Joy Discovered

     "Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strickness." 

James 3:1 ESV

     "It is joy that reveals our true nature."

The Rebbe of Hanipoli

     The problem began at the blackboard. The problem was division. There I stood, chalk in hand, sweat on brow, teacher and peers glaring, judging. The fabric of the universe seemed to unravel as I stared at the problem. I held the meaning of my life as a third-grader in a piece of chalk. 

     Now that I am a classroom teacher I know I was not an easy student. 'Question Everything' was my mantra. I suppose it still is.


     I have said, "I never wanted to be a high school teacher." That just proves we don't always know what we want. After having been away from school for several years, I decided to 'go back'. I wasn't sure why. Something inside me wanted to finish what I began. I finished. And a strange thing happened. I wanted more. So I moved to Memphis, Tennessee. Memphis State (now known as The University of Memphis) had accepted me to the MFA Program in Graphic Design. With no job, little money, and in the throes of divorce, I went. Within the month a friend of my Father's offered me a job- working in, of all places, a monument shop. Crone Monument Company. What I thought would be temporary lasted years. And then it happened. One day Mr. Crone was discussing a monument's size and price with a man when Mr. Crone asked him, "So, what do you do?" The man replied, "I am a High School teacher." Time stopped. From deep within a fire began to burn. Spontaneous Combustion came to mind. And the burn inside of me said, "That is IT."


     God's sense of humor fascinates me. I discovered joy in the thing I despised.


                  ... and there is no longer a division problem at the blackboard.

Nostalgic Signs

Clarksville Train Station
Clarksville, Tennessee

     Nostalgic moments are weirdly unpredictable. Yesterday, I remembered my first train ride. One minute I was having a conversation and the next I was in the mid 1960's, I was 9, and my Cub Scout Den was taking a field trip to a small town in Kentucky to see one of the banks robbed by the infamous Jesse James. 

     The train car smelled of musty wood. The seating consisted of old park benches, bolted to the floor. In the back of the car was a pot bellied stove. Nine-year-old butts are squirmy, especially with the prospect of banks and bandits looming up the tracks. Maybe Jesse dropped a bullet. I was determined to find one. My Mom was seated beside me, keeping me seated beside her with that 'look' that only Mom's possess.


     Nostalgia is a strange pond. Some days it seems larger, better than you remembered. Other days you feel there should be a 'No Fishing' sign. Funny thing about my first train ride- I don't remember the arrival, only the ride.

A nostalgic moment, a video from one of my former students-

99.9 °F from Harrison Keller on Vimeo.