My beautiful E at First Day School. Unfortunately, they don't have masks for the adults.
I've been working in Quaker schools for the duration of my teaching career. When I was touring with an educational theatre company, I interacted with many different students in many different schools. I learned a lot, but I never stayed in one school long enough for it to really feel like home. A few years later, I found myself visiting a small Quaker preschool near my hometown. I came to this interview knowing only that I wanted to be close to my family; that I was ready for a classroom of my own; that early childhood education was where I felt happiest. I knew nothing about Quakerism or Quaker education. Did they wear bonnets? Was there electricity in the building? I had no clue.
Imagine my delighted surprise, then, to hear my personal philosophy of education articulated so clearly by a total stranger. And, even beyond that, everything I heard aligned with my own beliefs about humanity itself. (Truly, I had a journal entry from when I was twelve asserting that I believed in the basics tenants of Quakerism without even knowing that's what they were!) I had to work here. This was the home I'd been looking for. I just didn't realize at the time how much of a home it would become for me.
Fast forward a decade, and I'm still teaching preschool in a (different) Quaker school. Still passionate about Quaker education, still an ardent believer in the Quaker testimonies, still working to instill in my students the Quaker values that are dear to my heart.
And never, ever, EVER actually stepping into a Meeting House. Because that was just too scary. It felt big and overwhelming and I just wasn't ready.
I grew up Catholic and, in the sporadic visits I made to church once I was an adult, I really enjoyed my anonymity at mass. Sit in the back, smile vaguely during the sign of peace, avoid eye contact during communion, and duck out before anyone can make small talk with me. Easy. No strings attached. Invisible.
Here is what I have learned: Quakers do not let you stay invisible.
When I finally worked up the courage to attend Meeting for Worship for myself (easily ten years into wanting to try), I was asked to stand and introduce myself at the end. To a room of strangers. I was horrified. I blushed. I stammered. I already felt like an imposter, and now I was convinced that everybody knew. As if that wasn't bad enough, they wanted me to stay for the coffee and donuts.
This was way, way outside of my comfort zone.
And yet, there it was. The quiet, constant, internal nudge that I needed to go. It's a slow process, embracing this Society of Friends, but it's becoming more and more a part of my life. Almost every weekend, I'll tell my family that I'm going and anyone who wants to come along is welcome to join me. My youngest daughter, e, has attended with me from the very beginning, welcoming the new experience and the opportunity to make new friends. Like me, though, my older daughter E has been slower to warm up. It was important to me that she come because she wanted to, and I didn't push. Last week, she suddenly decided that she would come, too, and had a good enough time that she came again this weekend. Who knows where this journey will take any of us, but I'm glad for this moment together and what it means for us now.
It makes sense, really, that Quakers don't want any of us to be invisible. When the cornerstone of your faith is the belief that there is that of God in all people, everyone becomes worth knowing. This belief is the cornerstone of my teaching, as well, and I hope that my students feel that.
"I see you. Your presence matters. We are stronger because you're here."
(Even if you're not ready to believe it.)
Imagine my delighted surprise, then, to hear my personal philosophy of education articulated so clearly by a total stranger. And, even beyond that, everything I heard aligned with my own beliefs about humanity itself. (Truly, I had a journal entry from when I was twelve asserting that I believed in the basics tenants of Quakerism without even knowing that's what they were!) I had to work here. This was the home I'd been looking for. I just didn't realize at the time how much of a home it would become for me.
Fast forward a decade, and I'm still teaching preschool in a (different) Quaker school. Still passionate about Quaker education, still an ardent believer in the Quaker testimonies, still working to instill in my students the Quaker values that are dear to my heart.
And never, ever, EVER actually stepping into a Meeting House. Because that was just too scary. It felt big and overwhelming and I just wasn't ready.
I grew up Catholic and, in the sporadic visits I made to church once I was an adult, I really enjoyed my anonymity at mass. Sit in the back, smile vaguely during the sign of peace, avoid eye contact during communion, and duck out before anyone can make small talk with me. Easy. No strings attached. Invisible.
Here is what I have learned: Quakers do not let you stay invisible.
When I finally worked up the courage to attend Meeting for Worship for myself (easily ten years into wanting to try), I was asked to stand and introduce myself at the end. To a room of strangers. I was horrified. I blushed. I stammered. I already felt like an imposter, and now I was convinced that everybody knew. As if that wasn't bad enough, they wanted me to stay for the coffee and donuts.
This was way, way outside of my comfort zone.
And yet, there it was. The quiet, constant, internal nudge that I needed to go. It's a slow process, embracing this Society of Friends, but it's becoming more and more a part of my life. Almost every weekend, I'll tell my family that I'm going and anyone who wants to come along is welcome to join me. My youngest daughter, e, has attended with me from the very beginning, welcoming the new experience and the opportunity to make new friends. Like me, though, my older daughter E has been slower to warm up. It was important to me that she come because she wanted to, and I didn't push. Last week, she suddenly decided that she would come, too, and had a good enough time that she came again this weekend. Who knows where this journey will take any of us, but I'm glad for this moment together and what it means for us now.
It makes sense, really, that Quakers don't want any of us to be invisible. When the cornerstone of your faith is the belief that there is that of God in all people, everyone becomes worth knowing. This belief is the cornerstone of my teaching, as well, and I hope that my students feel that.
"I see you. Your presence matters. We are stronger because you're here."
(Even if you're not ready to believe it.)
