I was sitting in synagogue this past weekend as we of the Jewish faith
celebrated
Rosh Hashanah, the New Year. As I listened to the chanting, I started thinking
about
cancer. For me, having discovered almost two years ago that I had cancer and
having had
beaten it, though physical side effects persist, is a daily humbling
experience. Yet,
what I lost is nothing compared to what I found. Each day I feel more than
ever that I've
gotten back my life. Each day I feel intensely is another chance at life.
Each day I am
so deeply humble and grateful for each day. Each day I ask myself what am I
doing with
this day. You see, the day in itself, is not important. Someone said that a
day is a
blink in a cosmic eye. What makes that day important is the eye that blinks;
it is how
you live that day. It is whether you unwrap the present of the present;
whether you give
substance to your vision; and, it is whether you grow and improve on who you
already are
and what already is. It is how you live it with meaning. Do that and you've
made that
day something.
Meaning of life, purpose in life, and significance of life is not
automatic.
Imagine a windowpane which hasn't been kept all that clean. It's dusty; it's
dirty; it's
grimy; it's splattered with mud drops; it's covered with cobwebs. Because it
has become
opaque, when we look out, all we see are blurred forms. And, though the sun
may be
shining brightly outside, light won't penetrate with the same brilliance until
the glass
is cleaned. Each of us is a windowpane, and though the sun is shining, we have
difficulty
seeing that until we take the time to clear away what it is that's clouding our
vision.
Then, we gaze through the clear panes at the landscape, if we take the time and
make the
effort, we can see new things; we see things we never imagined; treasures in
your heart
find fresh expression. The view was always there. That didn't change. What
changes is
our capacity to see.
It's not easy work. Life is full of dirty distractions. It's easy to
get wrapped
up the grime in our daily lives, the grit of professional demands, the dust of
emotional
entanglements, and the cobwebs of personal challenges. Each day, now more than
ever, I
consciously look around, remember where I was, where I am, where I want to be
going, and
keep washing my window.
I think it was thinking about all this as I walked the cool, autumny
streets this
morning because of a rather long message I had received a while back from a
past student
whom I had not heard from in ten years. She is now a collegiate teacher. She
is a
professional academic adviser. Who would have known at the time. With each
step through
the dark silence, I slowly remembered. With each step I silently thought of
how many
times I came close to throwing up my hands in surrender to her. I thought of
how many
times I nearly turned away and got out of her face. She never met the members
of her
community half way; always seemed to be off in the distance, never opened up the
slightest, never smiled, always seemed defiant, never cooperated, never
journaled, was
more often MIA in class than not. Everything was "lame," "stupid,"
"dumb"--until that
last day of the semester. I know that last sentence is cryptic, but let's
leave it at
that. She failed the course. And now, a decade later, I heard from her:
.... I heard you have cancer. So, in case anything happens, I want you
to know
you made
a difference. You made a difference in my life and you are making a
difference in
the
lives of other students through me. I want you to know that you have
affected my
personal
and professional life in a way that is almost beyond description. I
know that may
sound trite,
but it's not a cliché to say I learned that the most important things
are on the
inside of me......
Though I failed the course and failed myself, you never once treated me
as a
failure....I
screwed up, to say the least, but you never treated me as a useless
screw-up. You
never saw
less than an angel in me, although I acted more like a devil. The more
I thought
about that
throughout that summer, the more I saw how you never let my poor
mouthing and
disrespect
influence you to do anything other than dig in to help me dig myself
out. You
gave a damn
about me when I didn't, had faith in me when I was faithless, and you
only saw me
as
someone better than I saw me....I never told you how that got to me.
I never
could stop
thinking about what you said about nothing gets built with excuses.
It's
time.....You're my
model for always loving, believing in, having faith in, and having hope
for each
and every
student. You're my model for helping students help themselves....A day
doesn't go
by that
I don't read those words of Yoda you put on the board as your "Words
For The Day."
I hand
them to students I am advising to advise themselves: "Try not. Do.
Or, do not.
There is no
try.".....Thanks for caring. Thanks for believing I can be a better
person, and
helping not to
believe otherwise or care any less. Keep that pinky painted. Don't
lose your
happiness for
what you're doing. Don't lose that passion and joy for helping each of
us help
ourselves.
Get well. Stick around. For all those others to come. Please.
And somehow, since reading and rereading the entirety of that seven
page letter,
catalyzed by a magnificent act of kindness I witnessed in the synagogue at the
end of the
service on Sunday, which I don't care to describe, this message, that act
kindness, the
cancer, the meaning in any teaching, making a difference, being significant,
purpose my
work, and my happiness all seemed to come together.
Do you know how many great rabbis and philosophers say that happiness
is all about
your work? No, they didn't mean its all about your job. Good work is not
about making
that goal and getting that bonus. Work and job are not the same. It's about
what in
Judaism is called avodah. At it's simplest, avodah means work. But, it
also means
something deeper and higher. It means service sacred service, service to
someone
other than ourselves, service to something greater than ourselves. The rabbis
and
thinkers were talking about how we live our personal and professional lives and
how we
should live those lives. Professionally, what better place is there for the
practice of
avodah than the classroom. Teaching, after all, is all about others.
Education is a
service industry. We classroom academics are in the people business. Avodah
means how we
teach, the meaning and purpose of our teaching, how we should live our
teaching, how our
teaching should serve others. Avodah raises some pointed questions for us to
honestly
ponder. Are we out to get tenure? Do we compromise our values in our quest?
Are we out
to get promotion? Do we bargain away our principles on the way? Are we out to
get
appointment? Do we sacrifice our morals on that path? Are we genuine? Are we
out to get
reputation? Do we edit our beliefs? Do we have a strong resume? Do we have a
strong
heart? Do we have a strong soul? Do we have a strong stand? Are we out to
help people
help themselves? Do we leave a mark? Do we make a difference? Are we
significant?
Teaching, done with vigor, with integrity, with dedication, with meaning, with
purpose,
and above all, with an unyielding commitment to serve others becomes avodah,
sacred work,
with a moral significance, making a last difference that lasts long after we
and our
resumes have crumbled to dust..
For the past few days, as I can't keep me from going from my head into
my soul, as
Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement approaches, all I hear are three questions,
three sacred
questions: What have you done, and how? Your work, where is your work?
"Where is your
avodah, your work that gives your life meaning and purpose? They are questions
to help me
become aware of myself, to learn to face more often in the right direction, to
be less apt
to miss the mark, to walk Robert Frost's less taken road. These High Holidays
are the
time we ask ourselves what are we doing that obscures what is really important,
how are we
letting our own issues get in the way of relating the way we want to relate to
others, how
our ego is preventing us from being the person we want to be. We can perform
avodah our
true work we all can perform the labor of love. That labor is not how we
feel. It is
about what we do with what we intend to do. It is about what has to be done.
What rests
in our hands is the power to do avodah, to work well, to give ourselves to
something
beyond ourselves, to be significant, to make a difference.
Avodah is great word for my Dictionary of Good Teaching. Avodah is
about the
power of caring. No, it's about the power of loving. It's about a forceful
energy to
which we're exposed that generates a no-limited and an unstoppable "me." It's
about how
that power can place each of us so close to significance and greatness. It's
about a
power that can place us a heart beat away from heart-felt humility, gratitude,
significance, and happiness. It's about a few simple truths: when you change
how you
look at yourself, a student, and the classroom, you, that classroom, and the
student you
look at change. When we are excited, we know we can do it. When we are
inspired, our
dormant abilities and talents come alive. When we love, all obstacles crumble
before us.
And you ask why letters like this one light up my world and leave me with a
lifetime
chill?
On these Jewish High Holidays, Susan and I would like to wish a shana
tova, a good
year, to our Jewish friends, and in this holy month of Ramadan, we wish an Eid
Mubarak,
blessed festival, to our Muslim friends.
Make it a good day.
--Louis--
Louis Schmier www.therandomthoughts.com
Department of History www.halcyon.com/arborhts/louis.html
Valdosta State University
Valdosta, Georgia 31698 /\ /\ /\ /\
(229-333-5947) /^\\/ \/ \ /\/\__/\ \/\
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mountains,\ /\
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hills" -
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