Pirates Invade my Bedroom

The alarm clock began blaring 'Pirates of the Caribbean' this morning at a very horrendous hour. I forced myself into the land of the living, figured out what day it was and why on earth pirates were invading my bedroom, and then I realised with a sinking feeling of dread: 'It's workshop day...'

For the past few months, I have been developing a workshop for Special Collections at the Brotherton Library focused on Branwell Brontë and his juvenilia. I and my project partner, Rachel, designed a workshop called 'Tiny Books for Tiny Hands: Unlocking the Door to Angria' intended to educate children on the unknown Brontë brother's story (the non-sordid version) and the 'tiny books' he and his sisters wrote when they were children about a magical kingdom called Angria. Today was the first of two presentations of the workshop and I was terrified. Everything with this workshop felt last minute and Rachel and I were running around like mad the day before trying to find quills and ink, printing posters, and finishing powerpoints. I just didn't feel I had prepared enough or would be able to pull this off. Despite my feelings of impending failure, after sending off a fervent prayer and hurriedly gulping some Diet Coke for good measure, I set out.

At first, it seemed we were doomed. The doors to the art gallery where we held the event were locked, no one answered the phone inside, and it was 15 minutes past when we were supposed to start setting up. How I wished I had a paper bag for hyperventilation purposes! Then, like magic, the gallery coordinator appeared like a fairy godmother out of the morning mist and we were off and running.

At 10:10am, I stood at the front of the gallery facing 16 expectant workshop participants. After a deep breath, I began with: 'Good morning! If you like this workshop, my name is Sara. If you don't like it, my name's Phoebe.' They all laughed and I knew everything was going to be ok.

I had forgotten how much I love teaching, how much I love kids, and how much I love people! I also hadn't even realised how much I needed to be reminded of those facts. With dissertation deadlines approaching and uncertainty about next year's plans overwhelming my thoughts, I forgot why I am even bothering to do all of this schooling in the first place. I left California, my family, and a job and students that I absolutely loved, so that I could become a better teacher. Every difficult experience, every not-so-good grade, every heartache, and every painful word of my blasted dissertation will help shape me into a stronger, smarter, and-with all the walking I do-maybe even a sexier teacher. (That sounds rather cheeky, but I'm a sucker for alliteration so I'm leaving it in)

This morning started off rather hellish, but it ended up being a day I'll never forget: a day full of wonderful reminders from God that I'm in the right place and going through the experiences necessary to make me the teacher I feel He's called me to be. I wouldn't trade the blessing of hearing an adorable 6 year-old read a brilliant story she wrote in a book she handmade for all the Diet Coke in Leeds (I know. The severity of that statement shocks even me.)

Dissertation Lowdown: 11,800-14,800 words to go. Title: Unknown. Topic: Using Gothic Constructs and Pagan Folklore Structures to Discuss Christianity. Mood: Idon'twanttotalkaboutit.