~from the heart~

From a place far away, over a big mountain and nestled deep into a valley, good morning my dear friends and family.  In the darkness of the early hours here, I can look out our bedroom window and catch a glimpse of  the city of Montrose as its lights twinkle for all to see.  We live atop a small hill, a rise in the road, just outside the city limits and I will never forget the morning that I saw that view for the very first time.  The sight is a peaceful one for me, almost like that of a fairytale place you might read of in a book one day.  Of course, when the sun arises and the townspeople awaken, the hustle and bustle of normal everyday life takes away any kind of semblance of peace and quiet.  But at least for a while, in the 4:30 a.m. slice of the day's beginning, I see it.  I feel it. 

Yesterday one of my students at school asked me a very good question.  We were finishing up the last part of the very limited time we had for writing yesterday and the subject of my being a blogger came up.  One young man met  me at the door and asked about it.  When I had mentioned to the class that I had written nearly 700 times since I started my blog back 3 years ago now, his face had a perplexed look upon it.

"How long are you gonna keep DOING that, Mrs. Renfro?  I mean, that writing the blog thing", he asked me.

Hey that was an honest question, a good one and my answer was pretty much straightforward and to the point for him.

"Until I run out of things to say, I guess",  I said back to him with a smile on my face.

One of the subjects that I have loved to teach children this year is that of writing creatively. It's been so interesting to watch them as they have grown and changed in their ability to write down their thoughts and ideas.  From a blank piece of paper or two, their words have come forth.  At times it is a struggle, without a doubt, for some of them and yet for others two pieces of paper cannot even begin to hold the myriad of their thoughts.   I love to watch the expressions on their faces as they begin to make their pencils transmit their ideas from brain-to-paper.  Once in a while, I will see them pause and look back at what they have written, trying to determine if that is really the way that they wanted it to sound.  I'm proud of them and their efforts, remembering back to that very first month of school as they struggled in their attempts to do their best work, to do ANY work.  Oh, we have come such a long way.

We are getting ready to do our last  "cold write" for the year, a time when students throughout the Montrose-Olathe School District receive the same writing prompt and students have one hour to create their very best response to it.  It's totally an "on your own brothers and sisters" kind of moment with no help at all from classroom teachers.  We have to hope that everyone remembers everything that they have been instructed about writing a good piece.  Capitalization and punctuation, sentence structure, staying to the topic, paragraphs for crying out loud, and a dozen other little things all go into play in the scoring rubric.  And in as much as I preach to them daily about remembering all of those little things, I stress even further one of what I consider the most important things about being a good writer.  I took the opportunity to remind them of it yesterday at the end of the writing time.

         "Remember you guys what I have told you since the beginning. Who can tell me where all good writing really comes from?", I asked them.

Quick as a wink, several hands shot up in response as I knew they would because they have been reminded of it many times. 

"It comes from our hearts, Mrs. Renfro", a young man replied.

And his teacher smiled.

The  fourth grade kids shown in the photo above probably had their share of "writing trials" too.  The little short girl in the blue dress on the second row right was quiet and shy, with very little to say most times.  I guess I have changed a bit since then.  From the "land of long ago and far, far away", my fourth grade class at Haven Grade School, 1963-64 school year, and the best fourth grade teacher EVER, Elizabeth Harris.

I didn't realize how fast the time would really fly by us.  Their teacher loves them so very much and will miss them when we all go home for the summer.  God blessed me with the gift of  the "18".