The End of a Season

Ecclesiastes 3:1 says: 

There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven.

The Teacher then goes on to list a series of pairs that illustrate these seasons: 

• a time to be born and a time to die
• a time to plant and a time to uproot
• a time to weep and a time to laugh
• a time to search and a time to give up
• a time to be silent and a time to speak
• etc., etc., etc.

I've always appreciated the reminder of this passage, that seasons come and go, but God is faithful and sovereign over it all.

It's been a good season for me of blogging. But I think I'm reaching the end of that season. 

I started this blog in May of 2012, when I was first moving into my office at Dordt University as a shiny and new Instructor of Education. I thought--naively, and at least a little narcissistically--that because I was now a professor, I would have important things to say, and people would care to read them. It's funny to remember that season now, and to go back and re-read some of those early posts. It's not that they are so bad, or anything like that. But as I read them, I can call to mind the earnest attitude I had when I was writing them. And, because Blogger is so good at serving statistics about readership, I also can call to mind the deflated feeling I had when I didn't get the kind of readership I was hoping for right away. Silly, isn't it?

And yet, when I look at those statics today, 10 years later, it's sort of surprising. As of right now, as I write this post, iTeach and iLearn has had 446,401 views--not too shabby, if I do say so myself. I'm still getting about 1000 views per month, more or less. I've published 590 posts (this one makes 591) and had hundreds of comments in response to the things I've shared here. Some of my posts have had over ten thousand reads. My most-read ever was cheekily entitled "No More Crappy Homework;" it has had about 18,500 views. Another with lots of views--and the first post I ever had that went viral (for me, anyway)--was one entitled "It's not 1989" which had 1000 views in the first 24 hours. That was a bit of a rush for me, truth be told! Another one that took off almost immediately was "An Analogy to Help Teachers Understand Homework." This had nearly 3000 views in the first week...and still gets about 30-40 visits each week today. So it's not that I've not had some "successful" posts on the blog.

For the most part though, I shifted focus from those kinds of swinging-for-the-fences posts that would get thousands of eyeballs. Over time, the blog shifted to my own reflections about my practice as a professor: the things I was trying in my own teaching, the things I was researching, resources I was finding interesting or valuable, and my thoughts about all of this. Some folks seemed to faithfully read these as well; most posts on the blog have had between 100 and 200 views. (And, of course, the older posts have more views, as they've been around longer.) 

Many of the posts I have written on this blog were dashed off in 30 minutes or less, and published almost immediately. A few were more deliberately-written, thoughtful pieces that were slower in coming (like this piece from 2018, which feels incredibly relevant again this week: Schools and Guns and Brokenness) that took multiple drafts before I felt like I could release them into the wild. That shift from the earnest writing back at the beginning to more reflective writing that documented my own practice was what made this blogging more valuable for me. And the fact I would often get feedback from readers only helped; it often pushed my thinking into new directions, or gave me some sense of affirmation that I wasn't loony.

But over the past two years, I have had less time to write--or at least I haven't prioritized blogging in comparison to other scholarship I've been doing. I think there were two reasons for this, primarily. First, pandemic teaching took a lot out of me, and sucked up a lot of the time and attention I used to devote to reflective writing here. At the same time, I started podcasting with my friends, Matt and Abby, and the sort of reflection that I used to write here often now ends up spoken in our Hallway Conversations instead. That combination has meant fewer and fewer posts here. And, when I think about it honestly, I have felt guilty about not writing here more often lately.

And that is what's led me to this point of feeling like this season is coming to a close. I've been working on giving myself permission to let things go. That might sound silly, but I do feel a strong sense of responsibility for sticking with the things I've started, and I have a hard time letting go of good things, even to make space for other good things. But, as the Teacher of Ecclesiastes so helpfully reminds me, there are different seasons in life. And I think my blogging season is coming to a close, for now at least.

That said, I want to continue to engage with people around ideas related to education and keep doing some form of "public scholarship." So I'm shifting my focus a little, and starting a newsletter. If you're the sort who has regularly read this blog over the past 10 years (thank you SO MUCH, by the way!) you might be interested in subscribing to the Positivity. Passion. Purpose. newsletter. I'm planning on a bi-weekly publishing schedule at this point, and I hope that this will give me the discipline to write positive, passionate, purposeful pieces that will encourage, equip, and inspire educators (and non-educators for that matter.) It's a new adventure, and one that has me feeling a little more of that earnest, excited energy that I had when I started this blog in 2012.

I'm not planning on deleting iTeach and iLearn, at least not now. So if you have found anything here helpful, it will still be around. But I also don't anticipate posting new things here either, but I guess I've learned to never say never. 

It's been a good 10 years. Thanks for reading. Blessings to you in whatever season you find yourself in at the moment, and God's grace to you on the journey.

That Academic Rhythm

The end of the semester is upon us!

I feel like every conversation I have with a colleague lately eventually settles on this topic in some way, shape, or form. The semester is nearly complete. Oh, there is so much to do! Exams are being written. final projects and paper work is being completed. Grading...or correcting...or marking...or feedbacking (your preference on what to call it, I guess) is underway. Commencement is coming.

With the ending of this term, I had steady stream of students stopping by today. One to drop off that paper to document his field experience. One to check in with a question about our final paper that is due so-very-soon. One to drop off a thank-you note and a wish me a lovely summer break. One to ask advice about a tech tool for a presentation she is going to give in lieu of an exam for another course. One to give me a high five and say "thanks" for welcoming him into the world of teaching through Intro to Education.

It's enough to swell the soul a little, to take delight in the work I get to do in working with future teachers. And because of the rhythm of the school year, with the end so clearly before us, it seems right for students to stop in. And it feel right for me to drop what I'm doing, welcome them in, and take that time to visit a bit with each one.

The academic rhythm is something I just love about my work. Clear patterns that roll on and on: beginnings, middles, endings, times to rest. Lather, rinse, repeat? Hardly! I love that we have these sorts of seasons that show up so clearly, year after year. The change of pace of summer is always welcome, but would it feel like a change of pace without the rhythm of the semester?

I've never not been in school, either as a student or as an instructor, since I began kindergarten over 40 years ago now. I know there are plenty of people who don't live their lives based on a school calendar. But it is soothing to me...maybe because it is so familiar?

Soon the students will be packing up their belongings and heading out to their summer adventures. Campus will become quieter. Colleagues will be transitioning into research mode, or summer teaching mode, or rest mode. (Mine will be a combination of all three, actually.) 

But I'm confident it will happen again, because of that rhythm that I love...three or four weeks from now I'll start thinking that campus is too quiet...and I'll start looking ahead to August, when the students will start to return like the swallows of Capistrano, coming to roost for another beginning.

Image of a swallow by Hans Veth via Unsplash

Hope When Things Feel Hopeless

True confessions: I'm having a hard time right now with a lot of the things I see in the news. Ongoing conflict in Ukraine, continuing pandemic concerns, an incredibly challenging political climate (here in the US, anyway, as we start looking towards mid-term elections in the fall)...all of it has me asking, along with the Psalmist, "How long, oh Lord?" My devotional prayer time lately is full of, "God, I don't understand what you are doing here..." kinds of prayers.

It's in times like these I am glad I used to be a middle school Bible teacher. Why, you might ask? Well, the curriculum I was using had me teaching the kings and prophets of Israel and Judah to 7th graders. Honestly, this was a section of scripture I had not spent a lot of time reading before I started teaching it in 2001. But the minor prophets have become one of my favorite sections of scripture to read! Jonah, Amos, Hosea, Joel, Micah...the messages in these books seem like they could have just as easily been written to the contemporary church in North America as to the ancient nation of Israel in the centuries before Christ's first coming.

And when I feel the stress and frustration, that feeling of "God, don't you care what's happening in this world??"...well, in those moments, I turn back to the book of Habakkuk and re-read it.

The book of Habakkuk is all about the prophet asking God questions, because he doesn't understand what God is doing, and why God allows bad things to happen to His people. (Sounds timely, doesn't it?) But at the end of the book, Habakkuk ends with a prayer of faith, expressing his trust and reliance on God even when he doesn't understand God's plan. Chapter 3 of Habakkuk includes this powerful statement of faith:

Though the fig tree does not bud

    and there are no grapes on the vines,

though the olive crop fails

    and the fields produce no food,

though there are no sheep in the pen

    and no cattle in the stalls,

yet I will rejoice in the Lord,

    I will be joyful in God my Savior.

- Habakkuk 3:17-18

This fills me with hope, and I hope it catches you as well: my prayer for you all is that you will be filled with the joy of the Lord in the face of whatever challenges come your way in the days and weeks we have ahead of us.

Image by Dayne Topkin via unsplash.com

Sympathizing with Students

I've had two very different conversations in the past few weeks with two different colleagues, both of which relate to working with students. One of these conversations was very sympathetic to students, in a "how can we help them succeed and thrive?" sort of way. The other was...a bit less sympathetic...the sort of commiserating conversation with more of a "how do we hold students accountable to actually do the work?' sort of feeling.

I feel both of these things sometimes, as an instructor. 

But I'm coming down right now on the side of sympathizing with students. Perhaps it's because I'm taking a computer programming course on audit right now, and feeling some of the same pressures. I am an achiever, and I want to do well, and represent myself well, and really learn the things I need to be successful! Though, to be clear, auditing a course is different--as much as I want to say I sympathize with my fellow learners, I'm in a bit of a different category. I'm taking this course just for the learning, with no grade attached, and no high stakes (e.g., scholarships) riding on a grade. Also, the professor teaching the course is a friend, and is very supportive and encouraging of me taking the course. And while she is equally supportive of the other learners in the class, there is a different kind of power dynamic, I think, since I am a peer, and the students in the class really are not.

But while all of this is true, I do feel a sense of the pressures the students taking the course do. There are times when I have to re-read the text multiple times to really understand it. There are times when I am really not sure how to start coding a program that I've been assigned, and I start to trial-and-error it. (Which never seems to work out well.) My wife could tell you how she knows when I'm struggling, because I mutter under my breath and sigh a lot. The work is challenging, and it's stretching me. And I feel a very real sense of accomplishment when I solve a programming problem that has been a bugaboo for me.

But one experience in particular had me sympathizing with students. We use an online platform as part of our homework for the course. I really like this! We get immediate feedback on the snippets of code we write, and we can redo things as many times as needed to get things right. I find that this is helping me check my understanding in a step-by-step kind of way, and deepening my understanding through repeated practice when I get things wrong. Sometimes I get things right the first go. More often, it takes me two or three attempts, but I figure this is actually a good thing, because it causes me to slow down and rethink my approach, and check my understanding of the syntax of the language I'm learning.

But there are limitations to this platform, and sometimes this has me running into dead ends, because my code isn't exactly right according to the specifications of the platform. I had this experience last week with a programming problem. I wrote a piece of code that I thought would solve the problem...but no joy. So I took the error messages, and used them to try and pinpoint where things went awry. No joy. I revised, and revised, and eventually started over from scratch. No joy, no joy, no joy. I tried over 30 different submissions on this project! (I was definitely muttering under my breath about it.) I'm stubborn enough to keep working away at it, because I really want to learn this stuff for myself! But there came a point where I felt like I was banging my head against the wall.

And so...in my frustration and defeat...I turned to Google.

I found a solution, of course. And my code was about 95% correct, but I had missed a crucial step. It felt so obvious when I saw it. I fixed my code, and submitted the project. All done.

But I also felt some guilt about needing to look up help online to solve the problem. 

In this course, which I'm taking just for fun and for my own learning, I have the luxury of not caring about a grade. Did I have to find a solution for this problem? No. But I wanted to--perhaps out of wanting to represent myself well, to actually complete the assignment, do it correctly, and get 100% on this assignment. Was it cheating? In this case, no, because my professor-colleague encourages us to use our resources to help us learn, including looking things up online. But there was still some guilt there for me.

And this is where I'm feeling sympathetic with my students. They often have higher stakes attached to grades, after all. So perhaps it's no wonder that they seek out help when they run into roadblocks. And perhaps that "seeking out help" isn't always on the up-and-up. But in a moment of frustration, or uncertainty, or need to just-get-it-done-and-move-on-to-the-next-thing-because-there-is-always-more-homework, they might seek out illicit homework help.

So all of this has me thinking about what our philosophy ought to be for encouraging students to actually, deeply learn the material? Yes, I want my students to be accountable for doing the work. And, yes, I want to encourage and support my students so they will be able to be successful in learning. Both of these are true at the same time. Are they in opposition to each other? 

All of this to say, placing myself in the students' seat has been a good exercise in understanding at least some of the pressures they are experiencing. 

Image by Chris Ried via Unsplash

Computational Thinking and Solving Problems

In my last post I shared how I am taking a programming class. We're a couple weeks in now, and it's all going well enough. (So far, so good!) 

Yesterday I wrote a fun little program to help with planning a hot dog roast. (Why do hot dogs come in packages of 10, and buns in packages of 8???) It's not the most elegant code ever, I'm sure, but I tested it with a dozen or so inputs, and the math checks out. It's a functional program. I'm feeling proud of myself, even though it's a relatively small thing.

Here's the output for the program I wrote. Fun, right?

I'm learning the syntax of Python, the "grammar" of the language. And I'm learning strategies to build code that is readable by both the computer (obviously) but also humans who might need to understand the code as well. And I'm learning about software development environments, and just how many places Python is used today. (It's a lot--a really useful language!)

But as interesting as it is for me to think through what I'm learning...it's even more interesting to me to reflect on how I'm learning.

I've taken programming before, and I'm finding myself calling back to the last time I took a course that involved hacking code, over 25 years ago now. The language is obviously different. But I'm thinking about the habits of mind I'm re-encountering as I'm taking this course. There is quite a bit of discourse in STEM education today about teaching what is called "computational thinking." This is the idea that we can break down problems into "computable" steps--algorithms, heuristics, and patterns that can help us solve the problem. 

I'm finding that more than learning coding in a particular language, I'm (re)learning some computational thinking strategies by taking this course. 

We're at a point in the semester where we are learning techniques for branching and iteration--"if-else" statements, and "while" loops--and the logic of understanding how the computer will process our code. This has me thinking about how I break the problem down, and how I attack the specific aspects of the problem to find a workable result.

My professor is fantastic at helping us think through "pseudocode" in class, where we take a problem, and collectively analyze the steps we might need to take to solve the problem, and sort of code it out as a series of algorithms, without actually writing all of the code in Python. Then we can work through the specifics of turning that pseudocode into the actual grammar of the language. It's a really effective teaching technique! And then, the practice: we use an online platform to practice writing small snippets of code and get immediate feedback. Because I get immediate feedback on whether my code "worked" or not, I can either move on to another exercise, or rework it, or if I really get stuck, it even offers some hints to get me thinking in a different direction. It's a pretty smart approach. This is really helping me to sharpen up my skills at attacking smaller scale problems that I can then bring to bear on the bigger coding problems that we do, like the hot dog cookout program I shared above.

When it comes to the exercises for homework, it's amazing to me how often find this pseudocode approach working--and it's also amazing to me how frustrated I get when I don't slow down and think computationally. There have been a few times where I read the problem in our online coding platform, immediately make an intuitive leap to how I think the code should function, hack out a solution to the exercise, and hit submit. And sometimes this works great! But other times...well, let's just say I hit "submit" 23 times for one exercise the other night, tweaking the code just a bit each time before hitting the button again. Ooof. I was getting a little frustrated, but when I finally got the right answer, I laughed...because I realized that I had been banging my head against the wall because I had missed a step in the initial framing of the problem, and in my rush to start hacking code, I didn't slow down to think through the steps.

And that, to me, is the most important thing I'm learning: I am often quick to make snap judgments, and I think this course has already been opening my eyes to the importance of slowing down and understanding the real situation of the problem before I just barrel on to a solution.

It's a lesson that I am going to need to keep relearning, I think. 

But I'll celebrate the small steps that I'm taking in this (re)learning process. And if you are planning a hot dog roast, I have a piece of code that might help you in the planning process.

My Latest Adventure in Learning

 I am a learner at heart. 

Having taken the StrengthsFinder assessment a couple of times now, it's been confirmed for me: "learner" is one of my top five strengths. I didn't really need the assessment to tell me this. I love to learn new things, and even re-learn things I've learned before.

Perhaps that's part of the appeal of academia for me: there is always something more for me to learn. And sometimes, it's the teaching that actually leads to more learning.

That's the case for me this semester. I'm teaching a new course--new to me, but also brand new to our institution: Robotics for K-12 Education. I'm right on the edge of my comfort zone for teaching this one. Honestly, I'm just a little anxious about it. I love robotics as a way of bringing the STEM disciplines (science, technology, engineering, and mathematics) together. But I also recognize that I have some learning to do.

I've taught math. I've taught science. I've taught technology applications. I've read books on design thinking, and problem-based learning, and I love projects as a way of building understanding. But I recognize the limitations of my current experience with actually building and programming robots.

It's not that I have no training or experience with building and programming robots. I've taught science and engineering principles at the middle school level with Lego robotics kits. I've used block-based coding tools to build Android apps. I've played around with Arduino micro-controllers. At a conference a couple years ago, I participated in a substantial workshop related to teaching computational thinking that involved programming simple robots. All of this helps.

But I realized the other day that it is 27 years ago since I took a true programming class, way back when I was a computer science major in my first year of college. Ooof.

And so...with the recognition that my students taking this Educational Robotics course have had programming MUCH more recently than I have (and it's actually a pre-requisite for this course!)...I've decided that I should retake Programming I, just to brush up on my own skills.

So here's to learning a new language (Python), and revisiting computer science principles I've likely forgotten in the intervening decades, and updating my skillset to be better equipped to serve my students! I'm hoping to document my ongoing learning here as part of my reflective practice--both in taking the programming course, as well as in the first go at teaching the robotics course.

Hooray for adventures in learning!

I'm ready for it...bring on the Python!

Rhythms, and Resting, and Taking Breaks

I'm back in the office. It was a lovely Christmas Break for me. And...it was a true break for me. From December 23 through January 3, I did not come to campus at all. I didn't even check my email.

Wow, I needed that.

Don't hear me wrong, it's not as though I was trying to avoid work because I dread it, or dislike it, or anything like that. (I suspect if you've read this blog for any length of time, you know just how much I LOVE what I get to do as a professor!) I've written before here on the blog about how I don't like the term "work-life balance" and prefer to talk about "work-life rhythm" instead. Maybe that's just semantics, but I think it is true, because my work is an incredibly important part of my life, and not something I feel like I need to "balance" with other things. But as soon as I say that...I know I really did need the break, perhaps more than usual. I needed to rest.

Teaching is always hard work, but the past two years have been doubly so. And, challenging as teaching in higher education has been for me, I know it's been even more demanding for my colleagues in PreK-12. I've written before about the emotional labor of teaching, and I think 2020 and 2021 only exacerbated the already challenging work in this regard. I know I've felt it too, and though I find deep joy in my work--and take tremendous pleasure in it--it's been, well, a LOT.

And so, a true break. Truly resting from being "productive." No real "work." Not even checking the email.

It wasn't easy for me at first. I actually had to remove my email app from my phone, because I realize that there is a weird magnetism that just draws my thumb to that app icon. In the first few days, I noticed just how often I pick up my phone and check my email, because with that app icon's absence, I found myself accidentally opening other apps where I just naturally tap. Odd how easily I was conditioned to do this. (And now that I've disrupted that habit? I'm wondering if I should even put the app back in place once the new term begins.) Is it silly for me to go on and on about how big a deal this was for me? Maybe. But I think it's part of a mindshift for me from that "always on" part of working to a real break.

So, instead of working all the time...I was deliberately non-productive. I played games with family and friends. I read a novel. I did jigsaw puzzles. I ate a lot of Christmassy treats. (Ooof...and I got on the treadmill...) I took my kids out for breakfast, just the three of us. I got coffee with friends a couple of times, just to talk and connect. I finally started watching Ted Lasso, which so many people had recommended. (And I'm definitely enjoying it!) So much good stuff, and it was lovely to make space to do this instead of working.

And now I'm reflecting a bit: why is it that I need to give myself permission to do this kind of break-taking?

I heard a great sermon this past Sunday, a message about ensuring we have margin in our lives for the things that we really care about and that really matter to us. I needed to hear this. One phrase that has kept ringing in my head since hearing it Sunday morning was a call out of the "Cult of Productivity" that is so, so prevalent in our culture. And...ooof...that's me, a priest in the Cult of Productivity. How much do I prioritize being productive? What would it look like for me to cultivate being present first and foremost? What would I have to say "no" to--limiting my productivity--in order to have more of this kind of margin in my life?

I don't really have any New Year's Resolutions this year, not formally anyway. But I'm already thinking about things I can, and should, say "no" to, not bowing to the cult of productivity. I've already said one "no" to a great opportunity, and it's only January 4. What else will I say "no" to this year? And how will that help me continue to find better rhythms?

We'll see where I'm at come Summer Break!

Image by Ralf Designs via Pixabay