Calibrating Our Compass

Book One Graduation Recital Treats!  

Hello friends. I miss writing here.

Compassion. Patience.

Things have been crazy to the point of crazy here.

I got the call from a parent. A parent I love and trust.

I hurt some feelings.

When someone tells you that you hurt her feelings you don't get to say, no I didn't.

God bless those people in our lives who help us return to our better selves. They calibrate our compass.

Every single time you think you are going to play hard ball with a student--get them in line--with your system--it always, always, always backfires.

Every time sarcasm creeps in it always, always, always backfires.

There is always, always, always something going on that we don't know about. Always. Some people just have it harder. Some kids. We don't always get to know why.

Changing the subject, kinda. Another teenager who isn't practicing. Why? If they love the piece and love playing the piano why wouldn't they want to dig in and do the work? I don't know. I actually didn't yell. . . or even get negative. . . because you know. . . we don't know what's under that tip, under that dark water. But I was frustrated.

Stages of learning a piece: I love this piece, I've always wanted to play this. Hmmm, it's kinda hard. Hmmmm, it's really hard. I'm really awful. I'm REALLY awful. Hmmm, it's starting to come together a little. . . . hey. . . I LOVE THIS PIECE.

What are they gonna look back and remember? I guess I want him to look back and remember a teacher who sat there and practiced with him when he didn't have the motivation to do it himself. I want him to remember that we took something hard and made it easy. That someone had the patience to break it down and work it out and not give up.

Someone didn't let him get stuck in the I'm awful stage.

Changing the subject, kinda. Mary and I go round and round about her STUFF and getting out of the door on time. . . to anywhere. . . all the time.

I'm sure she feels like I'm frustrated with her much of the time. I'm am frustrated.

But I had to remind her, I mean ME. These are not matters of the heart. Her heart is as pure as the driven snow. She thinks about other people. She just has a lot of stuff. And. . .she just has a lot to say, when I have a lot on my mind.

These are matters of habit. Putting things away. Getting ready, including shoes and trinkets and books, before we disappear into a corner reading. These are matters of self discipline, which are habits we develop.

I don't love you less in the epicenter of the storm in your room. I want to hear what you have to say. It's just that you can't talk and remember your safety patrol belt and your snack and your homework while you tell me that fabulous story.

We used to tell Calvin, "minimize that, we will click on it again in the car."
What's her equivalent? She does better with love.

Don't we all.

Compassion. Patience.
Calibrating our compass.
Again. And again. And again.

God bless the people know the song in our heart and sing it back to us when we have forgotten the words.

Amen.