The Scales

 Amongst every (yes I am sure I got that right) academic I know, grading is our least favorite part of the job. Now as technology improves, we have made things more automated but there is some knowledge that has to be sifted through, read, and visually inspected and there aren't shortcuts that won't compromise rigor. In the medical field, we rely on didactic (the book part) learning to give the students a solid foundation so they can go out on clinical education journeys to practice what they learned in the classroom. Every term you have at least one or two assignments that must be graded by hand. There are some things you learn along the way that makes grading go slightly more smoothly but it is still A LOT of reading, commenting, and giving constructive feedback. I never appreciated the time it took for my professors to give feedback to me. I appreciate them so much now. Their feedback helped shape my foundational knowledge. I can only imagine the hours they spent away from their families, their research, their sitting around and watching DVDs (Netflix was barely a thing then), they gave that time and I'm so grateful. 

Along with all this grading comes the pride you see as your students progress. Sometimes I'll look at their earlier assignments so I can truly see the progress. Meeting with them and giving them encouragement and showing them their progress is what makes my job amazing. Yes, I have students who complain and do not understand that sometimes a hard-earned 80 feels like a 100. Yes, I have had irate students (parents and spouses, but that is for another day) but often it is because they feel like their grade on this one assignment defines who they will be. 

The academic world is brutal. It's what's your GPA? What did you get on the GRE? Where did you go to undergrad? What did you major in? It's have you published? It's have you presented? It's have you been asked to edit a journal? It is hardly ever, how do you feel about your presence in this world? How are you balancing all this knowledge translation? What are the issues facing you so that you can effectively continue to build on the tradition of your craft? What can we do to help you help your students? Now, I'm not talking about institutions, we have lots of support from our respective universities on many fronts but I'm talking academic to academic. We too fall into the trap of more everything and less balance means more success. The very things we tell our pupils not to do. We preach (in my discipline) occupational balance. That means learning to juggle between the things we must do and the things we want to do. 

This coming academic year I'm going to learn how to follow what I recommend. I am gonna set some more firm boundaries and I'm going to achieve some balance because I want to make sure I am fit to do this academic thing for a long long time. I love it. It feeds my soul. I know some will say I'm unrealistic. That I won't be able to achieve this balance but they aren't me. And maybe they're right, but what if they aren't? I'm gonna follow my arrow, wherever it points. 

Love

 My grandmother was one of the most interesting people I ever met. She was the type to bring you in, feed you with wisdom, humor, and when needed a stern "come to Jesus" discussion. She was strong and vulnerable. She made a lot out of very meager beginnings and did the best she knew how. As a mother, she triumphed and failed but she loved with all her being. She was an abundant giver. 

As a child, she was the one who hung the moon and stars. She made miracles happen, sometimes on a daily basis. She made a world that was unfair, cruel, and very harsh for a small child, a place of love and softness. She made a child who felt rejected by her mother feel loved unconditionally. Somehow she managed to love that mother who rejected her child as well...maybe that is the unconditional love we believe all mothers have? My grandmother balanced the tumultuous relationships in her life with as much grace as I've seen. She taught me how to love, even when that love was challenging. 

 Patricia was a woman who became a mother when she was just a child. She faced the stigma of being unmarried with a baby in the late 1950's. She was sent away from her home and her family to have the baby who was supposed to be given up for adoption. A hesitant "last visit" with her child ended with her traveling back to her hometown with that child in tow. She was shamed. Nevertheless, she persevered. She would go on to marry and have 2 more children. She weathered being a military wife in the time of Vietnam. She further weathered the return of her husband who was indelibly changed from his time there. Additionally, she dealt with situations that remain private matters but ones that many of us would find unbearable. Patty became a paralegal and ran a successful business until she retired. She raised me and instilled many values and a work ethic that have served me well. Patricia was the mother we all deserve. I miss her every day. 

At the end of her life, we were separated and although we had difficulties, I am positive she knew my love and I knew her. I was thankful her suffering was ended and I'm certain she will rise in glory. Her memory is a blessing. With every Christmas ornament, snowglobe, and hymn I hear, she is with me. I lean into her love and teaching when things are difficult and when things are joyous. I know she was far from perfect but her love for me was perfect. I strive to love my children in the same way. I hope when they reflect on my life and their lives with me, they will say that I loved them enough and well. 

Approaching school year when you are a parent

 If you follow me on The Book then you know every summer I try to do a Captain's Log. It is a fanciful account of me trying to wrangle the pint-sized pirates I made myself through the summer break. It always starts out strong but as with most things in the 7th circle of Hell heat, we've had the log shrivels and dies much like the weeds and grass in our front yard. Each year I try to come up with some catchy hashtags but one constant is #letsmakeittoaugust. With just 11 days until all the teeny folks return to school, and it already being 6 days into August I think we made it! BY.THE.SKIN.OF.TEETH.AND.MY.LAST.SHREDS.OF.SANITY. You read that right. 

With school supplies and first-day outfits purchased I am desperately hanging onto being able to hug them tightly whenever I want and counting the minutes until I can push them out the door and revel in a quiet house on the first day. Isn't it funny how much we learn to balance the waiting and the sadness that comes with changes? A dear friend here was telling me how proud she was of her daughter buying her first home but also missed her being a toddler. Now, for a split second I thought (and did not say), ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!?!?! I'll trade you! Then a half second later I could see myself walking that thin line between watching them become independent beings and wanting to keep them small forever. For those of you who have the luxury of geographic independence and a quiet home because your kids have left home, I simultaneously long for those (and a decent throw blanket that doesn't get wrecked) but I know there are parts of me that will miss them running down a hall like a herd of damn buffalos (as I'm sure you do as well). 

Another dear friend and veteran mother told me when I was a new and novice mom who was suffering from horrible and undiagnosed PPD/PPA that someday things would get easier but that having a child is learning how to exist with one of the biggest parts of your heart living outside your body. At the time it felt unintelligible, Kathy F., you were so right. I thought it would get better as they got older but I was wrong. Sure they can tell me if they need something or if they are hurt but now they also have parts of their life in which I am no longer the center. It sucks but it is the way of things. I'm not their best friend, and that's how it should be, I am still the soft place to land. 

As the Vicar and I oscillate between being happy schedules and order will return we are also feeling the sads a bit as we realize another summer has passed that will never be uniquely this again. If you are a parent who no longer needs a captain's log, check on your friends who do. We are happy things will return to some sort of order but we will long for midday naps and hugs. Tell us it will all be well. 

Mrs. Vicarage

Joy

 Joy is a tricky thing. It can be one of the most exciting emotions but it can be so very elusive. Joy comes in moments of great sadness and in extreme happiness. I have felt joy in odd ways. I think most of us have. In my role as a person of faith, my joy frequently visits when I see the Vicar living out his vocation. Recently it has also included supporting the three oldest PKs as they venture into the world of acolyting. As a former Roman Catholic, I always wished that I could be up on that altar serving alongside the "altar boys". I know some of my contemporaries served in these capacities but allowing girls to be acolytes wasn't fully integrated until I was already an angsty teen struggling with my faith journey. 

When I returned to consistent worship, I was an adult, had a lot going on, and didn't feel like I could commit to a service schedule. Then came the PKs. Then I really didn't have time. Always feeling like the altar was somehow out of reach for me has been one of the things I struggled with the most in my continuing faith journey. I have purposely sought to build relationships and affirm women who have responded to the call to serve God's people because I never wanted any of the PKs to feel like I have. God's call knows no gender. Our PKs have been so very blessed to have been surrounded by people who show them that God calls all sorts of people to serve. 

This past weekend was the first time, in my entire life, that I pulled on a cassock, pulled on a surplice, and administered the sacrament of wine to people in my faith community. My children were lovingly looked after by our church family during the service. The feeling y'all, it was overwhelming. To be so close to the eucharist as it was being blessed and broken, was indescribably beautiful and meaningful. Watching PK 2.0 serving alongside her dad, and doing it with confidence and grace, definitely some tearing up. Was I worried I'd screw something up? Yep. But as my sweet husband reminded me, even if something happened, we were there to worship and celebrate a meal with God, it wouldn't matter. Giving the cup of salvation to my children, knowing that their faith journey and foundation are strong... was truly one of my best Sundays. Second, only to the days, they were baptized. 

If you've ever wanted to be part of the eucharist but you're worried or scared, do it anyway. Everything I've ever really wanted has come on the other side of my greatest fears. Do the thing that scares you. Know that you are worthy to serve and be blessed in your experience. I'll be cheering you along the way!