Why this blog?

"... Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves ... Do not search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. The point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer." - Letters to a Young Artist, R. M. Rilke

Rooted in the promise and challenge of growth ...

these are letters from a young teacher.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Dear Ian ...

We had a very interesting afternoon together today! It started out not so great for you, but I think we both enjoyed each other in the end. I'll tell you what I remember and you can see if it's the same as what you remember.

It started with an accident. Oh no! We were up at the park and needed to come back to school to change your clothes. I knew you weren't happy about leaving, but that you would also be miserable if you stayed in your dirty clothes. So, I walked back with you.

When we arrived back at school, everyone was napping, and you were very quiet with me as we made our way to the bathroom. We changed your clothes and got you all cleaned up and then went into our classroom to wait for the others to return.

But, oh no, again! I had to go into one of the preschool rooms to help with naptime, and our class still wan'st back yet. I wondered whether you'd be able to stay quiet enough not to wake anyone up. You have so much energy and creativity, and I notice, you especially like to use your body in big ways to get rid of that energy. And yet ... you suggested to me: "I can bring my picture with pencils in with me and draw."

So, that's just what we did. Ian, you were so quiet and focused on your drawing, and for such a long time. I watched you for a long time. You had your head bent over very close to where you were drawing. I could tell you were drawing along to the story that was emerging in your mind.

Before we knew it, our class was back, and one of the other teachers came to pick you up, while I stayed in the nap room. I was sad to see you go! When I got back to the classroom, you told me more about the picture you made:

"It's a pinecone. But I made it a live pinecone. It has antennas. It has eight antennas! Here's his brain ... he doesn't know where his brain went because pinecones don't have brains."

What a fascinating story! I am curious to learn more about this character of the pinecone with eight antennae and a missing brain. How did he lose it? Will he ever find it? What happens when his brain goes missing? I can't wait to hear more soon ...



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