NOTES FROM LILLY-NORTH

      September 21. Somewhere in the skies between Detroit and Jacksonville. Just left the Lilly conference on college teaching in Traverse City intensely stirred and stirred up by various sessions on brain research about learning, classroom diversity, special needs programs, classroom boredom, humanizing education, inclusive education, pervasive and lasting learning. Four days of education, information, reflection, affirmation, elucidation, and above all, of association and connection. So tired and so wired. So drained and so filled. My brain is numb and yet sharp. I’m dead and so alive. Diamonds embedded in insightful sessions, pearls from the all important intimate smoozings, all kinds of jewels over dinners. Near-disaster turned into accomplishment (don’t ask). An impromptu presentation that continues to stir my soul. So many names and faces and stories, too many to list. New and renewed. I never met a Lilly conference that didn’t do that to me. I’m rummaging through the Lilly conference’s program reading scribbles I had made all over the pages as foods for thought on which I have yet to feast. I thought I’d share some of these marginal notes that seem anything but marginal. They aren’t all of the tidbits; I’ll share others later:

1. A teacher is really an adventurer in quest of treasure.

2. Mother Teresa said that she doesn’t treat the masses; she treats one person. So, I’ve got some hard, powerful questions we should ask ourselves each day: Do we truly know each student? Do we like each student–love each student–unconditionally? Do we unequivocally respect each student? Do we believe in each student without any reservation? Are we unhesitatingly committed to each student?

3. We have to love and admire those who can bring their hearts to their work.

4. I like that saying, “A spiders unite their webs can tie up a lion.” That’s classroom community; that’s a campus learning community.

5. We grow stronger, maybe even more courageous, certainly more authentic, by self-reflection.

6. The fullness of whatever it is we’re doing lies in the form of our limitless openness for the unknown and surprise.

7. We should enter the classroom as if it’s holy ground because that is exactly what it is.

8. Students are more likely to be influenced by those they like and trust than those they do not

9. If you don’t see the sacredness and humanity in every student, you don’t see sacredness and humanity anywhere; if you don’t see the sacredness and humanity in yourself, you won’t see sacredness and humanity anywhere.

10. I suppose to love and be dedicated to one’s discipline is expected. But, when we go on campus why should love and dedication stop at that border. It’s not trespassing to go beyond that boundary line to love and be dedicated to each student.

11. As we begin to believe that there is no great accomplishment than serving others, rather than ourselves, then the classroom will become a sacred place of celebration.

12. Doggone, this thing we call education is all about people, isn’t it?

      So, to have a better shot as being a purposeful and meaningful and fulfilled—and lastingly effective–teacher we just have to be a knowledgeable, simple, decent, caring, serving, kindly, trusting and trustful, authentic, empathic, loving, believing, and fearless human being each day. Those are a heck of a bunch of “justs!” Easy to say; challenging and meaningful to live. That’s why the most important day of any conference is the day after the conclusion of the conference.

Louis

ONE MORE DAY

Today is September 15. It was 6:12 a.m. this morning. For some time, I had been sitting in the stuffed living room chair. The lights were out. It was dark outside. At that very moment, I got up out of the chair, opened the front door, stepped out onto the stoop, took a deep breath, and felt alive as I never have felt before. You see, it was exactly a year ago to that minute that I had been sitting in that very same chair. It had been the second day of Rosh Hashanah when we of the Jewish faith go down a heart and spirit check list to see how we took care of our mandate to be godly, when we are asked by the Divine, “Why aren’t you as much as you could have been?” These holidays are really a Divine gift: the confidence that in the coming year we can live up ever more closely to our great potential. That is the meaning of a prayer “Hayom harat olam:” today the world trembles; today the world is born.

That morning, exactly a year ago, are I was reflecting on the past year, when I began to feel the effects of what could easily have been a deadly cerebral hemorrahage, I trembled and soon was to find that I was born. I thought, having changed the direction of my life starting in the autumn of 1991, that I knew the meaning of gratitude. I thought, having survived cancer four years ago, that I knew the meaning of gratitude. As I recovered at home last year during the rest of the fall semester on medical leave, I began learning the abundance and richness that a deeper and truer gratitude hold.

You know, the Ivory Tower is not always a cold, clinical, distancing, objective environment too many people inside its walls struggle to make it into. It’s really a world of human beings where too often it’s so easy not to appreciate the good things, the profoundly human connecting things, something as simple as a Dean hugging you with a compassionate “you’ve make it” or a Vice President encouragingly saying “we need you back,” or a President taking time out from his inordinately busy schedule to have a “good to have you back” supportive talk, or colleagues sincerely saying, “you’re in my prayers” or “if you need anything, anytime, please use me” or another visiting me in the hospital or still another bringing a home baked “victory cake” to me at the house or a host of supporting “if you need someone to talk with” or “just take care of yourself” coming from all over the campus, or hugs at a conference accompanied by a “welcome back” or students taking time from their demanding schedule calling with offers of help and shopping at the local grocery store and even cooking dinners for Susan and me.

Today, a year later, because of these acts of thoughtfulness, I am on campus with a greater sense of gratefulness and connectedness to others. I can’t walk the campus without feeling grateful and at peace, without having a deeper and richer aliveness than I had before my hemorrahage. Facing death was for me in a way life-enriching. The mere thought of nearly having died, that I recovered as a miraculous “5 per center,” somehow makes every moment vivid, every happiness more luminous and intense, every step meaningful and purposeful. It has developed hunger that is also a form of joy. I find that having walked through the valley of the shadow of death has enlightened my life.

Linda Ellis, a Georgia poetess, wrote a poem that says what I have been , am feeling, and will consciously continue to feel. It’s called “One More Day.”

This day, this precious, wonderful gift has been bestowed upon me free! And whatever I choose to do with it remains entirely up to me.

I could squander these given hours, treat each task as if it’s a chore. And mark this day off my calendar like so many times before.  I could overlook the blooming flowers and ignore the sun’s warm light.  Before it inevitably sets again, turning my gift of day to night.  I could dwell upon mistakes I’ve made and cry regretful tears and live my life in the shadow of my own anxieties and fears.  Or, I could make a resolution, before one more day has passed, that I shall live it to its fullest, live it…as it if were my last. Then, I shall, as I awaken, relinquish my fret and my sorrow and accept one more day to love and laugh with no guarantee of tomorrow.   At night, as I lay down my head only to wake again, I’ll pray.  And if I do, then I’ll thank God for giving me “One More Day.”

Louis

A COMING ANNIVERSARY

It is September. In eight days I will celebrate the first anniversary of what everyone calls “a divine miracle”: my survival of a massive cerebral hemorrahage as an unscathed “5 per center.” So, as the 15th approaches, as the self-examining period of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur draws near, I’ve been thinking and feeling more intensely than usual about my life in the classroom, my life as a whole, and life in general. This morning, during my power walk at dawn, I looked up at the clear, still star-studded, sky. Tears formed in my eyes and dripped down my cheeks. I felt so reborn. I felt so clear about my purpose in life. I felt so completely alive. I felt so completely free. I so felt this overwhelming sense of happiness, and realization of how much of a blessing it is to have just this single moment of life. I stopped to take a deep breath. I came oh so close to dropping down on the sidewalk for a convulsive cry of joy. Really!

You see, walking through the valley of the shadow of death has enlightened my life—and changed my attitude toward life and death. I feel as if I had taken my first step on this magnificent inner journey when I had my personal epiphany in 1991 that has been spreading through all facets of my life like a protective vaccine; then, there was surviving my cancer four years ago. But coming through my near-fatal cerebral hemorrahage dwarfed their impact. Nevertheless, they each are like sheets of sandpapers of my life. Their grits are still shaping my spirit and soul. They are still smoothing and polishing my awareness, otherness, empathy, sensitivity, appreciation, humility, and hopefully my wisdom. Each day I awaken with the realization that what I choose to do with this one day is up to me. So, each day I consciously make a resolution to consciously greet this one and only day I have with a resolving “yes;” that I will not live in the shadow of pessimism, cynicism, anxiety, and fear; that I won’t let the gift of this one more day pass unwrapped as a blur and merely mark it off as an “ah me” passing of “just another.” Instead, I will live, love, laugh, have fun, and enjoy to the fullest throughout this one more day given to me–as it if were my last and as it almost was on that fateful September 15th—with no guarantee of tomorrow. Now, if that be “touchy-feely,” so be it. It beats being down and jaded and numb.

How does this affect my teaching? My gratitude is a continuous state of heart and mind. Wherever I go and whatever I do, there it is. A great worship is going on all the time, so nothing should be neglected or excluded from my constant meditative awareness. Each day I awaken knowing, especially from student entries in their journals, that the most effective teaching tool I have at my fingertips is me, for as I can see the holiness in each student, I know I will concentrate on finding and helping each of them to find what is good in her or him, and I will experience a life that is filled with fulfillment and gratitude. And, when you have a strong sense of who you are and a clear vision of where you want to go and what you want to do and whom you want to serve with your teaching, you then have the foundation for reaching out to each student, the strength to overcome all obstacles, and the courage to go after your dreams for a better, more meaningful, and more purposeful life.

So, I always dance onto campus firmly knowing that this day is mine to experience; this day is mine not to let my heart get distanced from any student; this day is mine to live; this day is mine to express what it means to be alive; this day is mine to smile and laugh; this day is mine to remember that my authenticity is stronger than any obstacle; this day is mine to act to make a positive, meaningful difference; this day is filled with untold possibilities; this day I have the power to transform any ordinary moment into something extraordinary; this day is mine to make the impossible possible; this day is mine not to take, but to give and share; this day is mine to live with all the purpose and richness I can imagine; this day is mine to help a student help herself or himself become a little more who she or he is capable of becoming; this day is mine to fill with optimism, cheerfulness, kindness, empathy, belief, support, encouragement, hope, and love; this day is mine to live true to my highest purpose; this day is mine to know fulfillment and satisfaction.

Sound Pollyannaish? Maybe. Then again, maybe you have to stare the Grim Reaper in its faceless face to understand that the attitude and feeling I have are not “head-in-the-clouds.” They are soul nurturing, feet-on-the-ground. You see, being up is a greater high than being down, that optimism is deeper than pessimism, and that cheerful confidence more profound than fear. My natural exuberance gives me an upbeat view of the classroom. I believe optimism grounded on faith in students and love of each of them is far superior to “realistic” pessimism or resignation. I choose to be grateful for what life has given me, not bitter or anxious about what it hasn’t. There are limits to human control. Maybe that’s why I found facing death a year ago to be life-enriching. A day doesn’t go by that I don’t think of that fateful day. The mere thought of nearly dying has brightened my life. It somehow made and still makes the light of life dispel the shadows of death. It makes every minute of every hour of every day a blessing, every happiness more luminous, every gratefulness more intense; it develops a hunger that is a form of infectious meaning, purpose, and joy.

Louis

A QUICKIE ON DANDELIONS AND MUD PUDDLES

It’s the things and events we focus on make up the world we perceive and think we live in. This means, each of us literally chooses to which she or he gives her or his attention, what sort of a classroom appears to her or him. That is, what we attend to is our reality. So, the roles perceptions, presumptions, assumptions, and attentions play are crucial in determining the type of academic world we experience.

I came across this poem. It ties in with an exercise I run in my workshops on creating a motivating classroom that I call “The Parable of the Dandelion.” This poem is titled “Dandelions and Mud Puddles.”

 

We can see dandelions as a weed that invades the pristine beauty of our gardens.  Or, we can see it as a beautiful flower or a fluffy white ball to wish upon or as a source of nourishing food and drink.

We can see a mud puddle and see only dirty shoes, soiled clothes, and stained carpets.  Or, we can see it as a pool to stomp in, splash around in, and have fun.

We can feel a wind and worry about how it will muss our hair or toss leaves on our manicured lawns.  Or, we can close our eyes, let it massage our face, and imagine we’re soaring on an updraft like an eagle.

We can see a rain storm and see only that we will be drenched, depressed by the grayness, and that the warm rays of the sun will disappear.   Or, we can sing and play in the rain as if it was a water fountain, realize the raindrops are nourishing our gardens, and think warmly of the sun that still shines above the gray clouds.

Now, just replace “dandelion” and “mud puddle” with “student.”

We should discipline our own emotions and give them the light and warmth of love, hope, and good cheer. Our conscious efforts to be positive, enthusiastic and supportive can have a huge impact not only on the emotional well-being on each student, but on his or her ability to experience the joys and pains of learning in healthy and constructive ways. Dreamy? Touchy feely? Well, being a cancer survivor of four years and having “miraculously” survived a massive cerebral hemorrhage last year, I know that happy is better than sad, enthusiastic is better than resigned, blooming is better than wilting, warmth is better than chill, calm is better than irritation. The truth is that we are as what makes us happy or what makes us sad and angry; we are as we see “this is the best day of my life” or “this is the worst day of my life.”

Seeing the good side or being able to discover and savor things to be grateful for, doesn’t reduce or erase the inconveniences or discomforts or headaches or disappointments. But, it can change dramatically how we choose to deal with them and what impact they will have on our ability to persist, persevere, and feel accomplished, satisfied, fulfilled, and happy.

Louis