Miss Independent Fell In Love

Some would say I’m a little independent.  Or a lot independent.  And I suppose it’s true–I’ve gone and done and seen a lot in 27 years.  The thing is, even the most independent of us are still prone to falling in love…

The Meeting

The story of our meeting may seem random.  Because it was.  We met at a Lindy-Hop exchange in Knoxville, TN in October of 2007.  An exchange is an entire weekend devoted to swing dancing–Lindy-Hop and related dances in particular.  Yes, these events really do exist.  People gather from near and far just to dance with each other, day and night.  It was at one of the “late nights”, a dance that goes into the wee hours of the morning, that Erin Young (now Fassl) introduced them.  She and Seth had danced together a few times that day, during which Erin found out Seth also lived in Nashville.  Always eager to connect local dancers, Erin introduced Seth to Shawna Johnston and to me, and the three of us formed a fast friendship.

The next afternoon, Seth and I found ourselves enjoying the sunshine and some good conversation on a grassy knoll at an afternoon dance and pig roast.  At that moment, Seth knew he was a goner.  He knew he was in for something special in getting to know his new-found friend.  I, on the other hand, was enjoying myself but was pretty clueless about Seth’s little epiphany.  Over the next weeks and months back in Nashville, Seth began hanging out with his new dancing friends and getting to know us better.  This consisted of a large variety of activities, from dumpster diving to church to dancing, all of which afforded him the opportunity to get to know me (and the others, of course!) a little bit better.

Meanwhile, I found it mysterious that this boy I had just met came to hear my stories from Mozambique, where I had spent the previous summer.  Other than this, I remained clueless, but still enjoyed our new friendship.  Then, in December of that year, I began a new job teaching 7th grade English in one of the roughest school’s in Nashville.  Through the extremely difficult semester that followed, I learned that I could count on Seth to cheer me up and give a listening ear after a bad day (and most of the days were pretty bad).  Whether it was with a surprise hot chocolate and a back rub, going for drinks, or just dancing on Saturday night, Seth brought some joy in a dark time.

When the semester finally ended (Praise Jesus!!!), I needed a change of scenery and took a trip to Europe to visit friends and family.   Unbeknownst to poor Seth, I was seeking employment in London while there, wanting to flee the world of American Public Education.  Fortunately for both of us, God had other plans.  I was not granted a visa and returned to Nashville to look for a new job—and a new place to live.  Still Seth was there, to help me move out of my apartment, to provide a garage in which to store my things while I was couch-hopping for a month, and then to help me move my things into my new home.  He was there to play pool and dance downtown, to watch movies on his roommate’s gigantic television, and, of course, to dance (and frequently drop me on the floor) on Saturday nights.  And he was there to celebrate with me when I found a job teaching Kindergarten for the following school year.

After a disappearing act of his own (while switching jobs), Seth started finding excuses to call me again, usually related to a dance.  On one Saturday afternoon before a dance that night, I, as I sometimes tend to do, had locked my keys in my car.  Having AAA membership, Seth offered his services and magically appeared to spend the next 3 hours waiting with me and then to buy me dinner “because you’ve had a long day and I had a good day at work.”  A couple weeks later, while I was home recovering from Strep Throat, Seth texted to ask me to the Vandy homecoming game.  This happens to be my alma mater, and Seth happened upon tickets to the game.  I agreed to go and Seth rushed from work to pick me up.  Unfortunately, the friend who had given him tickets had also given him bad information, and the game was over by the time he got to my house.  But the evening was not lost, as the two of us went to Sarah Burros’ house for Susanna’s yummy taco soup (where it was Seth and all the Vandy grads).  After that, Seth and I found ourselves talking for hours, late into the night.  It was then that I realized I had feelings for my friend and it was then that Seth decided he’d be crazy not to make a move.

The next weekend, it was me and all the Greenville grads, as I went with Seth to a Housewarming/Halloween party at Jacob and Katie Eckeberger’s apartment.  After some shameless flirting and time that passed too quickly, we ended up back at Seth’s house watching the childhood classic ET.  It was then that Seth made his move…and held my hand (aw, how sweet).  This was the beginning of what would turn out to be a rich and meaningful relationship—just two weeks before we returned to the Knoxville Lindy Exchange, where we had met the year before.

The 7 months that followed were filled with late night walks, hours-long conversations, sunrise on Love Hill and early morning trips to the Pancake Pantry; joint experiments in the kitchen, goofy things that make us laugh, meeting friends and small group at the Kuos; spending holidays together, the Winter Solstice party at the Marion farm, and MLK weekend in Atlanta; dancing and kisses (lots of kisses) and falling in love.

The Proposal

Then, on May 31st, Seth took me to Sambuca, a nice restaurant downtown that has live music and amazing food. His excuse for this rather nice date was that it was our 7 month anniversary, and we didn’t celebrate 6 months because his parents were in town. He had informed me that morning that we had a date that night, telling me to wear something nice that made me feel pretty. That evening, Seth picked me up and surprised me with reservations at Sambuca. We had gone there once for his birthday and both enjoyed the atmosphere. But he loves going to new restaurants, so I was surprised he was taking me somewhere he’d already eaten before. Of course, there were reasons for this, as I would soon find out…

Seth had a vase of beautiful red and white roses waiting on our table for us when we arrived (he’s thoughtful like that) and we took our time with an appetizer and drinks. We enjoyed some live fusion jazz, enjoyed seeing each other after I’d been in Florida for a week (during which Seth had flown to Kansas City to talk to my parents about our future). Just before the main course was delivered to our table, Seth suddenly had to go to the bathroom. Of course, the food was delivered while he was gone, so I was concerned that it was getting cold. Then Seth came back saying he needed to take his camera up to the front because the manager had seen it and wouldn’t allow us to tape the band. Earlier in the evening, I had noticed Seth had a new camera in his case, this one a video camera. I had asked him all kinds of questions about it and we’d taken a couple of pictures and short videos. Now he said the manager had seen it out and was insisting Seth bring the camera to the host stand until we leave. This was when I knew something was going on. A minute later, I see Seth walk past our table, without stopping or looking at me, and before I knew what was happening, he was sitting down at the piano on stage and dedicating this song to me…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=42huBaD2XMQ

Kindergarten Quotes

One of the greatest and most amusing parts of teaching young children is the crazy things that come out of kids’ mouths.  The following are some quotes and antics from this year of teaching Kindergarten.  Remember that for the majority of the students quoted, English is not their first language and this is their first exposure to school.  Enjoy!

Me: What was your favorite part of today?
Joseph: Sex!
…pause…
Me: Oh, you mean the number six? (i.e. learning to write #6)
Joseph, with an emphatic nod: Yeah!

Me: What words start with the letter “h”?
Osiriz: whore! (she was trying to say “horse”)

“The hot water gets the yuckies out of my private parts.” ~Ben (with adorable little British accent)

“In my class, we stand on the rail because, you see, I’m only five and I’m not tall enough to see over it yet.” ~Ben (very matter-of-factly)

5 year old love affair:
Olga (mixed Spanish and English):  Angelo’s my boyfriend! (giggling)
Angelo: (turning red) “No!” (shaking his head and covering his ears with his hands)
Olga: Yes you are! Ha ha! (taunting him, pointing and laughing)

Joseph: “Ms. C, you’re crazy!” (probably in response to my making funny faces at the class in order to get their attention)

“Ms. C, you have something on your face!” (multiple kids, upon entering the classroom one morning…I wore glasses instead of contacts that day)

“Ms. C, I’ve been waiting for this day my whole life!” ~Cristian, about the 100th day of school

“Sometimes, when you don’t pay for your house, you have to move.” ~Andrea P, about how she lives in a new house now.

“In my other country (referring to Somalia), the police come with guns and you have to run away at night.” ~Hani

Genaro
Genaro, one of my most entertaining students, almost deserves an entire post of his own.  His antics kept me entertained and telling stories all year.  First, let me explain that Genaro is quite a chunky boy and has a substantial belly that hangs over his pants.  He is also one of those students whose things are always a complete mess, who can’t keep track of anything, won’t clean up after himself unless reminded a million times and monitored constantly, and whose work always looks like a disaster.  For mother’s day, the students made construction paper flowers to take home.  Genaro’s flowers were square.  Genaro was also the student who regularly used entirely too much glue and spilled puddles of Elmer’s on tables, floors, chairs, etc.  He was a mess.  But, he did genuinely try.  Most of the time..

One day, the class was lined up for lunch, about to walk through the hallway.  Genaro’s section of the line happened to be next to some backpack/coat hooks.  For reasons that remain a mystery to me, Genaro decided that would be a good time to take the bottom of his polo shirt, lift it up, and try to hang it (and thereby his upper body) on the coat hook.

Genaro also very much liked fairy tales, castles, princesses and witches, and, most of all, Hannah Montanah.  Despite the many comments from his classmates that these things are “for girls and you’re a boy,” Genaro talked about them constantly.  One day, he decided to show us all his skills by dancing and singing like Hannah Montannah.  He was very proud.  I tried not to laugh, I really did.

“Look! It’s Barak Obama!” ~Joseph, seeing a black man in an animated movie about Martin Luther King Jr.

Osiriz, naming off words that rhyme: “Hit, bit, tit…”

“I know the language of the bears.” ~Cristian, on why he wouldn’t be scared of the 3 bears if he were Goldilocks.  He informed me that he wouldn’t have to run away.  He would say to them, “Let’s go play.”

Tuesday was picture day, which included individual and class pictures.  Monday at dismissal, Genaro informed me excitedly that he would be wearing a crown and red dress for picture day.  I think he was actually referring to a red cape but didn’t know the word for it.  I hope.  The next morning, I of course completely forgot that it was picture day.  I happened to have some makeup in the car, so at the beginning of my plan time, I ran to the car and put some on before meeting the class in the library for the class picture.  When I walked in, the girls were like, “Oooh, Ms. C, I like your eyes,” very admiring of the eye shadow.  The boys, on the other hand, said things like, “What’d you do to your face??!”

Jessica G, during Morning Greeting: “Say good morning to each other.”

Saleban: “Good morning Each Other!”

“Ms. C., I’m so happy I cannot stop being funny!” ~Cristian (referring to field day)

Hani: “What happened to my marker purple and my pencil?”
Genaro: “A monster take it at night!”

Waiting in the hallway for the P.E. teacher:
Me: Put a bubble in your mouth Jontrez (i.e. stop talking)
Jontrez, earnestly: But I can’t breathe when I have a bubble in my mouth!
Me: Breathe through your nose.
Jontrez: Oh.  Like smelling?

“Inney miney moe, have a tiny toe. The tiger with the toe. If you not it.” ~Hani, choosing between two things

Most Interesting Teacher Gift Ever…
Finally, there are the gifts students bring to their teachers.  They are sincere and sweet and odd and interesting.  And sometimes, quite surprising…  During the last week of school, Joseph came to school with a gift for me.  He was super excited, with a huge smile on his face as he held up a small red gift bag before even walking into the classroom.  “Ms. C!”  He exclaimed, “I brought you this!  It’s clothes!”  They’re so funny with their little gifts (which I know are not easy for their parents to come by).  Last week, another student, Jessica, who moved here from Los Angeles, had given me a Hollywood T-shirt to wear on Field Day.  Osiriz has brought scented hand soap and Brandon, chocolates.  Two girls have brought single red roses, and of course I get an entire garden’s worth of weeds flowers every day at recess.  But Josephs’ gift by far takes the cake.

The tag on the gift bag has a note clearly written by his mother.  She speaks just a little English, and wrote “For: Ms. C de Joseph thank you for year”  Inside the bag was a bra and panties.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Lacy and white.

Needless to say, I was pretty much speechless.  I had no idea how to respond.  Joseph was SO excited to give me a gift.  I asked if his mother knew he’d brought these, and he said yes.  Of course, all the other children wanted to see what it was but I wouldn’t let them (because they are certainly not all as clueless as Joseph is).  The tags are in Spanish and apparently one of the Mexican women in our parent group makes lingerie here in town, so I’m guessing they’re from her boutique or something…?  Speechless.

This Thing Called Hope

Some weeks into last semester, I found myself asking the Lord about hope. “Hope deferred makes the heart sick,” Proverbs 13:12 points out, and my heart was sick. Too much hope had been crushed, too many ideals and desires and passions broken again and again by the hard reality I saw every day. There were weeks, when the brokenness and death and darkness were too overwhelming, when I would cry out to the Lord, longing for a hope that did not disappoint. What is hope? I wondered. Where does it come from? Why do our spirits need it so desperately? And where is it when every vulgar, hateful and angry insult imaginable is hurled, or when books and pencils begin replacing those words? When students are literally trying to escape out the window because we’re on lockdown for eight hours due to gang-related violence? Where is hope when the police come with metal detectors and drug-sniffing dogs and a place of learning turns into a prison? When there’s blood on the walls because the chaos and defiance are stronger than I am? And perhaps more importantly, why should I even seek it out when the disappointment of its failure is so overpowering, so utterly deflating? What is the point of opening myself to that kind of despair again and again?

I searched the Scriptures, wanting to understand this strange and intangible thing we call hope. I read Romans 5’s claims that somehow, inexplicably, we can “rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.” What? Suffering ultimately produces hope? How?? This upside-down, inside-out Kingdom never ceases to take me off guard, challenging me to lower myself in humility and learn to see things from the underside, from the perspective of the One who lowered himself all the way to death. What’s more, Paul goes on to proclaim that “hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.” How is this possible when you feel confronted on all sides by all the ways hope is disappointing you?

So I looked up the Greek word for hope, which comes from “elpis”, from the primary word “elpo”. This means “to anticipate, usually with pleasure. It is the expectation of good and that in which one confides or to which he flees for refuge” (www.blueletterbible.org). It is the expectation of good and a place to flee for refuge. What is it about hope that forms refuge?

Then I was drawn back to Romans 15:13: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” Of course! Hope has something to do with the Holy Spirit. Hope overflows by the power of the Holy Spirit and is grounded in trust in the Lord. And trust in the Lord is based on His unfailing love. “‘Though the mountains be shaken and the hills be removed, yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken nor my covenant of peace be removed,’ says the Lord, who has compassion on you” (Isaiah 54:10). There’s the core: the substance of hope is found in God’s unfailing love.

What’s more, this is how suffering eventually produces hope, because as you learn to persevere, as you experience first-hand the Lord’s incomparable strength at work in you, when you see his grace and his peace and love make the impossible possible, you come to know him in a new and deeper way. It is here, when you know firsthand the faithfulness of His unfailing love, that hope springs new. Every time a dream that has died rises again by the power of Jesus Christ; every time the redemption of God restores a gift that has been stolen; every time the beaten down lift their heads and stand strong in the eternal promise of the Father’s love; every time the broken find their strength renewed by the unmistakable joy of the Lord, hope springs new. When you see first-hand that the enemy can’t win, that his power has been stripped from him, that the greater power of Jesus overshadows him, hope is birthed in you. When you drink from the living waters of the Spirit, from the fountain of life that flows through your soul, renewing and refreshing and you are made new, hope rises. This is the beauty of the Kingdom, of the God who loves us with an unfailing love. Only he can take the refuse of the world and the darkest nights and create new life through this inscrutable thing we call hope.

“The Lord delights in those who fear him, who put their hope in his unfailing love.” ~Psalm 147:11

I Repent

I heard Derek Webb’s “I Repent” for the first time the other day and it stopped me in my tracks. “I repent,” he begins, “of my pursuit of America’s dream…of living like I deserve anything. Of my house, my fence, my kids, my wife in our suburb where we’re safe and white. I am wrong and of these things I repent.” Talk about cutting to the quick. No bushes to beat around or sugared coatings here. He goes on:

i repent, i repent of parading my high liberty
i repent. i repent of paying for what i get for free
and for the way i believe that i am living right
by trading sins for others that are easier to hide
i am wrong and of these things i repent

i repent for judging by a law that even i can’t keep
of wearing righteousness like a disguise
to see through the planks in my own eyes

i repent, i repent of trading truth for false unity
i repent, i repent of confusing peace and idolatry
by caring more of what they think than what i know of what we need
by domesticating you until you look just like me
i am wrong and of these things i repent

(“I Repent” words and music by Derek Webb. Listen here.)

Derek apparently took a lot of flack for this song, for the entire album (I See Things Upside Down). People would walk out of his concerts, calling him judgmental and questioning his love for the church. Some friends of mine recently began reading and discussing Shane Claiborn’s book The Irresistible Revolution, and some of the initial response seems to be the same: he’s so harsh, so judgmental of the church, of suburban America and her extravagant wealth. Where is the love? When I returned from Mozambique, I encountered the same. I found it incredibly difficult to relate to the American church, to reconcile what I had seen and known there and what I saw here. Difficult to reconcile the poverty with the excess, the pursuit of God with the pursuit of comfort, the wholehearted, untamed faith of Mozambican believers with the safe, easy Christianity of the West. For all our grand statements to the world about faith and morality and the love of Jesus, all I saw were whitewashed tombs. Including my own.

And so I began grappling with my own privilege, my lifestyle, my day to day choices that are only possible because of the exploitation of others. I struggled with big business, corporate America, and the economics of consumption and capitalism. I longed for a Body of Christ who loved people more than their religion and Jesus more than their own doctrine. For an “Evangelical America” who is more interested in knowing their Savior than selling Him to the masses. I hungered and thirsted for the freedom and simplicity of true righteousness, of holiness that is not about standards but about the only One who is Holy.

I started looking for more, for ways to live counter to this culture that I found so overwhelmingly difficult to re-integrate into. And I got called harsh and judgmental. I felt judged for not fitting back into the American church, for asking questions, for being discontent with the typical evangelical American life. I got reminded that God loves the American church and that I needed to love her too. This was true. God does love the American church, and I did need to repent for judging her. But sometimes I wonder, too, if He also weeps for her, for what she’s missing in her embrace of the American Dream. I wonder if in our fear of judging we forget to truly love. My question now is, can we have this discussion apart from judgment?

Because the truth is, God is a God of the poor. The whole of Scripture shows us this core aspect of His character. He is the Advocate of the marginalized, the Lover of the forgotten, the Redeemer of the oppressed. We have to be able to dialogue in love and with humility, without pridefully accusing one another of judgment when we hear something we would rather not. Do we stay in the suburbs because they’re safe and white? Do we love property values more than we love people? Do we shy away from the asking the hard questions and taking a critical look at our comfortable lifestyles because we fear the truth? It’s far easier to dismiss the entire dialogue as too judgmental than to face the challenge of sacrifice. But when we don’t, we miss the heart of the gospel. When we ignore the implications of our lifestyles, we ignore the poor. And when we ignore the poor, we miss the heart of God. We miss the core of who God is and what He cares about. When we take the easy road of not asking, not discussing, not wrestling with the cost of our lives, we miss the opportunity to know Him.

In the end, I would rather be accused of judgment and repent a thousand times over than to miss the heart of God because I was too afraid to enter the dialogue. So I repent. I repent of choosing comfort over relationship, convenience over conservation. Of justifying a powerless faith rather than risk disappointment. I repent of standing by silently while broken systems exploit broken people. Of being more concerned with the value of the dollar than with the impact of my economic choices. I am wrong and of these things I repent.

Musings on Critters and the City

So I recently moved out of my apartment (a duplex, actually) and was thinking while packing about the various critters I have known in that apartment over the last two years. It was an older building and not in the best condition ever, so we had lots of…visitors.

First, there Bob the Friendly Front-door Spider. Those who know me know I have this penchant for naming the various critters I meet, especially when I have more extensive contact with them. My philosophy is that if I name them then we can be friends and I don’t have to be skittish about their being around. Therefore, as I’m not particularly fond of spiders and would prefer they keep their distance from me, I noticed and named Bob on the day we moved in. He had constructed an intricate home right by the front door, which meant we greeted each other as I came and went. Granted, it could be argued that I did most–or all–of the greeting, but I maintain Bob waived back whenever I said hello. Bob died about a year after we moved in. I think he lived a happy life as the guard of our front door.

Then there’s Max. Max, we eventually learned, was a squirrel. Well, is a squirrel–he still lives at 12 Oaks Manor (this is the name my roommate and I gave our humble abode, after the slightly sketchy 12 Oaks Motel up the street). Max, if nothing else, was LOUD. Energetic and loud. Think World War III taking place in your attic, especially after he had mated (with Maxine, of course) and had a little brood of babies running around. Most days I fought with Max, wishing he would quit disturbing my slumber.

Penelopes 1 thru 9 were my least favorite visitors. The first Penelope was a mouse–a baby, as it turned out–who first showed her face in our kitchen. She met a swift end due to her love of peanut butter. Unfortunately, though, Penelope 1 was just the beginning of the War Against the Mice that quickly ensued. 7 babies and 1 adult mouse later, we finally found and patched up a hole in the building’s foundation and rid our home of the large family that had taken up residence there. But not before a multitude of occasionally effective traps and eventually poison. I will admit, even naming the Penelopes did not enable me to fully befriend them and I temporarily moved out in the height of said war.

Spring brought my favorite creature-friends. Jack the Rabbit showed up early in the spring, followed by Eudora and Whelty, a Bluejay couple on the verge of hatching little ones. Jack could be seen investigating the surrounding trees and bushes, always keeping a safe distance and disappearing into the shadows. Eudora and Whelty, however, were much more friendly and took a liking to the tree just outside the kitchen window. I wonder how their hatchlings are faring…

I also wonder if my next home will boast the same number of creature-friends. Probably not–I do live in the city. But it’s kind of nice, amid our concrete surroundings and efforts to ward off any creaturely invasions of our sterile homes, to be reminded that, really, we are the visitors in their worlds and once upon a time we were all content to dwell together.

Memorable Moments

I am happy to say that the school year is officially over and I survived the semester! And, all but 9 of my students (of about 50) tested OUT of remedial reading and into regular or advanced reading and language arts classes for next year. I’m so proud of them!! Below are some of my most memorable moments from the semester—shocking, sad, hopeful, funny…Moments that, whether they encouraged me or discouraged me, made me cry or made me laugh, shaped my first teaching experience.

TCAP review question: “What are the three states of matter?”
Student response: “Texas.”

A student-created test question over Wolf Rider by Avi, a book my classes read: “What would you have done if you were in Andy’s shoes? (Andy’s the main character.)
Student response: “I would try to get in his sock (and) get out of his shoe when he take his shoe and his sock off.”
—
By far my favorite story of the year is the day Quintin, who was one of those students that made you laugh and want to smack him at the same time, went up to another 7th grade teacher during passing time and said, “Ms. Neal, can I come in your class today, rip my shirt off, and just go crazy?” You can imagine what her response was. As it happened, Quintin had my class next. So as soon as the bell rang, he proceeded to rip his shirt off, swing it around over his head, and walk the catwalk down the center of the room, amid much laughter and applause from his classmates. I told him he wasn’t in a strip club, so he should put his shirt back on and sit down. I’m not exactly sure how I kept a straight face…
—
One morning before school, I was standing with two of my fellow 7th grade teachers monitoring students as they went to their lockers, watching for tension that might lead to fighting. My colleagues were discussing a fight that had happened the previous afternoon. “I didn’t see that fight,” one teacher said. “I was in my own little private piece of hell.” We laughed almost uncontrollably at her apt characterization of her classroom—of each of our classrooms. It was one of those statements that so perfectly expresses the dismal reality of a situation that you have to laugh or you might just go crazy.
—
One afternoon, as the result of an incident in the lunch room, two girls in my 6th period class, previously the best of friends, were not speaking to each other anymore. Of course, there was a fair amount of 7th grade girl drama involved in the situation, but the bottom line was that the girl who had been slighted needed to save face and had chosen the cold shoulder as her method. Thankfully, she was also one of the most sensible and grounded of all our 7th graders, and both girls trusted me by that point in the year. So the following morning before school started, I asked each of them if they’d be willing to talk about what happened, locked everyone else out of the classroom (much to the other students’ dismay), and facilitated a discussion. Within five or ten minutes, both girls had had the opportunity to express their feelings and give their perspectives on the situation, talk through the conflict, and decide to be friends again. I was glad to give each of them a chance to be heard (which they don’t often get), and to have the opportunity to model with these students an alternative way of resolving conflict.
—
Shermesha, after the students had a substitute: “Why weren’t you here? We didn’t learn anything because you weren’t here!”

Result of Lockdown one day: $5000.00 worth of crack confiscated from a 6th grader.

Charmika, to another student who was being disrespectful during class: “Shut the &%#$ up! We don’t treat her like that anymore!” (You know you’ve conquered Jere Baxter when a student takes up for you!)
—
Student responses to a writing prompt asking them to describe a day that stands out in their memories:
“One of my most exciting days I can remember is when I began the 7th grade. I was excited but time went slow the first 9 weeks. Then time sped up the second nine weeks of school. It felt like time paused the 3rd nine weeks. The Ms. Crisafulli came and that made time (feel) even slower until she gave us jobs. Now we are in the 4th and last nine weeks. And now the teachers deside to give us homework and I’m glad I am not going to this school next year. And hopefully time will go faster next year. This is my essay.” (Apparently I am the teacher who makes time stand still. Excellent.)

“They day I loved is when my mama let me get my belly button peiresed it hurt like a mother.” (That was the entire essay.)

“My bad day was when my daddy went to Jail, when I was 5 years old. That was a bad day for me because now I have to be try to be good, because my mommy real can’t raise a man. If he was out I would not get the way I do…That hurts me every day not to see him…” (From a very difficult student who is off-task and in trouble a lot. Gives a little insight into his world…)

Student describing camp: “We stay at EKU for one week. Then we take a Grey hound back. first we pack up all our stuff then we stay one more night. We got vans to ride around in Kentucky if we want to. We got tickets for parking close to the buildings, but we didn’t pay for them.”
—
A note from Quintin, written in orange highlighter: “I’m sorry 4 the way I act.”

On one of the Monday mornings when the teachers had an inservice day (meaning students were off school), we noticed a 7th grade boy at his locker.
Student, looking around: “Where are all the other students?”
Teacher: “There’s no school for students today.”
Student, trudging back down the hallway: “Man, this happened to me last year too!”
—
As we neared the end of school, some of my students began threatening me (“I can’t wait till the end of school—you’re life’s gonna be hell,” “I’m gonna beat your ass,” etc. They were threatening to egg our cars, throw water balloons in class, and whatever else they could think of.) On the second to last day, as the students—a group that particularly hated me—were preparing to leave class, they started talking about all the reasons they hated me so much. Laquan, though, said, “You’re a little extreme on the marks (meaning I’m strict), but you’re not so bad.”
—
This is a true story. It was Sunday night in the last two weeks of school. My students and I had just suffered through reading Dickens’ A Christmas Carol (because they didn’t have a teacher at Christmastime and it was required). Have you ever seen the vocabulary in that book? It was nearly impossible for my students to understand. After watching the classic version of the movie, I planned to have them watch a contemporary interpretation called A Diva’s Christmas Carol, which I had picked up from the library. Then we would compare and contrast the book with the two versions of the movie. Good times at the end of the year, when everyone’s stir crazy. Unfortunately, I accidentally left my car window half-way down, with the video tape sitting in the passenger’s seat, one day and it poured. So here I am at 9:00 Sunday night, testing the video to see if it still worked properly. It didn’t. I searched the city for another copy but found none. I was tired and frustrated, out of time and with no other ideas. So, I took the video tape out of the VCR, laid hands on it and started praying in tongues (I’m serious). I commanded the thing to be fixed in Jesus Name, put it in my bag, and went to bed. The next day, it worked perfectly, and my kids loved it. Thank you, Lord!! He heals everything—even inanimate objects, apparently!

The Sacrifice of Praise

I was in church one Sunday morning recently, after a long and difficult week that had left me weak, broken, and beaten down, longing for the Lord’s refreshing touch of Life. I came before Him knowing my spirit would be revived with His hope that springs eternal. As I began to worship, praising my great and glorious God, I wept from the pain of it. Not from the pain of the week or of my brokenness, but from the pain of praise. Praising Him literally hurt. As I turned my face upward and gazed into His blazing eyes of Love, it was like I could feel my flesh dying, like a knife was gently slicing away layers of my heart.

There’s a passage in Voyage of the Dawn Treader, a book in the Chronicles of Narnia series by C.S. Lewis, that offers an image of what I felt that morning. Through a series of events involving an island and hidden treasure, Eustace has turned into a dragon—the result of his own greed and fear. Scared and wondering what to do next, Eustace has this encounter with the ferociously gentle lion Aslan, who begins removing the dragon scales:

“The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And…it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt. The only thing that made me able to bear it was just the pleasure of feeling the stuff peel off…Then he caught hold of me—I didn’t like that much for I was very tender underneath now that I’d no skin on—and threw me into the water. It smarted like anything but only for a moment. After that it became perfectly delicious and as I started swimming and splashing I found that all the pain had gone…”

The thing about sacrifice is that it involves death. And death is always painful. I think this is true of the sacrifice of praise that David talks about as well. Praise is a sacrifice when it requires death: death of the self, death of the flesh, death of our independence and self-sufficiency in the face of His greatness. And whether we’re entombed in scales of our own making—the results of our own sin—or in those piled on by others—the results of a fallen world—praise gives God the opportunity to make us tender and new again as He cuts through these hardened layers. Praise in the midst of darkness creates space for Him to move.

It’s a pain that brings perfectly delicious freedom when praise is a sacrifice, when blood is spilled as the flesh dies on the altar of His grace, in the fellowship of His suffering. It’s in those times when praising God is heart-wrenching, to the very core of our souls, that He can peal off our scales, freeing our spirits to see, to know, His surpassing greatness and indelible beauty. It is in those times that He gathers our tears of brokenness and trial and turns them into tears of joy. Yet another expression of the resurrection and redemption of Jesus Christ, He uses our pain poured out in a moment of surrender to sooth and to heal; He washes us with the Light of his Life to make us new once again.

Daily Bread Means Daily

“Give us this day our daily bread.” ~Matthew 6:11

One thing that I am quickly learning through this new job of mine is what it means to depend on the Lord for daily bread, what it is to be totally dependent on Him for strength and nourishment in each new day. I don’t know that I’ve ever been so keenly aware—even in Mozambique—of what it is to need God to give me strength every single day. Not just coming to Him to be refreshed and recharged here and there. Not even just coming to Him every morning to spend time in the Word, in worship, in prayer out of desire for more of Him or desire for deeper relationship. It’s more than that. This kind of daily dependence is borne of necessity, out of the deepest part of my being, where I know that I know that I know that I can’t face the day without Him.

The thing about relying on God for the day’s bread, for each day’s grace, strength, and endurance, is it’s just that: daily. He promises me enough strength for the day and invites me to come to Him with each new day. Taking something as stressful and overwhelming as my job currently is to me one day at a time is more than a figure of speech or a piece of good advice. It is a requirement for survival. Because, like the Israelites had to rely on new manna from Heaven every day and couldn’t save one day’s manna for the next, I can’t store up the strength the Lord gives me today for tomorrow. I can try, but it will be spoiled and full of maggots. Today’s strength won’t be the fresh and nourishing strength that I need tomorrow. It’s enough for today. And I need it all today. Turns out God is about the day by day, about our continuous dependence on Him and Him alone.

This principle of day by day is so often counter-cultural for me. Our culture teaches us to plan for the future, to set goals and work toward them, to have long-term career plans, savings accounts, and Roth IRA’s by the time we reach our mid-twenties. Our culture teaches us to live today in the context of tomorrow. None of those things are bad in and of themselves. They are wise and diligent principles that teach us to be good stewards of the lives, gifts, and resources God has given us. Absolutely. But that worldview is incomplete. It is not borne of complete and utter dependence on our Lord and Savior, on our Source of Life and Strength. In our focus on building well-planned, disciplined lives in (or for) the Kingdom, we so easily miss Him. We miss the deeper truths, greater wisdom, and more valuable riches of living dependent on God alone.

There is an intimacy in the Lord that can only grow out of total, day by day, minute by minute reliance on His life, strength, and provision. There is an intimacy found in the day by day surrender that cannot be found in anything else. It is in that place of desperation, as we cry out to God, knowing that we can’t possibly survive the day without Him, that we encounter our own brokenness and inadequacy—and His healing and grace—most deeply. It’s our daily dependence that breaks us, that opens us, that allows Him to go deeper than He could otherwise. It is also this place of having to trust Him daily that teaches us to trust Him more fully and more deeply than ever before.

Isaiah 58:10 says that “if you spend yourselves on behalf of the hungry, and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.” I’m struck by that phrase, “spend yourselves.” It’s more than just give of yourself. To spend yourself implies that there’s nothing left, that you’re not holding anything back. You’re not saving any part of the strength He’s given you today for tomorrow, just in case. You’re pouring it all out today. That’s huge. It’s overwhelming and risky and scary. Oh, but the promise that follows: Your light will rise in the darkness. And not only that, but the Lord will guide you always. “He will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.” (Isaiah 58:11). When you spend yourself in behalf of the needy, broken, and hungry; when you give what He gives you in each day, you find in Him the ever-renewing satisfaction of your needs. It’s counter-intuitive. The world’s wisdom would tell us to hold tightly to whatever we have in a high-pressure situation, because we might need it later. But the Lord says, spend it and you will find a strength that does not fail. It is when you pour it out rather than store it up that you discover the everlasting Source, the Living Water that will transform you into a spring that never stops flowing.

Change Change Change

I came back from Mozambique with a pretty clear direction of heading into the teaching field, focusing on the inner city. So, I dug up my credentials, put together my resume, and tackled the red tape at the public school system’s Human Resources. I was finally ready to use that Master’s degree I got 3 years ago! After a couple of months of frustrating lack of response from HR, I heard about a position teaching 7th grade language arts at a local middle school. The next Tuesday, I went for an interview with the principal and was hired on the spot, to start ASAP. One week later, I had left my job at the church (don’t worry, they knew it was coming) and was in the classroom with energetic 7th graders who were very ready for Christmas break, tired of having substitutes (their teacher had vacated the position almost a month before that), and eager to test my limits. Talk about a whirlwind of change!

I’m excited about this job, although I know it’s going to be a challenge. The first week was…rough, to say the least. 100% of the students live in poverty, and the school is on probation under No Child Left Behind (meaning it’s a failing school). The 7th grade class is the worst behaved class in a school that already has huge behavior problems. In those first 3 days, I honestly felt like I was trying to run a 3 ring circus (but failing). I’m amazed, given the behavior problems in this school, that any learning actually takes place. At the same time, considering the home situations and lives that most of these kids have, it’s often amazing that they survive. Their main question to me has been why I came to their school. I’ve been told by many students already that I came to the wrong school and that they don’t expect me to last through the spring semester. Unfortunately, they have a lot of experience to base that assertion on, as teachers and substitutes and other staff walk out of the school mid-year, mid-week, mid-day all the time. The first week was definitely eye-opening and, just as much as those first couple of weeks in Mozambique, tested and challenged me in nearly every way. Once again, I’m acutely aware of how much I desperately need my God–just to get through one day. I’m also very aware after this week of how much I need a strong prayer covering. Just as much as I needed them in Mozambique, I need prayer as I go into this local mission field.

I’m thankful for Christmas break. These days have given me a chance to regroup, set up my classroom, and prepare for the semester. Every other teacher in the school reassured me that the week before Christmas break is the worst week of the year to start teaching and that this particular school is a more challenging environment than any they had ever encountered before. I was congratulated for returning after the first day. But, surviving that week gives me hope for surviving the year. And maybe even doing some teaching at some point, between breaking up fights, being cussed out, and corralling out of control, hormonal preteens.

I go back tomorrow; students return Tuesday. Deep breath.

Carriers of His Glory

We speak often in Christian circles of glorifying God. We want to live lives that bring glory to God, to glorify Him in all we do. As the Westminster Catechism says and John Piper reminds us, this is the chief end of man: to glorify God and enjoy Him forever. This is why we were created and the most foundational purpose of our lives. But what does that really mean? We so easily reduce this idea of glorifying God to a set of guidelines for how we should live, for what doctrine we should hold to. Glorifying God comes to be about a set of beliefs that in some way inform our actions, our politics, our lives. On the surface, there’s nothing wrong with that—except that it masks a much deeper truth, one that is found in our very identities. The thing is, we don’t glorify God primarily because we believe, say, do or don’t do certain things. We glorify God because we are carriers of His glory.

Some song lyrics caught my attention the other day. The song is called “Shine On Us” and the first part of the first verse says:

O Lord we cry out, long for the day
To see your glory radiate

It’s a powerful song that we as a congregation sang passionately, full of hope and vision for the coming glory of God in the earth. But that particular sentence grabbed me. We long for the day when we will see God’s glory radiate, we sang. And it’s true, we do long for that day. We all of us imagine what the world will be like in full revival, or at the return of Christ, when He rules and reigns and His glory spreads unhindered throughout the earth. In all our excited visions of future glory, though, I think we lose sight of the simple fact that we are carriers of God’s glory now. Today. It’s deeper than a set of beliefs and closer than the distant future. It’s who we are.

Colossians 1:19 says, “God was pleased to have all His fullness dwell in Him (in Christ), and through (Jesus) to reconcile to Himself all things.” This fullness of God, this “mystery that has been kept hidden for ages and generations but is now disclosed to the saints” (that’s us!), is “Christ in you, the hope of glory” (vv. 26-27). Christ in you, Christ in me. In this truth is found the glorious riches of the mystery, the very fullness of God (2:2). Wow. Can you feel the depth of it? Can you sense the profound power, the unfathomable nature of this union with Christ? Paul goes on to say in Colossians 2:9 that “in Christ all the fullness of the Deity”—all the fullness of the God of the universe—“lives in bodily form.” Oh, but that’s not all. Actually, that’s only half of it. The rest is this: “and you have been given fullness in Christ” (vs. 10). All of the fullness of the Deity, which dwells in the incarnate God, has been given to us, now that we’re in Christ. It is more than a transformation that takes place when we become Believers. It is that, but it is so much more than that. It’s union with Christ. We have died and are now hidden with Christ in God (3:3). We become new creations because we become one with Him, Who is the glory of God.

“The Son is the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of His being” (Hebrews 1:3). We become carriers of God’s glory when the Son of God takes up residence in us, reconciling us with the Father, Who crowns us with glory and honor and puts everything under our feet (Hebrews 2:7-8). This is how we shine like stars in the universe as we hold out the word of life (Philippians 2:15-16). We can’t help but radiate God’s glory. Not only does His glory rest on us, since we are crowned with honor and glory, but it is impossible for His glory to depart from us because the very radiance of that glory and the exact representation of His being is in us as we are brought into perfect union with the Son. How can we not be transformed? How can we not transform our cities and nations? We can’t help but carry His Presence everywhere we go, bringing transformation as we go. Not primarily by what we say or do (although how we live will naturally reflect that glory) but simply by being who we are.

So when we sing about the glory of God radiating in our cities and nations, as we cry out for revival, as we seek to glorify God in our lives, we first must know who we are: carriers of His glory. His glory is to radiate in us, because He is radiant in us. Our longing to see Him glorified is fulfilled as we carry his light, demonstrating the power and freedom of the Kingdom of God. We see His glory in each other as He lives and moves and has His being in each of us. It’s Christ in me—Christ in you—the hope of glory.

“Glorify the Lord with me;
let us exalt His name together.
I sought the Lord, and he answered me;
He delivered me from all my fears.
Those who look to him are radiant;
Their faces are never covered with shame.”
~Psalm 34:3-5