Dear Gabriel

Autism is horrible word. It is one of those words that is surrounded by quite a lot of fear. Ignorance is partly responsible for this fear, and you could certainly place me in this category. As you may have gathered from previous blogs, a pet peeve of mine is the ridiculous lack of special needs education within JCU's Early Childhood Education degree. Even though autism would have to be one of my least favourite things, it is also something that I am hoping to know a lot more about by the time that I have finished my degree. At the moment I am reading a book called "Dear Gabriel". It is very exciting to be reading a book that isn't on some sort of compulsory reading list put together by a humanistic lecturer. I don't really get a chance to do a whole lot of reading during semester, because I'm usually cross-eyed by the end of the day from struggling through Uni material and procrastinating on facebook. Anywho... this book is a letter written by a father to his son; a little boy who has autism. The author is a great writer; very descriptive and it is clearly a heartfelt memoir. So far it has toyed with my emotions a little bit because I can only imagine how difficult it would be to parent a child with autism. One of the joys of children (and there are many) is the 'closeness' that you can have with them. Countless hugs and cuddles, hearing the words "I love you", a little hand holding onto yours - all of these things make me smile and fill my heart with so much joy. If I was unable to share this kind of closeness with my own child, and if my child didn't understand the extent of the love that I have for them; I would be shattered. That said, if a child has autism it doesn't necessarily mean that they will live a detached existence. I worked with a little boy in grade one who has autism at the beginning of the year, and he would constantly hold my hand and want to sit on my lap during class. I have the utmost respect for parents who have children with autism and who love them abundantly. There are many parents like this, and it is amazing to see how a parent's love can see beyond something as emotionally crippling as autism.

I have spent time with a number of autistic children, through various pracs and work. These beautiful children, along with the little boy in this book, have shown me that autism can manifest itself in so many different ways. No child is the same, even though they may display some similarities in behaviour. An inability to decipher social situations is a fairly well-known characteristic of autistic children. Although again, this can take many forms. The author of "Dear Gabriel" writes about his son's fixation with routine, lack of interpersonal skills and a tendency to interpret everything that is said literally. Every autistic child that I have spent time with has struggled with relating to others socially to some degree. I was in a classroom that has 3 boys with autism this year. Two of the boys, aged 9, were playing with leggo on the carpet. I sat down beside the boys and began to talk with them about what they were doing, making an effort to sound super interested. After about 30 seconds one of the boys turned to me, looking completely exasperated, and said "Do you really have to sit there watching us all the time?!". On a separate occasion I was on playground duty watching a few of the boys who had been fighting that week (a couple of them had autism). Before I knew it a few of the boys had surrounded one of the boys with autism and were pushing him around and hitting him. So I put on my cranky teacher's voice (it needs work) and marched over to the boys, broke up the fight and told the boys how disappointed I was (discipline also needs work - as if they would care if I was disappointed). After my feeble attempt at being firm, I went over to the little boy with autism to see if he was ok. He wasn't ok. He was completely tormented and frustrated and did not want anything to do with me. This little boy, with clenched fists and on the brink of tears, was so distraught that he could not speak a word, all he could do was let out a heartbreaking scream every now and then. My attempts to try and comfort him seemed to aggravate him further. I have never seen a little boy's eyes so full of anger, fear and utter frustration simultaneously. He ended up running off, which was hard but I knew that I couldn't chase him.

Even though these are clear examples of children with autism who struggle in social situations, there are exceptions. Another boy with autism who I have spent time with, aged 9, has trouble relating to his peers, yet was completely comfortable in talking to me about some pretty serious things. In fact he even spoke to me about his autism. It was heartbreaking to hear this boy talk about how he was struggling and falling behind the other children. Although I think the most difficult thing to hear was how resigned this boy was to the fact that he is 'different'. It is good that he wasn't in denial, but it is never nice to hear a child express a feeling of inadequacy and show that they have no expectations of their ability to overcome this. It was helpful to talk to this boy about the gifts and talents that he does have, and he certainly has many, although such encouragement is often temporary.

"Dear Gabriel" documents something that I'm sure every parent can relate to - the desire to nurture and love the precious gift that is children. Autism has certainly proven to be an obstacle to this. Although how wonderful to see in the lives of countless families that love prevails. How wonderful that our awesome Father has equipped the hearts of parents to love their children unconditionally.

In a rich man's world...

Happy Christmas Eve!
I have just eaten a bowl of cherries, peaches and nectarines and am feeling particularly content. Hurrah for festive fruits! Although this blog wasn't intended to boast about my gluttony or to ramble about the joys of fruits that make an appearance during the Christmas season. Christmas Eve can mean many things. For many it is a time of anxiety. For some this anxiety is entirely superficial. "I will just DIE if great aunt Josephine doesn't love the $100 ornamental duck I bought her this year!" You can replace great aunt Josephine with Grandma Mary, or Mrs Potts down the road, or your 8 year old cousin; and you can replace the ornamental duck with a Nintendo Wii, or a longboard, or a year's subscription to Cosmo; the result is the same. Whilst the giving of gifts is a wonderful and generous thing, if this is what threatens to make or break the joy-factor of Christmas, we are missing the point. I have been thinking about money, gifts and the 'importance' of material things over the past couple of days. This doesn't make me particularly insightful; I'm sure that most people have been thinking about these things in one way or another. On Sunday night Warren gave a sermon on finances, and how the Bible reassures us that God will provide for His people. I'm sure that most of us hope that when the Bible says that God will 'provide' it means that we will live a comfortable existence free from financial stress that allows all of the latest mod cons to be within reach. As nice as that would be, it is humbling to realise that even when God's definition of 'providing' may differ from our own, He will provide, and we can rest in that promise. Throughout the sermon, Warren challenged us to allow God to be the one who manages our finances. So this week I have been thinking about what that should look like from a practical standpoint. As Christians, the way that we earn and spend money should glorify the One who has provided for us, so what does this mean during the Christmas season, and even in our everyday purchases? I have spent time in the houses of many wonderful Christian families, who are giving and welcoming people and who clearly live Christ centred lives. Yet many of these families have plasma TVs that take up half of the wall, every imaginable gadget and time saving device, all of the latest toys/DVDs/virtual games, wardrobes full of fashionable clothing, bathrooms full of countless products/makeup/smelly things, and kitchens full of expensive gourmet food. For many this encapsulates ideal living in our society, but is this really glorifying our Father with our finances? Now.. I will just point out that I am a Uni student with a limited income who is employed by Education Queensland yet relies on the royalties of babysitting during the school holidays, and who, for argument's sake and to complete the visual, has just noticed a hole in the shirt that she is wearing, yet knows that she will continue to wear it. In this stage of my life it is quite easy for me to be outraged at people who seem to spend money willy-nilly, knowing that there is no risk that I will do the same because I simply cannot afford it. I wonder if when I am old and rich (unlikely on a teacher's wage.. but the 'marrying a rich husband' plan hasn't been ruled out yet..) I will still feel uncomfortable about pouring huge amounts of money into superficial things that are supposed to enhance and enrich our lives. I hope that I never use our society and culture as an excuse to justify spending the money that God has blessed me with on things that are purely designed to serve myself and satisfy selfish desires, or encourage that in others.
Merry Christmas to everyone who reads this! Praise God for the real reason for the season - when He gave the most precious gift of all!

I Heart Swearing....

Yesterday I had a bit of free time on my hands so I thought that I would head over to Domain Central and have a bit of a squiz. I'm not really sure why the word 'squiz' means 'to have a look around', but I quite like it, so let's just go with that. I had only been to Domain for four reasons in the past. Firstly, to buy an iron with Cam (we were there for about five minutes). Secondly, to go to JB HI FI (great music at great prices). Thirdly, Baskins (doesn't need to be explained). Fourthly, Gloria Jeans (I would go there after Kindy each week to write up my observations, the people who work there are so friendly...). I had heard that there were outlet shops there but I'd never had a look (or a squiz) for myself. That's partly because I'm really not a fan of shopping. Yes, I know that as a woman I am supposed to have an inherently irrational love of spending large amounts of money on useless things to adorn myself with... but I don't. I'm sure it would be different if I could find a way to justify spending huge sums of money for the sake of vanity (regardless of whether or not I actually had the money), but I just don't find shopping particularly enjoyable. Especially clothes shopping. The women's clothes industry is set on making women feel inadequate. From the second you walk into a clothes shop you are confronted with society's interpretation of the ideal woman, and how you fall short. The shop keepers greet you with a plastic smile that rivals the plastic smiles of the malnourished mannequins and regurgitate the same rehearsed line that they have been saying to each customer for the last five hours. If you're not partial to mind-numbing computer generated noise that is often mistaken as music by 15 year olds on a global scale, you won't last more than 3 minutes in one of these stores. So anyway... I went shopping and found a $5 t-shirt from the Cotton On outlet and a pair of well priced running shorts, so it was a successful day. As I was meandering around the shops I went into Trade Secret for a squiz and was very disappointed by one of the t-shirts I saw hanging on a stand. These t-shirts were in the children's section of the store and were in tiny sizes that 7-8 year old girls could quite comfortably wear. The front of the shirts proudly exclaimed "I Heart Swearing" surrounded by a red love heart. Now as mentioned in previous blogs, it is possible that I am old fashioned and overly conservative, both of which I am completely ok with, but it is beyond me how we can consider clothes that bare slogans such as these acceptable for children. Through clothes such as these we outwardly glorify the crude and degrading aspects of society. This directly contradicts what we are urged to value through the Bible: (Philippians 4:8-9) "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things".
Swearing does not fall under this category. Foul and crude language is increasingly becoming a behaviour that we ignore in children. If children swear in the schooling context, unless it is directly expressed towards a teacher the consequences rarely go beyond "I don't appreciate your language" or, even more terrifying; "I don't want to hear you say that in my classroom". More often than not foul language displayed by students is ignored. Why? Well, everyone swears. Parents swear, teachers swear, as a result students swear, what's the big deal? It's an unavoidable element of society, which I agree with, but that doesn't mean that we should not only tolerate it, but blatantly celebrate it. What hope do children have of growing up with moral groundings if society deems the ugly parts of life 'cool' based purely on the fact that they stray from what is right? From my experience with children (which is admittedly isn't overly extensive), such attitudes do not need to be encouraged. So many children are missing out on the beauty that is found in life because what they see is clouded by ugliness unashamedly highlighted by the retail and entertainment industries. I would like to know what is going through the minds of people who design shirts such as these and produce them in tiny sizes. Actually, I think I already know what they would be thinking: $$$. What a shame it comes at the expense of a child's innocence.

Something for Kate...

I had an interesting night tonight and thought that I would share it here. After church I went to Miccy D's (a.k.a Maccas - thanks Tarnia! :)) briefly with a few of the Bapo's crew, then had a lovely chat with Anita at her place and decided at 10pm that I would go home and have an early night as I have a cold and was feeling a little weary. As I was driving through the round about near the Douglas Foodworks store I noticed a young girl who was hitchhiking. Without even thinking I rolled down my window and asked if she would like a lift - the look of relief on her face was unmistakable. This girl looked about 15 years old, 16 tops.. who knows who might have picked her up. There was no reason why I couldn't pick her up, it's not like I had somewhere I needed to be, and it worried me that such a young girl was hitchhiking. So I got off the round about, pulled over and got out of the car to meet her. Her name was Kate. She didn't know the exact location of her friend's house that she wanted to be dropped at, but said that it was near Willows so I thought we'd give it a whirl. When I asked Kate why she needed a lift she said that her Mum had kicked her out of home again and left her with nowhere to go. Kate went on to say that her Mum has kicked her out of home a number of times, for a few different reasons. Conflict, fighting and lies were some of the reasons.. Kate's Mum doesn't trust her and this mistrust has been fueled by stories that some of Kate's housemates have told her. The last straw came when Kate's Mum discovered that Kate had been using acid. Kate doesn't go to school because her parents continually kick her out of home. Even though being kicked out of home makes going to school difficult from a practical standpoint - in terms of transport, money, etc.. I am not surprised that it has killed Kate's motivation to persevere with school. Kate doesn't have a job. She was supposed to have an interview at Miccy D's yesterday but didn't make it (she doesn't have transport or a phone). As we were driving (all we knew was that we were looking for Miles Avenue - anyone who knows what my sense of direction is like will understand that we may as well have been driving blind) I tried to keep the conversation going. We talked about things like music and what Kate does for fun. As we got closer to Willows it became clear that we would need to pull over and ask for directions. So we pulled into a servo and had a look at a map to see where we were going. Kate is a very pretty girl.. she was well dressed and had quite a lot of make up on. Actually if you had of lined us up and asked someone to tell you would had just been kicked out of home they probably would have pointed at me - Kate's hair was certainly much neater than mine. Once we had found the street that we were looking for (turned out to be in Kelso) we jumped into the car and continued on our way. As we were driving I asked Kate about the drugs that she takes. It seems that she takes them infrequently.. but the more she takes them the harder it is to resist. Kate said that she doesn't want to take drugs, but sometimes she just needs to escape for a few hours. She just needs to numb what she is feeling. Although after the high of the acid has worn off she just feels angry and depressed and the pain of her problems is just as acute. We talked for a bit longer and I asked if she had ever been to church. She had been to a couple of youth groups in the past yet was banned from one of them because she and her ex would frequently fight, and she stopped going to another because she didn't feel that the youth groups helped her issues. From here I was able to tell Kate that church itself doesn't fix problems, because only God can heal pain and provide a purpose for our lives. I talked with Kate about God (being careful not to ramble) and invited her along to church. When we arrived at her friend's house I wrote down my name and number on a scrap of paper using her eye liner pencil and urged her to call me, not just if she wants to go to church, but if she needs anything at all. Those who are reading who pray, please pray for Kate. Please pray for her safety - the friend that she is staying with has a stepfather who Kate is afraid of. Please pray that she will call me... she doesn't have a phone so I have no way of contacting her but I would really like to follow up with her if it is at all possible.
As I was driving home from dropping off Kate I couldn't stop thinking about her. Many of us find it so easy to forget about these children. The only thing motivating children such as these to keep fighting through life is an acute fear of death and the unknown. These children have no-one to love them, they do not know what it feels like to be safe because they have never experienced the stability of a loving family. What are we doing for these children? Well... we ridicule them for hanging out in shopping centres and car parks yet fail to see that these are probably the only places where they feel safe. We criticise their lack of respect and moral groundings yet fail to recognise that these virtues must be taught and modelled. We cannot expect a child to display behaviours that they have never seen for themselves. The only hope that a lot of these children have is the few hours of mind numbing relief they experience after taking some form of drug. The only thing keeping them from falling is the ability to forget. If this is the only thing that our youth have to hope for.. we're in big trouble.

The ponderings of a teacher aide...

Before I start writing; YES I have an exam in four days, YES I am lacking sleep, YES I am procrastinating, and finally YES this will be another rant about the education system. I thought it best to warn you before you start reading just what you are getting into :)

Today I worked at the Vincent primary school as a teacher aide. I was with the same grade 4/5 class and had the same lovely teacher (who, as in turns out, actually goes to the Baptist church!) so it was a good day. And I have to say, it is certainly a nice change to be paid by Education Queensland rather than the other way around. Although the best part of the day was that once again I came away having learnt a tonne of new things. Firstly, I learnt that there is a WWE wrestler called "The Great Khali". Secondly, I learnt that if your name is Carly, and therefore sounds quite like Khali, this is a great way for a group of grade 4/5 boys to think that you are super cool, even if you have never heard of "The Great Khali" before. So yes, I am now "The Great Khali". Sure beats being called Mr Laird. Although unfortunately being associated with a wrestler did nothing to stifle the number of fights that occured whilst I was on duty. You always know when a fight is going down because all of the kids in the surrounding area start yelling "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!". This goes for in class fights as well. So that is certainly helpful. I'm beginning to realise that fights/brawls are just a given in some schools. It's a sad reality but it becomes less shocking each time.

Anyway, I wanted to share something that I was pretty taken aback by today. As a teacher aide, you go with the students to their specialist classes when the teacher has non-contact time. This means that I got to go to HPE and music lessons, which was a lot of fun. Although I use the term 'music lesson' pretty loosely here, it was hardly a lesson and there was very little that I would actually classify as 'music'. Basically the extent of the 'lesson' was sitting on the carpet and singing three secular songs from sheets of lyrics. Now call me old fashioned.. it's probably true and I am completely ok with that.. but the lyrics of these songs were not in any way appropriate for grade 4/5 children. Granted most of the kids already knew these songs, but that isn't the point. They should not be promoted and encouraged in the school environment. The attitude that the lyrics fostered, not merely the content of the lyrics, is not something that this class needs. Most of the students are on the brink of puberty and do not need an excuse to give lip. Some of the lyrics in these songs included: "Tonight is the night, to join me in the middle of ecstasy" and "Cause we've only got one night double your pleasure, double your fun". There was another song by a chick that was just overflowing with attitude, that typical American "I answer to nobody and defy anything that resembles authority" attitude. I say American, but it's probably just as common here. Although it wasn't just the lyrics of the songs that were a problem, but the songs themselves. The only reason that I begrudgingly call these pieces 'music' is because the singing/moaning did follow a rhythm and a tune. However just throwing on a CD of computer generated sound is doing nothing to teach children an appreciation of music. I am so excited to be learning the guitar because this will be such a fantastic tool in the classroom. Anyway, I guess the point I am making is that we need to be careful about what we endorse in our classrooms. We are already fighting a losing battle with society in terms of what children are exposed to, and are thus becoming more and more desensitised to. Songs with explicit lyrics bombard children daily and I realise that in many ways this is unavoidable, but surely we can draw the line when it comes to what enters the curriculum. I guess what is really needed is a change of values. Everytime we re-draw the line with issues such as these it closes the gap between what is right and what is wrong. This gap is quickly diminishing and it probably won't be long before society decides that to say something is 'wrong' is to impose your beliefs upon someone else, and because truth and therefore what is 'right' is entirely relative, morality is left up to individual interpretation (yes this is exaggerated but it's the direction that we're heading in).

The other thing that I found interesting today is the benefits of being a 'friend' to students. As education students we are constantly told that we are not to be a friend to students, but rather a teacher. And I agree with that up to a point.. I suppose it is different when you are a teacher aide.. but the friendships that I made with a few of the students today were definitely a positive thing. During outside time one of the girls said a combination of some pretty crude and offensive words to one of the students in pig latin whilst standing right next to me. She clearly thought that I wouldn't understand her, yet she had underestimated my ability to remember completely random and useless things. So I just rattled off a reply in pig latin saying that I didn't appreciate her language, and she was completely taken aback. She then asked if I could speak double dutch (stupid question, of course I could). This girl made it her business to tell all of her friends that I could speak double dutch, so I had a way of communicating with this group of girls who were quite the trouble makers. By the end of the day this group of girls were hugging me and chatting with me and wanting to sit by me. Obviously I had to be careful that I wasn't just talking in a secret language with these particular girls all the time and giving them special attention, but having this connection with them, small as it was, had a great effect on their behaviour, even if it was just for one day.

Well this blog is quite long enough... I have satisfied my need to ramble so I should probably get back to the books...

The Unstoppable Mouth....

Have you ever spoken without thinking? Have you ever opened your mouth and said something, only to wish that you had kept quiet? Have you ever had the sinking feeling that comes with realising the power of your words when the damage has already been done? I certainly have had this feeling. Far too often. There are many stories that I could tell you of times when I have spoken without thinking... many, many stories... yet one in particular stands out in my memory. Anyone who has ever worked in retail knows that talking is an essential skill in this line of work. Every customer who enters the shop must be greeted, asked how they are, and asked if they require further assistance. Yes.. I know that this is very annoying for busy shoppers in a hurry... but be nice to the poor kids, they will lose their jobs if they don't ask you these seemingly unimportant questions. And if they lose their jobs, whose money will they be able to waste on the endless stream of superficial rubbish that abounds from the retail industry? Anyway... one day at Australian Country Living, I was doing the rounds and greeting customers. I came across a little old lady who had her arm in a sling. She'd clearly had her left hand amputated, so I put on my biggest grin and asked her how she was doing. She was such a lovely lady and told me with a smile that she was doing quite well. Without missing a beat I then added "Can I give you a hand today?". As soon as these words came out of my mouth the smile would have slid from my face. I was mortified. I'm sure a hand is exactly what this poor woman wanted... and it was exactly what I couldn't give her! Candles, ornaments, flowers, trinkets.. sure, we had those... but hands..... ugh.... I managed to stutter a feeble apology and retreated before I could make a greater mess of things. Sometimes it would be nice to have a rewind button in life wouldn't it? So long as this also came with a delete button... having to relive these moments would just be awful. It's amazing how easy it is for our mouths to kick into gear before our brains even have a chance to contribute. Fortunately this lovely lady was very forgiving of my stupidity, but I'm sure that this isn't always the case. I was thinking about the power of speech this week because I spent some time working with 3/4 year olds with cerebral palsy. Some of these children had hearing impediments and intellectual impairments as well. As a result, many of them could not utter a word. If these beautiful children were able to give us eye contact it was cause for excitement! So this made me think about how much I take for granted the ability to speak, and whether I use this ability well. Do my words uplift and encourage those around me? Do they speak the truth? Do they bring joy and point out the beautiful things in life? Or are they thrown around willy nilly, causing destruction and hurt? It is so easy to be flippant with the things that we say, yet we have been given a gift that we should use with great care. Words have the power to build someone up, or to break them down. They can insult or they can encourage. Words have many other functions, but I guess the point that I am making is that words are powerful. Think about what you say before it is said, and pplleeaassee try not to hassle one-handed little old ladies, they've been through enough already.

Inclusive Intentions....

Hello fellow procrasties! (affectionate term for 'procrastinators' I'm trying out...).....

Today I have been thinking a lot about the inclusive education movement. As most of you may have guessed that's largely because I've recently started working at the Vincent Early Childhood Development Program as a relief teacher aide. Essentially it's the early childhood facility for really young children with special needs. Although if there is a need for a teacher aide at the Vincent Primary School they will also call me in. Vincent Primary School, as I learnt today, is a fully inclusive school, which means that they mainstream students who would otherwise be placed in special schools. Today I was working with a grade 4/5 class, which was a new thing for me as I've only ever worked in early childhood settings. There were about 20-22 kids in my class, and even though they were under a fantastic teacher, I really didn't envy her job. There were 10 kids in this class with special needs, including hearing, intellectual, physical, behavioural issues and autism. There were a handful of Indigenous kids and a handful of ESL kids. I couldn't help but wonder how a teacher would cater for SO many diverse needs in her class... so I asked her. This teacher told me that she doesn't have any access to a special needs teacher and therefore needs to write individualised programs to meet the needs of each student. Some students are operating at a grade one level, and others at a grade five level. Anyone reading this who is doing education will no doubt be cringing at the thought of teaching such a range in abilities within the one class. To compensate for the lack of special needs teachers, this class will often have 2/3 teacher aides... which is where I come in. The fact that I am actually being hired as a teacher aide is a great testament to how desperately teacher aides are needed at the moment (especially within special needs education). I have no qualifications other than being almost halfway through my ECE degree.... And all that really means is that I have managed to pass a tonne of namby-pamby humanistic subjects that are of very little practical value. I've had very little experience... other than working at 5 different schools/kindies through various placements. Really the only things that I bring to the job are a willingness to be thrown in the deep end and a love of working with children. Some people would argue that love and eagerness are really all that you need.... ha, those people are nuts. Particularly when it comes to caring for children with special needs, some knowledge of the needs that you are dealing with would certainly be helpful. So all of this got me thinking about the value of inclusive education. Don't worry.... I won't bore you by listing the pro's and con's of inclusive education, although there are certainly convincing arguments for both. And if I had to pick a side, I'd most likely be pro-inclusivity. But despite this, there are definitely some downfalls. An obvious one is the incredible amount of stress that this places on teachers, many of whom have very limited knowledge of special needs. The teacher that I worked with today would love nothing more than some help with the ridiculous amount of programming that she needs to complete for her students. Instead she got a 19 year old ECE student who is keen to learn yet readily admits that she knows nothing at all. Trying to meet the needs of students who differ in every conceivable way is such a huge expectation to place on teachers if it is not met with adequate support. Another obvious downfall is the reality of bullying. We all know that kids can be cruel. Despite how hard teachers work to foster safe and supportive learning environments, gang mentalities are far too common in classrooms. This is highlighted in inclusive classrooms, as ridiculous as that may sound. In this particular class, the Indigenous students would group together, the children with hearing difficulties would group together, the children with autism would group together and there would be a few stragglers with intellectual and physical difficulties who were isolated from the group.... and each little section of the class would fight the others. I spent a good part of today trying to convince the students that giving each other upper-cuts was a bad idea...and nearly got one myself for being so bold. Watching students who are constantly targeted for every kind of bullying simply because they are 'different' is a heartbreaking yet often unavoidable reality of inclusive education. You can't help but wonder what kind of long lasting damage is being done to children who are subjected to this treatment each and every day.
I understand the push for mainstreaming, and agree with various parts of it... but if we are going to care for children with diverse needs, teachers need to be educated and supported. Special needs education is limited at Uni, unless you specialise as a special needs teacher. Particularly with ECE, special needs education should be embedded in every subject that we do, because it's the reality of our job as educators. Teachers need to be given support both in the classroom and with regards to programming... to help with their personal anxiety levels and to ensure that no children are left behind (as Bush would put it).
Well that's my ramble done for tonight... back to the namby-pamby subjects....

Of Bats and Families...

Hello my fellow procrastinators! In the hopes of not doing anything particularly useful or productive I thought that I would write a blog. I've noticed that I only ever seem to write blogs when I really don't have time to be writing blogs. But that's ok... I thought that I would share my day with whoever else shares my zeal for time wasting.
This morning I was thinking about family and the little quirks that come with families. This was actually a little bit productive, because I have to write an essay about something along these same 'airy-fairy' lines for my cultural diversity subject. Anyway, family quirks are one of those wonderful things that we often take for granted in life. Just in case you are wondering what I mean by 'quirks', the word quirk means: "a peculiarity of action, behavior, or personality; mannerism: He is full of strange quirks". Families are a great place to start if you are looking for quirks. Within families, there's the Uncle who thinks it's hilarious to call you Truckly instead of Carly (Truck-ly, Car-ly.. yes, I know, it's lame). There's the Aunt who laughs with such gusto that your ears hurt, yet you know that her ears are hurting just as much from your laugh. There's the Grandma who takes unspeakable delight in ensuring that everyone is happy, however is a little hard on hearing so often struggles to follow the conversation ("Hey? What did she say Carls? What's that Trevvy said? What's Lynnie laughing at? Why does Emmy have the giggles?"). Then there's the Grandpa, who is the silent presence at the head of the table, quietly surveying the ridiculous family that he is partly responsible for.

The reason that I was thinking about family quirks today is because as I was leaving for Uni, I realised that there was a dead bat on the driveway. I don't know if you've ever been unfortunate enough to look at a bat up close.. but they are ugly horrible disgusting creatures. That's probably a bit harsh... but it's their fault for being so hideous. Now there is a certain significance to this bat dying right in the middle of our driveway. For a few years now.. a bat has tormented my poor Mother. It lives in the tree right outside of her bedroom and makes horrible screeching noises late at night and into the morning. Many a night my sister and I would come home to find Mum doing one of three things; 1. Standing on the lawn in her pyjamas waving a hockey stick at the tree. 2. Standing on the lawn in her pyjamas spraying the tree with the hose. Or 3. Standing on the lawn in her pyjamas shining a torch into the tree and spraying it with Baygone. Part of me is a little sad to see the bat go, because these antics were certainly a source of great joy for me. Although for the sake of Mum's sanity, I'd say it's for the best that our friend the bat is dead. Looking at the dead bat made me think about how forgiving we are of quirks when they are within our families. For example, if I saw one of my neighbours on the lawn in their pyjamas at 1am spraying water at a seemingly non-existent bat I would think that they were a few sheep short of a paddock. But it's ok to be crazy around your family. The crazier my family is, the more endearing they become. I'm hoping that the reverse is also true.. because I certainly have my fair share of not-so-normal moments.
The dead bat also answered one of the burning questions that had recently been troubling me. On Friday I saw the Batman movie for the second time. If you haven't seen it... you really should, it's a great movie. Anywho.. you know how on Batman's suit he has the little pointy ears? They seemed a little ridiculous to me, so I asked the friend that I was sitting with if bats really have pointy ears. Unfortunately he wasn't sure.. so I left it at that. Well, brace yourselves, because I can now confirm that bats DO have pointy ears. The ears on my dead bat weren't as perky as Batman's... but they were certainly there. So there you go... I think that's probably the most significant thing I have learnt so far this week. I hope you feel encouraged to know that Batman is more realistic then we may have given him credit for.

Beauty to be feared?

A few weeks ago, I read in a book that many women fear their beauty. My first reaction to reading that statement was "How stupid. What is there to fear about being beautiful? Beautiful people are confident and self-assured. Beauty in itself is a good thing, right? There is no need to be afraid of it". Fortunately I am not always as ignorant as my first reactions often are, and after thinking about this statement a little more I understand why many women fear their beauty. Beauty is powerful. Beauty can be dangerous. Beauty has the ability to invite and to captivate. I'm not talking about physical beauty exclusively, although obviously that is important. The most beautiful women are the ones who show you their heart. Who allow you to see their passion, their vulnerability and their fragile strength. These women shine with such a beauty that cannot be described. I have so many beautiful friends who fit this description perfectly. They may have just rolled out bed, not bothered to brush their hair or apply any makeup, they will be wearing a baggy track suit with traces of Vegemite toast on the collar... but they are still the most beautiful women, because complete beauty is not confined to the physical. So if beauty is such a wonderful thing that transcends what we define as physical beauty, why do many of us fear it? There are a few reasons that I can think of... there's probably more than what I will list here, so feel free to add others. I think that the most obvious one is the effect that feminine beauty has on men. In the appropriate context, a man's gentle and wordless response to a woman's beauty is a safe and lovely thing. Yet as women we know all too well that this often isn't the case. We'll walk along the strand and men will yell what they probably think are compliments to us from their cars. We'll walk through Stockies and look straight ahead, trying to ignore the lingering glances. We'll drive our cars and have to put up with men almost breaking their necks from looking in our direction as they drive past. It's degrading. It's humiliating. It makes you feel like an object. Now this isn't a conceited thing. Please don't misinterpret this to mean that I am boasting about all of the male attention we receive because of our stunning beauty. There is nothing flattering about this kind of attention. You cannot find any kind of security or gratification in the shallow words or stares of a stranger. You can try, but it fades into nothing. Now as most of you know... I am a massive bogan. My hair is notoriously messy and although I will sometimes wear a skirt, I've spent the last 3 months living in jeans and baggy jumpers. I am quite content with my boganosity. Yet despite all of this, I know that I am not alone in saying that this kind of degradation is something I have to deal with almost everyday. So why do we fear beauty? Because it elicits responses that we would love to avoid at all costs. Yet it doesn't matter how much of a bogan we are, it seems that we are powerless in the face of this treatment. Wow.. I'm sounding like a bit of a feminist aren't I? Trust me, I'm not. Hairy-underarmed, bra-burning, tofu-inhaling feminists are high on my list of things that I could live without. There are lots of things about feminism that I don't agree with. But the reality is that sometimes being a woman is just plain hard.Another reason that we fear beauty is because we don't want it to obscure the way that others perceive us. We don't want to be defined by our looks. We don't want our looks to overshadow the people that we are. We want people to delve deeper and to see what we have to offer in who we are, beyond what we look like. We want people to pursue friendships and relationships with us because of our internal qualities, not because they are motivated by external beauty.So you're probably wondering what my point is. Don't worry, you wouldn't be the first. Am I saying that beauty is bad and that we should walk around in cloth bags? Of course not. Beauty is undeniably powerful, and for that reason it is sometimes feared, and I think it's important to understand this. However beauty isn't only powerful in a negative light. Nature is a perfect example of this. The primary purpose of nature is beauty. The indescribable sight of a sunset has no functional purpose other than to provide beauty. Sure the sun needs to rise and set everyday... but the glorious display that we are so privileged to witness everyday serves no other role than that of displaying immeasurable beauty. Beauty can comfort. If we take a moment to stop our hectic lives and to just appreciate the beauty that we are surrounded with the effect is quite incredible. This beauty is found in the wonder of creation, in a hug from your closest friend, in the laughter of a child, in a selfless act from a loved one... there are so many things through which we can glimpse true beauty and feel reassured and comforted. Beauty is a powerful yet wonderful thing. It is also horribly misunderstood. Frequently abused, disregarded and underestimated. It is not always found in physical appearance. Sometimes it is... although this is only the beginning of discovering who a person is. There is so much more that makes up who we are. As women we have so much more to offer than physical beauty, yet this is so often forgotten.Well that's enough ramblings from me for one day. Please feel free to talk about anything you disagree with or agree with or whatever. Sweet. :)

Through the eyes of a five year old...

As most of you probably know, I've spent the last two weeks on placement at Wulguru State School in a prep class of 23 kids. I was bracing myself for a pretty full on two weeks, but there was no way that I could have been prepared for just how much hard work teaching preps is. Patience and perseverance are vital at all times, not to mention love and discipline. I don't think I've been given so many hugs in my life, which I really love but also think is an important part of being a prep teacher. I know that some people disagree with that, and I understand why, but for a lot of these kids their teacher is the only constant in their lives, and when we are afraid to show them love, that only serves to reinforce any negative perceptions of their value that their precious hearts have formed. But anyway.. there's many more factors to consider in that topic, and I wasn't going to go into that here. Despite the fact that prac was a lot of hard work, I really enjoyed taking on the role of a teacher. Most of the time I feel like too much of a kid myself to think that I could get away with fooling anyone into thinking I'm some kind of authority figure. But it's different with preps. All you have to say is "I wonder who can show me the right way to sit.." and they cross their legs, sit up as straight as they can, puff their little chests out and look like they are about to explode from trying to please you. It's great. So apart from having love and attention doted on me for two whole weeks, one of the main things that I really enjoyed about prac was how much I learnt from 10 short days of experience. Listing everything that I learnt would be beyond the scope of this blog, and would no doubt be thoroughly boring, but I wanted to share a few of the things that I learnt while I was on prac. Because I am certain that my preps taught me more than I taught them!

One of the things I learnt is that, as a whole, we do a pretty poor job of embracing the language differences evident in children that are products of various cultures. I was sitting by a little Aboriginal girl in class when she turned and said to me "Miss, I can't talk properly". Now for a five year old, this little girl's English was really quite good. There are a few pronounciation issues that are a result of her slight accent, but nothing serious. I tried to resassure this little girl that she actually speaks quite well, but she was adamant that she couldn't talk properly. When a child thinks that their language practices are deficit simply because they differ from what is considered normal, I think we need to reconsider how we are interacting with culturally diverse kids. We send these kids to speech pathologists, OTs and counselors so that we can 'fix' their language problems. So that we can change the cultural uniqueness of these kids to match our hegemonic society. Sadly this often leads to kids feeling ashamed of their heritage. Maybe we need to adjust our mental framework of trying to find a 'solution' for these kids...

Something else I learnt on prac is that a child's simplistic view of relationships is something that we could learn from. When someone has a need, you find a way to meet that need. If someone is crying, you hug them. If someone is hurt, you put your arm around them. If you love someone, you tell them. If you appreciate what someone has done for you, you draw them a picture. Now obviously relationships are a little more complicated in the adult world than they are to a five year old. If I drew someone a picture in an attempt to show appreciation they would probably think I was trying to punish them. But kids get that if you love someone, or if you are thankful for the role that they have played in your life, you need to show them.

I also realised whilst on prac that we really do underestimate how powerful music is. If you walk into a prep classroom with a guitar, the kids are immediately transfixed on your every move. What is said through music often carries more meaning than if it was simply spoken. That can be scary sometimes. I couldn't believe how many preppies were running around the playground singing secular songs that they have probably heard on the radio in the car on the way to school that carry strong adult messages. The other day one of my preppies didn't have any food, so I walked her down to the Indigenous affairs officer's room. There were about half a dozen boys in there playing Xbox and just having fun. The kids were listening to the radio when 'Low' came on, and they straight away began singing and dancing. This group of boys knew all of the lyrics. If you know the song I am talking about, you'll realise this really isn't a positive thing. Half a dozen boys moving to the deep, pulsating beat and singing "She turned around and gave that big booty a slap" is something I found a little concerning. These boys were no older than 8. And I know that people will argue "They don't know what the song means! They just like the beat!" But I don't care, because that isn't the issue here. One day these kids will know the meaning of what they are singing, and will be increasingly immune to the depraved aspects of our society because it's what they've grown up with. Slowly more and more explicitly inappropriate lyrics will become acceptable and justifiable until we no longer know right from wrong. Until we no longer have boundaries. When everything becomes acceptable that opens the way for a whole realm of problems. We put posters on the walls that tell kids not to swear and to do the right thing, then we allow music that is explictly degrading and overflowing with foul language. We say to kids that language and behaviour that we don't allow in the real world is ok so long as it is kept within the confines of music. Good luck with that.

So those are just a few of the things that I have learnt while on prac. There are many more.. but I think that I have procrastinated enough for one day. I always seem to find something to write about when I have a tonne of work to do. Today I am writing up my prac report.. or that's what I should be doing anyway. But because this blog was actually about prac, I was able to justify writing it... :)

Am I Lovely?

Am I Lovely?

Her face is aglow. Laughter, sweet and pure, echoes through the room. Her eyes shine with excitement. She is an image of joy. She stands on her toes and turns on the spot with elegance, entranced by the way the skirt of her dress shimmers and flows with each movement. For she is adorned in garments fit for a princess. Her soft pink dress, each stitch sewn with love by her Grandmother, was a birthday gift. The very gift that she had wished for. Her family have gathered and turn to watch as she dances and twirls across the room. She begins to sing in a voice that seems to capture the untainted innocence of childhood. She longs for them to turn and look, to watch as she displays her beautiful gown, to listen as she sings, to tell her that she is beautiful. Her dress is a little too big, the straps continually slip from her tiny shoulders and she treads on the hem as she unashamedly displays her desire to delight. Mummy’s beaded necklaces hang from her neck, and bright pink lipstick stains the skin around her mouth where lips were presumed to be. She is a ray of sunshine, beautiful to behold, unrestrained in her longing to please, and her eyes clearly ask the question, “Am I lovely?”

She stands in the living room, as she is too nervous to sit. He will be here soon. He is five minutes late. Maybe he has changed his mind. Maybe he has decided not to come, or has something better to do, or someone better to see. She tries to drown out these thoughts by convincing her legs to shakily carry her to the bathroom where she brushes her hair for the thirteenth time in the last five minutes. She stands in front of the full length mirror and takes a deep breath before risking a glance at her image. She feels silly wearing such a beautiful dress. Princesses wear radiant gowns, not girls like her. She feels unsteady in her high heels and wonders how long it will be before she loses her balance. She is delicate and feminine, yet doubt plagues her thoughts and clouds her perception. The door bell rings and her heart beats so fast that it almost hurts. For a moment she struggles to draw breath, however forces herself to answer the door. He’s here. She can feel her cheeks burning as she opens the door and stands in the framework. She searches his eyes for the look that will give her the answer to the question that her heart longs to hear. The question that she has asked since she was a child. The question that niggles at her conscience and desperately needs to be answered; “Am I lovely?”

Yes, I do realise that it is swot vac and that I should be studying.. but I unexpectedly found myself with a fair bit of time on my hands tonight, so I thought I may as well write down my thoughts. When I came home from work today, I made a spur of the moment decision to drive up Mount Stuart by myself to watch the sunset… which, by the way, was just stunning! It doesn’t matter how many times I see a sunset, it always takes my breath away and simultaneously makes me feel like jumping up and down with happiness. Beholding the beauty of a sunset, that is unique with each day, speaks volumes of a love so powerful. As I was driving down the mountain on my way back home, I heard a horribly loud noise that was clearly coming from the car. So I pulled over and hopped out of the car, only to discover that one of my tyres was flat. Great. Spontaneity isn’t always a good thing.. especially if you have no idea how to change a tyre, or even where the spare tyre is likely to be kept. But hurrah for RACQ.. after about 45 minutes a strapping young lad came around the mountain and changed my tyre… leaving me to drive home where I would face the laughter of my family. So that was interesting.. and it explains why I had time to ponder a few random things.

The question “Am I lovely?” is intrinsically tied to the nature of the feminine heart. As little girls we pursue an answer with unashamed joy. As women we feel guilty for longing to have this question answered. We yearn to be thought of as captivating. We desire to possess a beauty that is worth pursing, worth fighting for, a beauty that is core to who we truly are. I’m not just talking about a desire for outward beauty, but something much deeper. A desire to be captivating in the depths of who we are. This desire transcends age and, I believe, is inherently feminine. It is wrought with complexity and clouded in mystery, yet it’s existence is undeniable. We long to be delighted in, to be called lovely. We long for a beauty to unveil. A beauty that can be seen, a beauty that can be felt, a beauty that affects others, a beauty that is unique and ours to unveil. This is intertwined in the design of the heart of a woman, and therefore this longing should not conjure feelings of guilt. Although the heart breaking reality is that it so often does. We feel too intense, like we are ‘too much’ for those around us, that we should dull down what we are feeling and suppress the desires of our heart. We look to a multitude of things to answer our question, to tell us that we are lovely. We invest our hearts in things that won’t last, and suffer hurt time and time again. We yearn to be told that we are enough, just as we are. We grossly misunderstand where we derive our beauty from. It’s not from the clothes that we wear, or the shape of our bodies, or the makeup on our faces.. We are beautiful because we bear the image of God. This beauty is an essence given to each woman at her creation, and encapsulates the immeasurable dignity and delicacy of the feminine heart. “The King is enthralled by your beauty” (Psalm 45:11). I think that the tenderness and radiance of the heart of a woman says a lot about the heart of God. He has a heart for relationship, a compassion for His children that is insurmountable… and just as we long for a beauty to reveal, He longs to reveal Himself to His children. So.. are we lovely? The answer is a resounding yes! Not because we are physically attractive, appealing to men, witty, humorous, intelligent, or anything else. We are lovely because we are created in the image of a God who delights in us, and calls us to draw near to Him. This is where we need to find our self-esteem and our security.. because this love is eternal.

Maths...Why Bother?!

At the moment I am working on an assignment for my ECE mathematics class. For the task, we have to make a poster detailing significant events in our mathematical history, and reflect on how these events contribute to our current attitudes regarding maths education. In an attempt to protect myself against emotional anguish, I had, up until now, managed to banish all memories of school-based mathematical experiences to the extremities of my consciousness. Some would call that denial.. and they would probably be right.. but I have no desire to relive the legalised torture that is maths education. However, I think that it is important for me to pass my degree and eventually become an accomplished teacher who doesn't let her fear of maths dictate the outcomes of her students.. so I thought that a positive first step to 'making my past experiences a reality', as my lecturer would put, would be to look through the pile of folders that contain my old school report cards and certificates. Now, let me just add here, that denial really is a safe and beautiful thing. Surely there is nothing wrong with shielding one's self from the harsh and confronting nature of reality and living life as a fulfilled, if not unaware, individual. Report cards, like reality, can also be cruel. Although I appreciate that monitoring student progress in all aspects of the curriculum and informing parents of areas of success and areas that require attention is the obligation of all teachers, the idea of measuring student ability against a preordained standard put in place by power-hungry-policy-pushers that blatantly disregard the individuality of each child is, in a lot of ways, a necessary evil in education. According to my grade one mid year report card, I could "successfully count to in excess of two hundred in ones" (not bad for a five year old), however it also stated that "Carly expresses frustration when others approach her for help". Could that be because, as an astute five year old, I was frustrated with the palpable incompetence of my peers? Or because I too was lacking the skills required to perform the maths tasks and was crying out for assistance, therefore being unable to help others? Or was it because I lacked a considerable amount of patience? Each of those scenarios are quite plausible, some possibly more so than others, but it's justifiable to draw many conclusions from such a vague report of student progress. So I moved onto my grade two report card, which stated that "Carly has a very determined approach to mathematics...works slowly and methodically...has made a determined effort to develop strategies that will help her solve basic facts, and, although she does not compute quickly mentally, her recall of facts is quite sound". I think any parent who receives a report card declaring that their child "does not compute quickly mentally" would fall into a shame spiral and agonise over how they went wrong as a parent. My grade three report card was slightly more uplifting, stating that I was "a cheerful and popular student who approaches everything with enthusiasm and gusto!". From grade four onwards, my mathematical achievements were indicated by either a tick in the appropriate box or a letter grade, sometimes followed by comments such as:
"A goal for next semester is to focus on the set work in class and not to be distracted by, or a distraction to, others"
"Carly is capable of a better result but needs to concentrate in class"
"Errors are made most often as a result of rushing her working and not checking her answers carefully"
"Carly found topics covered in class this semester quite hard to grasp"

The other thing that I discovered about my maths education, is that almost every single mathematics competition that I entered (why someone didn't discourage me from doing this I will never know) I received a participation for, and everyone knows that receiving a participation is like a patronising pat on the back followed by the typical "At least you did your best". The only time that I didn't receive a participation was in 2000 when I received a credit! That was an exciting day.
Yes, I know what you are thinking; this is going to be one cheery poster that will uplift the spirits of all who have the pleasure of beholding it. Fortunately I am going to spare you the details of my upper high school maths experiences. Mostly because I can honestly say that I learnt nothing at all of any real value or relevance, and the majority of our lessons were spent plotting revenge against whoever was responsible for inflicting so much pain upon us. So, not only am I questioning the value of maths education as a whole, but I am also questioning my lecturer's motives for forcing me to reflect on such a negative experience. Fortunately though, my school reports were really very positive in all of the other areas, particularly HPE and sports carnivals..and we all know that sport is much more important than maths. So, for my poster, I think that I have two options. The first being a stark white sheet of paper displaying emotionally charged pictorial representations of the pain that maths caused me accompanied by a poetic analogy that likens maths education to corporal punishment written in my own blood. Or the second option, which would display photos of me working on projects with determination and joy, followed by a written piece describing the impact that positive maths experiences in the classroom from an early age can have on future attitudes.

Take My Life...

Well week one of Uni is over.. and I'm still alive! Hurrah! I'm sure you were all terribly concerned. So, being alive as I am, I thought I would write about something that has been on my mind today. I've been talking about this with my beautiful friend in Canada, but I thought I would share it here as well. I really should be studying.. but.. well.. you know how it is.

Some of you have probably heard of the band Third Day. The last song on their album "Offerings 2 - All I Have To Give" is called "Take My Life". Melodically it's rather simplistic, but lyrically it's quite profound, which I think is a nice combination. When I woke up this morning (or, more accurately, when the alarm clock on my phone dragged me out of my peaceful slumber), this song was playing over in my head, so I started singing it to myself as I was getting ready for work, and even though I have heard it 100 times, the words of the chorus really struck a chord with me:
"Please take from me my life, when I don't have the strength to give it away to You Jesus".

It takes strength to give our burdens and hurts over to God. It's not always easy, even though in theory it should be. Some Christians will undoubtedly call this an issue of faith, or lack thereof, because, as Christians, our reliance on God should be unfaultering. But, if I'm being honest, too often I try to take on my problems and anxieties and effectively push away the One who is so willing to comfort me, if I would only let Him. Trusting God with the things that are closest to our hearts takes courage. When we're going through hard times, we feel so weak and utterly powerless, and sometimes these earthly limitations get in the way of the help that God so freely offers to us. In our weakness and uncertainty it's hard to just let go, so we cling to our pain, even when we know that we are powerless. So the idea of God taking away my life, my pain, my hurt, and my troubles..when I don't have the strength to give it away to Him, is so powerful, and such an awesome assurance. Because it's all very well to 'know' that the best thing for us to do is to give our burdens over to Christ, yet sometimes that intellectual knowledge doesn't quite connect with our hearts, and we end up completely weighed down by our circumstances. I think it's so encouraging, and humbling, to know that when I fail, or when all around me fails, God doesn't change. And He never will. What a beautiful promise. When I don't have the strength to hand my life, the good and the bad, over to God, I'm trusting Him to take it for me.

The Ramblings Continue...

"Only 4% of women have the genetic ability to match the 'ideal' body type presented by the media. The other 96% often take extreme measures to obtain this unobtainable image"
I think that we're all aware of the fact that most women have unrealistic expectations about their bodies and appearance. All you have to do is take a five minute walk through Stockies and you will be confronted with society's misguided notion of beauty, and how most of us fall short. The immaculately dressed mannequins that we'd love to rip the heads off leer at us from behind their glass windows, taunting us with their blank stares that so clearly say; you're not skinny enough, not pretty enough, your hair is too messy and your clothes aren't good enough. If anyone is actually reading this, you're probably thinking that I'm exaggerating, and I know that alot of people try to trivialise the problem of female body image and say that they are petty complaints...But from the conversations that I've had with alot of girls over the past few months, this is not a minor concern. This is a very real problem that is often all-consuming, and even though it is entirely irrational, it's existence is undeniable. So, for the sake of this blog, I thought that it was necessary for me to relinquish some of my pride and share a hideously embarrassing story. When I look back it gives me quite a laugh, but I think it also helped to cement a very important lesson in not gaining or losing my self-esteem through my appearance.

This story is set around mid 2007. I woke up in the early hours of the morning and I felt.. different. My face felt a little tight, so I stumbled out of bed and made my way to the bathroom to see what the go was. Once my eyes had adjusted to the light, I realised that both of my lips had swollen to three times their normal size. Just pause and take a minute to visualise this....yes, that ridiculous picture that you are now thinking about is EXACTLY what I looked like. Really. I made Angelina Joulie look like a tight-lipped lemon-sucker. So, now mildly disturbed, I thought I should probably alert Mum. I went and woke her up, described my fat lips, and waited for some advice and encouragement. Although, as yet another boost to my rapidly deflating self-esteem, Mum couldn't bring herself to look at me for at least 5 minutes, and once she did she couldn't help letting out a horrified gasp. This was followed by quite alot of laughing and an Eddie Murphy reference, but eventually we managed to find some allergy tablets and went back to bed. When I woke up in the morning, the whole of my face from the nose down was unbelieveably itchy and now covered in one of those unbearable rashes that cause you to believe that getting a knife and slashing your face would actually be quite a relief from the itchiness. So, after numbing my face with an ice pack for over an hour, I made an appointment to go to the doctor. Now, I wasn't exactly thrilled about going out in public in my current state. My lips were swollen and the bottom half of my face was red and covered in a rash... society makes cruel assumptions about people who walk around with conditions like that. However slashing my face with a knife was quickly becoming a very real option in my mind, so I decided to swallow my pride and see a doctor. Because it was such short notice, I had to see the first doctor that was available. And, to add to the now mounting series of unfortunate events, I think it's important to note here that the doctor I saw was fresh out of med school and very good looking. Anywho, the poor guy was just as embarrassed as I was and completely stumped, so he had to call in one of the senior doctors who rattled off a list of possible causes (including wind burn if I had been out at sea..she didn't care that I told her I hadn't been near the ocean, and if I had I doubt it would make my lips swell). Long story short, they gave me some antibiotics and I later discovered that I had developed an allergy to the face powder I had been using, and subsequently vowed to never go to that GP again.

As embarrassing as this whole situation was, looking back I realised how easy it is to allow what we look like dictate what we do. I could have easily let my fear of being ridiculed for my appearance (a very real possibility in this case) prevent me from getting the help that I needed.I know that this is probably an extreme example, but I think it's still relevant to how so many women let their perceptions of their image, or other people's perceptions, or their perceptions of other people's perceptions control and manipulate their lives. But all of these can act as bondage that prevent us from being all that God wants us to be. So here's the truth, and "the truth will set you free" (John 8:32). Girls, we are beautiful! We are daughters of Christ and the handiwork of God, created in His image! Our bodies are temples of the living God! (2 Cor. 6:16-18). This is one of my favourite verses: "You knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Your works are wonderful, I know that full well." (Pslam 139:13-14). So often our opinions of ourselves are crowded out by a list of shortcomings and flaws, but we are the FEARFULLY and WONDERFULLY made daughters of the Most High! Don't ever forget that...even when those negative voices in your head threaten to overpower you every time you look in the mirror. We are all unique, and loved in a way that we will never be able to fully comprehend. So often we try to manipulate our God-given beauty with layer upon layer of name-brand makeup (because "we're worth it") and constantly changing fashions that we're told have the power to construct the very essence of who we are. But these are all lies.
"Your beauty should not come from outward adornment, such as braided hair and the wearing of gold jewelry and fine clothes. Instead, it should be that of your inner self, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit." (1 Peter 3:3-4).

So whether it's only using all natural mineral based face powder that is solely produced in New Zealand, or if it's indulging in your girly love of anything even remotely related to makeup, take the time to stop and consider the role that these ultimately superficial things play in the development of your self-esteem and perception of beauty. I'm not trying to turn you all into hippies, but we are beautiful without those things, and the realisation of this is something that you hold with you always.

Even More Ramblings...

I realised today that both of my other two blogs talk about love, and considering that Feburary is 'Love Month' (or so the radio insists on reminding me), I thought I would continue the love-theme in this blog.. then I promise I will find something else to write about :)
Today I stumbled across my old diaries from primary school and early highschool (which, by the way, are HILARIOUS! If I ever feel the urge to do away with dignity I'll publish them and say that they're fictional), and anyway, in between the fits of laughter and acute embarrassment, I found this email that I had saved that really made me smile. You may have been sent this at some stage, it has been floating around in cyber space for a number of years now, but I thought I would share it here anyway. A group of professional people posed the question to a group of 4-8 year olds, "What does love mean?".. and some of the answers these kids came up with are just amazing.. I think it's a really good lesson in not underestimating how perceptive children can be.. Here's what some of them said:

"When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too." - Rebecca, aged 8.

"When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You know that your name is safe in their mouth." - Billy, aged 4.

"Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other." - Karl, aged 5.

"Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your french fries without making them give you any of theirs." - Chrissy, aged 6.

"Love is what makes you smile when you're tired." - Terri, aged 4.

"Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen." - Bobby, aged 5.

"If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate." - Nikka, aged 6.

"There are two kinds of love. Our love. God's love. But God makes both kinds of them." - Jenny, aged 4.

"Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday." - Noelle, aged 7.

"Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well." - Tommy, aged 6.

"Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day." - Mary Ann, aged 4.

"I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones." - Lauren, aged 4.

"I let my big sister pick on me because my Mum says she only picks on me because she loves me. So I pick on my baby sister because I love her." - Bethany, aged 4.

"You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget." - Jessica, aged 8.

And, my favourite..
"When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you." - Karen, aged 7.

Isn't that awesome? I think that some of these kids could probably teach us a thing or two about love....like the significance of how you say the name of someone you love; or how love allows you to give even when it hurts; or the little efforts we make to impress, such as perfume or a nice shirt; or giving without expecting anything in return; or the ability that love has to make you forget your problems; or the value in not just loving those who love you; or how love allows you to enjoy another's company even when you know their every fault and flaw; or how important it is to tell those around you that you love them. I love hearing what children have to say about things that are often considered 'grown-up topics'. Their oppinions are so unaffected by society, and their honesty and ability to trust is something that, I think, we could learn from. So often people don't take the time to listen to children, but trust me, it's worth it!

More Ramblings...

Oh goodness...Blogging really is addictive. I almost wish that I hadn't stumbled across this, because I just know that I'm going to waste far too much time writing about whatever happens to be on my mind...especially on nights when I can't sleep, which unfortunately happens to be most nights. And I know I know, I should be in bed with one of those ridiculous eyemasks on, sipping camomile tea and listening to a soothing recording of ocean sounds or something of the like...but I'm yet to find someone who actually considers those recorded ocean sounds to be relaxing.. it just seems like irritating noise pollution that prevents you from sleeping, which leads to frustration, which is compounded by the fact that you're overtired and already rather frustrated at your inability to sleep. Real life ocean sounds, however, are very relaxing...although driving all the way to the beach, just to sleep, when you'd probably just accidentally lock your keys in the car and have your purse stolen by a gang of teenagers who would then throw rocks at your car seems a little impractical. But anyway.. as interesting as all of that is (note the sarcasm), it's not actually what I planned to write about.

Once again today I found myself with far too much time on my hands, which was actually really nice, considering that Uni starts again in 3 short weeks, and I'll morph back into being a hideous nerd who survives on coffee and coffee alone. So, what with all this spare time, I started feeling rather nostalgic. I think that often happens at the begining of a new year, when you have the chance to stop and appreciate all that the past year has taught you about life. I know that I've learnt alot. So that got me thinking about all that we've gone through...collectively...because that's how it is with friends; their pain is your pain, their joy is your joy, etc. And, to be honest, there's some pretty good material here. Really. 2007 was quite an eventful year...if any of us are ambitious enough we could probably start a sitcom that would rival 'The OC'. Actually I think that 'Big Brother' (a.k.a "let's cram the shame of society into a house and see how long it takes for them to get naked..on national television!") rivals 'The OC' these days, seeing as it's no longer showing, so that probably wasn't the best example to use as a measure of greatness, but you get my meaning. Seriously though, I think that we experienced alot of what life has to offer in 2007.

Some of us found love, maybe for the first time, maybe for the second time; either way it felt like everything we had done before was new and exciting. Some of us learnt that we didn't really know what love was, and what we thought to be love was really a deception. Some of us lost love, but discovered that we could survive, and are stronger for the experience. Some of us had our hearts broken, and it may be awhile before they are whole again, but we have to be content in waiting for that day to come. Some of us made commitments to another that will last until our dying days. Some of us watched as family or friends succumbed to illness, and struggled with the uncertainty and that horrible yet humbling feeling of being completely out of control. Some of us said goodbye to family or friends for the last time, and persevered through everyday life as if nothing had changed, when at the same time it felt like life would never be the same. Some of us watched as our friends and family grieved the loss of loved ones, and wished that there was something that we could do to fix it, but at the same time knew that just being there was enough. Some of us struggled with not being able to be with loved ones as they went through hard times and cursed the ever-rising cost of flights. Some of us were awestruck by the gift of life and the blessing of children, and watched as they grew so quickly. Some of us travelled overseas and saw the beauty of God's creation abroad..be it for a few weeks, months, or an entire year. Some of us fought with lonliness that was a result of someone's absence from our lives, or a certain part of our lives. Some of us discovered new things about ourselves. What we can achieve. How strong we are. That we can still stand tall through adversity. Some of us learnt new things about our loved ones and redefined some of our relationships. Some of us tried new things, and pushed limits that we thought were steadfast. Some of us made new friends that we know we'll have for life. Some of us lost friends, yet now question whether they were really friends at all. Some of us learnt to laugh, and learnt to cry. We learnt to let others in, but also to guard our hearts.

So there you have it. Alot can happen in 365 days. Alot can change in 365 days. It's exciting to think that, in a years time, I'll be looking back again on all that I have learnt from this year that we're yet to experience! So I guess my little inspiring ending to this blog (you should probably imagine a violin playing now..it would help with the visual) is to appreciate the potential that all of our encounters each and every day have to teach us valuable life lessons. The gift of hindsight shows us that often we don't realise at the time that we're experiencing a truly life changing moment. Live each day like it's your last! Take chances! Tell someone something that you haven't had the courage to say! Dance like no-one is watching! Sing like no-one is around! Google some cliche's so that I'll have some better ones for next time!
:)

Ramblings...

Well! This is my first ever blog! To be honest I don't really know what I'm going to write about yet...given that I'm home alone on a Friday night, determined not to tarnish my cognitive capacity any further by watching the senseless rubbish that's on TV at the moment, a little tired of reading my book, but not tired enough to go to sleep, this blog will most likely consist of the disjointed and drawn-out ramblings of an over-tired and under-stimulated hermit (hence the title..creative, I know). If the structure of that sentence is any indication of how this blog will be set out, it could be quite detrimental to your sanity, and you should stop reading immediately...really...just press the little red 'x' at the top right hand corner of the screen...that's all it takes...

Well if anybody is still reading this (and for your sake I hope that's nobody...I did try to warn you), I should probably start with what has been on my mind today, and undoubtedly on the minds of every love-struck 13 year old on an international scale...Valentine's Day! I was thinking about Valentine's Day mainly because tomorrow at work we will be inundated with men of all ages who have left it to the last minute to buy a gift for their sweetheart, and will leave our shop satisfied with their purchase of a single stem rose made entirely from coloured bird feathers that have been sprayed with rose incense oil, only to be shocked at the look of disappointment on their sweetheart's face come Valentine's Day. So, that got me thinking (yes, my own thoughts, deep as they were, got me thinking.. aren't I..err.. thoughtful?) how Valentine's Day means different things for different people. For some, Valentine's Day will be an awful reminder of a void that exists in their lives, that they have managed to convince themselves is merely a speck, when really it's a gaping black hole. For some, this Valentine's Day will foster a feeling of loneliness so intense that it's almost suffocating, and a longing for that special someone, who, for whatever reason, is absent. For others, this Valentine's Day will be a taste of things to come, a chance to enjoy simply being with the one you love, and a chance to appreciate the simple treasures in life; like a handmade card with a misshapen heart glued on the front, or the sweet fragrance of a scentless rose grown in vain at the height of a typical Townsville summer. Because it doesn't matter that the artistic design of the card is below third grade standard, or that the scent of the brown, wilted rose is remarkably reminiscent of dirt, all that matters is that they were given in love. For others still, Valentine's Day means basking in the liberating freedom of being a content singleton, scoffing at the naivety of young lovers and the abundance of clichés such as chocolates and flowers, which ultimately are superficial in nature and lack any real substance or significance. I'm particularly excited about Valentine's Day this year because I'll be at work (which, in itself, is particularly unexciting), but I will be wearing the most hideously festive costume I could manage to put together without losing my job...a bright red apron covered with pink and purple love hearts, red ribbons in my hair, rose tattoos..it's going to be awesome. So there you have it, four completely different perceptions of Valentine's Day...all very unique..

After thinking about how people perceive Valentine's Day in very different ways, depending on individual situations and circumstances, I started thinking about how Valentine's Day fundamentally exists to celebrate one thing.. love. Love, by nature, surpasses circumstances. God didn't create love one way for one group of people, and another way for another group of people. "Love is patient, Love is kind..." You know the rest. So, after pondering the concept of love (I would just like to pause here to say that, if you are still reading, I did warn you that this would lack any real direction, and next time you should take my warnings a little more seriously...), I started thinking about how people respond to love and perceive love in different ways, dependant on a multitude of factors. Trying to list some of these factors would be beyond the scope of this blog box, but I'm sure you can think of a few yourself. Some people react to love by falling hard and fast, by allowing another person to be privy to the intricate details of their very being, by allowing themselves to be completely vulnerable, and by being willing to give up life as they have known it just to be with another. Comparatively, some respond to love by freaking out at the intensity of their emotion and regress into being introverted and overly cautious; effectively pushing away the very person they're dying to let in, and losing what they were so desperate to hold on to. How we give, receive and respond to love alters and changes, for countless reasons. Human love is conditional, inconstant, wavering. I know that sounds cynical, and I'm not saying that all human love unequivocally follows that trend 100% of the time, but, for the sake of conversation (that I'm probably having with myself), human love is far from perfect.

So, that got me thinking about the One who created love, and the one true love that is so freely offered to us. It is unconditional, constant, unchanging, fixed, unwavering, unfaltering, we have done nothing to deserve it, yet there is nothing we can do to stop receiving it. How awesome is that?! It blows my mind every time I stop and think about it. When all around us is uncertain, when we are deserted and forsaken by those who claim to love us, we will always have the certainty of the love of Jesus Christ, which is so unwarranted, but given to us regardless, and all we need to do is trust.

So, this Valentine's Day, whatever Valentine's Day means to you - whether it's the chance to dress up as an escapee from the mad house, a chance to take great delight in mocking outward displays of love and affection, a chance to embrace the simple beauties of new love and the refreshing notion of beginning a journey with the one who captured your heart by your side, or if it's a chance to wallow in self pity in your pyjamas on the couch with a bucket of double chocolate chip ice cream and a copy of "The Notebook", take a moment to think about the one true love, that will never leave us, that can never be taken from us, that will never forsake us. The love of Jesus Christ, pure in every way, unending, steadfast, all consuming, a love that exceeds all bounds.