The Weekend the Rain Kept Coming


“Are you dry?”

It sounds like such a simple question, but for the last five days it has been the euphemistic way of asking “How much water is in your house?”

Six days ago I joked with students and colleagues about the coming storm. We moved here two years ago from Indiana, immediately following the Memorial Day floods that froze the city. The October that we moved here we experienced ten inches of rain in one day when a hurricane hit Mexico and we received the rainy remnants. The following April we woke up early in the morning to water on our kitchen and office floor during what would become known as the “Tax Day Flood.” My husband pumped water out of our backyard and I started the process of putting towels on the floor, spinning them in the washer, and starting all over again. Then Memorial Day weekend my sister and brother-in-law witnessed the power of southeast Texas rainstorms while they helped us pump water towards our street to alleviate the flooding in our next door neighbor’s house.

But nothing prepared us for Harvey.

When I got the notification that school was cancelled on Friday, I questioned the decision. After all, there was no rain and everything appeared to be fine. I drove to school and got papers that I had intended to grab when we had school on Friday because I had already been planning on not having school on Monday. I finally found water and the last couple supplies that I still felt we needed for a couple days cooped up inside. We went out as a family and filled all of our propane tanks and kept adding to the list of necessary supplies, making a final stop at our camper to make sure we had EVERYTHING that we needed. That night we settled in to watch Harvey make landfall down the Texas Gulf Coast, near where we went camping last Thanksgiving. We watched the reporters fight against wind and rain and waited for the rains to fall here.

We woke up to a vacillation between sprinkling and steady rain. The 24-hour local news cycle began with footage of the destruction that Harvey left behind, cities and towns along the coast that were destroyed by a direct hit and the pouring rain from the incredibly slow moving hurricane. Harvey was moving at a snail’s pace, playing with his victims’ emotions, reveling in the destruction left behind. I got in a short mile run in the morning and then got in another mile run in the afternoon while my daughter had piano lessons. I ran around puddles formed from occasional showers and returned from both runs wet, but not soaked. Once again we settled in for another night of weather watching. Emails and texts came in canceling school for Monday and Tuesday and then an announcement canceling church for Sunday morning. But for two days if felt like those of us in the greater Houston area were in this holding pattern, a strange calm before the storm. The reports were bad, but it was hard to believe that it could be THAT bad. We had seen heavy rains before, and while I was afraid we would wake up to water in our kitchen again, I was certain the flood waters would be far away.

I woke up around 4 AM and came downstairs to check our kitchen. Everything appeared to be ok so I went back to bed. Three to four hours later, I came downstairs to discover water on our kitchen floor and water up to our back door. So began the cycle of heavy rains, pumping water from our backyard to the street in front of our house to prevent water from coming into the back office door, and walking around our neighborhood to check any potential flood points, getting drenched in the process despite rain coats and rain boots. When I sat down to watch our senior pastor attempt a livestream devotion from his house (in the end, his family ended up with about six feet of water in their house), the reality of what we would be facing slowly took shape. By mid-day Sunday, school was cancelled for the week. Our eyes were glued to the 24-hour local news cycle. New weather maps, new pictures, new flooding announcements. We watched a lone field reporter carry the local CBS station newsfeed while the rest of her colleagues evacuated their flooding studio. While it was just her and a cameraman, we watched as she got help to a truck driver who had attempted to drive through rising waters.

And the rain kept falling.

Eventually my husband and a friend decided to venture out and see just how high the water was around our neighborhood. It was then that we discovered just how close we were to one of the rising creeks, which was creeping up on the road on the other end of our block. The power went out after I put the kids in bed but while our daughter was still reading in her bedroom. She tried to carefully come downstairs to ask what happened but I grabbed her a flashlight and sent her back upstairs. We set up our propane powered generator and plugged in our deep freeze, our refrigerator, and our television so we could continue to keep track of the news. Yes, I confess that we also sought escape in the season finale of Game of Thrones, but then we were right back to the news, watching the storm SLOWLY move off of the map. Around midnight our son woke up to a dark house and I sent him back to bed with another flashlight. We stayed up until almost 2 AM, waiting for our generator powered pump to push more water from our back patio to the street and for the rain to slow to the first trickle we had seen in 48 hours. The power turned back on around 4:30 and I got up to turn off lights and attempt a couple more hours of sleep.

On Monday we woke up to a steady rain and I insisted that we check out our neighborhood. Less than 1/2 mile east of us, at least one block was completely flooded, 1/2 mile south of us Cypress Creek continued to climb, and 1/2 west of us Cypress Creek had turned one of our main streets into a several mile long river.

And the rain kept falling.

We nervously watched water levels, praying that it would stop, thankful that we were still dry, helpless because there was nothing we could do to stop the rising water, feeling guilty because we were dry and our neighbors weren’t.

On Tuesday I headed to our church to volunteer in any way that I could, sorting clothes for two hours and discovering just how impractical women’s clothing is, especially in a disaster situation. When I headed back out to get the brand new underwear and socks that our organizers were asking for, I took the kids out so they could finally see what we had been sheltering them from for days. I stood in line at Chick-Fil-A and talked to fellow Houstonians while my children stretched their legs in the play area. Everyone had a different story and we were all trying to get a taste of normalcy. But even eating at a fast food restaurant that hadn’t had a supply truck in four days was a reality check. The manager kept apologizing for their limited choices and told me that they had more supplies than they had the day before because they had raided their store about five miles south which, at the time, still had three feet of water in it. No apology was necessary. We were all just happy they were open and we could get out of our homes.

As we walked around our neighborhood yesterday afternoon, before hosting friends who still didn’t have power and who needed to finish off some defrosting food, we saw our first rays of sunshine in days. It was a literal light at the end of the tunnel.


Before Harvey moved on to bother Louisiana, he bullied fifty one counties in Southeast Texas and over 40% of the entire Texas population. He brought Category 3 hurricane winds that destroyed structures just north of Corpus Christi. He brought tornados that dropped in and out all around us and the surrounding counties. And he brought rain. So. Much. Rain. The most single storm rainfall in U.S. history.

Personally, I hate natural disasters. I could never live in Southern California because earthquakes scare me almost as much as the high cost of living. Tornados terrified me long before I watched Twister. If I ever visit a place with a volcano, you better believe I will be checking that volcanic activity non-stop in the months before we land.

And yet I sit here very thankful that my family is alive, together, and we are still safe, all the while knowing that we were lucky that the eye of Harvey landed significantly south of us and knowing that by dumb luck, we bought the house that we did. (The first house we put an offer on before we moved down here  has been flooded twice now.) I know that next time we might not be so lucky, and yet I’m not ready to run away.

Why? Because I have seen the best in humanity over the last five days as well. Neighbor helping neighbor, stranger helping stranger, people just doing what needs to be done. Our church kept putting out calls for supplies and within hours, sometimes less than that, changing the list because those needs had been met. I signed up to volunteer and haven’t gotten a spot because they are taken within seconds. I know that as life returns to normal, some of that goodwill with wane, as it does with any disaster. But I also want people to know that the Houston they have seen on the news is the Houston that we have come to know and love. People haven’t come together just because they need each other to survive. They have come together because, generally, that is what people here do.

The Gulf Coast will rebuild and it will recover. I just pray that others will continue to see the good in humanity that this storm has shown us.

Note, if you want places to donate, please use one of the following links:

Our church, Trinity Lutheran. Click on “Give” and then “Hurricane Harvey” –

Houston LINC works with area churches to minister to the most disadvantaged in the Houston area –

Lutheran World Relief is highly recognized for all of their work worldwide and will make sure that funds are directed towards the counties that need it most when they need it most. Remember, 51 Texas counties were affected by this storm –


Why This Lutheran Teacher Supports Public Education


After spending the first seven years of my educational career (from pre-school to fifth grade) in a Lutheran school of some kind, I was under the distinct impression that I would spend the rest of my life in Lutheran schools.

Then my family moved to Wyoming a couple months into my sixth grade year.

After years of being given the impression that attending a public school was a fate worse than death, I suddenly faced one of my worst fears. As my father and I toured two different public schools (one a standard middle school and the other a much smaller K-12 school in a town several miles away), many of my fears were put to rest. In fact the middle school didn’t look so bad, especially since it offered some things that I really wanted. And while my parents decided that I should go to the smaller school several miles away (a decision I lament to this day), it was nothing like I had imagined it would be. It was…school.

I spent five of the next seven years in public schools, mostly because there was no other option once I got to high school. When my family moved to Michigan, my parents flirted with the idea of sending me to a very small private school near our house but finally agreed that I could go to the much larger public high school that was similar to the high school that I left. While my entire teaching career has been in Lutheran schools, my personal high school career was all in public.

And while I went to college with the full intention of teaching in Lutheran schools, the reality that I could, someday, be in a position to teach in a public school never left my mind. And while I love teaching in Lutheran schools, I believe that it is also important for me, a private school educator, to support my public school colleagues and the work being done in public schools. I do not believe that this is hypocritical; it is essential.


  1. A strong education system, regardless of who is providing it, is essential to the reduction/elimination of poverty in this country. The reality is the higher one’s education level, the less likely one is to live in poverty. Children living in poverty are also more likely to live in areas that have poor education, but the poverty/education links go far beyond that. I’ve seen proponents of vouchers make all sorts of claims about how that will solve the problem for families living in poorer neighborhoods. That SOUNDS great, but it ignores a couple of really important factors. One, families who live in poverty stricken neighborhoods typically do not have the funds to travel outside of their neighborhoods. It is physically impossible for many of them. Two, even if they have a private school available in their neighborhood, that does not mean that the private school is any better than the public school available to them. Just like not all public schools are created the same, so are not all private schools created the same. I know. I taught in one that I would NEVER send my children to. Saying that making it easier for poor children to attend non-public schools is not the solution. Better public schools is. Poverty is a root cause of many of our nation’s problems, and if we are serious about solving the many issues that stem from poverty, then all American citizens should be concerned about the quality of the education system, regardless of the provider.
  2. What happens in public education will trickle down to private schools, so I better care about what is happening in public schools. While currently private schools in Texas have a significant amount of autonomy, that was not the case when I lived in Indiana. We had to follow nearly all state regulations, and those we didn’t have to follow we usually had to apply for special waivers for. Pedagogical trends, teacher training trends, building trends, testing requirements, classroom changes to accommodate for testing requirements, school lunches, they all start in public schools. If we private school teachers are not paying attention to what is happening in public schools, we will be lost, and we better hope that what is happening will benefit our students. Listen to your public school teacher friends and pay attention to what they say about what is happening in their buildings. For better or worse, it’s going to make it to our buildings sooner or later.
  3. There are some things that public schools can do better, and there is no shame in admitting that. This is especially true in big academic and extracurricular programs (think vocational classes, marching band, and some athletics) and special education programs. Private school teacher, if you are lucky enough to live in a state that provides funds for private schools to get public assistance for special needs students, you better hope that the special education programs in your district are top notch, regardless of the socio-economic situation. Then there are the children who cannot attend private schools because of limited resources to provide for their educational needs. Quality public schools ensure quality special education resources for those children. It also guarantees that your child, should they ever need it, will also have access to the necessary education that will help them succeed.
  4. Students are going to transfer in and out, and we need to be ready for them. I’ve seen it time and time again. Students, who are coming from public schools with lower success rates who then attend private schools with higher success rates, struggle academically and sometimes socially and it usually leads to them either barely making it through to graduation or leaving. I do not want to see people attending the private school I teach at because they are trying to escape a horrible public school system. I want them attending my private school because we provide what they need in terms of a Christian education or we offer things that they cannot get at a public school. And I do not want students who are coming from public schools to be struggling so much that they have to leave.
  5. Depending on where one lives, a private school may not be available. And even if a private school is available, it may not be a quality private school. I love Lutheran schools. I wrote about how much I love Lutheran schools, but I taught in a bad one. And while that issue is another post for another day, I don’t want to ignore the fact that just because a school takes tuition, it does not make it better than local public schools. And it is a fact that many people in this country do not live in areas that have quality private schools. That means that we NEED quality public schools everywhere so that when people move from city to city and from state to state, they have a smooth educational transition. We are a mobile society. We need to make sure that a move does not mean a decrease in educational quality.
  6. The educational quality of our society affects all sectors of American business, from CEOs down to fast food workers. Far too often I see people on social media making fun of people who work in retail and service industries, especially the food industry. And I admit, there have been times I’ve made a trip to a fast food restaurant or retail store and wondered if the employees working there really deserved to be paid a living wage. Not because I don’t believe in people earning living wages, but because of the quality of worker. But what if we’re looking at that backwards? Even if higher education affords people the opportunities to get jobs outside of these industries, those who don’t go beyond high school could still be better employees and better at serving customers if they had the academic skills to do so. And doesn’t that benefit all of us?
  7. An educated public is necessary for a functioning democratic republic. As John Green famously said, “I don’t like living in a country with stupid people.” Think about it. Unless one lives in a commune, we have to interact with a lot of people from a lot of different walks of life. And our friends, neighbors, grocery store clerks, doctors, everyone we encounter that is 18 or older is eligible to vote. As we move further into the 21st century, we need people who understand history, economics, government, and who know how to read and how to read well. If we really care about where the country is going, a really good education system in every sector is a necessary place to start.
  8. Pushing for an educated public is the decent, humane thing to do. Period.

I know many public school teachers who are caring and amazing teachers. I know people who send their kids to public schools, some by choice and some because they have to. Public education should never be the lesser choice of those who are better off financially. It should be understood as the education provider for the majority, and those of us who work in the private education sector should support our public school peers.

Private or public, parochial or charter, we’re all in this together.  We are not enemies; we should instead see each other as partners. Teachers have the power to change lives. Let’s help each other do it.

Lost in Wonder

I am a “She-ra” girl. When it comes to the powerful girl superhero, my go-to has always been He-man’s twin sister.

I may be changing my tune.

While I had access to syndicated episodes of the 1970s television show, I was never a true Wonder Woman fan, and while I appreciate a good superhero movie, I’m usually not a fan of DC comic movies and I did not enjoy the introduction of Wonder Woman in Batman Vs. Superman. In short, this past weekend I did not walk into the movie theater with very high expectations.

To say I was pleasantly surprised would be an understatement.

Like I said, I love a good superhero movie. Marvel movies have been my go-to because I need more than just a lot of fun explosions and strong fight scenes; I need a good story. I want to care about the characters and what is happening to them. I want to see complexity in my heroes, whether they are human, superhuman, gods, or aliens. I want to see a reflection of my humanity in those responsible for saving the world from fictional destruction.

And while I appreciate the artistry of well-done CGI, I also want to see natural artistry on the silver screen. I want to see the world that I know, not just a recreation of the world I know, reproduced and enhanced on a computer. When The Force Awakens came out, I felt that everyone involved had rescued the Star Wars franchise from years of CGI dependence. And superhero movies, no matter how realistic the characters and how engaging the stories, have relied on expensive CGI for box office success. Wonder Woman was introduced in a film that pulled no special effects punches, something that disappointed me to no end.

But in this vein, Wonder Woman did not disappoint. The island of Themyscira and the surrounding ocean looked and felt as real as could be. It is easy to believe how a woman, growing up in that peaceful landscape, could believe in the good of everyone and everything around her. Once Diana Prince and Steve Trevor leave for the front (after a short stop in a CGI created early 20th century London), the trench warfare is dirty and raw and real. And when the CGI and special effects combine into a dramatic epic battle between Diana Prince and Ares, the god of war, I wasn’t already weary of cinematic enhancements. Instead, it felt appropriate and, while perhaps a little longer than necessary, was awesome to behold.

And then there is the introduction of a female superhero at the helm of a film. She wasn’t playing a bit part and she wasn’t a sidekick. This is Wonder Woman’s movie. This is her origin story. And Gal Gadot plays the titular role with fierce elegance and grace. She is believable as a woman who wants to save the world for the sake of peace. She uses violence to punish the wrong doers and to protect the innocent. She is well read, smart, kind, and yes, beautiful, but she doesn’t use her looks to get her way. Yes, she is wearing much less than the typical WWI era woman, but she repeatedly points out that the fashion of the 1910s isn’t very utilitarian for a woman planning to go out into the battlefield.

And while I am a hopeless romantic, at first I was bothered by the addition of the love story, as if we were being shown, yet again, that a woman needed a man. But the more I thought about it, the more sense it make. Women find their strength in love: love for significant others, love for their children, love for their friends. Doubt it? Look for Youtube videos showing women lifting heavy objects off of their children. And in Wonder Woman, love is where Diana Prince finds her strength. She doesn’t need a man to be strong. She was strong all along. And while Steve Trevor tries to protect her, he eventually discovers that she has a job to do that he cannot help her with. The men in Wonder Woman are the sidekicks, not the other way around, and that isn’t some kind of twisted role reversal or destruction of gender roles. Instead, the female director, Patty Jenkins, highlights the very things that makes Diana Prince a woman and shows how those traits make her stronger, not weaker.

Patty Jenkins has crafted a role model for boys and girls, a woman who shows us the importance of love, the importance of seeing the good in people, and the importance in fighting for justice. I left the theater feeling both empowered and inspired. For me, that was a first for a superhero movie.

Which means Wonder Woman has gotten herself a new fan.

Why I’ll Stay In Lutheran Education

The desk sat empty.

My sixth period avoided looking at it and instead looked to me. I had had eighteen hours to figure out how I was going to handle the empty desk, the desk that had the potential to sit empty for the remainder of the semester unless someone decided they could sit in it.

But it wasn’t completely empty. A handful of students had gone out of the building and purchased flowers and a photo frame so they could make a makeshift memorial that would remain during the short Holy Week leading up to Easter. When we got out of school a day earlier than scheduled so students and faculty could attend the funeral of one of our seniors, I sent the flowers, transferred to a vase, along to the parents, moved the picture to another safe location in the room, and the following week my senior English classes attempted to pick up the pieces of what was left of their senior year.

And the events of one of the most difficult weeks of my teaching career clarified why I went into Lutheran Education in the first place. It followed another difficult month of watching, from a distance, a good friend and former Lutheran high school colleague die after a short battle with cancer. And these two events so closely together solidified why I have stayed for fifteen years.

If I’m being perfectly honest, I went into the family business.

I remember my psychology professor at my Lutheran college asking me why I went into teaching and why I was attending that specific school. At first, the answer was easy. My dad went to school there. Several aunts and uncles went to school there. And I wanted to be a Lutheran school teacher. Wasn’t that a good enough answer?

But what he was getting at was not that I should have picked another school or another path. After all, he is still teaching there, he loves his job, he is excellent at his job, and I’m sure he appreciated that my private college tuition was paying a very small portion of his paycheck. But his question got to me. Like he was indicating that I hadn’t made a decision for myself. I had made a decision because it was what was expected of me and that was just what one did as a member of my large, extended, very Lutheran family. And yes, as the oldest of 23 grandchildren, there was a part of me that felt like it was my family duty. This concern became a reality when, in my third year of teaching, I almost left teaching altogether because of three incredibly difficult years. One of my biggest concerns in leaving wasn’t “What will I do instead?” but “What will my family think of me if I leave Lutheran education?”

It is a question I have never had to answer. A new school called me, my husband and I moved to a new city, and that question has not come up since. I took one year off from Lutheran education when my husband was transferred from one city to the next and I taught at a public university while working starting my master’s degree, but one year later I was right back at it at a new Lutheran high school. With each move my love and appreciation for Lutheran education has grown and I become more convinced every year that this is what I am meant to do. And now, as I watch my young children grow up through the Lutheran system, I am more convinced than ever that, if at all possible, I want them in the Lutheran system until they graduate from high school.

The Lutheran school system isn’t perfect. I’ve seen both the very good and the very bad sides of the system. I’ve seen (and been a part of) schools that are staying open for the sake of staying open and those that are thriving and being the very best. I’ve seen schools  talking about ministering to the whole child while not showing real concern for all-around excellence and schools that demonstrate excellence in every area of ministry. But  as long as I have the ability to teach in a school pursuing excellence in ministering to the mind, body, and soul, and as long as my children have access to the same thing, we will stay in Lutheran schools.

One criticism of Lutheran schools is that people don’t want to shelter their children and they want their children to be a light in the public school system. I don’t argue that either of those perspectives are wrong, but I feel I must be perfectly clear: I don’t want to shelter my own children. They will stumble. They will fall. And they will do it right alongside their imperfect classmates. But when they do stumble, they will have an adult picking them up and reminding them that they are forgiven children of God. They will have an adult who acknowledges that they screwed up but offers them discipline with a side of Grace.

My mission as a Lutheran school teacher clarified as I watched my good friend, a woman who had been a mentor, colleague, and supportive friend even when I moved away, unexpectedly go home to her heavenly Father long before any of us were ready to say goodbye. She was a woman who lived Grace day in and day out in her classroom. A woman who strove to be her very best, a woman who never stopped learning, and a woman who wanted her students to know that they were loved and forgiven children of God, no matter how crazy some of them might have driven her on a daily basis. The outpouring of love from her former students showed me the impact that a Lutheran school teacher can have on the lives of young people who are just starting to figure out who they are. It showed me just how much of an impact I can, and do have, in my own classroom. It showed me why my role as a Lutheran educator is so important.

On Maundy Thursday of this last Holy Week, we didn’t take an extra day off of school to celebrate the empty tomb. We took the day off to mourn the empty desk in seven of our classrooms. But through a week of mourning, we were constantly reminded of the victory of the empty tomb. We were constantly reminded that all of our students are children of a loving heavenly Father. Instead of focusing on the negative, we kept pointing broken teenagers back to the Cross. And at the funeral, everyone in attendance was reminded of the victory that is theirs.

It was the week that sealed it. Lutheran education has it flaws, just like everything else, but I knew then and there that I wanted to remain where Christ crucified is the main thing. I want my children to remain where Christ crucified is the main thing.

Because if a school is serious about that being the main thing, then that is the fountain from which everything else flows.


This hangs in one of the hallways of my current high school.

Building the Bookshelf

I am the daughter of a hobbyist woodworker. My entire life my father has been making things: bookshelves, dressers, tables, benches, etc. I grew up knowing that many things were possible with a saw, but never learned from my father how to use power tools. I’m not sure if it was because I never showed an interest or because my father thought his four daughters had no interest in woodworking. Either way, it wasn’t until adulthood that I learned how to use power tools and discovered the many things I was capable of doing with different power tools, including saws.

Ever since we moved into our house, we’ve discussed some projects that we would like to undertake, especially to take care of furniture needs that no furniture store appears to be be able to fulfill for us. One of those desires was new bookshelves to replace the bookshelves that were ruined in a pop-up shower as my husband headed back to our house with the last load of household items that had been housed in a storage unit for six weeks.

Our living room was a hodgepodge space that never seemed organized and was difficult to rearrange, but I knew that the bookshelves we had did not work because they didn’t hold all of our books. We needed something new if I was going to rearrange the storage in our house.

A couple of weeks ago one of the houses in our neighborhood had an estate sale. Since one never knows what one might find, we stopped and discovered a radial arm saw in the garage.

In the 24 hours that followed our “new” purchase, we were looking at Youtube videos to figure out the best method for the shelves I desperately desired. We finally found plans for shelves that flanked either side of a doorway. Suddenly, I wondered why I never thought of it before. We started planning to make this our first project.

Our first “free” weekend (those don’t really exist but it was less packed than other weekends) we headed to Lowes, at which time we purchased three pieces of 3/4 inch MDF, two pieces of plywood, a can of white satin paint, wood veneer edging (which we ended up not using), 6-inch cabinet paint rollers, and new sawhorses (since we didn’t have any).

To elevate the bookshelves over baseboards so that they could be flush against the wall, we had to build a plinth using lumber we found in our garage.

We started by cutting the three pieces of MDF into twelve 12-inch wide pieces. Ripping the large pieces of MDF through our new saw was difficult on the first pass, just because the wood was so large, but we took a nighttime break after the first piece was cut up (and after I started getting irritable) and had a much better run the next afternoon. The rest of our Saturday afternoon was occupied with cutting the sides (80 inches), the tops (39.5 inches for one side of the door), and five 38.5 inch shelves. (I miss measured the first time and we cut 38 inch shelves. Thankfully, the other side of the doorway needs shorter shelves.) Then we used our new Dado saw blades to make a half lap joint for the top and sides of the shelving unit. We resized the Dado saw blades to make 13/16 inch wide and 1/4 inch deep notches to slide in the shelves. While we know that makes the placement of the shelves permanent, we made sure they were twelve inch tall spaces, which gives us plenty of room for all of our books. The bottom shelf is slightly bigger but it helps us fit those bigger children’s books. We did this for both sets of shelves.

Next I painted both sides of all of the pieces with three coats of white satin paint (Olympic paint plus primer). This included painting the 4X8 plywood for the back of the shelves. Thanks to two warm, breezy Texas days, the paint dried quickly, which made the work go much faster, especially after I discovered that our shelves for the unit were shorter than they were supposed to be and we had to cut the new pieces.

Then, using wood glue and our nail gun, we put together the outside of the shelves and then measured the unit one more time. Now that it was all together, we discovered that we had not accounted for the extra 3/4 inch that resulted from half lap joint as we had constructed the shelves. Just to make sure, my husband and a friend carried the unit inside. It didn’t take long to discover that it was absolutely too big for the space. New long shelves were cut to fit the new size and I painted those pieces while the guys went shopping. By the time they got back, the shelves had fallen over and we could now start over by cutting down the top and bottom by another 3/4 inch and new half lap joints.

My husband cut down a piece of 0.197 inch, 4×8 plywood for the backing of the bookshelves and we reassembled the tops and bottoms, again using wood glue and the nail gun. After squaring up the unit, we attached the plywood backing, moved the unit back into the house where it fit into its spot on the right side of the doorway, and then screwed it to the wall. We measured for shelves, cut them all down to the appropriate size, and slid them into their spots. I then spent the remainder of the evening painting the fronts of the shelves and touching up spots that needed it. While there is a gap on one side due to a wall that is not square and one corner that was put together differently than the others (we screwed up the matching of the half-lap on that corner), we were proud of the completed first half of our project. Or at least we felt accomplished.


It took us until this weekend to complete the other side. The wall on the other side is slightly shorter, so our plinth was assembled with 35 inch by 10 inch pieces of wood, getting us the offset look on the left side that we didn’t get with the right side.

Remembering to account for the half-lap joints, we measured top and bottom pieces at 35.75 inches for our 36.5 inch wall. The sides were again 80 inches. We cut the pieces down to size and I got to work painting the remaining pieces. Assembly of the box was much smoother than the last time and I drew out the lines for the plywood backer. Once it was squared up and nailed on, we discovered that one side had some slight hangover so my husband used the planer to cut it down so that it would fit in just right. With the help of the same friend, we moved it inside and it fit like a glove. Shelves were cut to the appropriate lengths but once they were installed we discover they were a little too deep. We took them back to the saw to rip off the edges, put them back in, and they fit nearly perfectly. I again got to work painting the front of the shelves and doing touch-ups.


While it’s very clear that one unit was a practice unit for a much better second shelving unit, we feel like we can call our first furniture making venture a success.

Now it’s time to start looking at dining room table plans…

Going Without the Playroom


As I gingerly step across the minefield in our daughter’s bedroom I wonder why I ever decided to move all of the kids’ toys into their respective bedrooms.

Then I remember that all of these toys could be strewn across the first floor of our house.

Yeah, I think I can live with my daughter’s mess, as long as I don’t have to look at it.

It was one of the things I wanted in our new house, and it was one of the things I had to do without: a designated playroom. Our last house had at least 1000 more square feet than our new house and our family room was large enough for a TV viewing area and a play area. Nearly all of our kids’ toys had a home away from their bedrooms.While that made it much easier to clean their bedrooms, our family room was always another story.

When we moved into our last house, our daughter was one and we were a year from another baby. We were moving from a house that was a third the size of our new home. Not only did we have plenty of room to spread out, we took full advantage of it. Large toys such as a play tunnel, musical instruments, big blocks, and large wheeled toys weren’t a big deal. For five years, that was our norm. Not only was that our norm, but we comfortably expanded into that space. The biggest problem? The large room wasn’t just a space for our children, it was a space for the whole family. It was the space that we occupied when we wanted to watch movies or play video games. When we had people over, it was our nicest finished space, so we had to make sure that ALL of the toys were put into their designated spaces and pray that they fit.

I’ll fully admit that I am far from the world’s best housekeeper. My mom once suggested that I look into paying for a cleaning lady to come clean our house once a month since I clearly didn’t have time to do so as a full-time wife, mom, and teacher. Besides being unable to afford the luxury, I couldn’t imagine having someone else come in and clean around our mess, especially since we would still have to pick up the floors and clean off surfaces. I also have a SLIGHT problem with paper piles. Add all of that to a family room full of toys big and small and you have a huge, stressful mess when company is coming. Not only that, but we were also living in that huge, stressful, and sometimes painful mess.

The toys were out of control. The mess was out of control. The stuff was out of control. Something needed to change but I had no idea what or how.

Then we moved halfway across the country.

We looked at several houses, some that had a room or loft that could easily be a designated play space. I wanted it for now and for when our kids got older so they would have a place to hang out with their friends. But as we continued to look at houses it became clear that the play space was going to the bottom of the “must have” list. And the house we bought had everything we wanted EXCEPT a playroom or loft.

We moved into our new house and put a new rule into place: toys stay in bedrooms. There were no exceptions.

I was nervous. After all, the kids had a lot of toys and we had to figure out how to get them to fit neatly into their rooms. But we did it and every toy has a place, even if their rooms usually look messier than this.

It’s not a perfect system. Honestly, I try to stay out of their rooms just because I can’t handle the acrobatics necessary to cross from my daughter’s bedroom door to her bed. But it also means that the mess is in their bedrooms. And while the rest of our house still needs a lot of work, it is not nearly as overwhelming as it was two years ago. It has also forced us to help our kids manage their toy collection, as they need to fit their toys into their bedrooms; they know the rule is that they have to find a home for the toy or get rid of it. They aren’t always ready to purge when necessary, but it is certainly easier to motivate them when it is their own space and not the space occupied by the entire family.

I know that the decision to get rid of the playroom means tolerating more concentrated messes, but the payoff in our family comfort has been significant.

Now, if I could just figure out how to break that 30+ year paper habit.

What I Wish I Knew in My 20s: I Need a Budget

This blog was originally posted as “Budgeting 101 with Sarah” on The Newbie Nesters.

I grew up in a lower middle class household  with a father who is a church worker (and believe me, the average church worker doesn’t make much money) and a mother who stayed at home until all four of us girls were in school. That means I didn’t grow up with much. I watched friends get Cabbage Patch Dolls and little pink boomboxes and Barbies galore and I had to be happy with my two Barbies and the Barbie pool I received from my young and childless (at the time) aunt and uncle. What little money I did get in the form of an allowance I hoarded like a mini-Scrooge, and from middle school on, any and every job I worked slowly contributed to a growing savings account that rarely, if ever, saw a withdrawal. A natural saver, the first time I ever allowed myself a spending spree was the fall semester of my junior year of college. After months of saving every penny from my job serving tables at a local upscale restaurant (or at least upscale for southwest Michigan), I spent it all traveling around western Europe while attending classes in London. But besides that one semester, I continued to save, only spending what I had and only when necessary, all while watching my boyfriend, and then fiancé, spending slightly more than he was making.

And so in our early 20s a spender married a saver and lived happily ever after. Kind of. It is fair to say that the spender and saver are still happily married in-spite of the money mistakes that we made all through our 20s. Some of those mistakes we made together, some of those we made separately, but both are having a lasting impact in our late 30s.

Unfortunately, when I got married and graduated from college, those saver habits started to change. At my core I was a saver, so every unnecessary penny spent hurt, but I found that buying things could also be fun. Once I had a full time job and some disposable income, I found myself buying things that I didn’t really need. This was especially true of items that I felt I had been robbed of owning all through my childhood. One of those things were collectors items, particularly collector’s edition Barbie dolls, most of which I still own.


These Barbies have won a display position in the guest room.

To this day I still don’t know a good way to display them and several of them are hiding in a closet in our guest room.


These Barbies have been relegated to the closet.

Immediately after we got married I had an apartment to furnish, so I would buy fun decorative items on sale to cover for all the hand-me-down furniture. I needed a new teaching wardrobe so I would buy various clothing items that I really liked, as long as they were on sale. Sales became my friends and I learned the hard way that habitually shopping sales can actually lead to more spending than saving. Over the last fifteen years post-college graduation I don’t know how many unused or barely used items I have donated or sold at garage sales. Now I don’t buy something unless I know exactly how I am going to use it or where it is going to go in our house. While I’m not ready to get rid of all of our books and movies and other items, I am slowly learning that less is more, a lesson that slapped us in the face a year and a half ago when we lived for six weeks in our 30 foot camper. I am also trying to do a better job of spending my hard earned money on a few quality items over many junky items. I relearned that particular difficult lesson this past year when I decided that I needed a much better camera that I could use in my yearbook adviser work. My husband had tried to encourage me to do just that two years ago when I bought our last camera. At the time I was too cheap to buy the SLR camera I desperately wanted so I just bought a nice standard digital camera. So instead of a single purchase two years ago I ended up spending much more money overall, eventually buying the camera I really wanted.

Another 20s financial failure was dining out, way too much. While dining out (or dining in if you’re the take-out type) can also destroy one’s waistline (as it did for us), it also did a number on our budget. But dining out was so easy. For the first three years we were married my husband was working in Michigan, I was working in Illinois, and we were living in Indiana. By the time both of us got home from work we were too exhausted to cook. And that’s ignoring the fact that when we were first married, my cooking skills were embarrassing, to say the least. I once screwed up a box meal. You know, one of those “just add water and mix” meals. When we moved to Indianapolis and we were both living and working in the same city, the situation improved some. We both starting learning how to cook more and I found that I sometimes enjoyed it. But I was also teaching English and directing the high school theatre program at the same time. There were times during the school year when Chinese take-out and wings nights at Buffalo Wild Wings was just way easier. When we moved one more time and I was only working part time, we discovered that it was financially essential to eat at home. In the last seven years since that move we have learned that cooking at home is way more affordable, tastes significantly better (seriously, the only thing we haven’t been able to “perfect” has been certain pasta sauces), and is way healthier. During those rare weeks when we don’t cook much at home, my husband and I both feel gross and more often than not, we regret our decisions. If I could go back and do my early 20s over again, I would force myself to learn how to cook something better than Hamburger Helper.

While eating at home more would have helped our checkbook, we also should have been smarter about where that home was located. This is probably the one area of our finances on which my husband and I still disagree. We spent the first year and a half of marriage living in apartments and then decided, before we were 25, that we were ready for home ownership. At the ripe old age of 24, we bought our first house. Now we both loved our first house. It was a nice starter home, it was fun to paint and decorate, and it allowed us to get our first puppy, but in terms of our finances, we had no idea what we were doing. We bought a house with more property than I think we intended and ended up spending significantly more on property taxes than originally thought. Or maybe we were just ignoring the extra property taxes because we had stars in our eyes. I had fun decorating but didn’t really consider how much money I was spending trying to emulate the interior designers on TLC (before HGTV became the place all things home design). And we stupidly fell for a buyers club pitch thinking that we would be buying so many things for our new house that the club would help us save significant amounts of money, only to discover that it was over $1000 that we would never see again. My husband wouldn’t change a thing about THAT home purchase, but if I could do it over again, I would have found a house to rent before buying, at least to give us a homeownership test run. A complete rundown of our other homeownership issues can be found here. Let’s just say our experience has been a mixed bag.

But all of the above mistakes could have been avoided if we had just learned how to budget when we were in our early 20s. For the first twelve years of our marriage we never knew how much we were spending, living on faith that we wouldn’t bounce a check between deposits. Our debt increased, our spending never decreased, and it was a constant potential for conflict in our marriage. We took a finance class three years ago and while we are far from perfect and still have a lot to work through, we finally learned the why and how of budgeting.screen-shot-2017-02-20-at-7-25-25-pm Now I regularly use the website You Need a Budget (which has free plans for students) for all my budgeting needs and we are constantly working on a plan for becoming debt free. It isn’t easy, but I wish we had started doing it before we got married. It would have eliminated many a fight and helped us learn the above lessons much sooner. Not only that, but our retirement savings (which are ok but not great) would be significantly better.

No one ever REALLY wants to talk about money, especially when they are young and don’t have much of it, but I would count my lack of financial literacy one of the greatest regrets of my 20s. Do a better job of spending and planning in your 20s and then you’ll be able to really enjoy your 30s and beyond. Trust me. It will be worth it.


To redshirt or not to redshirt


I was a June baby. In fact, I graduated from high school a couple days before my eighteenth birthday. When I started kindergarten over 30 years ago, the state of Michigan required new kindergarteners to be five years old before December, six months after my fifth birthday. While my kindergarten teacher warned my mom that she wasn’t sure she was ready, for my mom it was a no brainer; I needed to go to school because I needed to be around other kids and she wasn’t going to put it off. My kindergarten teacher’s fears were unfounded and I was fine. As soon as I was in the classroom I took off and my love of learning never died. Apparently, all I needed was some structure and a little push. Of course, by the time I graduated from high school, I was one of the youngest in my graduating class, but the fact remains that I was ready to start school when I did and there was no reason for my parents to look back and re-evaluate their decision.

When we had our own June baby nearly six years ago, the plan was always that he would follow the same academic schedule as his older sister. Our kids are two years and two months apart and the best of friends. We didn’t want to do anything that would mess with that closeness and we had mentally prepared ourselves for having kids that were two years apart in everything, including school. Our daughter entered pre-K with a natural aptitude for sitting mostly still, filling out worksheets, and gladly learning how to read and write all of her letters. The summer before she entered kindergarten she regularly sat down with paper and a pencil, asking me to spell out word after word as she carefully scrawled them out in her imperfect handwriting. She took to reading almost immediately and has never struggled with learning new words. In short, there was never any doubt that she was ready for school. In fact, we were probably less prepared for what she would have to do as a kindergartener than she was.

As children usually are, our son, equally as inquisitive and intelligent as his older sister, proved to be the complete opposite when it came to school preparedness. As a educator, I spent the first five years of his life watching out for the signs, a task that was still difficult for me because my expertise is in children over the age of fourteen. I read articles on expectations on American pre-schoolers, I read about early literacy, I read about the differences in school for boys and girls, I paid attention to trends and talked to friends and colleagues who were also considering what decisions they were going to make about their summer birthday children. And I watched our son. I watched as he gained favor with his teachers, as he interacted with his classmates, and as he refused to learn how to color in the lines and to tell us his letters. Our son loves books and he loves being read to, but when we asked him to identify letters and sounds he would look at us, shrug, and say “I don’t know.” When I attended his pre-K Christmas party during his first round of pre-K, it became abundantly clear to me that he was younger and less mature than his classmates. While he got along great with his classmates and had many friends, I could see the differences between our son and many of the boys who were six or more months older than him.

We conferenced with his pre-K teacher multiple times during the course of the year. Already at his first conference, his teacher was trying to prepare us for the possibility that he might need one more year before kindergarten. He was progressing, but his interest in “academics” was spotty. When they started working on stations, he matched or surpassed many of his older classmates in problem solving skills. But then when we compared his letter and number knowledge with the same classmates, he was behind. We had to make a decision between having our son continue to kindergarten with the risk of him struggling to keep up or giving him one more year to mature so that he could be a “rock star” once he got to kindergarten. Complicating that decision was the desire to keep him with his friends. While he is still young and friendships continue to evolve at his age, we had already uprooted him one year before when we made the move from Indiana to Texas. We had forced him to leave friends he had spent the last three years of his life getting to know through both daycare and preschool. Now we were once again contemplating keeping him back from a new group of friends. That would mean two years in a row of social adjustments with a child who treasures his close friendships and does not do well with change.

Parenting is hard. It just is. We make decisions about and for our children all the time, decisions that we know will have lasting consequences. In the end, after multiple conversations with his teacher, we finally came to a difficult conclusion based on the following factors:

  • Our son still needed nap time. Now he complains because “nap time is a waste of time because (he) could be spending that time playing,” but when the school year started, he was still a little boy who turned into a little monster when he was tired. Pair constant activity with increased cognitive expectations and less scheduled rest during the day, and there was potential for disaster. Now, on most days that he is at home, he is still fairly functional when he hasn’t had an extra nap, meaning next year he will be more cooperative at school and at home because he shouldn’t be too sleepy. At least, that’s what we’re hoping for.
  • Our son wasn’t ready for formalized literacy. He loves the English language; he sometimes talks like he is two to three years older than he really is, but last summer he still had minimal interest in learning how to decode the English language. During the two and a half months off I attempted to have him complete Star Wars activity books, thinking that the theme would entice him to do the activities, but even those appeared to be a chore for him. That doesn’t mean that our son struggles with understanding complex texts. Our son, who a year ago showed no interest in letters, absorbed the entire Harry Potter series when we started listening to the books on our family vacation to Michigan. There were even times that he comprehended things before his big sister (who will probably finish reading the whole series herself before her eighth birthday in less than two months) did, including the death of Sirius Black. But when it comes to young literacy, the US appears to be pushing kids to read far earlier than other countries, yet our children are not necessarily better readers. As an English teacher one of my biggest fears is that my children will lose their love for the written word. I’m hopeful that now my son will be ready and eager to read instead of frustrated at his lack of progress.
  • He’s had extra time to play, an important part of child development that is disappearing from schools around the country. With the increased pressures for testing and the many additional expectations related to standardized testing practices, schools feel like they need to spend more time on academics and create less time for play. This counterproductive practice is starting all the way down in pre-K programs nationwide. While we are lucky enough to send our children to a private school that makes creative play a priority, this is not the case for most of our country’s children. Putting kindergarten off for one more year gives some of those children who really need it more time for developmental play before they are required to sit still.
  • We haven’t had to deal with homework. Yes, homework. For those who haven’t been near a kindergarten classroom in the last 20+ years, it has become common practice to have kindergarten students do homework every week. The amount of homework and the timeline for the homework varies from state to state and even from school to school, but the general consensus nationwide is that five and six year old children need to be doing homework. I personally have mixed feelings about this because I can see both sides of the argument, but since I can’t change this fact of early childhood education I am just glad that I didn’t have to fight with a little boy who was not ready to sit still and complete worksheets or read me an assigned book after coming home from school. But now our son has started to demonstrate a readiness to sit still for longer periods of time, working on coloring, drawing, and other activities. Pair that with an actual interest in sharing with us what he has learned during the day (a dinnertime ritual), and I’m hopeful that homework time next year will be more him doing the work and less me standing over his shoulder making sure that it gets done.

While the above have been the immediate positives of keeping our son out of kindergarten for an extra year, there is plenty to be said for the long term effects of “redshirting” preschool children as well. According to a recent study, middle class children who are held back for an extra year of preschool before being sent to kindergarten report being much happier with their lives once they reach their middle school years. It is important to note that this is only the case for middle class children who have financial access to an extra year of academic enrichment. Lower class children will typically spend that extra year either at home with a caregiver or in a daycare situation that is not attached to a preschool program. As a result, they are not getting an extra year of planned academics (no extra writing, reading, or numbers practice) and they are not around teachers who can notice early developmental red flags, such as speech or cognitive issues. While this brings up other issues related to early childhood education, it appears that for those children in a consistent educational situation (like our son), putting off kindergarten for another year can have a life long positive effect.

Last year our son’s pre-K teacher repeatedly told us that we knew our son and it had to be our decision. While we asked for a lot of feedback and extra evaluation, all of the teachers involved  refused to tell us what we should do. Despite our son’s tears and insistence that he stay with his friends (and my husband’s many reservations), we gave him that extra year and it continues to make a huge difference. And while our son started the school year saying that he was going to just skip kindergarten and move right on to first grade, I believe that he will be incredibly successful (and happy) with his current classmates once they are all in kindergarten next year.

And that is what matters most.

Learning to Listen


I am an introvert, which means I spend a lot of time in my own head. A lot of time in my own head. And I’m ok with that, really. In fact, I began composing this particular blog piece while I was driving my kids home from soccer practice, lost in my own thoughts while the two of them were lost in their own mutual world.

As an introvert, I’ve always been a better writer than speaker. I’m much better when I can sit down and write things out, revise, think, revise again, and then publish my perfectly reasoned, articulate thoughts. I would have been terrible in high school debate. Not because I wouldn’t have been able to come up with something to say. I just would have come up with the perfect response while sitting on the bus on the way home. And maybe that is why I have found social media to be my perfect medium because, over the years, I’ve come to see it as the perfect place to share the thoughts, opinions, ideas, theses, theories, etc. that have been forming in my introvert brain for decades. I could share these things after carefully wording my thoughts, revising them, checking the comments for unintentional snarkiness, and then posting so that my voice could be heard. I didn’t comment on social media because it was a way for me to hide behind a computer screen; I commented on social media because writing is the only way I can guarantee that I can put together a well reasoned, fully coherent thought.

Then 2016 happened.

If I’m being perfectly honest, I really do love and appreciate the invention known as social media. I didn’t jump on the bandwagon until MySpace was dying out, so I have only ever had a Facebook page, but I opened my Facebook page well before my first pregnancy. That meant I got to share all baby related news with family and friends in real time. I didn’t have to wait to tell everyone I was pregnant. I just announced it on Facebook. I didn’t have to spend a lot of money mailing pictures to everyone so they could see what our new bundle of joy looked like. I just posted the photos on Facebook. And this became the modus operandi for nearly every single major life change from that point on: our move to another city, the start of grad school, a new job, another baby, the loss of a dog, the decision to move to a different state, the addition of two more dogs to our family, our many adventures. Social media allowed me to get back into contact with high school and college friends and I have watched some of those friendships grow. It has allowed me to stay in close contact with former students, former colleagues, and even former instructors. While I refuse to venture into other forms of social media for time’s sake, I love what social media has allowed me to do in terms of my relationships and in opening up my world.

Then 2016 happened.

Somewhere in finding my “voice” during the 2016 election cycle, I discovered that many, many others had also found their voices. And as they shared their voices, wounds that had appeared to heal over the decades and centuries were suddenly ripped back open. I hurt, not because I felt personally attacked (well, I did a couple times but my husband helped to talk me back from the ledge on those occasions) but because the words they said and shared hurt me to my soul. I tried to stick to issues about which I was very knowledgeable  or in which I had a stake, but I found myself sucked in on issues about which I had no expertise and yet I felt the need to “correct” what I saw as “incorrect” thinking, if only to encourage others to see another perspective. Sometimes I jumped in because I felt that the echo chamber had become so loud that no one was considering the other side at all and I naively wanted to bring the conversation back to earth, only to be sucked into a poisonous vortex from which there appeared to be no escape. During the last year there was a lot of talk about people who gave up friendships and cut off ties because of things they had seen and read, and while I did block a couple feeds from my wall, I tried as hard as I could to treasure the diverse views I saw on a daily basis. I only “unfriended” a small number of people, mostly because I didn’t want their rhetoric spilling onto my own Facebook page. I got through the 2016 election with my Facebook friend list, and my genuine friendships, mostly intact. But I also knew that a change was needed.

And so in 2017, I have decided to step back and learn to listen, really listen.

As someone who thrives on deep, meaningful conversation, taking a step back to just listen is not easy. I love to hear what other people have to say, but then I want respond, sharing my own experiences and insight, sometimes jumping in well before I should. Again, this is something that has become increasingly easy to do, thanks to the “magic” of social media. Unfortunately, it has also been the cause of many a destroyed relationship nationwide over the past year. And so I have resolved, albeit not perfectly, to only comment when I have an “expert” voice to throw into the ring, and I have attempted to do so with respect to those with whom I might disagree. And when I don’t understand another’s point of view, I have resolved, again albeit not perfectly, to ask questions so that I can better understand. I haven’t been perfect. As an educator I have publicly expressed my irritation at the appointment of Betsy Devos to the post of Secretary of Education. While I don’t regret speaking out against her, I did post some things that were more inflammatory than I intended and I got called on it by a couple people I respect. As always, my intent was not to offend, but to inform on an issue about which I am passionate, and an issue that affects me on a daily basis. In other areas, I have chosen to take a step back and listen. A month ago I joined a large Facebook group with the intent of working towards racial reconciliation. One of the rules of the group is that new members cannot comment or post anything for the first three months. At first, I thought that this requirement was excessive. Then I started reading posts. To be honest, the more I learn, the more I discover I don’t know. I’m glad the rule is there. It has forced me to internalize and process a lot of things I might have otherwise spoken to without actual knowledge. Additionally, I’ve decided to listen to more podcasts about different topics so that I can be both better informed and have a stronger base for my own personal beliefs. I continue to listen to and read fiction and non-fiction books that cover a variety of issues and genres. Some of these selections affirm what I already know and believe, some of these books challenge what I have always “known” and believed, and some of these books just challenge me to see things in a different way. It is important to expose ourselves to ideas that run contrary to our own views. Not because it helps us to better understand our “enemy,” but because it helps us learn how to dialog with fellow humans. If we understand why an individual sees the world differently than us, we will be better equipped to converse with them instead of talking at them. I continue to be thankful for a diverse friend base that both affirms and challenges me to see things in a different way, and I am thankful for those friends with which I am able to “agree to disagree” without losing our mutual respect for each other. In short, I have decided to take a step back and practice an important ingredient for empathy: listening.

All of this does not mean I won’t occasionally pontificate on issues about which I am knowledgeable and it doesn’t mean I won’t occasionally step in to try to get someone see a different perspective, to encourage them to “be still” and listen as well. I don’t want to give up on social media. As a woman who has lived all over the country and who has friends and family all over the US and in several places around the globe, I don’t want to give up the amazing connection that social media gives us to share our lives with each other in real time. I also want to continue to access the open forum, the ability to discuss and share and challenge each other. But I want to challenge my friends to listen to each other. If someone shares an experience with you that contradicts all that you think you know about the world, it may be a good time to ask questions and listen to answers without feedback. It may be time to step out of the echo chamber and into the unknown.

World peace may just be a beauty pageant dream, but world understanding is possible if we just take a moment to learn to listen.

Kids These Days


In high school I was part of a performance of the musical number “Kids” from Bye Bye Birdie. At the time it was an amusing look at the curmudgeonly cycle of referring to the current generation as “disobedient, disrespectful oafs / Noisy, crazy, sloppy, lazy, loafers.” As a teenager tired of hearing adults disparage my peers and me, I found it amusing to see that this was not a new rhetoric. Amusing and frustrating. Because as much as I wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of this cycle of irritation with the next generation, it frustrated me to know that my parents and their peers had been treated the same way when they were my age, and yet older people saw us as sloppy (cue longish hair and baggy clothes), lazy, loud, and crass.

Yes, when I think back to my teen years, those angry 90s when we listened to Nirvana asking to be entertained and Alanis Morissette’s angry girl laments and Meredith Brooks pointing out the paradox that is most women, I’m reminded just how cynical we really were. But there was more to the bridge generation known as the Oregon Trail Generation than met the eye. We were more than a mix of grunge, hip hop, and mosh pits. As Anna Garvey stated in her blog post “The Oregon Trail Generation: Life Before and After Mainstream Tech,” we had “both a healthy portion of Gen X cynicism, and a dash of the unbridled optimism of Millennials.”

When I started teaching in the fall of 2002, only five years older than my oldest high school seniors, kids who were the same age as one of my younger sisters, I came face-to-face with the generational shift to the Millennials. I didn’t get my first cell phone until I was 24. Most of my students already had one. I didn’t get my own email address until my senior year of high school. They had been using the Internet since middle school. By my third or fourth year teaching, note passing began to disappear as texting increased. Before smart phones became a new way to do homework, I would take away cell phones from students with a flourish, proud of my ability to catch students in their latest cell phone infraction all while lamenting the fact that I couldn’t catch them all. The more distanced I became from my students, the more prone I was to the “kids these days” thinking.

But as someone who spends every day with the tale end of the Millennial generation and the start of the post-Millennial generation, I find critique of “kids these days” sad and seriously misguided. This critique often comes from people who don’t regularly spend their days with young people under the age of 25. They see these young people on the news or in stores or out on the street and their automatic social media reaction is:


Memes like this oversimplify issues and avoid facts. They are meant to demean instead of generate honest and open discussion. Based on my experiences, I choose to believe that Generation Z, the “kids these days,” are the hope of the future. So why am I so optimistic about this generation of young people?

  • Because they are incredibly driven. No really, they are. Do you remember what your senior year of high school was like? Better yet, do you remember what your junior year (which is typically considered the hardest year of high school for today’s students) of high school was like? Do you remember the number of activities you were involved in and the classes you were taking and the homework load that you had and maybe, just maybe, that part-time job that you had just so that you could afford to put gas into your car? I do, and I can tell you right now that my students are doing way more and working way harder than my peers and I did when we were their age. My students don’t sleep. And no, it’s not just those little glowing screens that they are holding in their hands every waking moment. They go to school, then practice or games (for a variety of activities), then they might get dinner, then by 8:00 pm, they are sitting down to do their 3.5 hours of homework for the night. And that is an average night. They are taking more AP classes, more dual-credit classes, spending more hours on extra-curriculars, and competing for fewer desired college admissions spots than ever before. Twenty years of NCLB and Race to the Top have left these kids exhausted and yet they keep at it because they want to succeed. And our society has made it harder than ever to do so. You want to know why kids are marching asking free college tuition? Because twenty years after I entered my private liberal arts college, students today are paying twice as much in tuition. Because the minimum wage job that I held while a college student probably wouldn’t pay the rent on our senior year apartment. Because American culture has told them the lie that the only way to be successful in this country is if they have a four-year degree, yet only 36 percent of full time students complete college in four years. And it’s not just that they want it for themselves. Earlier this school year I had a discussion with one of my Generation Z cousins (I’m the oldest of 23 grandchildren so we have quite the age spread). His reasoning for arguing for free college wasn’t because of him, it was because of a couple of his good high school friends who he feared were doomed to be stuck in unskilled, minimum wage jobs for the rest of their lives because they couldn’t afford school. While I disagree with him that free college tuition is the solution to that problem, his heart is in the right place. He doesn’t just want success for himself. He wants it for his friends as well.
  • Because they are compassionate and desire to be informed. It would be unfair to say that my generation doesn’t care about others. While I have been disappointed by the words (and some actions) of my peers in the last year, I’ve seen plenty that demonstrates my generation cares. In college I saw classmates travel to Haiti and India and Costa Rica. They went off on Habitat builds and worked in struggling communities. They’ve adopted and fostered and cared for kids who needed it. And apparently the next generation was paying attention, because they’ve taken it a step further. My students know more about their world than I ever did at their age. I was in high school when the Rwandan genocide happened and knew nothing about it until Hotel Rwanda came out when I was in my 20s. They read books (yes, they really do), watch documentaries, listen to the news, listen to podcasts, and push themselves to take courses that help to inform as well as teach skills. A lot has been said about campus “safe spaces” and there have been far too many comments referring to younger Millennials and older Generation Z-ers as “snowflakes.” There is a lot of valid debate on both sides concerning these campus issues, but what those discussions ignore is the fact that, thanks to social media, college students are more aware of what their peers are thinking and feeling than ever before. And it isn’t because they care too much about how they are perceived; it’s because they care about how others treat their friends. Where I was raised on an unhealthy pro-life rhetoric of “baby killers” language and exposure to pictures of aborted fetuses, my pro-life students today don’t talk about doctors and clinics. They talk about babies and caring for mothers, even after birth. They give me hope that maybe someday we really will be able to change the conversation. “Kids these days” care about their peers around the world. When they see a Tweet from the other side of the globe they want to know what is happening and how they can help, even if it is just raising further awareness. Yes, there are some who have abused social media, but more and more young people are using social media show compassion and become more informed.
  • Because they don’t just say they want to make a difference, they actually go out and do it. At the private school I taught at in Indiana, several students made the January trek to Washington, D.C. to participate in the March for Life, determined to see an end to abortion. In recent years I’ve watched my students show me over and over again what it means to not just follow Jesus, but to BE Jesus to a broken world. I’ve seen more and more students over the years participate in mission trips, getting their hands literally and figuratively dirty. This last year I saw former students and younger cousins dive into their support for various political candidates with the hope that somehow, someway, their candidate would win to make their nation better. I saw some of these same students peacefully march on the weekend of the Inauguration to stand up for a variety of causes. In the last month I’ve seen more of these same young people joining organizations so they can actively make a difference. When a former student sent me a message and asked me what she should do, I told her to pick a cause and go after it. That is exactly what she decided to do. And last month I stepped outside of my own comfort zone and joined a group of my students in a poverty simulation, spending an entire weekend learning what it is to live in poverty and in the trap of homelessness. Watching these kids that I taught last year make discoveries about themselves, their community, their country, their world, and their role as Christ followers was one of the most rewarding teaching experiences of my life.

And if we Gen X and Oregon Trail Gen-ers are willing and careful, we can help to mentor and guide these generations towards their endeavors. Instead of criticizing, we can build them up. My five-year-old son helped me discover this near the beginning of this school year. As we were walking from the Early Childhood playground to the Elementary playground, where my daughter was playfully waiting, he noticed some much older boys making fun of a couple workers who were fixing up the playground. He left my side, walked over to them, and told them to cut it out. When he returned to me he was visibly upset, asking, “Mommy, why were they being mean to those workers? They were just doing their job.” I was shocked and proud in the best of ways. The boys appeared to see two Hispanic workers doing minimum wage labor on a playground they weren’t even going to use. My son saw two men who were serving him and his classmates by fixing up their playground. I never want him to lose that empathy and desire to help humankind. I want better for my children. I want better for my students. But I can’t just expect better of them. I need to make sure that they have ample opportunity to grow and mature and do everything they can to make their world a better place. And I need to be willing to stand by their side as they do so.

Do I still get irritated by my students’ frustrating lack of practical technical knowledge despite the fact that they have technology in their hands at all times? (Seriously people, how hard is it to insert a hyperlink into a PowerPoint?) Am I still appalled by the number of young cashiers who are completely incapable of giving me the correct change when I give them cash? Do I still struggle with two children who clearly demonstrate their privilege by throwing mini-tantrums when they don’t get what they want when they want it? Yes, yes, and yes. But since the beginning of creation there has not been a single flawless generation and I refuse to believe that one generation is worse than the next. Each generation is just a reflection of its time. And just as each generation is a reflection of its time, each generation attempts to improve upon its time.

So why don’t we give them a chance?

On second thought, why don’t we let them lead the way?