Writing Down Words I Know I’ll Erase

The classical Christian school at which I teach meets in the lower level of a church. Each classroom is equipped with a white board and markers, a few important office supplies, and shelves filled with books. We use technology in our classrooms as little as possible, so I spend my classes writing information on the white board. My favorite time to do this is when the students have recently cleaned the white boards. I love to fill that white, empty, shiny space with words–definitions, classifications, descriptions, and diagrams with labels. I do, however, know that as soon as class is over, I’ll have to erase my words so the next teacher can enjoy the welcoming brightness of an empty white board.

White Board Markers, Colored Pencils, and Crayons

The words that I write on the white board during my classes are ephemeral. They last maybe half an hour, more if I’m prompt about my class start times, and then I sweep my fuzzy, black eraser over them and they are gone forever. I could try to recreate them, but they wouldn’t look the same. They’re like snowflakes, each unique and lovely, but lasting only for the duration of below-freezing temperatures. Despite their ephemerality, they are filled with meaning and usefulness. They help the students who like to take notes, they help the students who appreciate a visual way to categorize information, and they help me keep track of what I’ve covered with the students so far that day.

The words that I wrote on the board also convey meaning. They tell my students the definition of ‘mycelium’ and to which Phylum amoebas belong. They explain the difference between drizzle and rain, and why water moves away from an electrically-charged comb. The words I write on the white board matter, even though they are momentary. I thought about all this as I taught my Biology students about genetics last week. I filled the white board with Punnett squares, genotypes of parents and offspring, and the resulting phenotypes. Purple-flowered, white-flowered, yellow peas, green peas, tall, short, over and over again.

When my kids were young, I saved almost every picture they drew and every craft they made. I have pictures of scribbles, labeled proudly with the name of the child, the date, and what that child said the scribbles represented. My son went through a phase in which he taped colored pencils to pieces of paper and gave them away as gifts. I saved a few of these projects, made with love, too. My daughter went through a phase in which she took her favorite crayon colors and drew rows of careful lines with each one and said they made a rainbow. I kept a few samples of these beautiful rainbows, too. The more I am a parent, however, the fewer crafts I save. I’ve realized something unexpected along the way.

Learning Activities

The purpose behind writing on a white board or drawing a picture or making a craft is not always in the product itself. Sometimes the process of writing or drawing or making matters more than the final product. In school, I call these “learning activities.” Biology dissections are a good example. The dissection specimens get thrown away at the end, but the students learn how to identify different parts of the organism and get a sense of how each part of the organism works together to form a whole being. When one of my children takes scissors and paper and then cuts the paper into tiny pieces that fall to the floor like confetti, he or she is practicing fine motor skills, and subsequently learning how to clean up after him or herself. Likewise, I am learning to be a more patient mom, as God is patient with me. My children need to practice manipulating things so that they are capable of doing so as adults and also to help their creativity grow and flourish. I need the reminder that a loving home and a perfect home are two different things entirely.

I frequently write down words I know I’ll erase. But in the end, it doesn’t matter, as long as those words meant something to somebody, as long as they served a greater purpose. I hope their meaning is carried far beyond science class, to knowing God and making him known. I hope the pictures my children draw help point them to the Creator, who made them and loves them. I hope my writing points you, dear reader, to the Author and Perfector of our faith in God.

Photos: Actual examples of what I’ve written on the white board, along with some fun student artwork