I just read I Corinthians 16:8-9 a little while ago.

But I will stay on at Ephesus until Pentecost, because a great door for effective work has opened to me, and there are many who oppose me.

Wait a minute. The door is open and yet there are many who oppose Paul? That doesn’t fit with my picture of open doors. Open doors are simple. They’re easy to go through. But this door open to Paul sounds difficult. It sounds uncomfortable. Maybe even scary. It doesn’t make sense according to my assumption that open doors are easy.

A week ago today a big storm came through our area. A large branch fell in our backyard, knocking down the power and phone/internet lines that go to our house.

Since the lines landed on the deck, we couldn’t use our back door. I suppose we COULD have used the door, but we wanted to be safe and avoid the possible hazards of the electric line lying across the deck. Once or twice Kevin used the door, but we generally went through the front door instead. I suppose it was smart of us to use the front door in this situation!

I just finished a book yesterday that I started last winter then put down for a few months. Once a Runner, by John L. Parker, Jr. is the story of a runner who goes through a “Trial of Miles.”

He wanted to impart (to the younger runners) some of the truths Bruce Denton had taught him, that you don’t become a champion by winning a morning workout. The only true way is to marshal the ferocity of your ambition over the course of many days, weeks, months, and (if you could finally come to accept it) years. The Trial of Miles; Miles of Trials. How could he make them understand? (p. 14)

On the altar of Consistency he offered up no less than two portions of his life per day, seven days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. His neatly filled calendar diary told no lies and the symbolism of the unmissed workout became ritualistic to him, taking on an importance in his life he did not like to admit, even to himself. (p. 35)

During the most difficult training session of his life to that point, Quenton Cassidy’s feelings of despair are mirrored as he remembers the one marathon he had run.

On the twenty-third mile he had looked around and discovered that everything seemed unfamiliar. Convinced he was lost, he ran on like a forlorn child, blubbering and wailing. When he finished the race in 2:33 he saw he had been on the right course after all. But he still couldn’t keep from weeping; he just didn’t know why any longer. (p. 225)

His extreme training session continued in the story with Cassidy’s “tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth” and no moisture left to “spit out the thick white fluffs of congealed saliva.” (p. 225)

Parched to the marrow, wobbly, near mad, he took his tiny jogging steps and waxed (so he thought) poetic:

Somewhere they fox-trot madly

While in lunar shadows sadly

I keep pace with crickets gladly

And Moon rises with my bile (p. 225)

In a conversation with someone about why he trained as he did, Cassidy made the following statements.

‘Oh hey’–he sat up straight–’it’s not (interesting). Take my word for it.’ Deftly he watched her reaction and then in almost perfect sync repeated her next question right along with her: ‘Then why do you do it?’….

‘Actually when you’re training you can think about anything you want, almost. But in a race, everyone thinks about the same thing.’ (he said) ‘Which is?’ (she said)

‘The race, oddly enough.’ (Cassidy answered) (p. 231)

During that conversation Cassidy never comes right out with it, but winning the race seems to be his motivation.

Before the final race of the book, Cassidy walks through the course the evening before, visualizing the next morning’s race as he walks.

“He walked into the turn of the third lap. Here the real melancholy began, when the runner might ask himself just what in the hell he was doing to himself. It was a time for the most intense concentration, the iciest resolve. It was here the leader might balk at the pain and allow the pace to lag, here that positions shifted; those whose conditioning was not competitive would settle to the back of the pack to hang on, the kickers would move up like vultures to their vantage points at the shoulders of the front runners. It was a long, cruel lap with no distinguishing feature save the fact that it had to be run. Every miler knows, in the way a sailor knows the middle of the ocean, that it is not the first lap but the third that is farthest from the finish line. Races are won or lost here, records broken or forfeited to history, careers made or ended. The third lap was a microcosm, not of life, but of the Bad Times, the times to be gotten through, the no-toys-at-Christmas, sittin’-at-the-bus-station-at-midnight blues times to look back on and try to laugh about or just forget. The third lap was to be endured and endured and endured….

Cassidy walked through the turn, pumping his arms a little, thinking of the nervous crowd noises as the pace began to pick up. Perhaps there would be only a small group left in it now; three, four maybe. But they would all have ambitions; no one ever ran down the back straight without thinking he had a shot at it. On Cassidy walked, along the lonely straight imagining the bristling speed as the pace heated up; there would be some last-second evaluations, some positioning and repositioning, and then finally the kicks, one by one or all at once, blasting away for the tightly drawn yarn across the finish line. Into the turn with only a 330 to go, everyone would be into it by then, everyone still in contention….Cassidy walked into the final 110 straight and thought, Here, as they say, it will be all over but the shouting; you will fight the inclination to lean backward, fight to keep the integrity of the stride, not let overeager limbs flail around trying to get more speed, just run your best stride like you have trained ten thousand miles to do and don’t for God’s sake let up here until the post is behind you. The die would be cast here, and no praying or cheering or cajoling or whimpering would change it. He had lost in this final straight before, but not as much as he had won here; neither held much in the way of fear or surprise once you were there. Such matters, as Denton had often said, were settled much earlier: weeks months, years before, they were settled on the training fields, on the ten-mile courses, on the morning workout missed here of made up there. Other than maintaining and leaning at the tape, Denton had told him, there is not much you can do about it. Heart has nothing to do with it. In the final straight, everyone had heart.

Cassidy walked on past the finish line, across which someone would hold the taut yarn and blink as the runners flashed by. It was still more than twenty-four hours away, but standing there in the calm anonymous night five yards past the familiar white post, Quenton Cassidy knew at that instant the depth of his frenzied yearning to feel the soft white strand weaken and separate against his heaving chest. (pp. 246-248)

The process of training and racing throughout his career doesn’t sound easy to me. It doesn’t seem to be a simple “open door.”

Life isn’t always easy.

…a great door for effective work has opened to me, and there are many who oppose me. (I Corinthians 16:9)

Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last; but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like a man running aimlessly; I do not fight like a man beating the air. No, I beat my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize. (I Corinthians 9:24-27)

Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 3:12-14)

I enjoyed every aspect of the conference, but the highlight for me was hearing Dr. Robert Marzano speak. His presentation showed correlations between interactive white board usage in classrooms and student achievement and engagement. He first referenced ongoing research that takes the teacher out of the equation. In this study, data is collected on two classes taught by the same teacher: one class using an interactive white board, the other without. I found it fascinating that both achievement and engagement improved by relatively high percentage rates. According to Marzano, when interactive white boards are used  about 75% of class time by an experienced teacher, who has also used the technology for some time and is comfortable using it, the best results are realized. He was careful to caution teachers on several points:

• “Nothing is a silver bullet.”
• Interactive white boards are best used by multiple students at a time rather than only teacher “stand and deliver” methods.
• Make sure the use of the whiteboard focuses primarily on subject matter content. Use the technology as a means for students to interact with the content.
• Teachers need to keep best practice in mind and use the whiteboard with those principles in mind (previewing, chunking, scaffolding, pacing, monitoring, physical movement, games, humor, pacing, friendly controversy, immediate feedback, questioning, wait time, etc.)
• Remember, when we really know something we know it both linguistically and with mental imagery. He cautioned teachers to help students use one predominant form of learning.
• Keep the presentation clean and simple. Marzano referenced Richard Mayer who has found students learn best when mostly words or mostly pictures are chosen in presentations. This avoids too much busyness.
• Results don’t just happen because of the technology but rather how we use it. In the hands of the right teacher using the whiteboard in the right way, the technology is very effective in improving student achievement and engagement.

Marzano also gave several more specific helpful hints:

• A few examples of immediate feedback the whiteboard provides are with the drag and drop, hidden content, and virtual applause features.
• The random selection feature is very effective in keeping students engaged.
• When questioning students, change the method of answering. Sometimes have students vote with their hands, sometimes with their feet (move to a room area designated for each answer), or use the whiteboard voting technology.
• Students can type in their responses which can appear as text boxes on the whiteboard. The teacher (or students) can then manipulate the boxes. The students’ responses then become the content where learning takes place.
• iTunes University is a site to watch.
• Brain Pop was mentioned.
• “Multimedia Learning” by Richard Mayer was referenced.

Marzano encouraged educators to remember that teaching is still an art even though the profession is becoming more of a science. Teachers can teach their own way, with some guidelines.

For unto us a child is born, unto us, a son is given, unto us, a son is given. And the government shall be upon his shoulders….And his name shall be call-ed Wonderful, Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.

A post yesterday about the origins of the date for Christmas, December 25, had me thinking about the ideas of birth, death, and resurrection. Handel also used a passage from Revelations in his famous oratorio.

Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive glory and honor and power and blessing.

I’m not naive enough to believe that Handel’s life was without fault, any more than any of the rest of us. However, I’m very thankful that God used his life in spite of that to remind me of those truths.

Merry Christmas!

During recent years, my thoughts have turned frequently to life’s purpose. I’ve often trapped myself in never-ending comparisons to others. Time and again, though, I’m reminded of the value of every life, whether or not it is marked by notoriety or wealth. As I unpacked the family’s ornaments this year, I was reminded of some of those lives.

At first glance, you might think I’m writing about one of my daughters. My daughters are extremely important to me, but this particular ornament makes me think of the person in the red shirt holding my daughter.

Before we moved to the western suburbs of Chicago a few years ago, our family attended the same church for sixteen years. My husband and I had attended as college students and made the decision to continue there after we were married. Three years later, our oldest was born. The church has wonderful children’s programs, including a nursery for all services. Betty Ann worked in that nursery for more than 20 years, faithfully. Every year, she took pictures of her little charges and made ornaments for the parents, like the one you see above. (We had one for our youngest as well, but the dog destroyed it when she was a puppy.) Betty Ann’s faithfulness in loving our babies week after week, year after year, is what strikes me when I get to this ornament. Because of her reliability, countless parents were able to leave their children to worship “in peace” because Betty Ann’s familiar face was there almost every Sunday. I don’t remember what she did outside of church, what kind of job she had or the details of her family life, but I remember that Betty Ann loved my daughters.

The ornament to the left is one from my college days. During my years at Olivet Nazarene University, Bourbonnais, IL (now Chicago Bears training ground), I worked in the music department office a few hours each week. My boss, Norma, was extremely welcoming and helpful to me, a naive, shy “country girl.” She took me under her wing my freshman year, as I was 1000 miles from home. During my first September in the midwest, she and her husband took me and another student to the Chicago Jazz Festival in Grant Park. On that trip, I saw the rows of project housing lining I-94 North for the first time, the “magic lips” marking our exit home, and Lake Shore Drive. I also stood on the sidewalk beside the Sears’ Tower and peered up like any new tourist at its dizzying height. Later that year as the weather got colder, she presented me with my first pair of moon boots. (Why were the called moon boots??) She probably knew my family had limited funds to send in addition to what they were already contributing to my education.

By the way, it’s very difficult to stay focused on my topic with my comedian of a husband cracking jokes behind me…and explaining moon boots to me:) On with my story.

My junior year at Olivet, students dressed up for a Halloween event. I chose to dress up as the Statue of Liberty, replete with rolls and rolls of aluminum foil and a torch. That event lives in my memory because of the ornament. More importantly, the thoughtfulness of my mentor, Norma, who gave me the ornament, remains.

My final ornament memory for this season is contained in the picture to the right. My dear husband’s mother gave it to me after our first year of marriage. She taught me to sew that year. She was also one of the few people I’ve met in my life who was consistently cheerful, with the true heart of a servant. It sounds like the rosy recollections for someone gone two decades, but my memories of her are of laughter, encouragement, kindness, and selfless acts for others. She was full of conversation, taking an active interest in everyone around her. I also remember the moments of frustration she had during her last months. Our last holiday we saw her, December, 1989, she sewed her last piece: a white tux shirt Kevin needed for band. I’m certain she was in pain, but she kept at it until she finished. We still have that shirt.

I think often about the value of our individual lives. Even though the three people I’ve mentioned don’t have any claim to fame, their lives were invaluable to me.

I’ve been through several seasons of my life in recent years: moved to a new community, earned a master’s degree, struggled through changes in my marriage, sent my first daughter off to college, and began a journey of regular practice. What is the purpose of all this practicing? I’m not sure. Does there need to be a larger purpose? My competitive nature tells me there should be.

I hear other musicians, both educators and performers and find my skills lacking. I’m 44 years old. Maybe I could have done more if I’d practiced regularly as a teenager and young adult. Hindsight doesn’t really help me at this juncture, though.

I don’t have a definitive answer for myself. I’m not sure I need one. With those questions in mind, I’m off to practice.

I came back after a few minutes of practicing to add one more thought. “Do more” translates in my mind to “play better.”

About a month ago, I saw a few tweets about skyping with students by three different twitter friends. Within a week, a music teacher from New Jersey posted a request for a class to share the experience with her students. Even though I was nervous about the technicalities, I jumped at the chance.

We used e-mail to work out the details. (I almost forgot to consider the time difference!) After a final conversation via Skype last night, and some help from a techie teacher on my end, we were ready.

Each class sang a couple of concert songs for our distant audience.  On our end, we heard the New Jersey children sing a song partially in Chinese while the classes here shared American Sign Language in one of our selections. Both classes were able to connect with the other. There is a Chinese speaking student in one of the 2nd grade classes here, and our new friends are familiar with sign language.

We made sure to allow time for a few questions about the music programs at our respective schools, as well as details about the weather and time differences. The classes were so excited and attentive!

Even though working out the details was a little tricky (scheduling music in a classroom with a big screen, projector, and web cam; scheduling around time differences, etc.), I’m so glad I took the risk. Now I want to plan a Skype session with a classroom in a different country! Time differences could be a challenge. Maybe I’ll start with the Western Hemisphere…

Yesterday was the first full rehearsal for the 2nd grade musical. The music and riser choreography is well prepared. I’m thrilled with that part of the production. However, the cast on stage is struggling. Part of the problem is all students don’t have their lines memorized yet. I also figured out last night, that there’s another problem. I scheduled practices a week earlier than last year (a good thing), but only once a week for each scene rather than twice a week. That wasn’t such a good thing! Most students need more frequent practice (fewer days apart) for their lines, blocking, etc. to stick!

The solution I arrived at will hopefully be enough. I’ve scheduled in another practice for each scene over the next few days. Frequency of instruction and practice is important for all areas of learning. I must remember that fact the next time I schedule the scene practices of even a simple 2nd grade play.

Another friend just last night commented that the ornaments we put on our Christmas trees each year tell part of our stories. I experienced that fact yesterday as my family displayed our many eclectic treasures. I’ve forgotten the stories behind many, but some ornaments stand out in my mind as marking very special moments, memories, or people who have influenced my life. I’m going to try to post a few entries of Christmas ornament memories that tell part of my story over the next few weeks.

I believe every single person has a story to share, no matter how boring or insignificant you think it might be. I imagine there are people in your life who would like to know what your story is!

I’m finding as I watch and listen to her teach that I’m getting new ideas and perspectives. I’m also getting a new appreciation for students as I watch more closely.

Speaking of which, I must quickly finish this post and continue with the school day!

I decided to revamp my school blog during November after a few posts by other music educators. I heard several conversations on twitter about Skype sessions between music classes. What a great idea! (I’m now in the process of scheduling a Skype session with another music teacher in the northeast.) I also heard a podcast of a fourth grade choir singing in two-part harmony. It was a rehearsal, not a polished performance. During those weeks I also began following Brenda Muench’s school blog on a regular basis. Those posts reminded me that a school blog is about students, not me.

I’m posting podcasts of class sessions. Those podcasts are real life. Students are still in the process of learning. Singing is often off pitch. The recordings themselves aren’t great quality. However, as I’ve played them back for various classes, I’ve seen students evaluate themselves at a higher level. Students are also excited about visiting links at home. They’re more motivated!

The blog is also serving as a medium of communication with parents. They can hear what their children are doing and learning in class every day.  In the process of blogging there, I can further educate parents about the value of a music education.

I still have so far to go, so much to learn. I’m continuing that journey with the revamped school blog. I needed to “just do it.”