It's Hard to Imagine...

That five years ago tomorrow I was waking to the sound of crying. I remember Scott turning on the t.v. and saying, "Jenna, you have got to watch this." I realized that life would no longer be the same. I had a sense that I had no protection, and I worried that the world was ending. I knew that I was ready for the end; God had reached down, convicted my heart, and I had been saved as a 10 year-old girl. Honestly, though, I wasn't ready to die, and I wasn't prepared to see hundreds lose their lives that awful day.

September 11th, 2001, changed many things for me, and I believe it's not until now that I'm older and what I seem to believe as wiser, that I can look back on that day with humility and glance into the future with pride. God shook our nation that day; I remember praying to God that afternoon, "How could you have let this happen?," and now that shows how young and innocent I was. It was not the "how" but the "WHY" He let this happen that makes the difference.

It takes life-altering experiences for people to change, realize their faults, correct their wrong-doings, and admit their mistakes. I firmly believe that is what God was trying to have us realize that day. I know that our world had/has fallen so far from the truth that I am often times ashamed of what I see in my daily life. I remember how much I had changed right before 9/11; I had lost every ounce of faith left in me by drinking and smoking it away. Imagine if this Christian had drifted where others must have been. Think of those who don't know God at all. Our faith was tested so far beyond comprehension, and I believe that God had a reason for "why."

I won't begin to think of what reasons He had for America to fall on that tragic day, but I continue to seek His face in every situation that befalls me still today. Only God had the ability to save that day, and He had the ultimate choice of taking away. I don't understand it and I probably never will, but I could never forget September 11, 2001... My prayers are still with those who lost more than just their faith that day.

And It's Okay to Admit You're Scared... Heck, It's in Print.

First year teacher here.
First time to be featured in a year long article.
First time to admit I cried on the first day of school.
First time was the last time because now it's in print...

And I LOVE IT!

I've never been more proud of anything in my life, other than the day I knew I was changing my major to Elementary Education and then again when I was actually graduating. But today is just different; knowing that others can read publicly how I have been feeling and have felt for the past two weeks is incredible. Not to mention, the journalist who is doing all of my 6 interviews this year and writing them is fantastic and quotes me word for word. She even put my quotes about God in there. HOW COOL IS THAT?! I am so blessed, ya'll. Really, I am.

Check out the story here.



And visit my teacher page here.

The Things I've Come to Love...

The Racket of Kitchen Utensils
The Sound of Paper Cutting
The Smell of School Lunch
The Sight of Ribbons and Bows
The Thought of Tears from Little Ones
The Unexpected Hugs I Receive
The "Kiss Your Brain" and "Looking Good" Positive Reinforcements
The Honesty of Children
The Dirtiness of Runny Noses
The Nastiness of Goldfish Snacks All Over the Floor
The 19 Hands that Raise to Give Me an Answer
The 38 Feet that Make Constant Noise
The Simplicity of Being 5 Years Old
The Joys of Singing "The ABC Disco" and "Rise and Shine"
The Overwhelmed Feeling of Not Knowing What I'm Doing
The Proud Moment When I Pull It All Off
Their Beautiful Smiles (Whether Their Teeth Have Been Brushed or Not)
The 10 Minutes of "Rest" Time
The Black Carpet
The Short Hand on the 2, and Long on the 6... It's 2:30.
The Nights of Working All Night Long
The Carpal Tunnel from Dotting Every Letter
My Perfectionist Ways
My Organizational Skills
My Inability to Get Anywhere Early
I'm Gaining Patience And I Don't Realize It
I'm Having Hot Flashes
My Class is Late to Everything...
We're Even Late for Recess.
And The Idea that My Kids Love Me Anyway