The Mustard Seed

Some of you may be familiar with the "mustard seed" story. You know, the one from the bible. Don't worry - this isn't going to be a sermon - you don't have to stop reading the blog.

I've grown up hearing that story. Perhaps you have too. But I have to admit that I never really "got it". Faith the size of a mustard seed ... what is that?

I always thought you needed to be so "together". And if you weren't ... well, then, I guess you didn't have enough faith. If you had doubts or were unsure. If you weren't doing your best or couldn't figure out what to do next. If you shook your head in defeat or sat sobbing not even sure why. You did these things because you didn't have what it took ... you didn't have enough faith. (I've done all these things and more, by the way.)

I've admired so many people who have seemed to have this capacity to always see the bright side and hold on when everything around them is telling them to let go. Famous people and everyday folks alike. How did they do it? How did they manage to hang in there when I so often couldn't? What was I doing wrong? Why wasn't I as strong as they?

It wasn't until recently ... very recently - like two weeks ago ... that I finally understood.

I was having a bad day a work. We've all been there, right? A fellow teacher asked me what was wrong. She said she could see it all over my face. I told her I just didn't have it that day. I didn't have it in me to fix my face, to give a stiff upper lip, to pull it all together. I was just holding on. It was all I could do. And I felt like a failure. Here I was at work and I was letting what was bothering me show though like glass. What kind of person was I?

But that's the secret ... that's the "mustard seed". No, I wasn't able to give it my all ... the full strength I usually have. But I was holding on. I was standing up. I was at work, after all. And functioning at some capacity. I hadn't given up. It may not have been much. But it was a "mustard seed's" worth. And that was enough for that moment.

Later that day, I got some news that pepped me up. My face got brighter ... I wasn't looking so down in the mouth. I was able to stand a bit straighter and be more of myself. That "mustard seed" had gotten me though.

So, I now know. I finally understand. It's not that you have to have it all always. Sometimes, you just need a "mustard seed's" worth.

Doorways to New Beginnings

I have a thing about doors. I know ... strange ... doors. Why doors? I'm not sure when it began but I started noticing them. I mean really noticing them. How beautiful they were. Some simple in design and material used. Some intricate and ornate, complex in both design and scope. Believe it or not, I wanted to create a museum of doors. Really ... honest.

My "door thing" revved into full gear on a trip to Russia. I went with a bunch of Special Education teachers with People to People. In addition to talking with our Russian counterparts in education, we, of course, saw the sites. Russia is an amazing place, rich in history and culture. Otherworldly, in a way that places we never imagined we would ever see can often be. Oh ... but their doors.

I was fascinated, intrigued, captivated. I had to reach out and touch every door I saw. That became the running joke: There's Erika touching another door! I actually got reprimanded by a guard in one of the museums. Oops. Guess I wasn't supposed to touch that one.

Somehow, reaching out and touching the doors helped me to connect to the history, the grandeur of it all. Someone took the time to consider the door - how it should look. They had a vision for this structure. And they knew that the door was the opening to it all. It would set the tone for how people would be received, how people would be embraced. Would they be intimidated, feel threatened? Would they understand that the occupants were formidable opponents? Or would they instantly sense an air of welcoming and friendship? Did they, as I did upon entering one of the oldest cathedrals, feel an instant divine reverence ... a hush as if they knew they were entering sacred ground?

I guess at the heart of my obsession is the idea of what doors represent: they are the beginning, the gateway to possibilities, the openings to new worlds. All we have to do is reach out and open up.

Opening Up to Possibilities

I pride myself in never asking my students to do something I wouldn't do myself. It's something I tell them all the time. And, I truly believed that I was practicing what I preached.

Recently, I realize that I was doing my students a great injustice. Every day, I was asking them ... insisting really ... to do something that I was not demanding of myself.

I stress how important it is for them to always, and I do mean ALWAYS, do their very best, never let anyone tell them what they can or cannot do, live up to their fullest potential, and never give their choices away. Sound advice. I would tolerate no less.

Sadly, what I realize is that I have not been demanding the same of myself. Not really.

I wasn't trying not too ... on the contrary - I thought I was. But what I've come to accept is that I'm simply not. I know I have more potential in me than I allow out, although I strive to do my best, I don't seek out the optimal situations to do it in, I let others define me and accept those definitions as my own. In short - I'm not practicing what i'm preaching.

So as I begin this new year, I've brought a new focus into my life. It's not a "resolution" - I've never been big on those. They're just too easy to break. It's more of a focus on life. It's pretty simple but, if I can do it everyday, it will be extremely powerful.

Open myself up to all possibilities ... each and every day ... one day at a time.

That's it. But I know by doing this, really focusing on doing this every minute of every day, I will be more true to my students. And, more importantly, to myself.

The cool thing is that not only do I have a new focus for the year, I have a new focus for my blog. Welcome to my journey. I hope you'll hang on for the ride. And, by the way, thank you for reading, following ... whatever it is you do. I so completely appreciate it and I never take it for granted.

Lady Liberty

"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

I've been thinking about this poem - well, this part of the larger poem, as I just learned. Sadly, I only knew the "Give me your tired, your poor ... " part. Until a very good friend of mine, a New Yorker, filled me in on "The wretched refuse of your teeming shore" section. Not until I looked it up before posting this blog did I know that there was even more. But I digress.

The reason I've been thinking about this poem is related to what I do ... teach. More specifically, a Special Education teacher. I find that in my profession, I'm often serving the 20%. For those of you not in education the 20% is the compliment to the 80% you should reach for "mastery". Ideally, once you've hit 80% you can safely more on to other material.

"But what about the other 20%," you ask? Well, that's where I come in. And this is where the poem began to ring true for me. The 20% is often the "tired, poor, huddled masses ... the wretched refuse". Now, no teacher would willingly admit to viewing any student like this ... but. These are the kids that often cause trouble, the ones who can't seem to follow the rules, those who threaten to pull the scores down.

But for me, these are just kids. Beautiful, amazing, talented kids who, for one reason or another, may struggle in the more traditional sense of education. I see them for all the potential they possess and not as "the wretched refuse". If they aren't succeeding, it's not their fault. It's because I've failed them as their teacher. For it is my job to reach them, to find a way to help them succeed, to make the material relevant to their lives.

So, in this small way, I connect with Lady Liberty. Thank you for giving me the torch to light my way.

Truly Thankful

It's Thanksgiving. And I just finished watching "Eat, Pray, Love" with my mom and one of my sisters. Believe me, this is not a blog about the movie nor is it a plug. (Not that I didn't enjoy it.) But, without watching it and the comments that were made, I might not have this blog.

During the movie, I commented on how it might be nice to live in Bali - the scenery during this portion of the movie was simply breathtaking. And the home where Julia Robert's character lived was ... well ... I can only describe it as a dream. I love to travel and haven't done it nearly enough. So, as I watched, I was thinking of all the places I'd like to add to my list. And how wonderful it must be to actually take time off - maybe a year as in the movie - to do it.

My sister was kind enough to remind me, at that very moment, that this was not real. "You do know this is a movie," she prompted. Way to burst my bubble, sis.

Of course I knew it was a movie. But there are spectacular places in the world that do exists and I would like to see them someday. Wonderful, breathtaking, life changing places that have to be seen to be experienced. And I want to experience them all.

So, as I started thinking more and more about this, I realized some of the things that I'm thankful for. Most things I think about, and mention out loud, have to do with things outside myself. Well, this Thanksgiving, and on my blog, I'm thankful for things that are inside me.

I'm thankful for my passionate spirit.
I'm thankful that I still wonder at all there is in life.
I'm thankful for my ability to imagine.
I'm thankful that I'm still curious.
I'm thankful that my heart and soul are big enough to love unconditionally.
I'm thankful that I can see a movie and consider the possibilities that it inspires.

There's so much inside me ... and so much more to come. What better reason to be thankful.

I've Been Away A While

So, as you can see, I've been away for a while. I didn't mean to abandon my blog, or turn my back on my followers. By the way, thank you for following me. I now see that I have three followers - I don't know when I went from 2 to 3 but, seriously, Wow! - I am very excited and grateful.

My "hiatus" was due to the concerns of a very important person in my life. This person ... who, yes, will remain nameless ... deals with another side of society than most of us do. She sees all that is ugly, sick, demented, hateful, maybe even evil in the human spirit. Because of this, her perspective on the Internet and social media is one of apprehension and caution. Because if this, I pulled back on my interaction. I no longer have a Twitter account and, therefore, do not tweet. (Sorry for any of you out there who use to follow me.) And I stopped blogging ... but I just didn't have the heart to take it down completely.

I think the Internet and social media is like anything else in our society. It is not, in and of itself, evil - or good for that matter. It's an inanimate object. It is what people do with it that makes it something else. I hear so many negative things about texting, blogging, tweeting, Facebooking, etc'ing. These things are not the ills of society. They aren't making our kids social idiots. They're just "things". It's how our kids use them, or the extent to which they use them, that may impact their socialization.

Think back to the telephone. No, I was not around when it was first invented. But I was fortunate enough to hear stories from my great-grandmother about when her family first go one. Imagine what it might have been like - this thing that would destroy the human ability to write letters, communicate effectively, drain people's brains through continuous use. I do remember my grandmother warning me about the "boob-tube". Yes, television ... another rotter of human minds. Trust me, I agree that too much TV viewing is unhealthy and I closely monitor my son's intake. But think of all that we are able to experience and learn through television. Where would I be without Sesame Street, School House Rock, the Discovery Channel? And don't get me started on email. I remember when a person would never, EVER send a resume via email. It was considered the epitome of unprofessionalism! And just think of where we are now. Email is a standard form of business communication and most employers actually prefer a resume in electronic form.

I guess what I am saying is that it really isn't technology or new inventions that ruin society. It's what we choose to do with them that makes or breaks it. So, I will take the advice I've been so lovingly given about the ills of the Internet and social media and I will be cautious and as careful as a person can. But, I will also continue to do what I love to do. Write. And I'll try my best to do it fairly regularly ... right here on my very own blog.

Memories of Merrik

My son asked me to list about 10 memories of his life. Something he needed for a school project. I had such a good time reliving precious moments that I couldn't resist posting them. I hope you will endulge me a bit.



When I was pregnant with Merrik, he loved to kick! His favorite place was up underneath my ribs ... especially at night when I was sleeping.

The first time I saw Merrik after his delivery was in the NICU. I was so worried about him and if we would be OK. The doctor told me this was just a precaution - he would be fine - but I wanted to see for myself. Boy ... did I ever see for myself! There he was, a whopping 8 pounds 12 ounces, laying flat on his back, sprawled out. Serving as bookends were two premature babies. I prayed those mothers didn’t come while I was there. I would have been so embarrassed!

In the hospital, we had Merrik circumcised. A decision I didn’t take lightly. Again, I worried about my baby. Again, the doctor assured me that he would be OK. “This is a routine procedure,” she said. When they finally brought him back to my room, I was anxious to hold him in my arms. I reached out, took Merrik from the doctor, and saw the look on his face. He didn’t cry ... he didn’t make a sound. He just sat there, staring at me, with this angry look on his face like “you did this to me.” I spent the rest of the night saying I was sorry.

As some people know (mother’s mostly, I assume) babies actually loose weight right after they are born. It’s perfectly normal and they quickly regain it soon after arriving home. Not my son. Merrik actually gained weight. It was only two ounces but when you’re expected to loose weight, it’ a pretty big deal. So big, in fact, that the nurses weighed him twice ... then told all the other nurses.

One of my favorite sayings when Merrik was a toddler, “Up me, Mommy. Up me.” He would look up at me with his hands in the air, opening and closing his little fists. So cute.

A terrifying memory: It was right after Merrik started sleeping in a toddler bed. He had outgrown his crib and was doing quite well in his “big boy bed”. One night, I was awoken to the most blood-curdling scream I have ever heard. I sat straight up trying to determine what that sound could have been. Then I heard it again. It was my child ... Merrik. Someone must be attacking him. Oh, no! Someone must of gotten into the house and is hurting my baby! I jumped out of bed and ran down the hall to his room. Merrik was on his back, eyes wide open, body stiff as a board, screaming. I grabbed him in my arms ... he must be in terrible pain. I called his name, tried to hold him close to me, rocked him. But nothing worked. His body remained rigid. His screams never subsided. My words of comfort did nothing. After what seemed like an eternity, as quickly and mysteriously as it had started, it stopped. And Merrik was fast asleep. I was later told that what Merrik experienced was called “night terrors”. The good news: Merrik would be fine. He would eventually grow out of it and remember nothing. The bad news: I would never EVER be the same again.

When Merrik learned to ride a tricycle, I would take him around the block. He would peddle, pumping his little legs, laughing, having the time of his life. Along our journey, there was a garage that looked like a barn door. Each time we passed, Merrik would exclaim, “Look Mommy! A barn, a barn!” Each and every time. And I would act surprised, as if I hadn’t seen it before.

A ritual. When Merrik went to daycare, he developed his own unique way of greeting me when I came to pick him up at the end of the day. When he saw me come through the door, he would jump up and charge at me full speed, jumping into an enormous hug. I loved it. Of course, until he kept getting bigger and heavier and still wanted to run at me full speed and jump into a hug.

Merrik’s first year in school. The local paper decided to do an article on the “little school that could”. Amazingly, or not so amazingly for anyone who has actually met Merrik, among the entire student body, the reporter found a charming young lad and chose to interview him.

Merrik was in an after school program at St. Barnabas. When I picked him up, he could be found playing games, running around, talking with other students or the adults (who, by the way, were totally enthralled with him and his conversations). One day during third grade, he was sitting with one of the teachers playing Connect Four. I started to say something but was met with a harsh “shhhhhhhh!” from onlookers. So I waited. And waited. And waited. Apparently, Merrik had been playing for almost an hour, continually beating the adult ... legitimately beating the adult. It was like he was in a trance; staring only at the game board. Placing in his pieces one-by-one. When he achieved victory, he uttered not a word. He simply pointed out his “four”, slid the lever to clear the board, and began again.

A mother’s worse nightmare. We were out at a mall. Merrik was about 10 or 11. Old enough to linger behind, giving his all to appear like he wasn’t a with me. I hadn’t realized that the gap between us had grown so great until I was outside and heard a man calling ... screaming actually ... “Miss! Miss! Is this your son?” Oh, dear God. What did he do? (Sadly, although Merrik was not one to actually “do” anything in public to warrant this response, it was the one that came to mind.) “Yes, he is.” “Well, I just had to come out and tell you what a fine, young gentleman he is. He has such good manners - something you don’t see too often anymore. I’m telling you, he’ll get far in life. You should be proud.” And, indeed, I was.