Overwhelmed

Today is the official first day of my summer! Last year, on the first day of my summer, I was exhausted and SO SO SO relieved to be done with the school year. If I recall it accurately, I scheduled a facial and massage for myself and then slept the rest of the day. I was worn down to the bone and could hardly make it to the end. I had my wedding to look forward to as well, so I really was itching for that checkout and last drive home. This year was different. This year I got to teach at Calvin Christian School in the community of South Holland, and it has been the best year of my life.

For one thing, the year is so much better because Brian is in it. Our first year of marriage together. I love living life with him, trusting him, learning from him, and growing with him through all the excitement and lulls of life. So he is a big factor in this year. Another thing happened, though, too. This was the year I found out that I was a good teacher. 

I said this to my kids and families gathered in my classroom on the last day of school, amid ridiculous sloppy tears (as per usual). I always I knew that I was passionate about kids, equality, and achievement. I knew I loved people and I knew that it challenged me immensely to help kids learn in all kinds of ways. But...I didn't know if I was good at it. In fact, I felt like I sucked at it. I was so weighed down in the muck of a broken system, overwhelmed with the responsibility of carrying my kids' burdens with them. My principal and coworkers, also passionate about kids and their achievement, had to bear way more than they should have been given, too. I couldn't handle the responsibility. I would cry and say to God all the time, "I can't do this on my own, so help me!" I loved my kids so much but never had a feeling that I was really good at this whole teaching gig. I didn't see my impact and felt defeated by the end of the year. As a school we would crawl our way to the last day of school. I felt like a total failure.

Then I went to Calvin. I figured I would give this teaching thing one more year, just to make sure. Then, something amazing happened: my kids showed up! They are kind, hilarious, outgoing, joyful, obedient, thoughtful, sensitive, talkative, brilliant, cooperative, and just all-around wonderful. Suddenly, I looked around and saw that all of the weight wasn't just on my shoulders. I stood with my coworkers, with my students' families, with my principal, with the local churches and we all took on this job of raising and teaching kids together. Of course it isn't a perfect system, but let me tell you, it's beautiful.  My kids grew together and ate up everything I had for them to learn. I could just feel the difference in the air. Our end of year tests confirmed what I saw in the classroom: that we had learned a lot together. The same kind of growth was going on all over the school too. I finally felt like I was a good fit for this teaching profession and I have my students to thank for it. They are such a special class of kids.

Now, for next year, I am leaving Calvin. Timothy Christian School, a school three miles from us where Brian also teaches, had an opening in second grade that I will be filling to be closer to home. The nearly 2 hours in the car each day was wearing on me, and it makes sense for where Brian and I will be in the future. I was overwhelmed at the prospect of leaving Calvin, my coworkers, and my kids. With the past few weeks though, it's been okay. It's been a bittersweet but good time of wrapping up the year and saying goodbye. There is a veteran teacher (who is so great!) taking my place. Calvin will continue to be awesome and grow as the family that it is. I'll be joining another great family, with a slightly different flavor, but still one that serves the same powerful and good God.    I am overwhelmed with the blessing of doors opened and faithful people that were put into my life this year.

As wonderful and sad and joyful and emotional as it was to say goodbye to my kids, I am looking forward to a little bit more peace. This will be my fourth classroom in four years of teaching, and the prospect of stability and routine sounds divine to my mind right now. A little less time in the car. A little more time with Brian. I'm looking forward to ending school years with a little bit less drama, because I want to find my spot and settle down. I am all done with tears because this past year has been so incredibly good. This was the year I discovered that I was good at teaching.

Do you know how it feels to discover what you're good at? Completely overwhelming. 

Baby H

People, this weekend was one for the books. It has been nonstop over here, but only full of good things. More on the other things that happened later, but for now I just want to share the amazing excitement that happens when one of your dearest friends is waiting for her daughter to arrive! We had Jen's baby shower at my apartment on Saturday morning to celebrate little Baby H's August arrival. The idea of hosting a shower made me feel simultaneously very much an adult and a panicked amateur. (Spoiler alert: it's not that scary and it all goes perfectly fine.) With in-laws in Indiana and family in Minnesota, Jen spent most of her adult life in Chicago, and I couldn't imagine putting it on for someone better. Jen is one of my lifelong friends that truly feels like a sister. She and her husband live in D.C. but have hopes of returning to the midwest sometime soon. It was precious to look around the room and see friends, moms, sisters, roommates, and small group girls of Jen's, all showing up and there for Jen as she and Andrew take this big step into being parents. I had all the best intentions of using my nice camera to capture this day for Jen, but of course, all the pictures below came from my iPhone. Such is life :) 

Good Dads

I was thinking about my first year of teaching. On one of my first days ever as a teacher, one of my little girls, T, was crying at dismissal. I bent down and asked her what happened. Another teacher came up to me and said, "Oh, Gesch, don't worry about it, she always cries at dismissal because one day last year nobody came to pick her up after school," kind of in a nonchalant, it-is-what-it-is type of way. I was kind of shocked that someone thought it was no big deal that a 7-year-old was crying for this traumatic reason, but it's an attitude I came across often: brushing off the real emotions of children. I don't say this as an offense to the heart of my coworkers; on the contrary, many of my coworkers in East Garfield Park were some of the most amazing individuals with the biggest hearts for kids I've ever met. More so, it's a comment on the intensity of life in my old school's neighborhood: if you got worked up every time a kid got a little worked up, you'd be burned out by Thursday. And you have to last all year. A few people didn't even last all year. But there was T anyway, tears streaming down her (beautiful - and I mean that - she really is a beautiful kid) face. And I started to think about that.

As it turns out, she was supposed to be picked up by her dad that night. Perhaps it was a miscommunication, maybe it was an innocent mistake between her mother and father in a game of phone tag about who was picking up T that night. I don't think her parents were terrible people, just people who had a lot on their plate and were capable of making mistakes, just like I am. I don't know all the details of why, exactly, she was forgotten. Being left at school was a watershed experience for T, as she continued to cry at dismissal every single day after school for the first few months of school. We would get into the routine of me hugging her for basically the whole time until someone picked her up. She wasn't forgotten today, whew. She could wipe her tears. Crisis averted.

It made me think of our world, and how mistakes, large or small, may be seemingly insignificant to us adults, but how deeply real they are to kids. It makes me think of kids like T, who was picked up at the end of a long 4 hours at a police station, 8:00 pm on a school night instead of the usual 4:00 pm, horrified that nobody was coming to get her, so uncertain of what was going to happen to her, defenseless against anything.

My dad. 

As I go on through this third year of teaching, I am, ever so slowly, sussing out what the last two years of my life have really meant. I'm just now starting to process the impact that my experience with Teach For America left on my heart. A lot of it, to be honest, is depressing to rehash and think through in hindsight. I think of T and how she buried her wet cheeks into my leg while I stood on the lookout for her car. I think of how she was afraid that her dad forgot about her. I think of dads in general and how rare it is to have a Good Dad in our world, to have a dad of character, who is there for you, who always comes through. I think of my dad and of Brian's dad, and how good they are, and how lucky we are to have them. It makes me despair a little bit that dads like ours are so rare, that so many in this world go without a Good Dad. It all gives me a shot of pessimism toward our world's future.

Then, I zoom out and get a little historical perspective on how my own dad came to be the person he is. He also came from a Good Dad, my Grandpa Gesch. A hardworking, strict, hilarious, intelligent, kind, principled, faithful man of integrity. An example. A Christian leader. That's who my Grandpa is. Where did my Grandpa learn to be all of those things? By watching his own father? Actually, not at all. I never met him, but I hear that his dad was a little bit of a tough dude. In an effort to avoid slandering my own ancestors, let me just say that my great-grandfather, my Grandpa's dad, was not setting forth a loving Christian example and leave it at that. And yet, God intervened anyway, and he grew up little Wilfred Gesch to be a leader, a teacher, a believer, a father, and the patriarch of a large faithful family of Christ-followers. It's amazing how good of a dad he has become. He didn't learn it through an earthly example. He learned to be a Good Dad through following the person of Jesus Christ, setting forth a chain of events leading to an immense impact on his (massive) family. I know that my Good Dad wouldn't be who he is without the influence of his own father. It is a beautiful cycle of God's love sent down through generations by the means of  Providence and Faithfulness and the mysterious work of the Holy Spirit. It is a beautiful testimony, my family.

So what does some German guy have to do with T, crying on the sidewalk, waiting for her dad to pick her up? These intersecting stories in my life give me a small dose of optimism; they point me to a larger picture of what is possible and the Hope we have in this dark world for progress, love, and redemption. My Grandpa Gesch didn't need a Good Dad on earth to understand how to be one himself. T doesn't need to wait for a Good Dad to come around. She doesn't need to have a perfect earthly example in her life to make the choice to begin something new in her own life, in her own family.

The truth is that T already has a Good Dad. He is of the heavenly sort, who already shows up and comes through when he says He will and will be faithful to His word. We all, T included, have access to this dad who will be consistent to His promises, true to what He says He will do, even if the earth gives way and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea. This heavenly father is the kind of Good Dad who comes down to fill in the voids that human parents tend to leave conspicuously wide open. In a world full of imperfect dads and moms, it is beautiful to think of that.

So whether you have a bad dad, a mediocre dad, a good dad, or maybe even a dad who is gone from this earth, I'm sure you will be confronting that situation soon over the holidays. Family gatherings have a way of making us come to terms with our own dad and mom situation. Maybe it will be a happy time, but perhaps it will be difficult or even sad for you to think about the impact (or lack thereof) your dad has had on your life. Whatever that situation may be, perhaps it might help to think of T, and to know that you are not alone in shedding a tear or two. I hope that you and I can remember the Good Dad we all share who is faithful to us: a refuge, a strength, and an always-present help in trouble. 

Do Life Big!

Rudi, Steph, Sawyer, and Xander moved to New Jersey over the summer (the day after our wedding!)  to follow a job opportunity for my brother that came up out of the blue. While I of course, selfishly, wanted them to stay within a few minutes' drive from my apartment, I am so happy to see the amazing things happening in their lives and in Rudi's job as well. He's having a blast over there and here is just one small part of that. Check out the video of Eastern Christian students loving God through loving life. I dare you not to smile.

The Story of the Purple Pants

I want to tell you a short little story. If you would like to smile, please read it. And guys, take notes.

Last week I went to the Dutch Megalopolis that is West Michigan. I was there with my whole school faculty for a conference, but I made a small detour to Hudsonville to hang out with the one and only Liz VanDrunen. We got dinner at a place called The Electric Cheetah (delish) and I wanted to change clothes before heading over there from Liz's house. I brought along my favorite miracle purple pants. These pants fit me so perfectly, they are like magic. No matter how the day feels in the fat/skinny department, the magic purple pants just happen to make whatever I have going on look good. These were purchased from H&M, on sale, for 13 bucks, and have lasted for over a year. Somehow I've worn them out to bars in a super cute way or with sweaters and boots for work in a teacher way. I can't explain it. It all just works. I meant it when I said magic pants, people!

So it was all the more tragic when, all of a sudden, as I zip up said pants, the zipper pull came off in my hand. I tried to reconnect it, but to no avail. The big bummer is they still fit like a dream, and it wouldn't really be worth it to repair the zipper because of how cheap they actually are. That 13 dollar price tag had to catch up to me at some point, and a cheap zipper is a cheap zipper. For some reason, I felt the need to inform Brian (who was back in Chicago) immediately of this occurrence. It went something like this, in text form: "Purple pants are broken :( :( :(" (See how that Advanced Writing course in college paid off? My texts are so eloquent!)

Brian responded with a text of sincere sympathy (which is the first sign of his sweetness, because he is the last person who would ever care about a pair of pants' shortened lifespan) and, after a compassionate message, another ":(" back. (Yeah, we both graduated college.) I thought that was the end of it, but was happy that I had a husband that actually cared how I felt about purple pants. I was satisfied. And kind of smitten all over again with this guy who cares about the stupid things I care about simply because I care about them.

But wait, there's more!

On the ride home from the conference, I hit a lot of traffic and ended up trudging into our apartment a tired and hot mess, listless and ready for a nap. Not only did Brian leave me half of his Kit Kat (major bonus points there) but when I went into my closet I found a neatly arranged little shopping bag. Since I've been doing the no-shopping-for-6-months-thing, this is an odd sight in my closet these days. It was from Zara, and neatly tucked inside of it was a cardigan sweater and, of course, a pair of plum-hued skinny pants. A replacement for the magic purple pants, compliments of my supercool man! He'd gone to 7 stores in the mall that afternoon trying to track down purple skinny pants and finally found ones at Zara because "wasn't that the place you said you always shopped at while you were in Spain" and because he is just that good.

And I needed to tell my blog about it, so that I remember.

Forget the purple pants. Brian, you're magic to me.

The Elderly and Easter

The elderly and Easter saved my day today.

I have a lot on my mind right now. I guess this is more of a ranting-journal-entry-meaningless-nothing post than I usually write, but I guess that's just it: I have a lot on my mind. I have to make some life decisions as I grow up in my twenties, and I don't know what to do with all the stuff that's on my mind.

I have a lot of those things on my mind like salaries and how to make a living all while doing work that matters and helps people and allows you to sleep at night with a life lived well. "Is that too much to ask?" I say.

My mom recently told me that I'm ridiculously talented. I then responded by saying that she was my mom and so she of course had to say that and also then mom may I ask why none of my ridiculous talents will be making me tons and tons of money?

Why is it that passionate devotion to educational equality doesn't buy you a penthouse apartment in the loop? Why is it that spunk and an odd conviction to work yourself into the ground doesn't fund trips to Europe each year? Why is it that I sometimes feel that the work that matters the most gets paid the least? Why can't I be content to stare at stock market updates and spreadsheets, make predictions and investments with other people's money, and roll around in my piles of income at the end of each pay period?  Here I am, asking why why why, and then realize that I am acting like a whiny petulant child. Maybe it's a youngest-child syndrome, but I am that whiny child far too often. Asking all of those questions, I may as well have been stomping my foot in the ground with every word.

I'm better off than 99% of the world population, and yet why am I such an ungrateful human that the fact that I won't be grossing mass amounts of money in my life matters to me?  It shouldn't matter! But I guess that's what we are and guess that's what I am: an ungrateful human. And in our ungrateful, human nature, we start to cross our arms, stomp our feet, stick out the lower lip. and ask why why why we can't have more more more.  In the middle of one of these tantrums, I started to avoid real responsibilities of my life and scroll mindlessly through Facebook. And then I see a picture  posted by my uncle that snapped me out of my funk.

It was a picture of my Grandpa Gesch and my Great Aunt Nelda, both in the early stages of their 10th decade of life. I think, maybe, that they are perhaps two of the best people living on this planet at the present moment. Two people who never rolled in the piles of their income. Two people who didn't avoid heartbreak and hard times and tough decisions, but made choices based on what was the right thing to do as far as they could tell. Two people who know who made them and why they are here. Two people who even got to go to Europe once in awhile because they saved for it in advance. I doubt they ever threw egotistical, materialistic, selfish tantrums.

And then almost immediately afterward I see a reminder pop up on my calendar I set for myself on Easter, a quote about what wondrous love laid down itself for me. And how all I need to do, in a small token of gratitude in return, is accept this love and be happy and thankful and joyful for it. I saw another quote I had saved, about how the weary and heavy laden of this world should give up their burdens, because there is freedom from drowning deep down in the pressures of life. Easter happened, and that is the best thing ever. We live after this awesome Easter; we live in the truth of knowing that darkness is defeated and light is reigning and that piles of income, although fabulous as they can sound sometimes, are not the end goal in this thing.

So for me, for the whiny child that I am, I need a reminder every. single. day. about the truth of the Elderly and of Easter. I need reminders about the heritage of faith I have and the Easter-people that came before me. I need a reminder of where my roots are and how beautiful it is to have roots like that, grounded in knowledge of this after-Easter life, life lived in the light, so that I can grow forward and up and out.

Baby It's Cold Outside

Okay before I start my writing, can we all agree that the song to which this post's title refers is a thinly-veiled poppy version of date rape?! "I really can't stay?" "Say what's in this drink?" Terrible. Girls, it might be cold outside, but get the heck out of that guy's apartment. Put the hat back on, go home, and deadbolt that door.

....Pause for a reflection of this creepy song and a transition to fun things....

Now, onto the warmth and cheer. It has been freezing outside. I got into my car this morning and the temperature on the dash read -3. Negative three. Gah. Yet with this abominable weather, there have been some lovely little moments. And, of all places, these moments happened outside in the midst of the frozen tundra. I absolutely hate being cold yet here God put all these fun moments in my life, right in the middle of negative degrees and numb noses. Sorry that sounds sentimental, but I am sentimental. I'm overtired, and I taught Christmas activities to antsy overtired children all day, and I'm in grad class on the last night of the semester, and therefore I'm loopy and therefore sentimental. Oh well. Here are some positive moments from the past few weeks when the temperatures were in the negatives.

Over Thanksgiving weekend, we took part in the Christmas parade in the tiny town adjacent to the tiny town in which I was raised. Sawyer was a little elf (very cute I might add) on the float and I was the official face-painter and sign-maker and glow-stick-passer-outer-to-the-crowds-er for my dad's business. Ah small town life. And a backseat selfie. 

It's hats and hoods and gloves time at recess. My kids love going outside, even in the cold. It makes me rethink my laziness of my "I don't wanna go out there" when it's freezing cold and consider the joy of a six-year-old going down a slippery snowy slide. And also the joy of a fur hood selfie. There's that too. 

Karley and Sam asked if Brian and I wanted to walk around The Magnificent Mile to see the lights. I hadn't been downtown in forever - funny how living in a big city makes you take the touristy things for granted - but it was awesome to stroll in and out of shops, sip hot chocolate, and soak up the Christmas spirit. And, of course, another selfie. SO MANY SELFIES. 

Love Letters

I have a hard job. There are, however, perks that I enjoy that get me through the weeks. One of these perks are all the millions of notes placed on my desk by little (and sometimes large) 7 and 8-year-old people. The following is a sampling from the last two months that I've kept and had to photograph before I threw them out. A few are repeat offenders, and some of them aren't all that funny, just extremely endearing to my heart that is turning to jello as I'm looking over these again.

Dear Miss Gesch, I've have fun on break but. I want you to have my best thing that I had. It is something that you would be happy. Here it is.  (She gave me her favorite trading card to keep after spring break). 

Please note that she had the courtesy to write F*** in the note. She didn't have the courtesy to censor it when she said the word originally. Next time maybe. 

Sorry teachers I was so bad. And I will be good next time. I will be respectful. I will be good. I will be safe. And I will do all of that a lot. 

In the housssseeee!!

I die. 

I am so sorry for playing during math when my teacher was helping other kids to learn math. When math time I will not play with people during math time when math time. 

I'm sorry I didn't do my homework. 

Hello! My name is Ms. Gesch and I like to play volleyball and play soccer and go out to eat and shop. I love to be pretty. VIP passes attached, to the right of my short bio. 

 

We're Goin' to Kentucky

The title of this post is from a chanting game we do in my second grade room. It starts: "We're goin' to Kentucky, we're goin' to the fair, to see the Señoritas, with flowers in their hair!..." (it goes on, and if you'd like I can perform it for you sometime). Well, I really did go to Kentucky to go see some señoritas two weeks ago! A batch of my beloved friends from my semester in Spain go to school in Asbury, Kentucky and a few others congregated there with me for the weekend for an awesome reunion. It was SO SO SO good to see them. I feel like reunions are something that just brings joy to my life like nothing else. Just look on the right side of this blog's screen, click the "reunions" tag and see for yourself. I love me a good reunion. Always will.

Me, Lisa, Angie, Chelsea, Emily, and Linnea

We got to hang out at Asbury, hang out at Chelsea's house, get Sushi and Japanese food at a fabulous restaurant, stop by Chik-Fil-A, and get some southern BBQ. Hmm. That was a lot of food I just listed now. Oh well. 

Myself, Linnea, and Angie

My favorite night was Saturday night, where we technically didn't really do anything. But it was a lot to me. When we were in Spain we never got to hang out with each other in our Señoras' homes. We were always out and about doing something out in the street or in restaurants. It was amazing to be able to sit in Chelsea's house, paint nails, get haircuts (she has her cosmetology license), watch Pitch Perfect (I've seen this movie 4,579 times and it never gets old), and laugh our heads off. It was a good old fashioned sleepover and it could not have been better. Midwest girls like myself enjoy this good clean fun, even when we're probably too old for it. I'll never be too old for nights like this. 

I hadn't seen these people in two years and we got to pick up right where we left off. I got to see how they've grown, changed, and gone down their own cool paths. I got to share my own path and share how I've grown in my own ways. And, yet again, here I was afforded the opportunity to sit back and reflect on how good I have it. I was thinking about all this stuff on the long trip home. The goodness just always keeps on coming, even when there's hard stuff mixed in there. I got to reflect on the people in my life and be reminded of how good they are. I got to reflect on the places I've been led and the good grace I've been granted to get me through each stage. I got to reflect on how a good God has filled this world with good things, people, and places. That is good stuff. 

I miraculously did not ruin my nails within 30 seconds of painting them as I usually do

This is Chelsea. I love this picture. 

Not the plate of food that I ordered, but I had to document this spread
of pulled pork, cornbread, and macaroni and cheese. So southern. 

Lost and Found

I have to tell you about how I just watched an amazing movie. I suppose I should say I just watched an amazing FILM, because FILM is the term you use when a movie turns into something more than just a movie. FILM is also a term you use when you want to sound like a snobby-indy-flick-type, but I digress. I'm out here in D.C. visiting Alex and Heidi and we three watched it tonight after the Easter festivities died down.

It's a documentary called Searching for Sugar Man, and it tells the poignant story of Rodriguez, a musician who produced two albums in the early 1970's that completely flopped in America, but were underground megahits in apartheid South Africa. Long story short, this flick tells the tale of a music journalist who tracked him down in 1997, 20 years after his records released, and found him living modestly in Detroit working manual labor. His anti-establishment message spoke to the South Africans who were under a tightly censored regime at the time, and circulated from a bootlegged copy of his album Cold Fact. It spread like wildfire through the nation, inspiring fellow musicians to make music with similar free-thinking messages. His album was censored but still sold over a half million copies in spite of the ban. In South Africa he was considered to be in the same ballpark as Simon and Garfunkel, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, and Bob Dylan, yet no one knew anything about him. All they had was his photo on the album cover. Urban legend told the story of how he had supposedly died by a dramatic on-stage suicide and that was that. But that wasn't that. He was alive and well, living in obscurity in Detroit, the victim (I presume) of some sleazy record company people who didn't pay dues to where dues should have been paid. But there he was, all the same, unaware of his superstardom across an ocean. They flew him out in 1998 to perform in a half dozen sold out shows, where he was finally accepted and adequately recognized for his remarkable talent. Rodriguez was back from the dead and performing in front of sold out crowds at last. What a story.

What got me the most was the where is he now? element of the documentary? This movie had him wrapped in mystery the whole time; we didn't get to actually meet him until over halfway through the footage. Now we've finally found him! He's alive, performing music, and gaining recognition! Roll out the Beverly Hills mansion and new record deal, right? Wrong. The guy still lives in Detroit in the same house he's lived in for over 40 years. He gave the proceeds from his sold out shows and promotions to his friends and family. He continues to work hard in construction and renovation. I'm not saying that people who embrace their financial success are doing something wrong. But I am saying that it is a wonderful thing to see a true talent who loves what he does for the sake of what it is and not for the purpose of what it can get him. He is a thoughtful, sensitive, profoundly humble guy.

There's something about a poet or singer or writer or artist that can get at the real heart of stuff. I found Rodriguez to be a heartbreakingly great human being. The film ended with a shot of his walk home to his rundown residence in Detroit. Out of a pretty wretched place shines a brilliant talent. It makes me want to be in the business of helping to tell stories like this. We all need to hear stories about truth breaking through the hardship and darkness, giving way to a beautiful song.

Dream Weaver

This one will make your heart melt. Or at least mine did. In honor of Martin Luther King, Jr. day last month, we got all inspirational in Room 22 and became influential leaders ourselves. Each of my 23 students wrote their own "I Have a Dream" speeches modeled after MLKJ himself. We used the format of the speech and they filled in the blanks with things they had a dream for and where they wanted their future to go and what they wanted to change in this world for the better. Then they each delivered their speech in front of the class (a big step for second graders!). This is the best part: after each presenter was finished, we all gave a toast and clinked our Juicy Juice apple juice boxes and took a sip in his or her honor (I stole this idea from my friend Sam who did it with her sixth graders this summer during Institute). It was so precious. Below are a few actual quotes from the speeches. Sometimes I'm amazed at the visionary minds seven-year-olds can have. I wish I could tell you the backstory for each kid that makes the speeches that much more relevant and close to home. Beautiful. 

Cheers! 

I have a dream that families would get along and love each other instead of arguing.

I have a dream that nobody would get shot.

I have a dream that people will just stop fighting.

I have a dream that we will help homeless people.

I have a dream that kids can be allowed to play outside all day. 

I have a dream that someday someone will say to me that you have made a difference in the world. 

Small Town

Yesterday, I had the privilege of being on the receiving end of a random act of kindness. It is absolutely wonderful when that happens. Although I've been fortunate enough to experience this kind of a thing before (here's the story of one of my favorite instances), each time a stranger goes out of their way to do something kind, it shocks me. It was especially cool this time because it happened in a big place like the city of Chicago, where people (like myself) tend to expect it the least. 

This weekend, one of my favorites, Ashley Wisz, came to visit me (more on that in an upcoming post) and I took her around my neighborhood and favorite places to show her a little bit of my life in the city. This, of course, includes Simone's, my favorite bar. Ashley is too nice for her own good and treated me to my drink and would not take no for an answer. I should invite friends like her over more often. But then, that meant that I didn't have to check my wallet for the rest of the night. This means that my purse stayed on the bench for the duration of my meal. And this also means, of course, that when I left the bar, I was so happy and thankful for Ashley's generosity that I left my purse right there where I set it down in the first place. 

Bad move, Anna. The prognosis on leaving a purse behind anywhere in public is not a good one. If I left my purse out in Cedar Grove, Wisconsin, I wouldn't be too hopeful about getting it back. Chicago, I thought, must be hopeless. Who knows who's walking past that bench? I figured it was a goner. 

On Sunday morning, I was rushing around looking for my purse so I could drive us to church. Alas, I figured it out. Crap. I'm an idiot. That thing is never to be found again. 

So we continued on to church and went about our morning, waiting until Simone's opened so I could give them a call. I'll admit to you readers (this is not a proud moment) that instead of confessing my sins during the silent prayer, I was asking God to PLEASE let that brown purse and all of its contents to be safely nestled behind the bar on the corner of Morgan and 18th. I know, not cool. All I could think about was calling my parents to tell them about my stupidity as I asked for what the next logical steps were to reclaiming my life. I was facing identity theft, a trip to the DMV for a new license, new credit cards, and, of course, and maybe most painful of all, a long, long sermon from my father about the importance of situational awareness. This is what was on my mind at church.

But then - as you've probably already figured out by now - I made the call and found to my delight that I did not have to face any of that at all. "Yes, we are so happy to tell you that we have your purse for you!" said the voice on the other end of the phone. I stopped by Simone's on my way home from church, ran inside, thanked the lady profusely, and promised my undying loyalty and support of her local business (pretty sure she doesn't own the place and that she is just a bartender, but hey...I was excited) for as long as I live. Every last dollar, card, and check was still in my wallet. It was a great moment in humanity. 

I guess stuff like this happens all the time. People really do help other people out. Just because it's a big city doesn't mean that Chicago is an evil place. I'm starting to realize the great thing about this city is that Chicago is just a very, very, large small town. If I can help someone else feel like they're on main street just a little bit like that bartender did for me, I think that would be a great thing. 

Beeeeeee Yourself

(The title was meant to harken back to my Disney days. Oh wait...I still am in my Disney days. Either way, click the link and you'll find one of my favorite scenes of all time.)

"You DOIN' too much!"

That means that you're trying too hard. My second graders say that to each other when they need to settle down. When they need to stop trying to get attention by doing what they think is cool. To give you a frame of reference, a perfect example is my student named M. M takes any opportunity to yell gospel music, break into the MC hammer dance, scream, throw a fit, steal things, throw things, whatever it may be, in order to get the spotlight. He is a happy kid and gets along with others, but he just needs to feel that approval from others in the form of being the performer. He's a crowd pleaser by nature (I know how he feels). But my one girl, T, tells it like it is. She calls him out every time when he is being ridiculous and trying too hard. She throws up her hands and says, "M! You DOIN' too much!" T is on to something here. My children are wise beyond their 7 years. It's something that I'm still trying to get straight myself. They have taught me this lesson:

Be yourself. 

Stop trying too hard. Stop busying yourself with impressing everyone. The best attention you can get does not come from being a pleaser but comes from being yourself. I come from a family of people who are very good at being themselves. To be a Gesch means something very particular to a lot of folks because we are a family full of people who are unashamedly weird, smart, talkative, and eccentric. And they live it out on a daily basis, whether it is popular or not. My second graders have this same sense of self. They are loud, emotional, impulsive, happy, sassy, and confident. I think it's all in the secret of being real with yourself and knowing who you are. Find that one thing that makes you YOU and DO THAT on a daily basis. I'm not speaking in terms of a career or job or calling as many people from my church say, but I'm talking about your YOU-ness. Your personality. Your vibe. Everyone's got their own stamp. Their own flavor. Are you sarcastic, whimsical, unconventional, loud, understated, or offbeat? Be those things. Are you weird? BE WEIRD.

I was addicted to Calvin and Hobbes from 2nd-8th grade. One of the things that
always drew me to love Calvin's character is that he is always completely himself. 

It's obvious when you try too hard to deny your own weirdness or other flavors; it's clear when you try to make your brand of YOU fit into someone else's. I think girls in particular (maybe guys are too...I just don't understand their brains to be honest) are prone to this for some reason, myself certainly included. I know a girl who so painfully cares about talking and acting cool to adapt to the particular party, people, wedding, or workplace that she finds herself around. A lot of people do this. These are the kind of people who all dress alike, talk alike, and really want the whole world to know on a daily basis what they are saying and wearing so we can all be jealous of them on twittagrambooktrest (In case you're wondering, that's the combination of twitter, instagram, facebook, and pinterest that I think will happen when they all merge to form one mega time-sucking site to consolidate our attention in one place. You heard it here first). Then, people who check these things are supposed to believe that this is "normal" and be jealous. That works for the short term popularity boost, but in the long term I think we can all agree that just totally isn't cool. Or interesting. At all. Who wants that? And how exhausting for people to try that hard? I just want to say: "Hey. You. You DOIN' too much. Cut it out." And let me say, I am totally guilty of this. I love social media too much and love connecting to people out there who are doing interesting things with their lives. I always have to check myself to make sure the things I do are out of the joy of making connections and not out of the thrill of seeking approval, as is the pitfall of all this social media stuff. This is why my second graders are so good for me in ways like this. 

Ellen Page. A celebrity very good, in my opinion, at being herself in a world were most people aren't. 

When they start to walk, talk, and do things like themselves, that's when people become cool. I think I'm getting a little bit better at this as I get older and out of the high school and college contexts. Or at least I'm trying to bet better at this; I'm trying to find my voice and embrace it. One of the perfect examples of this is my friend Ann Marie. The girl is so gorgeous and could very easily play into that "stupid-hot-chick" thing if she wanted to, the way that so many pretty people do. But instead, she unashamedly loves to go fishing, works her tail off for her masters degree, fixates on random foods (Salty Stix all through high school!), has no concern over climbing up a social ladder, constantly engages in extremely intelligent conversation, and is weird and silly all at the same time. To me, that's cool. And you know what? I'm an optimistic, sarcastic, smart, loving, adventurous, and extroverted person. That's who I am, and that's how I think I'll always be. The hip apathetic-laid-back-super-chill-understated thing just won't ever totally be me. If it is you, that's great! Then you do that thing, and I'll do my thing. I think one of the biggest compliments someone could give me as I grow up and do this whole adult-life thing would be to tell me that I'm very Anna-y these days, that I'm really myself. I'm always in a struggle to just embrace who I am and being THAT to the best of my ability. As I keep working on it, I hope you do too. Find your brand of weird and make it cool. Find the things that make you YOU and do them (this blog is one of my "things"). Set yourself free from figuring out what people want, relax, and beee yourself. Quit doin' too much. 

All the time?

Last week was Grandparent's Day. No, I'm not in second grade, I do actually attend Trinity Christian College, an institution of higher learning, and yes, we have Grandparent's Day. WHAT ABOUT IT, HUH?! (Sorry, I'm defensive of our little traditions, as silly as they seem to most 'normal' people.) My two cousins and I got to spend a few hours with my mom's mother, who is a wonderful person. They had a speaker at one point during the program who chose a topic that got me thinking. She was saying that times don't have to be easy in order for them to be good.

The gray haired audience had the benefit of lots of years of evidence to attest to her message. They can look back and see how everything shakes out for their ultimate good. Even my 45-year-old dad (Okay he's not that age by any means, but I'm trying to help a brotha out) told me last weekend that he has enough experience with hindsight to see this truth. The truth of how there isn't a meaningless rhythm to life; how there is a purpose behind all of those weird events that leave us asking, What on earth is going to happen to me?

I've been pondering this idea for awhile. Honestly, it's because things have been going my way for the most part in the past month or so - particularly when it comes to my future plans. Doors have been opened and things have fallen into place like I can't even believe. I truly could not have planned it better myself. (Ha, I would probably have messed it up if it were.) I can fill you in on these details soon and very soon. (!!!)

SO. Lately I've been thinking, "Wow, I am pretty blessed. Life is good. God is good." 

But aren't those things always good? What a stupid thing to assume that all of a sudden these things started to be good! Was life no good when I was having an off day? Was life not worth living in January when I had a minor breakdown every five minutes at each glance at my planner's revelation that "GRADUATION" was penciled in and hurling at me like a freight train? Was God no good when people asked, "What are you considering for a career path?" and I coped by making some stupid joke about plans to open a grammar store with my English major? (I forget who I stole that joke from, but it's worth a laugh every time. Well I laugh at it. Therefore, it's funny.) Was God not good when I saw all those diamond ring pictures pop up on facebook and my fourth finger on my left hand was (and still is - don't get any ideas pal!) glaringly sans adornment? Was I not blessed when I felt confused about my future and where I was meant to be for the next little segment of my life?

The answer to all of these, of course, is no. 

I have always been blessed, life is always good, and God is always good. I have a theory that God gets sick of my aforementioned meltdowns and sometimes has to smack me over the head with good stuff just to make me shut up with all the complaints. As much experience as I have with trying to remind toddlers and little kids to stop whining, I'm not such a great role model in that department myself. Oops. 

What changes, then, is not the blessings, life, or God, but me. Or I guess, more specifically, my perspective. Too often we (well at least I do) let the junk going on around us decide whether or not things are good. God was still perfectly good on the day my Grandma died last year. Life was still good when I felt completely scared and alone that first week in Spain. I'm still blessed beyond comparison when friendships are tarnished, promises are broken, and plans don't work out. Yet I'm still like the whiny 3-year-old who can only see four inches in front of her own shoes. Here's the  problem with this: when I start qualifying the goodness of my life, blessings, and God, it makes me the one who determines all this stuff. It makes me the center of attention. And it makes me the one in charge of making it all happen. But I don't want to make it happen. I can't make it happen. Not on my own. 

So, if you ask me if God is good all the time, I will tell you yes. Because in the highs and lows, he doesn't change. The goodness of this life we live doesn't waver. 

And that, to me, makes it worth living, and living well. 

Good Stuff: Lauren Haney

One thing I love about blogging/writing stuff down is reading and hearing from people who do the same.  The following was written by my good friend Lauren Haney: Social Media director, OPC-er, writer, adventurer, traveler, and fellow JV soccer-er extraordinaire. She is such an encouragement and example to me (and many others). Basically, she's one bad chick. And by bad I mean good in that slangy kind of way. She wrote this little number for people like myself, and yes, she did all that strange grammar and punctuation usage on purpose. Have a read and enjoy. 

Lauren and I at her graduation last May -I was a marshal for the Jr. class.
(Give me some slack for the chubbiness...this is a week
after coming back home from Spain.)

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. No Thanks, I'd Rather Be A Freak Out?!

(This goes out to all my about to be, just and post graduated people)

I love punctuation  And grammar  Well actually, I love them both when they're used properly  Otherwise they perturb me  But I hate periods 

Period

Because a period says "It's done," "I'm done," "The end," "Don't add anything else," "There are no other options," "Not looking for input," "Don't participate," etc

It certainly doesn't leave room for things to evovle or adjust or grow or expand or redirect

That's why there's some amazing and unbelievable beauty in a good, long, well-put together run on sentence - you're just not sure where it's going to go or what direction it's going to turn next so you almost feel as if you're on the edge of your seat holding your breath while you try in a most focused, concentrated fashion not to fall out of the car as it careens around turns on two wheels and threatens to lose you entirely with its next could-be-independent clause

And that's the same reason why having no idea what you're doing with your life is beyond okay  Because it doesn't need any periods  The punctuation of a clueless person is questions marks, exclamation points and an over-abundance of commas and man are those all fun  

They all say "I've barely started," "Please add something," "There's too many options to handle," "Bring on the input" and "I love communal participation"

They say "I refuse to end this just because I should"

"I won't stop when I don't know where I'm going"

and "I will take the wisdom of the crowd instead of the foolishness of only myself"

So why use periods at all?  Stop freaking out  Life is way more fun open ended  I'd rather have my life be a freak out than a period

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