I actually take a great
many "gods" with me when I go to my classroom each day, and, in a sense, I
worship them. There’s the god called “my lesson plan”, a set of steps I pay
homage to as if they have some separate power that can provide me with success.
I set it before me before each class and respectfully request its help in
getting to the goals I have given myself. It’s just words spread across a
computer screen, but somehow it seems like a force to be revered and
followed. Then there’s the god called “the students”. “Oh please, students”, I
almost say to myself, “grant me the respect and reverence necessary to know how
to be a good teacher today.” It’s as if the students have the power to provide
me with success or failure, either a triumphant day of teaching or a catastrophe. If they agree to be alert and whole-hearted scholars, I win; if
not, I lose. It’s a little silly,
really, this reliance on powers that have no more power than passing thoughts.
The universe flows along through its light-years with no help from my miscellaneous gods, and I need to remember that I’m part of that free-flowing
power. All I must to do to be a good teacher is trust the forces that flow
through and around me, make a good plan, and praise each of the countless, short-lived, and exceptional moments.
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