts and social studies. It was interesting to be part of a workshop on anthropology with college professors and high school teachers. When given the task of defining “culture” as a group, family and faith were the last elements to be mentioned and though all agreed that we need to teach kids how to see the world around them, they also said no one can ever critique or judge another person and students needed to decide for themselves what was right and wrong. No one pointed out the discrepancy between wanting students to decide their identity while also telling them what it should be.

Overall I was surprised by the fluid definition and unstructured practice of “social justice” around me. No one ever defined “social justice” and no one expressed its impact beyond the classroom. Though I admit that both were assumed implicitly, it is revealing that neither was addressed explicitly. It is hard to find anyone who is against social justice and even fewer who say that education has no social context. Much of our society blames education for its problems, whether academic or moral, and educators are quick to blame others, yet all call out for “social justice.” And even beyond education this cry of “social justice” (much like “local” “free-trade” and “organic”) has become a marketable slogan for everyone from international chain stores to your local stationary shop. Given its popularity and wide application, why is there so little clarity on what social justice is and what it does?

I came in with this question and left with it still unanswered making me rather solemn as I left the conference, while my friends and other fellow educators left the conference much more elated. I wanted space to identify what it was that bothered me yet the responsibilities and commitments of the “now” has enveloped me like a fog since then. And even weeks later my nascent thoughts were still striving for air-until today. I believe we should not throw the word “social justice” around without asking clarifying questions since it can almost mean anything to anyone. Here are some reflections on why those questions must be asked and in another post I’ll share answers I’ve been wrestling with.

Admittedly I walked into the conference with my own baggage around the word “social justice.” In various jobs around the country and world I have met many well intended people who develop a messiah complex trying to establish their own definition of social justice for a community. I have worked alongside people who define social justice as “justice for me.” As a Seattle resident I have seen over and over again advocates of social justice and friends seek to abolish structures around them and once successful become frustrated realizing the necessity of structure to take any action. “Social justice” that was so pure and simple in theory becomes messy and complex in practice.

While studying teaching at UW it has been hard to distinguish social justice from simply good teaching-lending itself to a culture of comparison. Thus, as a citizen and an educator, what I feared going to the conference was a spirit of competition (us vs. them) rather than one of collaboration (us with/for them). The former leads us to mainly focus on identifying shared enemies while the latter leads us to mainly focus on identifying shared problems. I saw the former at the conference with a simplifying of the issues and a tendency to demonize the “other.” The necessity of humility seen in this famous quote by Aleksander Solzhenitsyn was not written to promote inaction but perspective, not to quench passion for healing and restoration but to deepen it:

“If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds and it were only necessary to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”
-One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich

Human experience led him, has led me, and I believe should lead us to desire a deeper grounding for “social justice” and clearer vision for what it does.

But why are people often content with not having it defined or its purpose or goal stated? I suppose the short answer is that it is easier to mobilize people around an abstract idea than a concrete one. Many activists get frustrated by this reality. Many elements of our modern world let us be associated with something or someone without commitment, and even asking to clarify expectations seems “offensive”. We want to promote things without cost, similar to clicking “like” on Facebook.

The longer answer requires us to admit the gap between our words and actions. Some of my friends started a coalition to address human trafficking in Seattle (SeattleAgainstSlavery) and though people claim to support equality and human rights it is a struggle to get people to carve out 1 hour/month for a meeting or a 5min phone call to their representatives. We hear the words “equality”, “diversity”, and “dignity” and the actions “inform” and “ally” yet there rarely is talk of how to engage the conflict or reveal the cost or sacrifice required.

Again, I admit that most would assume conflict arises with social justice but what I wanted to know, and what would be most beneficial to those at the conference, was how to prepare, address and move past those conflicts. When you see a need to change the curriculum and you have no support at your school to do so, what do you do? When you have colleagues and parents get angry at you for advocating for LGBTQ students how do you react professionally? Personally? Even when you have the letter of the law promote social justice, the hostile culture of your school often still breaks the “spirit” of it- what can you do? Should we distinguish shaping our students’ minds from shaping their character? When I go to the store to buy paper for my students and another teacher distributes laptops to theirs, how do I begin to address the disparity? Information alone does not change people’s minds because change comes at a cost. Simply asking “who will act, who will pay?” makes the attractive call for “social justice” a threat.

In education, like every other area of society, we have conflicting visions for democracy: upholding individual rights and universal equality. Though Foucault would remind us it is all about power Mandela would remind us to not be bitter empowered people but forgiving empowered people. For social justice to be concrete, it must engage these two conflicting values. We must wrestle with asking “Justice for who? According to what? Toward what end? At what cost?” I was frustrated that Saturday because these questions were either ignored or answered with vague platitudes. Addressing something as deeply personal and cultural as “social justice” not only deserves but requires discernment.

Given the gravity and complexity of life, I know it takes courage to ask those deeper questions. It takes even more courage to engage the controversial issues both in and out of the classroom. I am caught balancing hesitant humility and hasty passion in aiming for effective action. Some people know neither the structures they live within nor why they act within them as they do. A crucial part of educating students is making them aware of these power relations, teaching them to identify their role within them, and guide them in taking agency within them as responsible citizens. I want education to give them both the content and context necessary to engage the world-tools to practice that engagement and power to develop them in meaningful ways. That is a high goal, one that I came to the conference hoping to be equipped for. Like Antaeus, the mythical giant in Greek mythology who lost his power when his feet were not on the earth, I can only understand and apply social justice when it has been grounded, when it has something to stand on and stand for. It only has power for me when given this traction and direction in the real world. I think I left frustrated because I was still seeking to give weight, gravity and grounding to those “legs” while others seemed content leaving them in the air.

7 weeks in...

Thursday I dropped by the Boys and Girls Club I used to work at and visited familiar staff, kids and parents. One of the parents asked what I liked most about student teaching. I paused and then replied, “All the things that I used to talk about hypothetically are real now.” I had more to say but that conversation and some dialogue with colleagues later that day made me realize that though I have made notes and observations about my teaching thus far, it has been primarily geared toward developing lessons, reacting to situations, juggling responsibilities, and preparing ways to implement my grad courses. I have not been good about making written reflections about my teaching experience as a whole.

I spent the first week setting up the classroom before school started. Some tasks were the same as moving into a new house: decorations, supplies, storage, syncing technology, getting keys, figuring out parking. Other tasks were like moving into a new office: procedures (handbook), HR (paperwork and policies), PR (writing a syllabus), IT support (email, logins, grades, attendance, discipline flow chart), connecting with clientele (contacting parents, making a survey, determining my title and role), establishing and posting norms (expectations), looking for outside funding (grant writing), and meetings. The unusual thing about teaching is discerning how to shape this space to accommodate learning (acquisition and practice) for people you have not met and know very little about-a new batch of students.

My mentor teacher is great about letting me take things at my own pace as far as teaching. He addresses me as his “fellow teacher” so since Day 1 the kids see both us as having the same authority even though they know I am a teacher in training. Much can be learned about teaching through trial and error. Trying to equitably grade 100 assignments forces you to set a clear standard. Trying to teach four different classes the same material though each class has a different composition of students forces you to know your students. Trying to answer five questions at once makes you realize the importance of making a procedure. Trying to build student learning day by day forces you to develop a clear scope and sequence for the course. With my freshmen I learned very quickly that I cannot make assumptions about their skills or behavior. When my seniors come in, I am grateful to see more self-regulation. Identifying, evaluating and reacting to patterns and exceptions in each class, with each student, with each day prevents this job from ever being mundane.

Kids often want to humanize you as a teacher-my students actually want to know who I am. Most of the time they want a 5-10 second answer so it has been helpful for me to defer their questions to another context and/or have short answers prepared. I share who I am bit by bit-alluding to an experience in a lecture, referencing an interest 1-1, answering their questions directly and succinctly at times (“No I am not married”). The timing of their questions often makes it a distraction (independent work time) but acknowledging their interest validates their question while shutting them up snuffs out their interest. It has been fun building some playful intrigue into our conversations.

Much more could be said but back to my comment about hypothetical things made real. The hypothetical silent but smart student has a name and sits in the second row of our class “meeting area.” The hypothetical unproductive meeting now has a time slot on my calendar. The hypothetical gap between content demands and student ability now looms large as I plan the next unit, the next lesson, the next activity. “Keeping up” is a good day. “Busy” becomes normal. “Stressed” is a red flag. “Despair” is when you’ve already failed. My sister aptly once distinguished the last two by saying “Stress is when you think you can still do something about it” and I’d have to agree. As I consider my schedule and responsibilities this way, most days are between “keeping up” and “busy”. I have not had time to truly soak in what I’m learning so I said “no grading this weekend” and made no commitments on Saturday. When I have a classroom to myself I will not have that luxury. Friday night I went to our high school football game, saw friends and Sat I soaked in the extra sleep and went for a walk in Lincoln Park.

A recurring phrase I keep using in this experience is “glimpses of grace” to remember the positive things that have happened in my day or week. I’ve been sharing it with a few colleagues since we so often focus on the negative.

1. having a student tell me what class was like while I was gone one afternoon at my UW class: “It was weird not having you there. Mr. ____ did okay but it was like having Batman without Robin-we really need both of you.”
2. the look of astonishment on a kid’s face when he finally realized that I actually designed lessons to help him learn how to meet the objectives.
3. After days of working one on one with someone to learn to put their thoughts into writing sentence by sentence, I saw them enter my room with a smirk and put a full, detailed paragraph on my desk.
4. Having a student walk directly up to me during lunch and ask me which class I planned on teaching next year hoping that they’d be in it.

Climbing Mt. Rainier

Climbing Mt. Rainier had been a dream of mine for several years. Having grown up in the NW, it was always something I felt I needed to at least attempt in my life. Being out of state for college, not having sufficient gear, lacking a guide or not having time are some of the reasons/excuses that came up but when a friend invited me back in May to join him this summer in climbing it, I realized the main thing I needed was accountability. I needed people to train with, to help remind me to set aside time to be prepared technically and physically.

After walking up to Camp Muir July4th, many of my fears of the dangers of alpine climbing (crossing glaciers, crevasses, building ice anchors, etc) were lessened. We had basically walked up to 10,000ft, camped and skied down a blue-level glacier field. Other than that trip and snowshoeing, I had never really done any hiking or climbing in the snow. We spent one day reviewing our knots and setting some anchors in various places. Due to my school schedule I wasn't able to get altitude training on the weekends like Baker or Adams. I was able to run with some grad school friends and do stair repeats with a loaded backpack. When we left Friday night for Mt. Rainier I was not sure if I was in enough shape to climb.

We took the Kautz Route which is more technical than the normal route. Loaded with our skis, boards, food, tents, ice tools and gear, we hiked a few hours Friday night across the Nisqually Glacier Valley and camped on Wilson Glacier. The sun greeted us in the morning bringing enough heat that I was able to climb up to Camp Hazard on Saturday with just a shirt, shorts and my gaiters. After refilling our water bottles, eating a nice warm dinner and settling into our tents around 5:30pm, we all attempted to sleep until 11:30pm. I had been pushing myself finishing grad school projects and yet was unable to sleep more than an hour that night.

We left our skis and camping gear and went on with two packs to share between four of us. The moon and stars were bright as we walked through the impossible traverse and began climbing with our ice axes and ice tools. Soon we came upon an ice section at about 65 degrees. I swung my ice tools into the ice wall and tediously my crampon-ed feet followed. Fear of something unknown is usually stronger than a known fear-i could not see the bottom of the incline, it seemed to just drop off into the darkness. The ice my ice tool was driven into broke once and instinctively I swung my ice ax into the ice wall. It caught me but the jagged ice cut into my hand in the process-which I did not notice until a few minutes later when I noticed the gushing blood as I set an ice screw and began to setup to belay my friend. it was a good reminder of the ability of my body to prioritize sensory reactions-It had hurt but my instinct to hang on outweighed my instinct to let go. After roping in, I ice climbed 50 meters and then proceeded to free climb a slightly easier section with pointy ice mounds that made me think of it as the dark side of a Dr. Seuss story. We were all glad to have that steep section behind us.

After this we had to cross several crevasses and the final push from 12,500-13,500ft was one steep hill that required for us to switchback. My ankles got a workout with the crampons digging in with each step. About half way up we could see the sun beginning to rise. it was close to 5am. We pressed on after a few breaks and were relieved when we passed the false summit and leisurely walked to the summit and signed the record book. It was a clear day except for the clouds covering anything under 5000ft. When we looked south we could see Mt. Adams, Mt. Hood, and Mt. St. Helens. Looking north you could not see the Puget Sound so there was just a cloudy gap between the Cascades and Olympics.

After celebrating our victory, one of us reminded us that were half way done-that we still needed to get back. It was around 8:30am and our plan was to ski or snowboard most of the way down after 10,000ft. It ended up taking almost 12hrs to get back to Paradise. The main reason for this was the snow condition which made it dangerous for us to use our skis or boards. This at least bothered me since I felt rather foolish carrying 195 skis and their boots up and never got to use them! Another reason for the long descent was the increasing danger of crevasse. Bridges we walked across on the way up were not safe on our way back. Having only slept 9hrs in 3 days, I was surprised to feel pretty energized on the way up but at around 2pm I slowed down.

Thankfully the weather was clear and we were in the shade so we could afford to be more spaced out on our descent. It is amazing how much your mind wanders when you are tired while doing a repetitive motion yet it can also be fixated on one thought or cycle of thoughts in a sometimes annoying, sometimes trance-like pattern. I won't bore you with all those thoughts, except for one. I thought of having a nice hearty burger and beer. We arrived at Paradise around 7:30 having hiked almost 20hrs.

God answered our prayers and many others' prayers no doubt. We had no injuries and were glad to be on our way home.

As for my burger and beer, those would have to wait since restaurants were closed. (I had an amazing meatloaf sandwich with a stout the following night). I got home at 11:30pm, unpacked, showered, and did my homework before sleeeping until 7am when I was off to help with a summer school program on the Eastside. It was a joy to finally greet people the next day saying "I climbed Rainier this weekend!" thanks to many friends who helped make it all possible.

Perspective Gained in the Mundane

During my week break between quarters, a man on my flight asked me, “So what do you do? How do you make a living?” Like most people, in the silence before answering I contemplated: do I really want to talk right now? How long might this take? Then I’ll need to politely ask what his profession is… should I tell him what work I do (some random part time jobs) or that I am studying to be a teacher? Wait, if I mention the word “teacher” will I simply open the floodgates for his commentary on American society, globalization, the failures of education, etc.? I chose to be honest: “I am a graduate student completing a Masters in Teaching.” He did unleash a host of thoughts as I had feared but his typical, mundane question brought perspective to the highly academic, micro-level discussions on “education” I participated in the quarter before.

Due to always being placed at a school while also taking classes, I benefit from simultaneously being a student and teacher during graduate school. These two contexts provide a good reality check since many people like to talk about teaching until they actually attempt doing it, then they are terrified.

Why? Why do we expect teaching to be easier?

Our society is full of people who like to tell people what to do and how to do it, with or without any experience or knowledge to offer. We like to appear strong, to give answers, to help people, but we also like to see change take place, preferably ASAP. I have found that many cultures use botanical imagery to illustrate teaching because it is more complicated than it looks and there is always a bit of a mystery to it. But pop culture and typical conversations promote the notion that teaching is a last resort, or at least a Plan B career. The idea that someone actually would feel a need to go to graduate school to learn how to teach is laughable to many-after all, how hard could it be to input new information into a somewhat empty mind (a hunt for the infamous “Matrix”)? At best, we think teaching requires high motivation, good motivation and minimal expertise. At worst, it requires ordinary skills and language on par with babysitting. In most of my conversations with strangers about teachers, two emotions come up: mockery of their profession and frustration with them not changing the world.

Why?

Teaching is admittedly complex, just ask anyone outside of a classroom setting or anyone involved in any relationship and they will tell you that people are not simple. To see them as such is to discredit them. So why do we tend to think of teaching in school differently? There are a host of reasons but the ones I most often hear are that student learning requires student involvement (they cannot be passive), students are forced to be in school (until they are 16), and that all of us have spent thousands of hours watching teachers teach (K-12 at least) thereby becoming “experts” on “how it works.” Whether it is adults walking into their workplace or kids into their classroom, some close the door to learning before even opening the door to the room; especially if they have to be there. It can be a blessing and a curse but the more you are in a certain context, the more that environment seems simple to you. By having some of these reflections before I started the teacher education program, I am grateful for the years and diverse contexts in which I was very aware of the difficulty of both teaching and learning. Random experiences come to mind: teaching a kid to ride a bike, learning to speak enough Hindi to catch the right train, and training my replacement at work. Developing knowledge is always exciting and scary because you know it must not only be thought but practiced. When I teach, I see students as people and people are affected by multiple layers of character, context and expectations. Students come with a host of questions: why should I even be here? What will we learn today? How will we learn it? Why are we learning it this way? When will I get to participate? What is expected of me? I need to not only know my discipline but also my students. Before words are even spoken, I have to think before acting: remembering who I am and what I am called to do, determining how I uniquely can share both, considering alternatives, organizing a plan, identifying an aim, and choosing a path towards that goal…yet always being willing to adapt and learn from my students. That is what is difficult about teaching, and that is what makes me thankful to be in a teacher ed program.

Though classwork can be wearying and the task of teaching overwhelming, I have enjoyed it all. I have enjoyed it because years ago I began to ask three questions:

1. Who am I?

2. What are my passions?

3. How can I use and develop both of those answers in the world around me?

Different word pairings have come to mind: responsible stewardship, professional humility, relationally inquisitive, bold engagement. Last quarter we were given questions to ask during our placements in various middle schools: who are our students? How do people learn? What is the school context? What are the risks I need to face? From day one at my middle school I dove in head first and it was refreshing to take familiar strokes in new waters and rewarding to learn strokes on the way. At the school and in my courses it has been affirming to see the value of incorporating my three questions into other questions. Our class knows each other better now and this quarter we are asking bigger questions about the role of education and the teacher in society, in a multicultural area, and in a multi-lingual classroom. Like all students, answering those questions gives flesh to the structure of education. Our discussions thus become both messy and beautiful since our stories, values, passions and fears are being revealed, both implicitly and explicitly. I am encouraged by the risks people are taking and the relationships that are being formed. I will be student teaching most of next school year at HS3 (Health Sciences and Human Services High School) on the Evergreen Campus in the Highline School District, two miles from where I grew up. As I continue to ask my three questions among many other questions, I am grateful for space to contemplate an answer to that simple, mundane question from the man on my flight: what do you do?

the 4th on Rainier

Sunday after church, two friends and I left to climb up Mt Rainier. The weather was amazing and I had a four day weekend so I was looking forward to getting out of town. Right after we unloaded our bags at the parking lot we realized that we only had a small bottle of sunscreen between the three of us. This was ironic since we were over prepared with all the rest of our gear! Thankfully none of us got too burnt. Packing in our gear to stay overnight plus my skis, my pack was pretty heavy and I quickly realized I am not in very good shape for alpine climbing.

There is nothing like a long hike to allow questions to fester in your mind over and over: Why don't I do this more often? Am I really this out of shape? How much further are we going? Why didn't I train more? Working out can be pretty simple and yet there are many profound parallels in life to applying a host of skills and a lot of energy to a given task. Being in grad school now, my thoughts quickly latch onto teaching and I recognize my own need to prepare and exercise in many ways. Like my students, living life outside of a class reminds me of the value of an education.

We had left late, so with the sun slipping away we decided to camp out on the snowfield below Camp Muir. We were pretty cosy and slept well for the most part. While having coffee and breakfast the next morning, we identified some different mountain ranges and contemplated future hikes. After hiking further to up to Muir we went skiing down the mountain, basically a long blue run. The snow conditions were excellent. Before packing up and heading home we shared a growler (Boundary Bay IPA) in the parking lot. It seems I was spoiled on my first time climbing Rainier!

Out of the Tunnel and into the Light

The last time I posted here I had just started 25 credits while working three part time jobs. I was entering a deep, dark tunnel and knew this would be one of the toughest seasons of my life so far. Thankfully my family and several of my friends knew this as well, and I am grateful for their encouragement when I was tired, patience as I learned to say no to several commitments, and care as I felt stretched in many ways. As with any hard journey, I shifted my priorities and there was a strange mix of sadness and freedom in shedding previous roles and responsibilities along the way. I found a replacement for my administrative job at my church, stopped substitute teaching and moved to a substitute role as a counselor at the Boys and Girls Club. Though it was hard to see some projects left undone, to say goodbye to students I had coached and taught, and lead one more day of activities for my 2-3rd graders, I was glad to have some time to focus on my coursework and tests-prereqs for grad school. Yesterday I completed two more final papers, attended a wedding, cooked dinner, read for fun, watched a movie and slept for eleven hours. I am out of the tunnel and into the light. Now I am drinking a Dragonstooth Stout, a birthday gift from a friend, listening to Muse and getting excited for grad school.

Many have said I am going from one tunnel into another, perhaps they are right. Yet even as I fight a cough and complete my required reading for tomorrow, I cannot help reflecting back on all God has brought me through and wonder at the timing, the context and the manner of his faithfulness. Having come this far, I feel as though I had received Frodo's light of earendil to guide me further on. That light is ancient yet vibrant. It beckons me to remember where I have been, to call out where I am, to dream where I will be. Specifically, I am moved to remember who God is and what He has done, to call out to Him daily, and to freely dream of what he will do and who he will make me to be. As I look towards a career in teaching high schoolers, it is freeing to know that my worth does not lie in lesson plans, in test results, or even in relationships. Seeds are sown yet I cannot control the seasons.

I have walked onto the UW campus three times: in middle school doing research for a science project, in college considering a MA in Urban History and last fall to interview for the Masters in Teaching program. Tomorrow morning I will walk on campus as a graduate student with much to offer and much more to learn. Though I have cleared my schedule and made space on my bookshelves I plan on learning as I always have-by living out and exercising what I learn in the context of real life, in real time and real relationships with all of the inherent mystery, complexity and risk. My light still shines and the journey is not done.