I actually take a great many "gods" with me when I go to my classroom each day, and, in a sense, I worship them. There’s the god called “my lesson plan”, a set of steps I pay homage to as if they have some separate power that can provide me with success. I set it before me before each class and respectfully request its help in getting to the goals I have given myself. It’s just words spread across a computer screen, but somehow it seems like a force to be revered and followed. Then there’s the god called “the students”. “Oh please, students”, I almost say to myself, “grant me the respect and reverence necessary to know how to be a good teacher today.” It’s as if the students have the power to provide me with success or failure, either a triumphant day of teaching or a catastrophe. If they agree to be alert and whole-hearted scholars, I win; if not, I lose. It’s a little silly, really, this reliance on powers that have no more power than passing thoughts. The universe flows along through its light-years with no help from my miscellaneous gods, and I need to remember that I’m part of that free-flowing power. All I must to do to be a good teacher is trust the forces that flow through and around me, make a good plan, and praise each of the countless, short-lived, and exceptional moments.