“A Good Name is Better Than Riches”: Thoughts From the Museum of the American Indian

As people ought to do at least once when they live near the nation’s capital, I went into Washington D.C. with a friend of mine last Saturday.  We had decided to visit some of the museums that both of us either hadn’t been to or hadn’t been to in a long time.  One of those was the National Museum of the American Indian (yes, it is a mouthful to say…)

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The last time I had been to this museum, I was around 10 or 11 and the visit was cut short for some reason I can’t remember.  I think the museum was closing.  Anyway, I was excited to go back, since I love studying history and other cultures.  (And also fry bread, the one clear thing I remembered from all those years ago.)

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I walked through the many beautiful exhibits with thousands of artifacts and loads of information.  The museum does its best to represent the huge amount of diversity and cultures represented under the term “Native American” (or “Indian”…which is actually a perfectly fine term to use, apparently.)

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When I was a child, I adored anything to do with Indians.  My favorite Disney princess movie was Pocahontas.  (And yes, the story is inaccurate; I grew up 45 minutes from where the events occurred.  The real story of Pocahontas is just as interesting.)  I rejoiced when the American Girl doll line came out with Kaya, who I eagerly begged for (and received) for a Christmas gift.  Half of my childhood games involved the long, storied, often sad history between white and Native Americans.

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Those memories stayed in my head all through the day, as I added to my store of knowledge.  So much diversity and creativity involved in every tribe represented!  So many things to learn!

But there was more to the museum than just cultural artifacts.  Two of the exhibits that stuck with me were one on the Trail of Tears, and the other on the many treaties made between the U.S. and Native tribes.

The Trail of Tears was the forced removal of Cherokee, Choctaw, Chickasaw, Seminole, and Creek people from their ancestral lands in the Southern United States to land in the West, which had been set aside as “Indian Territory”.  (Spoiler Alert: It didn’t stay set aside.)  It was a terrible event by any stretch of the imagination.  Besides moving people off of land that had been theirs for as far as anyone could remember, the process was badly organized and ended up taking at least a decade to finish, with thousands dying as a result (https://www.history.com/topics/native-american-history/trail-of-tears).  It was a process enacted by those who wanted to use Indian land to build a railroad and develop industry.

Industry is great.  But at the cost of what?

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One point that the museum brought up, but I had never thought of, was that not only was this act devastating to the Native peoples being shoved off their land, but that this was something not everyone agreed with.  Many, many people, white and Native, thought it was a bad idea because it went against American values.  It went against the idea that “all men are created equal” and other thoughts woven into the founding of the United States.

It was a betrayal of the things Americans tend to value, like freedom and respect.  So politicians tried to couch it in language to make it seem like the Indians were being “given” land.  Much was made of how great the arrangement was for both sides.

For the other exhibit, my Global Studies Minor side kicked in quite a bit.  In the discussion of treaties between the U.S. government and Native tribes, the exhibit pointed out the many fundamental differences in how each group made treaties and agreements.

For example, Native peoples tended to value oral speech and actions more than written language, whereas no Anglo people would ever recognize something that wasn’t written and signed on.  Native peoples also viewed the land as a resource for people to share, as opposed for something to be parceled off, one bit for each family or group, as was the case in Europe and Anglosphere America.  Treaties to Native peoples were promises of a future reality to be maintained, a way of providing peace for future generations.  It established a relationship.  For the American government, much like their English parent, treaties were like rulebooks that established what could and could not be done.

In the end, most treaties made between the United States and Indian tribes/nations were broken.  And that got me thinking.

I can’t view anything from history without starting to wonder what it has to do with me.  You can’t just tell me something bad happened, and then not give me anything to do with it.  All you get from that is a Ranting Julianna ™.  Which is entertaining but fruitless (at least for me).

The Bible has a lot to say about the importance of honesty, especially for those who claim to follow God and have a relationship with Him.  Answering honestly is described as a “kiss on the lips” (Prov. 24:26).  We are commanded not to “bear false witness” (Exodus 20:16).  And over and over, we are told to desire a “good name,” which means having the kind of reputation that people can trust.

I am not defined by what my country’s government and people did in the past.  But as a follower of Christ, I do have a responsibility to be different in the future.

Christians are called “Christ’s ambassadors”.  Ambassadors are supposed to represent their country well.  As I am about one month out from heading overseas, now seemed as good a time as any to take stock of how well I represent the character of Christ.

Specifically, how honest am I?  Do I keep my word?  Do I pay back money I borrow?  Do I own up to my mistakes?  Do I live a life free of deceit?

I have lied.  I have hidden mistakes.  I have tried to “forget” about the three dollars I owed someone.  I have tried to get out of owning up to errors, to avoid pain and embarrassment. These seem like such little things.  But what do the “little things” say about my reputation?  What legacy am I leaving?

I can’t change the past.  But the future…the future is wide open.  And as far as it depends on me, I will represent my family, my people, and my God well.

I will end this with a story that was at the forefront of my mind all day, as I walked around.

I was about nine or ten years old.  My city park had a “Native American festival” happening, with lots of different booths set up and music and other things.  I was there, being my child self, looking for pretty things to buy.  At one booth, I had selected two porcelain dolls to purchase.

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Similar dolls to this one. And I’m six here, but close enough. Wasn’t I cute

However, I was with my dad, who has the talent of being able to talk to a brick wall and make the brick wall talk back.  He was chatting away with the booth’s owners, and I was left alone for a good while.  Finally, my dad finished his conversation, and we walked to another booth.

I was standing in another line ten or fifteen minutes later, checking how much money I had left.  With a jolt, I realized something: I had too much money.  Since I was waiting around for my dad to finish talking for so long, I had completely forgotten to pay for my dolls.  I quickly rushed back, explained the situation to the owners, and paid the money I owed.  I was a bit embarrassed.  How could I have forgotten to pay?!

I don’t remember the whole exchange with the owners, but I do remember this.  After I paid, they motioned to a small bead-sorter filled with turquoise stones, and said “Because you were so honest, you can have one.”

I collected rocks as a kid, so it was a beautiful reward for me.  A reminder that sometimes, it really does pay to do the right thing.

As I’ve gotten older, that day has stuck in my memory.  I am a huge believer in “paying back evil with good,” even if I wasn’t the one who did the evil.

I can’t pretend that a little girl remembering to pay for something cancels out three-ish centuries of broken promises.  But I can believe that change has to start somewhere.

I don’t know if those people remember that this happened.  I don’t know if it meant anything big to them.  But it meant something to me: my trustworthiness matters.

More than anything, my visit to the museum reminded me of the reputation and legacy I want to leave.  I want to be someone like Daniel, in the Bible, where when his enemies searched for something to bring up as blackmail “they were unable to do so” (Daniel 6:4).

May the life I lead be an arrow, however imperfect, to the faithfulness and trustworthiness of God.

2 Weeks Later…

Hello again.  Wow, September already.  Feels like every year I’m older, the year goes by faster.  Wasn’t it just January?

At any rate, I now have two weeks of Student Teaching under my belt.  I still have yet to have a full week of school (thanks to school starting Tuesday the first week and Labor Day last week) but the exhaustion is already sinking in.

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I love my host teacher, I love the classes, and I love the kids, but being a teacher is HARD WORK.

I teach two ESL (English as a Second Language) classes and help teach two periods English comprised of half regular and half ESL students.  That’s four classes worth of personalities, learning styles, and habits to adjust to.  And some students require more attention than others…

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But there have already been so many good moments.  Like one girl in the English class (which has two regular teachers) saying that she was glad to have three teachers, because it means more help.  Or when I was in the middle of a lecture and a large adhesive-backed piece of paper slowly peeled off the wall.  (“My voice is so loud, it make paper fall off the wall, guys!”).  Or in the middle of a slightly frustrating Friday, hearing students confidently assert to each other that I “never get angry” at them.

These are the reasons I can keep going back every day.  I am learning and growing and yes, ENJOYING myself, even as I chug my precious 14 oz of coffee and use caffeine-enhanced water flavor drops and dream of my bed.  (I have to be AT SCHOOL by 7:25.  Or earlier).

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There are moments where I don’t know what I’m doing (like on Friday, when I could feel the class slipping into slight chaos because that particular class is too smart for their own good and a bunch finished their work early.  Or when I was drowning in lesson plans.)  But there are just as many moments where I know that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

If you pray for anything, pray that I grow in classroom management.  As my host teacher put it, “you are the adult in the room,” which is hard to believe when I don’t quite feel it yet.  It’s stressful to be in charge and do all the work and planning that comes with it.

However, as it stands, I have a lot to do, but also the confidence that I can do it.  And I hope to have many more stories for you as I go along these next several weeks.

Stay tuned for another update either Monday or Tuesday, about my visit to the Museum of the American Indian in D.C. this past Saturday.  I have many thoughts to share (and pictures, too!).

Sneak preview:

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Thanks to everyone who’s looked at the blog.  I’m glad my writing is an encouragement to you all.

Signing off,

Julianna

To Be a Teacher

Tomorrow is my first day of Student Teaching!  I’ve met my host teacher, seen the classroom, and I’m ready to go!

In honor of this first day, I’ve decided to post a poem that I wrote a few months back, after a successful practicum (an hour or so that I would spend at a local school) day.  I had been working with a student when the regular teacher wasn’t there, and I had been complimented by the sub on how well I helped the student.

There is still a small part of me that is in awe of what it means to be a teacher.  It is not a position that is easy, nor is it a position to take lightly.  Some children are at school more hours than at home; they may see their teacher more than their parents on a given day.  In that sense, being a teacher is powerful.  But there is still a part of me that remembers being a student in high school, middle school, and elementary school.  I remember how certain teachers could capture my attention, and how others made me bored or uninterested.  I remember how uncertain I felt at times, about my image and identity, and how nice it was when teachers saw and encouraged my talents.

If I have formed any kind of opinion on what my “philosophy” of teaching is, it is that when a teacher forgets what it was like to be a student, he or she loses an edge that is extremely crucial.  This empathy and remembrance helps teachers to refine their lessons, teaching styles, and way of interacting with students.  It should be a constant reference point to help teachers understand what their students are dealing with.

So, without further ado, I present:

TEACHER

Let us go boldly into the world

Pretending, and then cautiously admitting

That we are powerful

And clever

And brave

And wise

That we are listened to

That our advice matters

That we can change the direction of a life

With one word

With one breath we have the power to heal or to harm

Make clear or confuse

Bring joy or despair

We are the molders of lives and the kindlers of dreams

The future depends on how well we do our jobs

But let us never forget what it was like

To be neither powerful nor wise

To not feel brave or clever

To speak and not be listened to

To give advice and have it scorned

To have our lives swerve to the beat of

So many clashing words

To be healed or harmed; confused or enlightened

To be forever tossed between joy and despair

When a student is full grown, he will be like his teacher

When a teacher is full grown

They will not forget the part of them

That was once a student

 

 

An Unexpected (Or Not So Unexpected) Journey

When I was a kid, I wanted to have an adventure.

I didn’t know exactly what that adventure would look like.  But I knew it looked something like the many books I poured over, and less like my everyday life going to school.  I knew there would be daring and intrigue and mystery, and people that needed help.  It would take place far away from middle class America, somewhere like the Thailand or Nigeria of my mom’s childhood stories, or the India and China of my favorite missionary biographies.  It would involve DOING THINGS, with definitely no sitting around at a desk all day, trying to hide from the teacher that I was reading yet another book.

I think most people want to have an adventure.  But the funny thing about adventures is, they aren’t “all pony rides in May sunshine” as JRR Tolkien wrote.

As of this writing, I have been to places as far as Myanmar and Nepal, and as close as my own city.  I have served, loved, learned, and laughed with so many different people.  And I have learned that, in the end, I am not the author of my life.

Someone else is the orchestrator of my story, and He has a far better plan than anything I could possibly have imagined when I was a nine-year-old playing “orphanage” with my dolls, or dreaming of travel to fantastic destinations.  He has been there for every joy, heartache, confused rant, and moment in between.

And now, He is calling me to another adventure.

In May 2018, I walked across a stage and was handed a rolled-up piece of paper, declaring that I have completed my education at Liberty University.  I still have student teaching, but for all intents and purposes, I have finished college.  Now comes…adulting.

*AHHHHHHHH!  RUN IN HORROR!!!*

(My thoughts on that phrase/the mentality behind it may come later…)

I have seven weeks of student teaching in America, and then another seven weeks in Thailand, where I have been hired as an ESL teacher for 2nd and 3rd graders.

On one hand, this is everything I’ve been dreaming of for over a decade.  On the other…well, I can’t stop thinking of another quote from something Tolkien related.

Gandalf: “You’ll have a tale or two to tell yourself when you come back.”

Bilbo: “Can you promise that I will come back?”

Gandalf: “…no.  And if you do, you will not be the same.”

Life has taught me that Gandalf is exactly right.  Big experiences change us.  Adventures take us out of our very comfortable lives, and until we are on the brink of adventure, we often don’t realize how good our lives are.

A ship in harbor is safe.  But that’s not what ships were built for.

So as I head out on my “maiden voyage,” I hope you’ll join me.  I hope my thoughts and experiences can be an encouragement, challenge, or just a good laugh for you.  And I hope that along the way we can all catch a glimpse of how God is glorified in the crazy, beautiful, heartbreaking, amazing lives of His people.

I guess I can say that, for the next however long…

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Posts should be  at least bi-monthly, with varying themes.  Hope to see you there!