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Super Saturday: You Have Roots, Too

I decided to change the name of the weekly post that I repost AGAIN. Like I said in last week’s original post, I don’t want to be known or defined by my accident and surviving it. I thought the name before was falling into that trap.This post was originally posted on January 8th of 2012.

I’ve been reading through Exodus. It’s a pretty epic story. I’ve always liked Moses. I loved the animated movie The Prince of Egypt as a kid. And I would plead with my parents to let me stay up to watch The Ten Commandments with Charlton Heston when it would be on television near Passover. (IMDB says that Heston was not only Moses in that movie, he was also the voice of God. What a man.)

What’s not to like about Moses’s story? It’s got everything you could want. An evil king. A strong male lead. Magic. A chase scene. A few fight scenes. Blood. A burning bush. And snakes. That’s pretty cool.

Except Moses was nothing like Charlton Heston. He was a man who had been raised as royalty who one day found out he was actually a slave. And that did not create a sense of justice in him. It scared him. He fled Egypt because he was scared. And then when God talked to him in the burning bush, Moses was scared again.

He argued with God. He said, “I am not eloquent, either in the past or since you have spoken to your servant, but I am slow of speech and of tongue” (Exodus 4:10). Moses was not a natural born leader. He wasn’t witty. He wasn’t popular at cocktail parties. He didn’t always have the right thing to say.

But God reassured him and told him that He would use Moses’s brother Aaron as a mouthpiece. And then Moses and Aaron go to Pharaoh and demand that the Israelites be let  go. And he says no and forces the Israelites to make bricks without straw. Moses and Aaron are defeated.

The people of Israel turn on Moses and Aaron. And Moses calls out to God “O Lord, why have you done evil to this people? Why did you ever send me? For since I came to Pharaoh to speak in your name, he has done evil to this people, and you have not delivered your people at all” (Exodus 5:22-3).

Then, two things happen. First, God gives Moses and Aaron a pep talk. I’m pretty sure all sports movies are modeled after the book of Exodus. Underdogs train hard. Underdogs are unsuccessful at first. Coach gives an amazing monologue type speech. Cue musical montage to a classic rock song featuring the Egyptians falling prey to the plagues.

Second, the author of Exodus (probably Moses?) stops narration to give a genealogy of Moses and Aaron. At first, it feels like really bad story-telling. It disrupts the flow of narrative; it doesn’t feel entirely relevant; and it’s hard to read.

I started thinking about it, though. Who has genealogies? Kings. Royalty. Important people. No one cares about a slave’s genealogy. Slaves hardly have names.

I think, often, I’m a little bit like Moses, pre-success. I’m angry that God has asked me to do something that doesn’t make immediate sense to me. I think that people are more important than me. I rarely stop to ponder my own identity, my own name, my own genealogy. And so I start thinking of myself as a bit player in someone else’s life.

There are no bit players. In God’s story, we all deserve genealogies.

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What I Have Learned in Recovery

I have learned so much throughout my recovery.

My Fisher King Wound has been closed. I wrote about what mine was a long time ago. And I’m no longer going to try to impress people. I know that I impress people on a daily basis both before and after the accident. I know that plenty of cool people love me and care about me.

It’s tough to learn. This is going to make me an even better teacher. I never really struggled in school as a student. I’m not struggling in therapy when I re-learn things, but I am frustrated by it because my brain isn’t yet where it used to be.

I’m going to be much more gracious than I ever was. It blew me away when I went out shopping with my parents the first time after my accident because no one knew that I had just been in the hospital. I don’t know everyone’s stories. I don’t know what people are going through. If I perceive someone as being rude to me, I’m going to let it go.

My life is opening up. I remember telling people how hard it was to be a teacher because my students’ lives were blossoming and becoming great. What I didn’t get then was that I was young enough that my life could do something similar.

Don’t be afraid to ask for help. I’ve asked my friends and family and therapists for things that I otherwise would have remembered. Asking someone for help used to scare me a little. It doesn’t anymore.

Celebrate more both in and out of the classroom. I started saying “boom” in therapy when I got something that I was working on correct. My therapist started saying it when she determined that I had gotten something right. It was like she was not only giving me permission to celebrate but helping me celebrate. I’ve made the decision that I should celebrate more of my friends’ small victories. When I get back into a classroom I’m going to celebrate and encourage students to do so as well when enough students reach a goal.

Standardized tests have just as much to do with following directions and memory as they do with subject material. In my therapy, I’m often given a practice standardized test to do. The thing I struggle with is not the subject that the test is over but my ability to follow directions and to remember things when I’m given a passage to read. When I have test prep in my classes, I’m going to frame it this way: “We’ve learned all of these things. You all are awesome at it. What this standardized test is going to do is ask you questions about things you already know. So pay attention and follow every direction.”

Take breaks both in and out of the classroom. Breaking up work or tasks is really important. Knowing the thing that gives you immediate happiness is a plus.

Everything that had ever happened to me before the accident has served a purpose. There were times when I thought I had failed, missed an opportunity, or made a mistake. All of it worked to put me in the place I was in before the accident. I’m never going to think about a failure or missed opportunity again.

Encouragement and goal-setting are keys to success. My therapist is sure to ask me what skills I’m missing, and what it would take to get to where I was. She then gives me tasks tailored around what I need. She’s then sure to remind me of how far I’ve come. She has even given me things that I’ve done when I first started therapy so that I can observe how far I’ve come. This is also something I can bring into the classroom.

When you think about the word “if,” say “when” instead. I used to say “if I get better,” but I will get better, and “if” creates all kinds of doubt in my mind. “When” is the better, more positive word.

Be patient. A therapist once walked me through what happens if someone breaks a limb. They get a cast until they are completely healed and ready to use the limb. There are not any casts for the brain, she said. So I need to rest my brain so that it fully heals.

I don’t want the crash and surviving it to define my life. I am so much more than this. I’m intelligent, articulate, and funny. I bring people together. I stand up for people who aren’t being listened to.

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Survivor Saturday: I Believe

Something that I worry about a lot, and ask questions about a lot is if I’m going to recover to everything I was before the accident. This post was originally posted on May 11, 2012, and I still believe all of these things. When I read it, I was encouraged. I stopped worrying so much.

I believe words are powerful. I believe the things we say matter. I believe you can say the same thing two different ways and you can have effectively said two very different things.

I don’t believe the world is getting dumber. I don’t believe in apathy. I don’t believe that my generation has less of an appreciation of fine art than my parents’ generation.

I believe fine art is different for everyone. I believe that’s okay.

I believe in God and love and bagels.

I believe ideas accumulate inside of us and if we don’t get them out (through writing, painting, performing, dancing, laughing) then there is no room for new ones.

I believe Real Living hurts. I believe it aches the way a good workout does. I believe you always need a Gatorade after Real Living.

I believe in plans and forms of fate and connections.

I believe in serendipity.

I believe in this woman named Sarah whom I met sitting at a bar who told me that haircutting was like engineering.