After 25 years in education, I've discovered that the most valuable teaching lessons aren't found in textbooks or college courses—they're learned in the faculty workroom, beside the copier, over lunch, and in conversations with veteran teachers. Here are 50 pieces of practical wisdom I wish someone had shared with me before my first day in the classroom.
A simple coffee stop led to a question: "Are you doing anything fun today?" It reminded me of one of the greatest joys of the Christian life—watching God's people rally around a family in need.
Every school has that classroom—the one that's too hot, too cold, or plagued by mysterious problems. Mine had a smell so awful it made students' eyes water and left me feeling nauseated. What began as a humorous classroom story became a reminder that teachers often know first when something isn't right—and schools should listen.
For years, I thought my greatest education came from classrooms, graduate school, and earning advanced degrees. Then one student taught me a lesson no textbook ever could—a lesson about compassion, trust, and the choice to keep loving others after your heart has been broken.
As another school year begins, teachers are filled with equal parts excitement and anxiety. New pencils, fresh lesson plans, and hopeful expectations are quickly met with the realities of today's classroom. If you're wondering whether you have what it takes to do it one more time, this encouragement is for you.
Three ladies. That's how Women in the Word began. Five years later, hundreds of women have gathered around God's Word, forming lifelong friendships, growing in faith, and witnessing His faithfulness every step of the way. This is the story of an ordinary promise, an extraordinary God, and the ministry He built.
As I looked around, I realized how different this playground was from the ones I took my own children to in the early 1990s—and even more different from the parks I grew up with in the 1970s.
Coach Herb Brooks is running the U.S. Olympic hockey team into the ground. These are elite athletes, but they’re exhausted — legs burning, tempers rising, frustration written all over their faces. After each sprint, Brooks stops a player and asks: “Who are you?”
We gathered before sunrise, breath visible in the cold air, rain tapping steadily against poster board signs. The cardboard softened as the morning wore on, ink bleeding at the edges, but nobody left.
“It’s the teachers’ lounge. Or the workroom. Or whatever name your school gives to the small, windowless space where hope — and hygiene — go to die.”
