Photo: Mama Jo and me Jack and Jill Kindergarten, 1974 Yesterday, a friend asked my advice about how to handle a conflict with another person. I told her the only thing that crossed my mind. I believe that when I get to heaven, God will ask me how have I loved? Not … how have I judged. Not … how hard have I worked. Not … how many meals did I cook? Or in my case, not cook. It will be how have I loved? This question applies to many moments I have each day as I look at the person or problem in front of me. Honestly, I am grateful for time with this friend because I needed to be reminded, too. In contrast, I really really hope He will NOT ask… was I a faithful steward of trees. Literally. I won’t withstand a conversation about trees. JoAnna, how many trees were sacrificed for you as a teacher? How many extra copies? How much paper used and not recycled? I must confess that I have severe paper guilt. I even have a small collection of work from my first year of teaching, a notebook from 1991 of a history class I took in France, and my novels from high school. I am sentimental like that. Teachers just use a lot of paper. It comes with the territory. I do love my people and I love my crazy, unpredictable life of teaching even when I forget to show it. Most people teach because they crave order and routine. This school year is chaos beyond our control, anything but order and routine. I speak for all teachers who must fearlessly charge through the day wondering where the heck is peace hiding. I love a challenge. It just so happens that this challenge is to seek peace in chaos. Two weeks ago, the second Jubilee International Symposium happened despite all suggestions that I could abandoned the idea. I plowed ahead much to the amazement and probably frustration of people around me. It certainly was “the one more thing” I could have let go. I was not ready to give Covid the satisfaction. Covid separates and causes fear that leads to a whole lot of second guessing. It has potential to destroy our confidence. I see that teachers need to be inspired, that they need resources, and that they crave to be connected to others who might have new ideas. I need to be connected, so, I decided- screw the pandemic. It was time to cultivate a culture of peace. My precious partner in crime, Laura Bauer, helped make it all possible. Because of Laura, I get into all kinds of good trouble. Because of Laura, I discover how to have a whole lot of fun while embracing a source of inspiration that aligns to my beliefs about people, education, faith, and purpose. Something I said resonated with Laura almost two years ago. As I spoke to friends about my last trip to Haiti, Laura heard my heartsong. Because of Laura, I am motivated. She always says yes to my crazy ideas. She understands the power of yes. She connected me to Jeni. Jeni connected with my school. My kids at school connected with Mattie’s message. Mattie’s message of peace and resiliency finds its way into the hearts of anyone who hears it because it is a really good message. Peace is possible. When Kim Fuller presented a heartfelt keynote address last Wednesday at our symposium, she spoke of her family, her beloved Plains, and the importance of remembering where you come from. Oh, I know where I come from – Cordele, Georgia. I’m from a family of educators- grandmothers, aunts, uncles, cousins, and my sister. My great grandmother Josiella Bivins opened one of the first Montessori style kindergartens in South Georgia following World War II. Each day was filled with art, music, playing, and discovering. At Jack and Jill, I remember collecting and pressing leaves, pulling taffy, sitting in a great big circle with musical instruments. I remember our playground where we built forts, made mud pies, and ran until we were exhausted. That’s what I remember. That is what any child will remember, simple moments in a school home where they create and play as they learn. Over five years ago, I chose my school home in Americus. As I met a collection of amazing advisors, I realized that we were risking everything to open Furlow. We wanted to create, collaborate, and contribute to a different approach to education. Since then, we have cleaned a thousand rooms, reorganized a thousand closets, sat in meetings for a thousand hours (maybe longer). We have decorated, celebrated, and prepared gardens. We have drug ourselves home just before the evening alarms went off. We’ve made mistakes and corrected them. We have laughed together, cried together, and poured the very best of ourselves into our scholars so that they will know how to seek peace when chaos comes to them. Teaching is hard. Most people have figured that out since March. That and why teachers need summers. For me, it is good ... To stop from time to time to remember where I come from and why I teach. To thank my friends for reminding me about what matters. To be grateful for chaos as well as peace. To celebrate how I have loved this beautiful, wild life He gives me.
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JoAnna Arnold
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