"Dear student, as you leave this place" 2013

A poem for this year's Upper 6 leavers.

Dear student, as you leave this place

Allow me to send

you off

with some thoughts,

hopes, and dreams,

I have for you.

                    

I have seen

and heard

and felt

your pain, your joy.

You have brought me

tears and laughter.

From the depths of where you have come from

what you have known

here

May you know

now and always

that within you

is power--

power to determine, to choose

who you will be

who you will let others be

Be peace

Be strength

Be grace

Be love

And let others be

peace  --  strength  --  grace  --   love.

I hope

as you go out into the

big wide

that you, dear student,

never forget the

power of words

to determine

you,

to determine

others.

Do not let

anyone use this power over you

-without your permission-

again.

I hope that words will

instead

move and inspire

you

to be more

than you ever thought possible

I hope you use words to

instead

move and inspire

someone else

to be more

than they ever thought possible.

                                      

I dream for you

the best that I have seen in you.

May you find

the good

the truth

in others, in yourself,

in this place.

And when you do, dear student,

Cling!

Hold fast!

With---all---your---strength.

May you know

everyday

everywhere you go

that

you

can

be

more.

Miss Bell, October 2013

Dear lower-going-on-upper 2013

Written a few weeks ago for a very, unusually special Lower-6 (Junior/Grade 12) class.

Dear lower-going-on-upper

I’ll have you know

I only write poetry when I

care

about something

a lot.

But I do-

about you.

So, here it is.

I cherish the privilege of

standing in front of you.

I’m grateful each time

you let me glimpse

the reality of your world.

I understand the honour of that gift

and hold it with two hands

in awe.

When I think of you

I have so much hope,

dear lower-going-on-upper sixes

You can be so much

do so much

--dare I hope it—

change so much.

I hope, too,

the light never leaves your eyes

            or your heart

Don’t let anyone

            no matter how nice

            or mean

Take it from you.

I hope, too,

you remember

how you felt

here

and out there

and that you protect

the best in yourself and

in those yours to protect.

Outside will try to take

your joy

your love

your humanity --

Hold tight,

dear lower-going-on-upper.

Hold for dear life

Refuse to let go--

Sing, love, give,

And

dance

in the rain.

Miss Bell, October 2013

I am in love

I'm coming back... slowly...

2 October

At the very beginning of my student teaching, when I had actually got to the all-important teaching part that the previous three years of assignments, readings and class lectures had led up to, I remember sending a letter to my parents with the subject: “I’m in love”. My poor mother heart’s leapt for a minute and then she read my letter (and I’m sure her loving heart leapt again, but alas, not for the original reasons). I was in love with teaching. There was no other way to describe it – I had found the place that I am most happy and comfortable: at the front of the classroom.

I still love the act of teaching; I have begun to see its broken, painful, soul-wearying parts since I have started doing it “for real”. But I am still in love with it.

However, I love students more. I think about my classes (and yes, it is true, there are ones I… like more) and I have this feeling of utter joy and love welling in me.

I sat with a student yesterday, trying to mend a messy relationship (that had resulted in a very difficult lesson to teach last Tuesday) and told her that relationships were the most important part of my teaching, of my life. And they are. An incredibly wise man once told our student teaching class to find other things in our life besides our teaching. This troubled me for some time. I eventually took my worries to him. What if I never have anything else? What if teaching is my all, my life? And he said that was okay.

I’m listening to a song right now by Matt Maher, “Christ is Risen”. The chorus has two beautiful lines:

Come awake, come awake,

Come and rise up from the grave!

Cue Inner Dad’s Voice

Now, now, Beks, don’t take things out of context. You can’t apply these words randomly to teaching. They are not talking about teaching but about—

Yes, Inner Dad’s Voice, that’s true (I take delight in interrupting Inner Dad’s Voice). It is about Christ having risen. But, you see, that is the point.

(Despite not having a face, Inner Dad’s Voice manages to look skeptical)

I look at my students, at the ones who make me laugh in so many way, who make me cry for so many reasons, and I see God. He is there. I recently had a very difficult situation with a large group of students who shook my view of them and humanity and goodness and evil (still processing that blog). But, what I realized, through a lot of thinking and talking, is that within each one of these precious young people is, yes, evil, but also, the image of God. An image that is capable of the most incredible beauty. This is a broken place, we are broken people, but there are glimpses of the kingdom in the faces of my students and the feeling of deep, deep love that I have for them.

And so, Inner Dad’s Voice, the whole chorus rings true.

Christ is risen from the dead

Trampling over death by death

Come awake, come awake,

Come and rise up from the grave!

            Christ is risen from the dead

            We are one with Him again

Come awake, come awake,

Come and rise up from the grave!

This joy and love is straight from Him because He has risen and I am awake and so in love with His students.

From Segregation to Integration: a History of Africa

I secretly wrote a poem for the schools Allied Arts competition (I assure you I didn't cheat and enter a high school competition - the Sixth Form category is an "Open" section as well.) And I won the category. Impressive? - not really - my competition was mostly high schoolers (I felt like an impostor at the prize giving sitting with all the cute Grade one and dignified Form Four winners - it made me reconsider ever entering again!). But I thought I would share it as, though highly personal, it is now public.

From Segregation to Integration: a History of Africa

Accounts--Permanent Residents—TEP—Students

The signs divide us deftly:

Four rows that ebb and wane

Like a tide not sure if it’s coming or going.

We shuffle forward, mute, dumb.

Mindlessly drawn closer and closer,

Packed, desperate, like cattle to be dipped:

The dirty white walls suck our humanity.

We are the same here:

Powerless.

The fate of our state in this place

In the hands that hold the stamps

that give recognition, permission,

Connection.

In the Permanent Resident line I stand behind

A Chinese man

A black woman

Two black men

What history ties them here,

Leaves them, like me, with

“ALIEN” in bold blue block-letters on their IDs?

At the front of the TEP queue

a European – (the real kind, from Europe) –

argues: “I brought it last week. They told me not to worry about the stamp.”

A black woman comes up behind me:

“I’m behind you.”

She joins the student queue.

Mr Patel is called to the front

He leaves, stamped papers in hand,

Satisfaction on his brown face.

The cheerful guard escorts a lady and her baby to the front.

Explanations to the next in line:

(slightly ironic) respect for a mother.

An American

(here long enough to ignore “No cellphone” signs

and need another stamp)

is in the TEP queue beside me.

I can feel him

Trying to make eye contact,

Stretching to touch in this sea

of wearying bureaucracy,

Looking for recognition, solidarity,

Connection.

I ignore him.

Our only connection

The colour of our skin

I’m not like him – a foreigner, different--

I’m Zimbabwean, local.

These are my people: we are the same here.

Connection with him will mark me,

Set me apart, make me different.

I avoid his eyes.

The new constitution

says I can vote now,

Apply for citizenship,

For the word ALIEN to be replaced,

For paper proof of the 27-year allegiance of my heart.

            They’re saying you’ll never survive the process.

These are not my people.

I do not belong.

We are not the same.

Leave without my stamp, I can be refused re-entry.

Just red tape/They’ll never really do it/Not even legal, they say.

But they come back every year for their recognition-giving stamp.

I make eye contact with the American. Smile.

Exchange resigned, connecting shrugs.

The truth hurts, but

We are the same.

Both asking for recognition, permission

Connection.

“Welcome to Zimbabwe, friend.

Apartheid is dead.

Segregation reigns supreme.”

Rebekah Bell

July 2013

Feeling full and grateful

I am feeling very full lately. I shouldn’t be. I have piles of marking that keep growing, no matter how much I work on them. Several of my classes are not where I want them to be at this point in the year: mocks (mock examinations) are in four weeks time and there is much to be covered before then. And yet, I feel full.

I am so grateful to be part of students’ lives. I love the act of teaching; I love imparting knowledge; I love introducing students to the joys of English. But I feel ALIVE when there are relationships that flow out of the position I hold as a teacher. Recently, this has been brought home to me in a powerful way.

Last Tuesday I had an Upper Six Literature class for two periods. I had planned a poetry scansion lesson; I had a counseling session. Feeling very overwhelmed and pressured by school and various issues they all just needed someone to listen and I happened to be there.

Following this I’ve had several other one on one conversations with students about problems/questions/worries. Teenagers are often very guarded about who they let into their world. You have to be invited usually and there are rules. I am always so grateful and feel so privileged when I am invited in. On Thursday I posted a “De-stress with Miss Bell after lunch open to all the Upper Sixes” notice on their board on a little post-it note. I didn’t expect many, if any, to give up their “rest” before afternoon lessons but about a third of the year group arrived. I had planned to make origami butterflies but they just wanted someone to listen to them.

I am not happy they are struggling with so much at the moment but I’ve realized that it takes something like this to open a door that is sometimes carefully locked. And perhaps I’ve realized too that maybe I just think the door is locked. Maybe it’s just closed and waiting for someone to knock, or simply to open it. Maybe we’d all be invited into the lives of young people much more readily than we think if we just walked in and showed up, ready to accept whatever is on the inside.

Either way, right now, I’m blessed and privileged and so full to be here.

Counseling with faith

I could not counsel without faith.

I used to think that counseling was very clinical and distinct from faith. Yes, I would pray for my counselees and ask for wisdom but I was very wary of the kind of counseling that pressed God on to those seeking help. I get uncomfortable when people use their spaces of power to push faith on others and I saw the counseling room as such a place. I still believe it is wrong to deliberately force someone who has come for counseling to think about God if they have not gone there themselves or to push a spiritual agenda of your own as the counselor. However, I’ve realized how naïve my “Separation of Counseling and Church” stance was.

When someone opens up and shares their deepest pain, their worst experiences, my heart breaks. I cannot cry then. But I do later. I have lived such a privileged, grace-filled life and for the first time, I am hearing firsthand the terrible things people can do and say to each other. And as I listen I cannot imagine living in this broken, crying, dark world with no Light, with no faith, as so many do – God, how do they get through each day, each black night? I cannot live without hope and there is no hope, no hope, for any of us, for any of them, without God. There is no true “solution” to any “problem” without God. So, I do not “push God” but I recognize that ultimately He is their only hope, and, if they happen to mention anything to do with faith, I jump in and begin asking questions because, if there is no hope without Him, I would be an awful counselor, an awful person if I did not point to the truth about the Light in this dark world.

I could not counsel without faith or hope. I could not life without faith or hope. Thank God I don’t have to.

Lost happiness

Today I walked into my form class and after greeting my students was told by one of them, “You seem happier today, Miss Bell.” She reassured me, after I asked her if that meant I usually looked unhappy, that I was usually “this” – hand level with her nose – “happy” but today I seemed “this” – hand level with her forehead – “happy”. I felt mildly reassured but, to be honest, her observation left me thinking. I have not been happy at school recently, and it is troubling if, even for a moment, students are picking up on that.

About 5 weeks ago I was so discouraged by my Upper Sixes’ lack of care, respect and interest in their work that I told them to leave class and only come back to next week’s lesson if they were ready to engage and be responsible for their chosen subject of English Literature. The experience of kicking them out of class and the serious talk I gave them before I did left us all a little shell shocked.

Last week, 3 Upper Sixes who I knew and taught or supervised in extracurricular activities, lied to my face. They were part of a secret society at the school known for its humiliating interviews and one of them used this society as an excuse for her lie. At first I was furious, then, I was deeply saddened. What kind of people are we producing with our structures and systems in this school?

I dread my AS Literature lessons with my lower sixes. An hour and forty minutes of eleven pairs of eyes, six of which stare half closed with boredom and lack of any life; of pained sighs; of vain bribing and cajoling. I am frustrated and disappointed throughout. And, being so, I struggle to exude any joy for poetry or words or students.

I love my Form Four class – they are full of life and we have a good relationship. Then I went to their Form Four dance and not one came to say hello. The whole six hours. Okay, they’re teenagers – of course their friends are much more important than their English teacher. I understand that in my head. But still.

My dorm prefects do not seem to care about their role. They do not act like the role models and leaders I long for them to be. I feel as if I try so hard to make this a better, safer place for all who live here, and they just don’t care.

My disappointment with so many students and expecting so much more – sometimes just a little more – has sucked the happiness out of my teaching this last half term – and that is a terrible thing. If I can’t find joy in my classroom, where on earth do I go? What on earth do I do?

I long to teach in a place where students love to learn, where I am positively impacting, where relationships are meaningful, where students are encouraged to be kind and compassionate and just above everything else. I know in my heart there is no perfect school and perhaps much of my discouragement at the moment is in myself and my feeling of failure. They’re only sixteen/seventeen/eighteen. I’m the adult. I’m supposed to be the inspired, inspiring, happy one.

It is the end of term. A sorely needed holiday will, no doubt, give me some perspective and, hopefully, restore some happiness in the thing that gives me most joy in the world. Right now, let’s not think about school or students. Bring on the wine, chocolate and mind-numbing reality television.

Free-writing and changing school

I start every AS Language class with a free writing prompt and my students have to write for 4-5 minutes straight in response. They don't all love it and still at times groan when I tell them to take their journals out (you would have thought by Week 4 they would realise the daily routine but they're teenagers) but sometimes they write really beautiful, clever, quirky responses. Sometimes not. But sometimes.

I've known, since student teaching, that it is a good idea to join your students in writing. To show them that you value writing too and model it for them. But I've hardly ever done this. This is something I'm trying to change. One small way is to join this class in every writing prompt they do. And I'm finding that I really enjoy it. I love writing. I wish I was more disciplined to make time for it in my regular life. At the end of 5 minutes we have a sharing time and volunteers read their writing. They all have to do it at least once in the term but the more enthusiastic writers or sharers share frequently and I think this also helps those less inclined to be creative or fluent as they hear fairly decent, original writing out loud. Sometimes they ask me to share and I always do. I think they enjoy that too. The other day I shared mine even though they didn't ask and that was because it was important to me, and to them. So I thought I'd share it with you to. Remember, it is free-writing, unedited or perfected.


If I could change school. For Real!
I would make it full of students who wanted to learn. Who had love and joy of learning for learning's sake. Who were interested and engaged. Who didn't have to be motivated by what was going to be in the exams. I think I might abolish exams too. What else? I would get rid of hierarchies and privilege and respect for privilege's sake. I would have every person from the so-called bottom to the so-called top be treated with equal respect and dignity. No one would ever be humiliated. I would make it a place where every person felt safe, no matter who they were or what they had done. I would make it a place where every teacher always loved to teach because they loved their subject and their students and every student loved to learn. Just because.


Maybe this will grow into a well-thought through blog post one day. For now, it is freeing to just call it free-writing and end.

Bereavement: a soul report

I'm taking an Intermediate Counselling Course this year at the Harare Christian Counselling Centre. One of the course requirements is to read 4 of their (I asked) books and write a book report on it. I planned on it being a very "check-the-box-done" kind of assignment but, go figure, it was challenging, difficult and worldview-affecting. Ahem, humility is a lesson I will be learning all my life.

Bereavement: a Shared Experience by Helen Alexander

I found this book difficult to read. As someone who reads, studies and teaches books for a living, this may seem odd, but it is true. When I started reading, I appreciated the practical advice and philosophical ideas about the stages of grief, the right to mourn, saying goodbye and the importance of remembering/formalising someone’s passing.

But as the chapters became more specific, focusing on the different kinds of death – sudden, taboo, of a spouse, of a child – I found I could not read large sections of the book at a time, particularly as each section included real experiences of real people in real grief in their own words. I found it draining and emotional. I have been privileged to have never lost a person close to me, so bereavement is not a process I feel I can personally relate to. I have also not started my own family yet. The thought, however, of losing someone who has become an integral and important part of my life, is terrifying. I found myself questioning the desire and wisdom of marriage and of children in the light of so many awful, harrowing possibilities of loss and pain. I do not know how people who have loved so deeply and lived for so long with another person can survive and move on with their life. And that was, essentially, what this book was about—listening to, sharing in and learning from the experiences of those who had gone through, or were going through, the depths of grief. In all of these, I realised the importance of support, for a long time after the death—something I feel we, as communities, loved ones and the church, are often not good at sustaining. In this broken world, when faced with the hard, confusing, unjust consequences of sin, surely we are called to be open passages for God’s love to those who need it most, no matter how hard or painful for us personally? To meet someone in their pain—the way Christ met us in our pain—to go there with them—the way Christ went there with us and for us—what greater example and imitation of His love could there be?

In a conversation with my mum about the book and its effect on my thinking about my future, she quoted Shakespeare: “But, Beks, ‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all’”. I didn’t think much of this—too cliché! And then I read the final chapter. Thank goodness. Life is a gift that we should cherish and live to the fullest. This means, I think, accepting and entering into the suffering that is part of it. We cannot hide ourselves away from it. Amazingly, strange and contradictory as it may seem, in that suffering we find a richness of life and love that we did not, maybe even could not, know before.

And ultimately, most importantly, we have a Hope and a Peace that surpasses all understanding: death is not the end.

Good teacher = critical learner

Another late addition post.

29 Jan, 2013

This particular post is going to sound pompous, but, the short of it is, I think I’m a decent teacher. I’m growing and learning how to be better (as I will be in twenty years time) but I think I know how to impart information in an interesting way – not all the time, not to every student, not without mistakes – but often. I can read a group that I’m teaching and realize when I’ve lost them and (sometimes) find ways to get them back. I try to be, and pride myself on often being, attuned to the people I teach. I can think of and create a variety of imaginative ways to impart information in an interesting manner. I do not do this every lesson and sometimes not even every week, but I work hard to be engaging and relevant in my delivery of material. I think I am a good teacher, at least some days. Being a some-days good teacher, however, makes me an all-days critical learner. I find that many people who teach who are not teachers (pastors, course instructors, leaders of meetings, etc) teach badly. And I notice. And it is extremely difficult for me, being so awash with thinking about good teaching methods, to learn something from someone who teaches it in such a terrible way. It is even worse when I think, I’m about to be pompous again, I could probably teach the same material better. I find myself critiquing the teaching methods and delivery of material of almost every person who has the misfortune to have me in a learning position. Those I do not critique have won me over. And I learn the most from them. Thinking more about it, there are just a few aspects of teaching that, I think, make all the difference.

1.      You must respect your students and what they bring. It is very easy to tell if you don’t. This should be obvious.

2.      Know when you have lost your students. Don’t continue if you have. 5 minute stretch breaks make the world of difference.

3.      Don’t ask questions with one answer in mind and don’t make it obvious when the previous 3 answers have missed your one answer. This is hard.

4.      Pay attention when your students speak. No joke.

5.      Create a safe space. Respond in a way to every spoken thought in a way that promotes a comfortable, secure place. This is rare.

Familiarity

I haven't been very good about posting this year. I have actually written a couple posts and not posted them... for various reasons. But here they are now.

18 Jan, 2013

One of the best feelings in the world is being comfortably familiar in a place. I am in a place right now where I feel that and it is amazing. I’m starting my third January at the school and my second in hostel. I know my way around, I know how and what to plan for my classes, I know what to expect out of those classes, I can give advice about teaching to new teachers, I know the rules of boarding and can finally answer parent’s questions with confidence. I am in a good place. I feel like I am part of the school. That I’m starting to belong (a key word in my life journey). Which makes me terrified of what I think might be coming. Change. I’ve already admitted a strong fear of it. I want to be in a place I am comfortable. But I cannot stay here forever. Do I want to stay somewhere forever? I think I might. I would like to know what it would be like to be content in a place and a time of life. So much of the last 10 years has been movement. I want to keep growing and creating – that is good movement. But maybe I want to stay still while I do it.

11 Feb, 2013

So since then, I've realised that maybe change is coming, maybe it isn't. Right now, I'm going to enjoy the present. Maybe change isn't coming. Why spoil where I am by worrying about its potential end? Amazing what 3 weeks of thinking can do.

Two weddings and some thoughts

It has been a long time since I’ve posted. One reason is a crazy December of travelling and wedding preparations. Another is, the longer you leave writing, the harder to go back. The third is that I haven’t really been able to come up with a good way to put my thoughts about this very special time of two very important weddings into words. I still don’t think I've found the best way but in this time of change (the giving away and releasing – even though they were not really mine to give away or release I very much did so – of one very dear high school best friend and one very dear younger brother) I've learnt some important things about weddings that I’d like to remember for the future and remind myself of if I ever walk down an aisle.

What is important for a wedding:

·         to be surrounded and supported (for months in advance) by family and people you love and love you back.

·         plenty of family involvement, but not too much.

·         to make meaningful moments of the snatches of time with those who matter most.

·         remembering who’s day it is (not who you would imagine all the time).

·         good singing.

·         just enough tradition to please people, but not enough to get in the way.

·         a couple of surprises.

·         celebration (how it happens is not important).

Finally,

·         the blessing and grace of a Father who gives the presence of a Spirit who spreads a joy that cannot be planned, paid for or coordinated.

And, actually, everything else is really not that important.

S & A, J & B:

may the love of those who

love you most

always surround and support you;

may the meaningful moments,

good singing,

surprises

and celebration

never end.

may the blessing and grace

from a Father

felt in a such tangible way

by so many

on your special day continue to breathe

joy into your every moment.

may His Joyful Presence

never

leave

you.