I know I am terribly preoccupied when I don't journal. I am generally a once-a-day journaler, and journaling is the way I know what I'm thinking, or how I gauge what state my heart is in, and sometimes even the way I talk to God. I had a friend in college who was a verbal processor, and he would tell me things that he had never thought of before, like he was creating his thoughts as he was saying them, and I always thought that was odd. Different than the way I am wired, because I write about things, and I always know how I'm feeling about something before I speak the words into audible tones.
As of today, I haven't journaled for a good three weeks. That means my life is crazy. And I believe most folks call that crazy by the name of teaching.
I am a teacher. It is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I stand in front of a room of preadolescent boys and girls who are closer to the adolescent line than not, and I am the one in charge. Yikes. I teach them grammar and wonder why there aren't more books written on how to make verb tenses fun. Or geography. Now there's a doozy. Can this blog take confessional turn as I reveal that before last week, I didn't even know where the Atacama Desert was? Well. Now all 15 of us in Room 8 do.
I love teaching. I do. I love the challenge of writing effective lessons and communicating ideas multiple ways so that more kids will understand. I love learning as I go. But the challenge outside the classroom is what's killin' me:
Where is my soul time?
Pray for me, friends. Pray that I will seek Jesus first. I don't know how to handle the currency of time. I know the balance is off, and I yearn to find it again.
When I get back to the journal, I'll let you know. That will be one fine day.