by Ashley Haupt | Oct 12, 2015
This morning I wandered around sleepily looking for my cell phone. After five minutes, I gave up, made a cup of coffee, and opened up my computer instead. A Facebook message awaited me from Tim, reminding me I have nursery duty and informing me that my phone was on his car this morning when he drove to church. When he stopped for coffee at McDonald’s, the lady in the drive-through told him there was a phone on his hood.
Only me.
Twice this year, I have accidentally taken two sets of keys to school (30 minutes away), leaving Tim with no sets of keys at home. Right now, a pile of clean folded clothes is towering precariously on my dresser, along with miscellaneous jewelry, a stack of books, a pencil, a tube of diaper cream, and a random article of makeup. Next to the dresser is a laundry basket filled with random stuff of mine that has no place. In the bathroom, my cosmetics are strewn half-hazardly across my half of the sink and continually leak over to his side, at which point he will simply sweep them into a pile in my sink. My side of the closet? Nightmare before Christmas because that is probably how long it will take for me to get it in order.
Yesterday, we had the privilege to witness one of the sweetest weddings I have ever seen. The moment when the bride walked down the aisle to her groom, both of them teary-eyed, pierced me, and I had to look away because I felt like I was eavesdropping on a private moment. And yet, I wanted to do it all again. Ten years married, and I suddenly wanted the whole wedding ceremony again for us. Because now I know how much sacrifice Tim would make for me, and I for him. Now I know, as I never could have known before, how Tim would love me like Christ loved the church. Oh the church with all its messiness, its petty squabbles and imperfect members. And me with all my mess, literal and figurative.
In our wedding, when the door opened and I advanced down the aisle, I looked first at our guests. This was out of consideration because many people had traveled to be there with us, and I wanted to acknowledge them. But if I could do it again, my eyes would be only for my groom and his perfecting love, love that helps me grow into who I’m meant to be.
In spite of my messiness, Tim knows that I have much beauty and love to offer the world. He sees beyond my faults. He tells me I make his life brighter and better and I believe him. The wonder of marriage is the way we each transform to fit more closely together, one unit. What God has joined together, let no man separate.
Still, it is hard to be Tim some days. Give the man some snacks if you see him, people.
by Ashley Haupt | Sep 23, 2015
I recently learned of some heavy heartache a student of mine is carrying quietly upon his shoulders, along with his backpack and homework. I felt utterly hopeless to help with his burden. I can’t control the variables of my students’ lives, but I can write the story of my own family.
When I returned to teaching after eight years as a stay-at-home mom, I worried about the effect it would have upon my own four small children. It hasn’t been easy. We are all adjusting, but when I step back and take a moment to reflect, I see some lovely silver linings in these clouds of transition.
- End goal in sight. Interacting with teenagers who are on the brink of adulthood helps me to refine my parenting goals and strategies for my littles. Now is the time to think about the teens my children will one day be. Teaching high school students helps me envision what I want for my kids. This works in two ways: On one hand, knowing some of my students are struggling mightily against the pull of drugs and alcohol makes me come home and hug my tiny ones tightly, grateful that we’re dealing with sharing toys and household chores. On the other hand, seeing a 16-year-old student leave food trash in my room reminds me how important it is to raise kids who clean up after themselves. Proverbs 20:11 reminds us, “Even a child is known by his actions, whether his deeds are pure or right,” and teaching has sharpened my radar to correct the small actions that grow into big habits.
- Strategic parenting. I’m a free-flow creative, classic Type B. But teaching has forced me to be more organized and strategic. It carries over to my parenting. Just as I put careful thought into the scope and sequence of my teaching, I am also thinking more about the intentionality of what I am teaching my own children. Am I teaching them to know about God? How to trust Christ? To stand up for themselves? To be kind? To be responsible? To love and be loved? The struggle is real: I often want to flop on the couch when I get home and do nothing after a long day of teaching. But if I am willing to pour myself out each day for my students, how much more do I want to pour what little wisdom I possess into my own four precious children?
- Love the unlovely. In the first couple months of teaching, I found myself doing something entirely of the flesh: moving away from the difficult students. It’s in our nature to dislike those who make life difficult for us. I caught myself, or rather, the Spirit caught me in conviction.
- I became aware when another teacher told me that a student said he thought I hated him. This particular student had been extremely difficult in my class, and it was true, I didn’t like him. How easy it was to let my behavior follow my feelings! Instead, I made a point to go to him that very day and tell him this was not true. I made a point each day to talk to him, especially to overturn his impression. His behavior changed dramatically, and an entirely new relationship has blossomed between us.
- Moving toward the difficult child is something I must do in parenting also. The “squeaky wheel” child with the bad behavior is the one who needs more attention, more love, more assurance. Our impulse is often to thrust the child away from us, to send them to their room, to the corner, to bed. But sometimes the right thing to do is pull them close, whisper love, and extend grace. Grace always costs us something (usually pride) and always heals more deeply than we could ever imagine.
- My most urgent prayer right now is that God would give me more love, that He would unfold my heart like a piece of notebook paper, until it is large enough to hold all the people in my life. Last year I had four children, and this year I have 104. I pray to love them all well.
- Self-Respect. Recently, my oldest child, Abby, wrote me a list of reasons why she loves me. Somewhere around the middle of the list was this reason: Because you teach! If there is one life lesson that simply must be caught more than taught, I believe it is self-respect. If we wish that our children would grow to be people who love themselves as well as others, we simply must begin in our own hearts. This is where the work begins. I loved being a stay-at-home mom, and I will never regret those precious years, but it’s true that I lost a little ground on the inside being so isolated. Returning to teaching has forced me to find myself again after many years of wearing only the Mommy-hat. Seeing this independence in me makes Abby proud. While I wish I could simply teach her how to care for and cherish her own unique identity, I know she draws this one directly from my own example. Taking up teaching, brushing off the dust, and finding the strength to begin again is making me stronger on the inside, and she sees it. Maybe she finds unconscious comfort in the knowledge that she, too, one day can have a family and a calling. Seeing Mommy step out in faith and try new things seems to give her a quiet assurance that she, too, can and will find her way in this wild world. I hope so.
A spiritual mentor once told me that we never know where we might end up in life and what God might call us to do. I have found that she is right. I never expected to find myself here, but here is where I choose to bloom and grow. Follow me at littlepiecesofordinary.com where I trace the silver linings.
by Ashley Haupt | Sep 14, 2015
The bulletin board in my high school English classroom reads “Awkward is Awesome.”
Posted next to it is a quotation from a neuroscientist about how the brain works. When we are learning new things, our brain strives to build new pathways. Once we have practiced and mastered a new skill, the pathway is fully formed, and the process is smooth and easy, even fun. But when we are learning a difficult new skill, we often feel clumsy and slow. Like shaky, atrophied muscles, our brain struggles against the challenge, and this is the exact point when many people give up. The end result is a stronger brain, new pathways, and exciting new life skills, but it requires pushing through the awkwardness and leaning into the discomfort of learning.
It’s a message for my students to lean into the difficulty of learning new concepts, but also a reminder for me.
In many areas of life, awkward is awesome. It takes courage to build the life we want, and part of that courage is being willing to overcome the obstacle of awkward beginnings. We have to push through the vulnerability of learning in order to arrive at the accomplishments we desire. When we meet someone new, it’s always awkward to get through the getting-to-know-you part of the process. Persevering through misunderstandings, squabbles, and tensions yields relationships that last.
For me, I’m learning to push through the awkwardness of relearning a teaching career I abandoned eight years ago to be a stay-at-home mom. It’s completely awkward. I make rookie mistakes, don’t meet my own expectations, get frustrated, and carry my burdens home with me.
I’m my own worst enemy. My frailties take center stage, and my strengths shrink behind them. The story I start telling myself is that I am failing and everyone knows it. I hang my head and isolate myself from others, believing they see the same story I do.
But when I remember that awkward is awesome, and that my brain and my character are growing right alongside my students, I can breathe, give myself grace, and lean into the discomfort. When we push through the awkward, we might find wonderful things on the other side. And we are more likely to push through when we remember that every journey includes some part that is uphill and awful, but it doesn’t mean we’re irrevocably flawed or that we’ve chosen the wrong path. And if we lean in and forge on, we don’t know what beautiful heights and sights await us at the end.
When Christ ushered in the new covenant, He brought with him so many awkward moments as people struggled to reconcile the reality with their expectation of the conquering Messiah. He wasn’t what they expected. At times He embarrassed his disciples with his harsh diatribes and confounding messages. But underneath all that cognitive dissonance, a Savior was being revealed; the Plan was unfolding like butterfly wings. And like all things Christ touches, it was immeasurably more than anyone asked or imagined. The pattern of His life encourages us when things don’t feel right in ours.
If anywhere in life right now, you find yourself clumsy and awkward, unsure and unsteady, take heart. You’re building new brain muscles, and Grace incarnate accompanies you on your journey. You are not alone, nor are you failing. You have the courage to try something new, and that kind of courage will carry you on to new heights.
by Ashley Haupt | Sep 1, 2015
I cried all the way to work. The harder I tried to suppress the tears, the more stubbornly they forged salty rivers down my cheeks. I missed my kids.
Also, I missed the comfort zone of my old life. I was one week into my return to the work force after eight years at home birthing, nursing, cuddling, and raising babies. The transition was going well, but the stress of the change was catching up to me, and I couldn’t outrun it anymore.
If it wasn’t for my not-so-waterproof mascara, I would have let the tears flow. I’ve learned not to suppress and repress the emotions that come with major life changes. Forging onward seems brave, but sometimes giving in to the tenderest part of you is braver still. Acknowledging the hurt helps you move on.
In seasons of major change, we must let ourselves evolve and that includes tears. Here are five reminders for others like me in a significant life transition:
- Realize that stress can be a pencil sharpener for our focus if we play our cards right. Big changes cause stress, but they also force us to figure out what really matters. While I have less quantity of time with my kiddos, I have learned to focus on the quality of our time together. I’m more intentional about my priorities now that my time is in demand.
- Believe that the future is in God’s hands and each day belongs to you. You can affect the outcome. Big seasons of change make us feel out of control, but we aren’t. We have choices each day to rise, give thanks to God, and do the best we can in our present circumstances. Believing we can shape our own lives helps us keep our hope alive and healthy.
- Know you can do this. The Bible reminds us that we have been given everything we need for life and godliness. We lack nothing we need to fulfill exactly God’s plan for our lives; we have only to trust Him and move forward.
- Understand the cocoon phase. Transformation is happening and sometimes that looks like a big ugly brown cocoon from the outside. Maybe no one understands all that is happening in your heart, but redemption takes time. Give yourself time to adjust. Give others time to adjust too. Have the grace to allow yourself to curl up in that cocoon and nap. You don’t yet know what life looks like on the other side, but all you need to do right now is rest and let time do the work.
- Keep showing up as you are with your heart and hands open. At the end of the day, I did the best I could, and I rest on that pillow of peace. I know who is in the miracle business and it’s not me. I give Him my lunch each day, but He feeds the multitudes if He chooses.
My tears that day were short-lived, but they may come again. That’s OK. Tears, blood, sweat, and joy all remind us we’re alive right here and now on our own little patch of eternity to do what we can with what we’ve been given. My all for His glory.
by Ashley Haupt | Aug 17, 2015
We have three kids starting school this week: a third grader, a first grader, and a wee little preschooler. In addition, I’m returning to education for the first time in eight years to teach 10-12 grade English. So naturally, when I came across an article entitled “The Secret to Raising Smart Kids” in my textbook, I paid attention. The article, originally published in Scientific America by Carol S. Dweck, shows some surprising findings based on 35 years of scientific investigation that have immediate implications for educators and parents.
Read the original article here, or if you are too busy with back-to-school busyness, consider these three summary ideas to apply to your own family.
1. Be cautious telling kids they are smart, talented or gifted. Researchers found that when students believe they have a fixed, unchanging amount of intelligence (either “I am very smart” or “I am not very smart”) they are less likely to work hard for success and more likely to be defeated by perceived failures or challenging obstacles. People used to believe innate ability plus confidence was the formula for successful students. However, researchers found that students who were told they were gifted from an early age had great difficulty when faced with a challenge. They were more likely to give up, not take risks, or become agitated by mistakes. When gifted is your identity, failure is devastating.
2. Praise your children and students for growth and improvement instead of fixed intelligence. Parents and teachers can praise persistence and use of personal strategies, which are life-long skills that will apply to more areas than just academics. Students who focus on improvement instead of high achievement are more likely to succeed and meet personal goals.
Spiritually, this applies as well. As we come to Christ, we seek to grow through the power of the Holy Spirit. But the growth is unique to the individual. We aren’t all going to reach the same level of holiness (if indeed holiness can even be expressed that way), but the same Spirit will work in each of us, transforming us into the image of Christ. If we compare ourselves to others, or to an impossibly high expectation, we will quickly become discouraged or fearful. But if we look back to one year ago, five years ago, and ten years ago and see how God has matured us, we are encouraged to keep striving.
3. Help students see failure as opportunity. According to Dweck, students who viewed mistakes as opportunities to learn, rather than blemishes against their identity as a smart kid, were able to persist in the face of challenges and find success when they had equal or less talent than other students. When students understand that intelligence is a muscle ready to grow when used, they can begin to exercise it freely. If they believe intelligence is like plot of cement and suspect they might not have much square footage, they will act out of fear and self-protection either to cover up or prove themselves.
As I consider how I teach my students this year, I want to celebrate improvement. I want to keep their first papers they write and pull them out at the end of the year to show them how they have grown. As I consider my own children, I want to applaud their efforts, especially when a subject is difficult for them. I want to help them think of strategies and teach them that their intelligence is unlimited; their brains are miraculous learning machines, ever hungry for more.
I want to prep them for success in their classrooms this year, but also for lifelong success.