I moved into my office today, and it was kind of a reality check. I will be teaching in two days. I will be responsible for the development of freshman composition students. Their future success is in my hands. I know. I don’t take too much of this onto myself, because their actual future success, as well as their success in my class, depends on their own ability to learn, to create, and to manage their own destinies as one might say. At any rate the task is daunting. Take fifty students whose writing levels vary from poor to okay and mold them into passing writers. I hope the assignments that I have come up encourage the students to be creative as well as encouraging them be risky and grow. I look at this as a sort of extension of pastoring. I’m teaching them about writing, not God. You would think writing would be much more manageable as a subject. But are writing and spirituality different? They both are so personal, so formulative, and so bound up in our own intimacy that it seems hard to distinguish where our spirit ends and our writing begins. I look at writing as pouring out my spirit in words. Weird? Maybe.
You can check out my newest project that I hope to stick with for the rest of the year at here.
Reason Breeds Insanity 