Archives for December 2016

This morning, the elementary school was blessed to witness the Lord’s coming through an adaptation play performed by the darling Kindergarten students. As they read their lines, floated around the stage like angels, and bent their little sheep-adorned heads, I couldn’t help but think of all the times this story … this precious story has been shared.

This Christmas, I hope that you are blessed with family, friends, fun, and an abundance of love. May this poem remind you to slow down and appreciate the truest meaning of Christ coming.
All our love,
Mrs. Raquel Harris
5th Grade Teacher
Westlake Elementary

More than Silence

the weighted world is weary with the load of its own strife
where the cost to keep up living, is the debt of your whole life
and your fractured time is broken into moments that are years
where completing lists and schedules have become your greatest fears
what should be a gracious silence, quiet peace throughout the night
is instead a constant drumming; buzzing noise becomes the white
in a time, a place, a life where things have never been less still
we seek and search and wish for strength to go against our will
as we yearn for something greater, for divinity to stand
we are ever disappointed by the work of our own hand
though we crave a touch of heaven to erase the shadowed world
we have given up on hoping for the master plan unfurled
and our eyes that tire burn for some perspective clear to see
yet we pass the chance to gaze beyond a ribbon, wreath, or tree
so this Christmas doesn’t seem at all like what we should expect
heavy hearts are cracked and bleeding from the things we must correct
then why should He, the Holy Ghost of ancient nights be heard,
when for what seems two-thousand years he uttered not a word
before casting off all hope that things will always be the same
first remember who was sent this night, a God born into shame
if you recall the very paradox, the Lord of all allowed
to his precious, blameless, only Son, the life he was endowed…
a sweet child, born into a time much darker than our own
where the greed and lust for blood and power reigned upon the throne
where the baby’s breath of heaven, still so shallow, soft, and pure
had a destiny of labor, pain, and penance to endure
there was not a chance in all the world that any man might save
so the God of all became a man, a sacrifice, a slave
from one moment’s peace beneath a star, where lamb and cattle stayed
to a banquet that would be his last, with kiss his life betrayed
we determine with our struggles that this cannot be the plan,
when a sinless God eternal came to die for sinful man
Holy Child, Star of Angels, Prince of everything that be
cast and broken, torn and hated - sacrificed for such as we
oh how quickly we remember all the troubles of our days
yet forget so swift and fleeting, gifts eternal in His ways
whether this year we acknowledge God and all that he has given
or remain again, self-focused, of-the-world and money driven
deep beyond the shattered surface of the people that we are
there remains a holy purpose, and His presence isn’t far
so believe that life is more that what we fail to do or see
and remember that your fate is woven in eternity

This past week, my great uncle passed away. More like a grandfather to me, it was a difficult loss … one that you feel longer than just the allotted time of visitation, services, and burial. Needless to say, I was absent for the funeral yesterday, and before I left on Wednesday, my students had one question, “Will you still come to our Christmas Band Concert?” I told them I wasn’t sure, but that I would certainly try.

Starting my trek at seven o’clock in the morning, I realized that it was twelve hours later that I pulled into the Westlake parking lot for the concert. It was an emotionally charged day with loss and remembrance playing tug-of-war with my heart. Part of me wanted to just excuse myself; I hadn’t gone home, but something stronger was prompting me to show up, regardless of my exhaustion. Entering with nine minutes to spare, I saw the bright faces of my students beaming at me when I stepped quietly into the room.

The next hour was an amazing crescendo of movement and sound. From the gentlest of melodies to the power behind a bass drum, the music was tangible in the air, as were the feelings of joy, comfort, and inspiration. The Spirit moved over everyone, and suddenly, it felt like no matter what kind of day anyone had, we were one in that moment … in that celebration of Christ’s coming. Grammy-winning singer/songwriter Ani DiFranco once said about community, “I know there is strength in the differences between us. I know there is comfort, where we overlap.” Last night, teachers and students, parents and friends did just that. We overlapped. Our lives came together for one purpose, in one place … and it was beautiful.

After the performance, I had a myriad of conversations with parents, students, and peers. Their jovial smiles and kind words balmed over the scars of my day, and there was healing. Though my career as an educator is relatively young (10 years) I have worked in, with, or around about a dozen different places. And nowhere have I ever felt the unrestrained care and compassion as I have here at Westlake. This is not just a school, it is a family. It is a place to be brought up in communion with fellow Christians who not only “have your back,” but your heart and your mind as well.

I thank God that he gave me the nudge to push on … to make my twelve hour day a fourteen hour one, just for the sake of love. Just for the sake of Westlake.

-Raquel Harris
5th grade teacher

“From what we get, we can make a living; what we give, however, makes a life.” - Arthur Ashe

For the past few years, third-grade teacher, Miss Betori, has been taking her students on an “Others-Focused” field trip to the Feed My Starving Children organization. It is a mission-driven facility that uses volunteer manpower to package food which is then sent to underprivileged people around the world.

Taking her students is, “My favorite trip of the year,” says Betori. “The whole day is about other people. We come together as a class and serve those less fortunate. We put aside our differences to work as a well-oiled machine, cranking out as many meals as we can in a 90-minute session. We put on hair nets, take silly pictures, and have fun working together to further God’s kingdom. It’s a trip both the kids and I look forward to; the day is always a blessing.”

When I was a little girl, I’ll never forget that every time I was feeling low, my mom told me to, “Get out and volunteer.” From soup kitchens to visiting quadriplegics in the hospital, the act of service was always such a blessing to me. I remember telling her that I felt selfish, because I was supposed to be thinking of others, but helping people just made me feel so good. “That’s the whole point,” she would say. “God is using you the way you’re meant to be used, and following His plan for your life feels good.” It’s like my soul was in communion with the purpose of life … to love one another.

Mother Theresa once said, “It’s not how much we give, but how much love we put into giving.” It has been my experience here at Westlake, that Miss Betori is a part of the rule, not the exception. This is a cultural norm here, to give, and to be blessed by giving. From the kids who reach across the lunch table to share half of what they have with the friend who didn’t have so much, to the child who chose to spend his recess sitting out on the stairs with a friend who was injured, and couldn’t play … the spirit of Christ’s serving heart is alive and strong, and it beats with a rhythm sweet and true. Thanking God for the melodious minds that are humming the tune of service and salvation in these … our own hallowed halls.

- Mrs. Harris
5th Grade Teacher