Lesson(s) Learned

                As I sit here tonight (the night before the new school year starts), tons of questions are floating through my mind. Checklists with seemingly no end are reeling through my mind like the credits from a major motion picture, and the nervousness/excitement of what this year may hold is as real to me as the night-before-Christmas-jitters we all experienced as children. Though the results of this year’s relationships, the educational successes, and the individual struggles are yet to be written, the expectations are there. The goals have been set. The plans and prayers are in place to achieve everything we (my students and I) set out to do.                 Despite everything that’s couch-potatoeing in the forefront of my mind right now with simple and menial concerns of my first-world mindset, I can’t help but revert back to wh...

Fences. They take a long time to build, but they always serve a purpose. They keep important things in. They keep harmful things out. They serve to protect, to guard, and oftentimes, to make one feel safe. Though they all perform the same basic functions, no two fences look alike. And maybe they shouldn't. Some match buildings or houses, others divide vast amounts of landscape. Some are new and fresh and beautiful. Others are old, worn out, yet still in place for a purpose. No two fences are the same. Some are small, some are large. Some are just plain old all-natural wood. Others are painted and decorated-to-the-hilts. Some have latches and keys and various deviations of "keep out" signs, others don't. they're more friendly and inviting. Yet, they all still serve a purpose. Keep important things in. Keep harmful things out. No matter how big or how small or how plain or how decorated our "fences" in life may be, there's one thing to be said f...

I couldn't help it. I went out to Atlantic beach with my parents tonight to enjoy some fireworks, and it hit me. A distant memory flashed before me as if it just happened yesterday. Confession time: I was a strange child. I guess being the middle child of five requires you to go to extreme measures to stand out. To be unique. To get the attention every child (ahem, every person) likes and requires to feel significant. All that to say this: as one of my childhood quirks, I was scared of fireworks. That's right. As everyone else was enjoying the first-hand sights, I was overly fearful of the sound of fireworks. As a result, I'd go into my aunt's living room and shove pillows into my ears until the madness was over. I don't know when or how I eventually overcame this strange fear of mine, but tonight, as I sat on the beach with my parents, I realized how very glad I am that I no longer fear fireworks. Rather, I can now enjoy them as the sign of freedom that they are. Y...