Hey, has anyone heard from that crazy girl who when to that little place in the big ocean?

Yes, I know, it has been months since I last blogged, but that does not mean I haven't been writing. It just seems there is always more to say and not enough time to finish writing. Thus instead of hitting 'publish post,' I've hit 'save now' in hopes of getting back to it sooner than later (you all already know how that story has turned out thus far). Despite my delay and my insufficient words, I do want to fulfill my promise and share my experience with you and so I will published the over-saved blogs from the past months.

While I do not have the time to update you since my last draft, I will do my best to get something out in the next three weeks (drop me a scolding if I don't follow through). Oh, an advanced apology for the last story's cliff hanger, which seems to serve as a perfect example of why so many things just get stored in my draft box instead of published. I will do my best to finish up that entry in my next blog.

----------------------------- Written Sometime in December -----------------------------------

Teaching: 1 Semester Down, 3 To Go
My first semester of teaching could more accurately be described as my first semester of learning. For all you ed majors out there it was like student teaching without the education classes to build a background of skills and without the mentor teacher for support. While I can now tell you the order of the empires that conquered Mesopotamia, I can more importantly begin to manage a classroom of seventh graders bursting with energy. Although I have taken in a plethora of information and techniques, I know what I need to learn significantly outweighs what I have learned.

In the realm of after school activities, the math club never got off the ground. Instead of focusing on crunching numbers, Tuesdays and Wednesdays were open for general tutoring. The one-on-one and small group tutoring was GREAT! I loved being able to give personal attention to students as it enables me to cater to their specific means of understanding. For an example, I have compared adding positive and negative integers to baseball teams, rap artists, and cooking. When it comes to subtracting negative integers I've got a ridiculous dance that reminds student if they see a "crazy Ms. Josephine " (aka -(-x)) they need to change the double negative to a positive.

The ability to embrace a student's development in academics and, more importantly, character is a humbling honor. I get to witness a young minds slowly put pieces of a puzzle together, until there is a subtle, yet distinct look of brief curious confusion that is filled with a pondering expression that reads something like, "wait . . . is that it?" to a sudden beaming smile upon their face and an energy blended of pride and enthusiasm, which radiates from their heart filling the space around them. From the success of conquering one problem a student finds the confidence and drive to try another. Maybe that is what education is really about, providing student the opportunity to build self-confidence and find a spark that inspires them to keep growing. Maybe as a teacher our role is simply to walk with our students hip-to-hip along their journey, briefly providing guidance, challenges, and encouragement while our paths merge for a few short miles.

Have you ever been filled with pride for someone? The kind of pride that is joyfully humbled in the presence of another's accomplishments, so much so that it forgets the being from whom the emotion emerged. It is the pride for another that captures your energy and runs through you, reflecting the same beaming smile that is in front of you. While I have been proud of many people throughout the years, I have only experienced this depth of pride a few times yet as I continue to teach it seems to be emerging again and again. Maybe this is the pride a parent feels for a child, in which case I can begin to see how all the long days of being constantly called upon, enforcing discipline, though it breaks your heart, and pushing through even when you are exhausted is worth that brief moment of a genuine, joyful, and proud smile from another. Now, to all my elders that may begin to get excited or for some worried at this statement, let me clarify that I will not be bringing any new lives into this world any time soon. Teaching a classroom of seventh graders provides enough birth control to last a me a couple years after I return home.

As I begin to plan for round two of teaching, I am racking my brain of how to structure the material to best fit my students needs. It seems I have two groups of students, one group being above the level I taught at last semester, and the other being below. While teaching the material in the middle ground between the two groups worked last semester, it seemed to still be too fast for one group, and not enough for the the other. So, this is a call to all you teachers out there. . . Any ideas of how to teach a class with two distinct levels of learning? Let me know.

The Heart of the Holidays
Belated season greetings to you all. I hope each of you had a wonderful Turkey-Merry-Rock'n Eve (yeah, that is a combo of all three major holidays). Each of the holiday celebrations brought a bit of something old and a bit of something new. Here is a glimpse into my world . . .

Thanksgiving: Two meals and a New Tradition
Thanksgiving began Wednesday night with dinner number one. Our landlord had to leave for a business trip on Thursday and so he gathered his extended family for a Thanksgiving celebration the night before. With a canopy pitched in our shared front yard, a table full of both American and Ponapean food, and people gathered together, Thanksgiving began. The food was good, the company was delightful, and the combo of the two made for a nice night.

Turkey day itself kicked off with a PCS (the school I work at) tradition. The PCS community gathered to celebrate Thanksgiving Day Mass, however this mass was not just a celebration, but also an offering of thanks. As the students rolled onto the PCS campus, they carried with them fruits from their land, which were placed before the altar in the church. Bananas, coconuts, breadfruit, sugar cane, sour sap, and various other fruits overflowed from the space before the altar to the steps leading up to the sacred space. As I stood in amazement of how much food was gathered, other staff commented that this year's collection of food was the lowest they had ever seen. I can't imagine what the previous years collections must have been as I was still floored by the amount of fruits in front of me. It was beautiful to see the students bring forth their offerings, big or small, in a spirit of gratitude. Once the food had been set before the altar we all celebrated Mass together with our offering of thanks not only within our hearts, but also expressed before us. After the Mass we loaded all the fruits into flat beds for the 8th grade class and the PCS staff to deliver the State Hospital and the prison; the rest of the school was dismissed for the day. Our first stop was the state hospital, where the 8th grade students lead a short prayer service for each wing of the hospital and then passed out a couple of pieces of fruit to each of the families there. We then unloaded a ton of fruits at the hospital's kitchen for their general use. Next, it was off to the prison where we unloaded the rest of the collection and the 8th graders again lead a short prayer service. When all the delivers had been made, we headed back to the PCS campus and were dismissed for the day.

For Thanksgiving dinner the three of us JVs had been invited to the Peace Core's celebration, but it turned out there was a miscommunication as to the location of the dinner. Thus, with a green bean casserole in hand we headed out to the Jesuit's house to see if their invitation to dinner was still open. Welcoming us with open arms we joined the circle of less than a dozen various individuals. As a group we were a random assortment, but we were all connected through being distant from loved ones during this holiday, and by the welcome of the warm heart of the Jesuit fathers. The gathering of new and familiar faces, of wonders and residents, of old and young, and a sharing of whatever one could bring seemed to a prefect reflection of what that first Thanksgiving might have been.

Over the past five years of Thanksgivings I have only been able to spend one with my family in Arizona. However, during the four Thanksgiving I have celebrated distant from family I have been amazed by the open and embracing arms which have received me. Weather it be Westlynn, OR, or the Shipstad HDs apartment, or Boise, ID, or a small island in the Pacific, I have been shown a hospitality that has touched my heart. Those who say that there is no hope for the human race, that the discord and unrest of this world is too much, I say be received into someone's home and you will experience the love of being taken in by someone, not in a pitiful way, but in humble offer of peace and rest. Our ability to receive and offer goodness to one another testifies to our human capabilities of peace. Maybe the solution is simple: open our doors. It has been the embrace of love from others that continues to inspire me to embrace others with love. I guess Ghandi had it right, "Be the change you want to see in the world." For better or worse, our actions will touch deeper than our words.

----------------------------- Written Sometime in October -----------------------------------

It has been a little over three months since my arrival to Pohnpei. Time has passed like a classical song filled with fortes, pianissimos, allegros, and andantes. I have tried to stay in tempo with the music, keeping my feet and body in motion with the beats as the dynamics of the music changes, and while life is still a roller coaster, the ride has begun to smooth itself out a bit.

I last wrote to you about two months ago, and in that time the elegance of the ordinary has begun its transformation upon me. Maybe this idea is best captured in a journal entry from a few weeks ago:

So much has happened since my arrival to Pohnpei, yet to the onlooker nothing extraordinary, nothing that would be worth the last page of a grassroots newspaper or even a mention as a a space filler between conversation topics. But it is precisely in the ordinary that the extraordinary is emerging, and transforming the vessels that are open to it.

Rarely do these transformations take place or manifest themselves in the breathtaking magnificence of a sunset or in a scene from a 55 cent postcard. No, these transformations happen during the sweat of the day before the sun rests; it happens in the images and experiences which cannot be photographed.

Moment by moment with every breath something stirs, shakes, trembles, releases, transforms and finally settles just to find enough ragged rest before it is taken up again. This wearing process is so easily overlooked, misunderstood and disregarded by others, but even more tragically by the one being transformed. How pitifully foolish I am in forgetting the beauty and power of a breath. How cowardly to fear being torn down and apart when I have been offered to be made anew. I loose sight so quickly becoming blind in the daily routine of to-dos. I get caught up in the doing and forget the essence of being, hmm isn't that the trap I always seem to step into?

-Journal Entry: October 19, 2008 (Before I continue, let me interject that I was hesitant to share material from my journal, but as I have promised to share with you the genuine me, I decided to take a risk and put it all out there.)

It is eye-opening for me to tune into my internal transformation, which like all of you reading this, is constantly in motion. Yet how often I simply go on about my day without regard to the fundamental element that makes me who I am, my spirit; the source from which my laughter roars, from which my perceptions are formed, from which my drive and energy roots . . . the place where the essence of who I am is revealed. And while it is impossible to capture the intrinsic transformation occurring within me, for how can something in constant motion be captured, there are a few I can try to articulate for you.

My eyes are being opened to my own gifts. No, not talents, but gifts that are unique to my being. My interaction with various people and situations has begun to serve as a mirror of reflection to both the beautiful and struggling sides of who I am. I have found some of the things that came so easy to me in the past I now struggle with, but in the struggle emerges an appreciation and a new depth. A simple example of this is my interaction with nature. I am a person who receives great enjoyment, energy, and renewal from nature. In fact, I have driven a few college friends crazy with the talk of the magnificent reds and oranges found in Portland's Fall leaves (aside: If you are in Portland please take a walk around the block, breathe deep, and take in the Fall for me). My appreciation of nature, even of the simplest leaf, was something I knew was unique, but I did not realize the depth of it until I began to go through my day here so busy doing that I lost sight of this precious source of peace. Yes, I know I sound very hippie right now, but what can I say? It's true. Shamefully, it was in losing sight of the simple beauty around me, that I discovered how I have taken this gift for granted. It wasn't until I had to stop myself, breathe, and let this gift reveal itself to me again that I realized the beauty of it.

To be honest, it is difficult for me to write about my gifts that I am discovering within myself as I have never been one to pat myself on the back, but maybe that is part of what I need to learn: to recognize the gifts and beauty I possess. This realization, and others like it, do not come by walking through fields of sunshine and roses, it has been a lot of the down roller coaster moments that my eyes are lifted and made clear.


I am still amazed how frequently I see each of you throughout my day. The random happenings of the day seem to call forth a memory, a smile, and a simple thought of you. There are no names need for this list, you know who you are.

I see you in math word problems, such as "Katie lives 10,000 miles away from Christine. Christine lives 2,000 miles away from Sarah. How far does Katie live from Sarah?"

I see you on my walk to school when I see a perfect "happy tree" and a perfect "worry tree."

I see you when conversations about football emerge (Go Chicago!).

I see you when my ipod shuffles to songs by Paul Simion, Carbon Leaf, Van Morrision, and Disney.

I see you when I am drinking my cup of coffee and I think of our coffee shop outings.

I see you when I am craving a good Northwest brew, and I flash back to the great conversations over a pint at a pub or a bottle in the dorms.

I see you when I play my neighbor in Scrabble.

I see you when that particular comments are made.

I see you when my squeeking/gasping-for-air laugh comes skreeching out.

I see you when I long for a game of cribbage.

I see you in the seventh grade students I teach.

I see you when something fantastic happens, or something frustrating, or something that I would normally run to you to share.

This is list is endless, as I see each of you where ever I go because I am sharing with others the gifts you have shared with me. I am so often overwhelmed with how blessed I am to have such amazing people in my life.

Special Moments

My route to and from school is such that it takes me past a house horizontally painted red, white and blue. One evening in late September, I was head home after a long and frustrating day of teaching. I walked along worn out just wanting to get to the house. As I approached the patriotic house, I noticed there was a large gathering of people. There were people everywhere. Folks were sitting on cars, on the low walls, in the patio area, in front of the neighbors home. I could hear some low chatter and a bit of laughter, but for the most part the decimal of noise was kept to one similar to what your parents set on their car radio. With each step I drew closer to the house and noticed a new detail: plates scattered about the patio floor and being filled with food, a beautifully wrinkled woman sitting in a white plastic chair observing the work at hand, a water spicket attached to the side of the house being turned on and off as people rinsed their hands between tasks, children playing further down the street . . . . There was a warmth radiating from the house, and while the massive amount of cooking combined with the multiple bodies did raise the temperature a few degrees, this warmth radiated from the connections made between people. With a steady Minnesotan mosey I became parallel with the house, glanced over with a general but genuine smile, and continued walking when I felt something grab my hand. I peered down and it was a little girl, maybe 10 years old. "You follow?" she asked. I was caught off guard and was a bit confused. "You want to follow?" she repeated her question with a bit of eagerness. "Follow?" I asked