We’re All Teachers. We’re All Students.

 

“I don’t know.”

That was one of the most profound statements I ever heard a college professor utter. “I don’t know.”

I was astounded to hear her say it, but a secret part of me loved that she had the courage to admit that to a room full of fledgling sophomores.

“I don’t know.”

Thinking about her statement later in the evening, I realized that by admitting her ignorance of a particular area, she showed us her intelligence, strength and her confidence.

“I don’t know.”

Of all of the take-aways from my undergraduate years, “I don’t know,” has to be on the top of the list. It told me that I didn’t have to know all the answers when I began my teaching career. It gave me the courage to ask for help.  And that three-word admission demonstrated to me that there were others out there who could teach me even as I wore the designated title.

What I came to learn was that my most influential teachers were my students. By having the courage, the humility and the knowledge to know that each of us possesses bits of the whole we all win by pooling our resources.

Allow me to offer two examples of the “We are all teachers. We are all students,” belief that I maintain.

Example #1:

Among the items on my bucket list was the desire to study karate. So when I enrolled my 7 year-old son in the nearby karate school, I decided to also sign up. At the time, I was teaching middle school health to 12-13 year old students within the same town.  Unbeknown to me, one of the boys in my class by the name of Christian was a karate student at the same dojo. During the second week of my evening classes, the black belt Sensei who usually ran the class was unavailable and asked one of his brown belts (the rank preceding black belt) to take over. There I stood in my brand new gi (uniform) with the packaging folds still evident and the neophyte’s white belt.  As Christian entered the training floor, I along with the rest of the class respectfully stood at attention, called out the requisite, “OOS” and then bowed to our Sensei.

I can still remember how I initially felt awkward and uncomfortable in this tables-turned situation.  I needed to make a decision: Pack my pride in my workout bag and head for home or admit, “I don’t know and Christian does.” My decision to stay and learn from my teacher taught me a valuable life lesson in humility and grace.

I learned much from this amazingly gifted teacher.  His poise and movements astonished me. His ability to move his students through rigorous moves while gently correcting our technique inspired me. I was silent. I listened.  And I learned.

By day, I was Christian’s teacher and he my student. In the evening I was Christian’s student and he my teacher.  

We are all teachers. We are all students.

Example #2

After my two children were born, their father and I made the joint-decision for me to stay home with our little ones. It was a choice I relished and one, which I have never regretted.

However, when I got back into teaching I also started coaching again at the varsity and JV levels. During my leave of absence the game of volleyball had changed dramatically. It had moved from a slow moving recreational-type game to a power sport. Rule changes, skill mechanics and strategy were beyond my knowledge base at the time. Walking back into the gym, I truly felt out of place. (“I don’t know!!”)

Assigned to me by the athletic director was a student teacher who was studying at my Alma mater. Dan was an experienced volleyball player and he knew the game well. He had much to offer…if I was willing and able to ask for the help that I needed. “Do I, the head coach admit to this ‘kid’ that I don’t know?” 

Yes, there was a moment’s hesitation.  That darn ego kept trying to push me backward into the darkness of fear.  But, something, Someone called out to me to do what needed to be done.

“Dan, I’ve been out of the game for five years.  Can you teach me and help me teach the kids?”

I asked. I was silent. I listened. And I learned.

“I don’t know” took me to a higher place.

Christmas 1914

 This beautiful story, that I just had to share was originally printed in
Guideposts Magazine. © 1988 by Guideposts Associates, Inc. Carmel, New York 10512

Reprinted by Miracle Distribution's Holy Encounter newsletter, December 2014. 

Christmas 1914

 

The Great War was only a few months old, but already the two sides were deadlocked in the grisly new pattern of trench warfare.    Both the British and Germans had learned to shovel miles-long ditches in the rocky French farmland, ditches from which men blasted at one another with machine guns and mortars. In these muddy, rat-infested trenches, British soldiers opened soggy Christmas greetings from their King while a few hundred yards away German troops read a message from the Kaiser.

    

Between the rows of trenches, where shivering men thought about families at home, lay a barren no-man’s-land, a zone of craters and shattered trees where anything that moved was instantly fired at. So narrow was this strip that whenever there was a lull in the roar of the guns, each side could hear the clink of cooking gear from the other.  

     

Late on Christmas Eve, with the sleet tapering off and the temperature dropping, a British Tommy on guard with the Fifth Scottish Rifles heard a different sound drifting across no-man’s-land. In the German trenches a man was singing.

“Stille Nacht, heilige Nacht…”

It was a tune the British soldier recognized as “Silent Night, Holy Night.” The sentry began to hum along with the melody. Then, louder, he chimed in with the English words, singing an odd duet with his enemy beyond the barbed wire.

 “…heilige Nacht…holy night…”

A second British soldier crawled to the sentry station and joined in. Little by little others on both sides picked up the song, blending their rough voices across the shell-pocked landscape. The Germans broke out with a second carol, “O Tannenbaum,” and the British replied with “God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen.” On and on the antiphonal singing went. A British soldier with binoculars reported that the Germans had hoisted a ragged evergreen with lighted candles in the branches to the top of the sandbag barrier. As dawn of Christmas day broke, signs appeared on both sides, in two languages: “Merry Christmas.”

Pulled by a force stronger than fear, one by one the soldiers started laying down their arms, creeping beneath barbed wire and around mortar holes into no-man’s-land. At first it was just a few men, then more and more, until scores of British and German troops met together in the first light of Christmas day. The boys brought out photographs of mothers and wives, exchanged gifts of candy and cigarettes. Someone produced a soccer ball and the men played on a few yards of crater-free ground.

Then the Soldier’s truce was over.

By mid-morning Christmas day, horrified officers had summoned their men back to the trenches; firing had recommenced. Within hours the Fifth Scottish Rifles issued an order forbidding such contact: “We are here to fight, not to fraternize.”

And the soldiers obeyed. The war, as history tragically records, destroyed almost that entire generation of young men on both sides. But there was an indelible memory in the minds of those who lived to recall that first Christmas at the front. The memory of a few hours when their master had been neither King nor Kaiser, but the Prince of Peace.

No matter the conflict that may be raging in your life, take a moment to withdraw your loyalty from the ego’s world and allow the Prince of Peace to be born into your awareness. Even if it is only for a moment, ask the Holy Spirit to be your eyes, your tongue, your hands, your feet, so that your one purpose may be to bless the world with miracles of peace. (Lesson 353 paraphrased)

God bless you, dear friends, on your journey of peace and joining this holiday season.

Read or Receive The Holy Encounter

What Does Love Look Like? Feel Like? Sound Like?

As a newly hired school administrator, the principal under whom I served mentored me by helping me prepare for classroom observations; he’d ask cogent questions.  For instance, he might pose, “Tell me what you’ll be looking for the teacher to be doing?” 

If I were to answer with a blanket statement, such as, “Actively involving his/her students in the learning process,” he’d follow-up with other Socratic questions:

“Tell me what active involvement looks like; tell me what it sounds like.  What would the climate in the room would feel like?”

That introduction to supervising my colleagues did more to open my senses to perceiving my surroundings than any course I had ever taken to certify me as a building and district administrator. I’m forever grateful to this man.

If I were to liken this process to my life now, as I seek deeper understandings, I might ask myself the question, “What does love look like? What does it sound like? Feel like?

To be honest with you, I was actually thinking about this the other day. It’s so easy to say, “All you need is love,” but to actualize this song title is something quite different.

Love is not transient. Love is not conditional. Love is not a nicely wrapped gift, nor a sentiment simply written on a card. Love is not, “If you do this for me, I’ll do that for you.”

Then, what is love?

Perhaps, I can scratch the surface and offer these thoughts. 

·      Love feels like joy

·      Love looks like extending oneself to another

·      Love looks like and sounds like accepting others as completely whole and not in need of a fix-up

·      Love is ever-encompassing and looks like ‘arms wide-open’ to all creations

·      Love does not judge and sounds like silence against the backdrop of diversity. Amid the din within one’s mind would be the question, “Tell me what this really means?”

·      Love joins with, and looks like a coming together of all creations

·      Love looks like light, purity, togetherness, acceptance, celebration, hugs, holy instants

·      Love sounds like laughter, joyousness, exuberance, mirth, geniality, gleefulness, elation, delight…

You are love

I am love

Our Creator is Love

We are Love because we are One with our Creator

Love IS

 Photos by Barb Adams (c) 2014

Talk Less. Listen More.

In ancient times, when parents wanted their children to learn a craft or skill, they sent them to a teacher or to a school. But if they wanted them to learn about life, they took their children to a wise person, a sage, a saint.  This saint, knowing truth directly did not preach someone else’s words or someone else’s thoughts. He had nothing to teach.  He awakened children to their own potential, to their own perfection. (Emphasis mine) We avoid the discovery of our own perfection, and in the absence of that, we think someone else is going to give it to us or that someone else knows more than we do.  Commentaries on A Course in Miracles, Tara Singh, Harper Collins, 1992, p. 14.


One of the most beautiful experiences as a young mother and now as a Nonna, is to be in the presence of my little ones and witness to their unbridled joy in the discovery of life! All that stretches out before them is a wonder to be uncovered; to be looked at, listened to, smelled, tasted touched, examined and manipulated.


Such delights the world holds for them as they journey through its myriad mysteries! What spectacles lay hidden around the next corner?

Yet, what do we adults do to this intrinsic curiosity and glee that bursts forth from our children?


So many of us, in our zeal to teach all, take away the motivation for self-discovery. We hurry to show. We insist we must tell.  Is there any wonder then that our kids, who at once jumped for joy with excitement at their revelations then sullenly sit back in their seats and slowly but surely loose their lust for learning? Their eyes glassed over.  Their ears closed to the cacophony of our preaching. 


By taking over, we rob our children of their motivation. By assuming the stance of expert, we unwittingly delegate the role of passive, subservient vessel, mindlessly poised awaiting replenishment by the "master."

Yes, we can guide.  Yes, we can provide resources.  Yes, we can help build incentive. But, ABSOLUTELY we must listen more and talk less. ABSOLUTELY we must honor and celebrate the innate wisdom of each child in the distinct way that the neophyte is motivated to present his/her gifts.  And we must ABSOLUTELY provide higher level, scaffolding questions that encourage our children to search broader, look higher, and probe more deeply.  


Not so hidden within their minds, children possess unique wisdom. May we remind ourselves to “sit back, relax and enjoy the show,” which will ultimately display all the wonders that our children are capable of revealing to us.  

May we put a lid on our exuberance to show and tell and instead, honor and laud our children’s most amazing, remarkable wisdom and perfection.

 

¡Hola, Senora Rosa

Senora Rosa is quiet and reflective, thinking of her family that she hasn't seen in too many years. How will Grace judge Senora Rosa's presence? Find out in the upcoming book for tweens, THE ADVENTURES OF THE COURSE KIDS! THROUGH FAITH AND GRACE© 

La señora Rosa es tranquilo y reflexivo , pensando en su familia que no ha visto en muchos años . ¿Cómo Grace interpretar la presencia de la señora Rosa? Descúbrelo en el próximo libro para preadolescentes , LAS AVENTURAS DE LA FE DEL CURSO KIDS - TRAVÉS Y GRACIA ©

Why I Write. Why I Sing.

Sharing my books and music are the byproducts of years of introspection, writing, discerning and seeking to know ‘the why’ of my purpose in life.

As a youngster I remember how fearful I was of the learning process.  “What if I don’t know the answers?  What if I can’t figure it out?  What if everybody else knows how to do it and I don’t?”

The ‘what ifs’ paralyzed me while I prayed for solace.  I prayed for a miracle although I didn't then know the manner in which it could be granted. 

After years of praying for some change in form...in me, in 'them'...in the process, the miracle was realized.  Not in form, but in spirit. I was essentially raised from the dead.  The shroud was lifted and Light erased the darkness that pervaded my waking, and even sleeping hours.

It was late in the game when I decided to switch my high school focus from business readiness to higher education.  I was behind my peers in taking the required courses. In my senior year, college admission hinged on a single course, chemistry.  I needed it for my NYS Regents sequence and it was required for entry into my chosen major. But fear had gripped me. I had convinced myself that I couldn’t break the code of the symbols, the balancing of equations; that I couldn’t memorize the valances or master the Periodic Table. I proved myself absolutely correct by failing the midterm…big time. Yes, it would take a miracle to pass the course and gain entry into college.

My parents, my cheerleaders and supporters earnestly backed my dreams. They invested in my aspirations emotionally and financially. The chemistry tutor they hired was (it seemed) my last hope for fulfilling my life’s hidden desire to become a teacher. 

Mr. Flynn explained, diagrammed, calculated, cajoled and then…explained again. But, Fear wrapped its cold hand over my eyes and stuck its fingers in my ears.  My frozen self perceived my teacher as a mime, he the performer, me the bewildered audience.

“Oh please, God.  Please help me,” I silently prayed as I felt myself falling back into the familiar damp, treacherous hole.

Then it happened! 

“Wait, what was that you just said,” I asked as I sat straight up, grabbed Fear’s hand and bent it backwards.  “Tell me that again, please,” I pleaded with my teacher as I peered down at Fear now trying to wrap himself around my midsection in his customary fashion. 

“Excuse me?” a bewildered and wide-eyed Mr. Flynn asked.

“That last thing you just said.  What was it?”

As my tutor ran through his explanation, I ferociously kicked Fear off of me. The preying monster lay stunned on the linoleum floor of our finished basement. I watched as he tucked his tale between his legs and ambled to the corner, sullen and dazed.

With my eyes and ears opened anew, I heard, I saw and at last, I began to understand.  By shrugging off of that tempestuous ghoul the darkness immediately turned to Light. The miracle, which simply awaited my request was at last received.

Like a starving child, I gobbled up the information my tutor was now eagerly serving me. Ladle after ladle of delicious facts and figures. “More, more!” I begged.  “Feed me, teach me more!”

***

Why did the miracle occur?   

Because “nothing real can be threatened and nothing unreal exists.” ACIM I-2:2-3

What was unreal? 

Fear, the darkness, the ghoulish ego haunting my all-too absorbent mind.

What was real? 

The Light. Love. The love my tutor shared as he joined with me and strove to break through my veil of darkness.  My courage to believe that there must be another way. And, the tenacity to call out to my Inner Source in the belief that the Answer would be given. It was, of course.

Ahhhh.  (T)herein lies the peace of God. I-2:4

Photos by Barb Adams (C) 2014

MIND over matter...

Who are we?  Really?

Are we our bodies?

Our brains?

Who is the real you? The real me?

The one who has a career?  A part-time job? The one who is out of work?

Is our real self the one who sweats and grinds to bring up a family?

Or the one who just got divorced?

Who just bought that new car?

The one with fancy clothes?  With tattered donated apparel?

Who walks the streets without a place to call home?

What is our TRUE identity?

Is it defined by how we seem to aimlessly walk around in this dream we call reality?

Are we the label we assign ourselves or others as Straight? Gay/Lesbian? Bi? Trans?

Are we Catholics? Protestants? Jews? Muslims? Hindi? Atheists? Buddhists? Native or indigenous peoples who worship the Spirits of the Land or Afterlife?

Is our real self the one that is other-abled? Able bodied? ADD? ADHD?

Is the real you or real me the one who can see? Hear? Feel? Taste? Smell?

Maybe our true Self is the one who has successfully earned a college degree.  Or the one who made it through high school.  Or the one who dropped out?  Is that our identity?  Is that who we are?

Perhaps our real identity is defined by that gorgeous figure or well-toned body. Or by that anorexic, emaciated body?

Maybe our reality is in how famous we are or how invisible we feel.

Maybe….?

Perhaps…?

Who we really are is…

STOP!   

All of that is form. All matter. All an illusion.

Our TRUE SELF is our Mind. That which supersedes all form, all matter, any illusion.

Our TRUE SELF is the ONE MIND that is in perfect union with our Source; with our brothers and sisters.

Our TRUE SELF is that which preceded the illusion of form and that which lives on after all matter has been laid aside.

It is truly…

Mind

over

matter

Bottom photo by Barb Adams (c) 2014