The Power of the Pencil: Writing a Bigger Story at Region 7
Sometimes, a picture is more than just a snapshot—it’s a symbol.
This one, with me holding an enormous pencil poised over an oversized sheet of notebook paper, was taken after a two-day workshop I led at Region 7 in East Texas. At first glance, it’s lighthearted and fun—and honestly, that pencil is phenomenal. But the deeper meaning of this moment hits me every time I revisit the photo.
At the heart of East Texas, there’s a place where student success begins—not in a classroom, but in the support system behind it.
The Education Service Center (Region 7) is more than a building—it’s a force dedicated to helping school districts elevate performance, empower educators, and create lasting change for students across dozens of communities.
Table of Contents
Years ago, I named Region 7 as one of my long-term goals. Not because it was flashy, but because I knew the kind of educators it served and the kind of ripple effect it could create. To bring my rhythm-based learning model into that space meant reaching not just classrooms, but entire communities. It meant embedding healing, engagement, and empowerment into the very foundation of how schools connect with young minds.
In 2023, that dream came to life.
I was invited not only to speak, but to serve—to bring the fullness of what I believe in, what I’ve lived through, and what I’ve studied into a space designed to uplift the educators who hold the keys to so many young lives. I didn’t walk into Region 7 just as a guest presenter—I stepped into that room as a vessel for something greater. I came with rhythm, with research, with compassion, and with the kind of experiential tools that transform how we see ourselves and our students.
Over the course of the workshop, we explored how rhythm-based practices can rewire the brain, how music therapy can anchor emotional regulation, and how trauma-informed methods rooted in percussion can reawaken attention, cooperation, and confidence in neurodivergent children. We didn’t just talk theory—we got hands-on. We felt the beat. We moved with intention. We laughed, we learned, and we leaned into the science of sound and the art of healing.
What I brought to that space wasn’t just a program—it was a paradigm shift.
And to say it was fulfilling would be an understatement. It felt like alignment. It felt like purpose in motion. For years, I had imagined what it might be like to teach in that kind of environment—to be trusted with the opportunity to lead a room full of educators who shape the heartbeat of their schools. But nothing prepared me for the deep sense of affirmation that came from watching participants light up, connect the dots, and begin thinking differently about what learning and healing can look like.
It was a moment of arrival, but not of arrival at the destination. It was more like stepping into the current of the river I was always meant to be in.
So now, back to that pencil.
What may look like a fun prop to some feels deeply personal to me. That pencil is symbolic of how massive the calling on our lives can be—and how bold our writing must become to match it. The bigger the pencil, the larger the story we’re called to tell. The wider the page, the more room we have to stretch, dream, make mistakes, grow, and try again.
And here’s the thing: that photo wasn’t taken in 2020, when I first imagined this possibility. It wasn’t taken when I was just starting out or still knocking on doors. It was captured after two years of persistence, service, and unseen labor. It was taken in a moment that said, “You’re not imagining this anymore. You’re living it.”
Since that time, I’ve grown—not just in skill, but in clarity. I understand more deeply the value of presence, the power of play, and the importance of showing up in unexpected ways. My journey has taught me that growth doesn’t always look like fast forward. Sometimes it looks like returning to a vision with new tools and a renewed spirit.
That’s the beauty of this work—it gives us space to write new chapters.
So here’s to the big pencils in our lives.
To the blank pages that scare us a little.
To the spaces that once felt out of reach and now feel like home.
Thank you, Region 7, for being part of this story.
And thank you to everyone still holding the pen—and the drumsticks—writing something powerful, one line at a time.
Region 7 isn’t just a place. It’s a central hub—a powerful connector for educational growth across a large stretch of East Texas. From Longview to Kilgore, from Gladewater to Terrell and all the surrounding school districts in between, Region 7 stands as a bridge between vision and execution for educators, administrators, and students alike.
by 
by