Teaching Art for 2 years.

So this past school year,.. I couldnt say goodbye.

They were left with the impression that I would be back next year. "Have a good summer I said to them, I will miss you all so so much." A couple times I was asked in front of a few students if I was coming back next year. Stuck; I had to answer, and I saw some tears. It broke my heart as I explained why. The hugs were like bandaids, and I was growing numb.

ON A PROFESSIONAL LEVEL :The Elementary principal gave my evaluation on the last day I had classes. I was bracing myself for the bad news. We talked and shared stories for an hour or so. I was still waiting for the bad stuff, the real dirt. So I told her how I felt, what I was waiting for. She responded to me something like this ' No Steph we have loved having you here, and I from what the kids have said and brought back to my class, and what I've heard from the faculty I would have never known you didn't have a degree.' I'm sure she meant Art or Elementary Education degree. But she continued on to say 'And if you ever need a good reference...'. I was blown away- all year, through all of my mental, creative and emotional ups-and-downs; I would have never imagined to be told that.

ON A PERSONAL LEVEL: There are many memories and people I hope to never forget.
Never forget sitting with the highschool kids at lunch laughing it up, nights with Mrs. Hawk talking forever about each students memories and momentos, the different personalities of each class.

Here is a favorite story.

A boy named Adam, in the second grade who had a knack for crying on cue; had this year grown so so much, and I was quite fond of the fact he now looked forward to art class without tears.

Until a wonderful afternoon in February. Dun-dun-dun.

We were making heart animals, out of pieces of construction paper. Out of the corner of my eye I see him quickly squirming into that familiar uncomfortable posture again. I walked over and said "whats wrong Adam?"-

" I cant cuT any more hearts" as his folded piece of red paper became an unfolded water drop shape in his hands.

Frustrated tears began to stream.

"Sure you can, look at all of the wonderful hearts on your puppy.... You are doing a very good job soo far"

Just then his eyes opened wide and welled up with pools of new tears.

Much louder than before, with a wine" Its-not a puppeeeeee... *sniff* its-a kittyeeeeeee."

At this point the whole class is caught wondering at the corner of distraction and focus.

His heavy tears rolling.

Without thinking,... I turned my attention to the paper and spoke in the most sincere and playful voice I could find... .
"I AM so SO sorry Mr. kitty will you forgive me?"

A brief pause; and then. . . "meow- meow" from now presently grinning boy.

It was in an instant a switch had been flipped.

"Well. . . . He's your kitty. . . .Do you think that means he forgives me?"

"I think so", just then as he opened a freshly cut piece of paper- a heart shape appeared.

A smile appeared on his wet face.

"Will you be. . . ?" and before I could finish ('alright') he raised his hand toward me and flicked his wrist. . . contently shoo-ing me away. Those wide eyes now focused on his scissors rounding the bend, finishing the next heart in his plans.

That was the last time I saw him cry, and I was very proud of that moment of victory I got to share with him.

Welcome to my life.

peace beyond this feeling

This
is a public service announcement
brought to you by:
Atmosphere
the greatest restaurant on earth.

Its raining in western Pennsylvania. . .

As of this Saturday the 14th of June; I am done -permanently with the pizza delivery job. Its crazy cause it has almost been a year since I started there. Ive risked my life and my car on sheets of black ice (breinsburgh hill road anyone?), stepped in more dog feces than I would care to mention, and got to know the little town I grew up in a lil' closer than most. Parts of this little piece of mountainous area from the beautiful and hidden to scary and surreal. I initially found and kept the job because it worked well with my 'art teacher' job, emotionally and financially- being embarrassingly easy. Even more I've -from the beginning- worked with a group of really focused and admirable people.

From that group of people: Mary, her daughter Alica, and Sam, whom have just recently left also. . . with the purpose of starting a restaurant. Since I met her; Mary has shared that it has been her dream for years to be the owner/manager of her own restaurant. Through a few unfortunate circumstances and challenges the opportunity and bravery arouse in the three of them to join together and take the plunge. Folks -in my small town- this is a miracle. Our area has been economically struggling for a few decades now. Our minimum wage is one of the lowest numbers country-wide, and the welfare system here supports more people per capita than any other in our state. Just to give you an idea of why I am amazed at the ambition and bravery of these small town pioneers.

Right now- I am on a feildtrip in Sam's spartan-caravan to get hardwood flooring for the restaurant. Ooh!- Lowes, what fun. Actually I was casually asked by miss momma Mary, about a month ago, to join the trifecta and help them get this business started. I am now the official advertising and design executive of the Atmosphere international foods restaurant.
We plan to be open in September, and hope to bring some change that inspires the community to believe in the potential of this area.(particularly the potential of new business- *hardy-har-har*)

In the bigger spectrum of things; I have since about January felt led to step away from my teaching job. Knowing at the time that the main and only focus, for Matt and I would soon be Youth with A Mission, Australia.Some times it seems God is so clear about the next step, that you just have a tremendous peace- yea know? Also this would be an opportunity for a clean break at the end of the school year verses smack in the middle. Believe me- I am going to miss those kids, I'm going to miss mentoring, teaching, and planting hope in their vast imaginations.
In the back of my mind though I have asked in prayer... How then God do you want me to make myself available in this season? All the while excited for the potential Art studio I may be a part of some day, maybe in some place far away, maybe connected with a trendy-hot spot cafe' in the downtown inner city. That's MY dream. Will I have to help build it from the ground up..? How do I prepare my tools for the task, my mind for the mission?

That's when Mary asked me to be part of the restaurant this summer, and potentially solid and reliable work this coming winter. There it was again, 'peace' beyond a feeling almost confirmation.

"See Steph I told you I had everything under control"

Today I spray-painted by wedding shoes black

(copied from a post to a friend)
I sorta had this thought the other nite. Only with clay. Like a potter, his pottery wheel and the clay.
First (we) the clay is essentially the dirt of the earth, that has been uniquely and individually chosen to become a vessel. Not just any container- but a vessel ment to hold something of utmost importance and imagination of its maker.
Will this vessel have a handle ment to be held and gripped with certainty? Will this vessel have a spout ment to pour its innermost contents out of with smooth precision and aim? Will this vessel be deep and open to being filled wholly and secure? Will this vessel have a strong foundation and inner structure to prevent it from breaking on an unexpected fall.
The Potters hands, as an ever-ready-experieced artisan, genuinely gentle as the silt of water and mud enevitably wash and cover into the crevices of his knuckles and deep under his fingernails. The whole of this skin covered by the end of the process, he doesnt pay it any mind because his eyes, his passion are focused on his creation. As the wheel spins he -never doubting his ablity, never disbelieving in the out come of each movement and stroke of his palms. His hands always with one holding and at times the other molding. He knows alone the purpose of his fingers movement, inside then out, outside then in... Into the very depths the darkest places he places his hands and finger tips, digging out the dross, soothing out the foundation. No matter how much resistance, no matter how much grit, he gracefully works down to the last detail.
Before this all can happen (WE)- the clay have to individually and uniquely allow ourselfs to be placed on the wheel, in front of the potters hands. Hands ever ready to hold us and mold us, adding water to the dry parts, molding together the cracked parts, draw depth from the shallow parts, and building strength into the foundation and frame.
Prepared to be filled, by being changed from a mound of dirt- to a vessel with a purpose and destiny.

Thank you for reading friends,
till the world stops spin n'

steph