This morning, I found myself really thinking about what a blessing this semester has been for me, and not in a loud or obvious way, but in a quiet, steady kind of way that just sits with you. I’ve had the opportunity to pour into the next generation of teachers, and I don’t think I had fully stopped to take that in until now.

I’ve been working closely with my student teacher, and when I reflect on her journey—from when she first started with me during her 40-hour clinicals, to her 60 hours in the fall, and now in this full internship experience—it’s been incredible to watch her growth over time. It hasn’t been rushed or forced. It’s been gradual, layered, and very real.

When she first came into the classroom, she was already capable. She knew her content, she was prepared, and she had everything she needed academically. But like many who are just stepping into this work, she was nervous. You could hear it in how quickly she spoke at times, especially when she wasn’t fully sure of herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t know what she was doing—it was that her confidence hadn’t quite caught up with her competence yet.

And honestly, that’s something I think many of us can relate to.

What has been so meaningful for me is watching that shift happen, not all at once, but little by little. Through modeling, through conversations, through her simply being in the space and doing the work, she began to settle into herself. She slowed down. She became more intentional. She started trusting her voice and her decisions in the classroom.

At the same time, she wasn’t passive in the process. She sought out mentorship. She asked questions. She paid attention not just to me, but to other educators in the building. She made an effort to build relationships and learn from the people around her, not as someone just completing a requirement, but as someone preparing to fully step into the profession. That kind of openness and willingness to grow makes all the difference.

Now here she is, about to graduate early at 20 years old, carrying a 3.8 GPA, and preparing to walk into her own classroom. And I can honestly say that I am proud of her—not just for what she has accomplished academically, but for the educator she is becoming.

I have about three weeks left with her, and while there is still room for growth—as there always will be—I believe she is ready. And that realization has brought me a sense of fulfillment that is hard to fully put into words.

This experience has also caused me to reflect on my own journey and the people who poured into me, especially my mom. She had a way of investing in others that went beyond obligation. She was patient, intentional, and deeply committed to helping people become who they were meant to be. As I’ve been working with my student teacher, I’ve seen glimpses of that same spirit in myself, and that has meant more to me than any title I’ve ever held.

Being a department chair or a dean comes with its own level of responsibility, but this kind of work—walking alongside someone, guiding them, encouraging them, and eventually releasing them—is different. It’s more personal. It’s more relational. It feels like legacy work.

And I’m grateful that I’ve had the chance to be a part of her journey, not just at the end, but from the beginning stages all the way to this point. To see that kind of growth unfold over time is a gift.

Sometimes we plant seeds and never get to see what becomes of them. But every now and then, we’re given the opportunity to watch something grow right in front of us.

And that, in itself, is a blessing.

In love and charity,

Giselle (aka) Blooming-Lillie