A Delightful Distraction

One of the things I adore about first and second graders is the way they "rejoice with those who rejoice and weep with those who weep."

I mentioned to my class this morning that Mark and Eunice (my brother and sister-in-law) were at the hospital to have their baby. One of my students suggested, "Let's all guess what time the baby will come and see who wins! That's what my family always does." The rest of the class began to immediately call out their predictions with an enthusiasm that surprised me. I'm not sure if my own excitement was that contagious or if they saw a perfect opportunity to do something other than phonics...

I wasn't going to be picky about motivation. I was thrilled to have ten kids to be excited with! So, we filled the left side of the white board with a list of our names, each followed by our estimated time of arrival, followed by the name we think this baby will be called. I think I committed an educational faux pas in promising a prize to the student whose guess is closest, considering that they spent all day wondering who would win the contest instead of paying attention. Of course, their teacher spent all day checking her cell phone, so I guess we were all in the same boat.

I also found myself redirecting curious questions like "How is that baby going to get out, anyway?" and only narrowly escaping disaster. Learning exactly how a baby gets out is NOT one of the things I'd like them to remember first grade for. If they are going to remember something from today, I'd much rather that they remember listening to the heartbeat on the phone with me. I know I'll remember them sitting perfectly silently at my feet, eyes widening in awe when they heard the muffled wump-WUMP-wump-WUMP-wump-WUMP through the speaker.

I love my job!

Off the Treadmill and into the...Dark Curtain?

Through a series of events and the wise direction of my parents at the point of a nasty breakdown, I stepped away from several church responsibilites at the end of January and entered a new period of seeking God. It was a choice to deliberately step away from the "spiritual treadmill" I'd been on (the "Lord-here's-my-list-of-how-I-justified-my-existence-in-the-world-today-aren't-You-happy-with-me-see-everyone-else-is" lifestyle, characterized by lots more doing than listening). I didn't know what to expect at first, but eventually, I began to realize that slowing down was only the beginning. God wanted to speak, but I had no capacity to listen. Over the past three months, I have begun to learn a little (emphasis on LITTLE) about stillness and hearing...

And to my delight, God has begun to speak. He's surprised me, though. I had a list of things I was interested in hearing about (like who I should marry, or what I should be writing about, or where I should be going to church, or really important things, like whether or not to buy a certain pair of shoes), but I'm finding that He wants to re-write my list, too. He's challenging the way I see Him, myself, the world, and my role in the world as His child. (I'm almost afraid to write about this process, as though it will cease to be a part of me when I share it with the world-at-large -- the handful of you reading this being a small representation of the world-at-large, of course.) He's been speaking about treasuring eternal things, re-orienting my heart piece by pitiful piece, and I yearn to cooperate, because the fellowship with Him has been sweeter than words can say!

But the rubber has to hit the road sometime, doesn't it? I find myself with choices and plans to make -- yikes! After two months of quiet rest and soul conditioning, I've been bumped from my cozy cocoon and am now facing what my future looks like OFF the treadmill. I'm supposed to run outdoors now, and let Him choose the route, step by step, and I don't know how to do it! My friend Corrie recently referred to this as the "Dark Curtain" -- when we look ahead and see only that the future is shrouded. We know that SOMETHING is on the other side, but guessing only brings more anxiety. All we know is that today's step seems sort of hazy, and we're not sure that we want to go very far without seeing... (Because we know enough of God that if it's any good, it's not likely to be easy, either!) So, I hold back, waiting for a glimpse beyond that Dark Curtain.

I don't know why I think a long-range plan from God would put me at ease; I can't even read a recipe all the way through and produce an edible result! I'm constantly flitting back to the cookbook because I can only handle very small directions. He knows this. And that's just it. He knows me, and He wants me to know Him! The destination? Plenty has served to remind me recently that my destination is heaven! Everything in between is a journey that He already knows, end from beginning. And I know Him well enough to know that He's FAR more reliable than Mapquest...

***
"Faith" by John Greenleaf Whittier (I thought -- couldn't confirm the authorship tonight)

Nothing before, nothing behind
The steps of faith
Fall on the seeming void
And find
The rock beneath.

Love to the Blue Clock Above the Kitchen Sink

I've spent pieces of today sorting through unfinished writing projects of various sizes. I'm meeting with my writing group on Monday, which means that something must reach completion by then...
I'd forgotten about this attempt at poetry from last fall. It made me think of a conversation I had with my mom and Jan at a conference a few weeks ago. Making plans to meet for the morning session the next day, we decided that whoever arrived first would choose and save seats. I immediately whined, hoping that it wouldn't be me so I wouldn't have to decide where and then fight to keep the spots. Jan (lovingly) replied, "Megan, I wouldn't worry too much. I don't think there's a very big chance of you getting here first." Point taken.

*******************************************
Love to the Blue Clock Hanging Above the Sink

By Megan Djerf

We’re standing in my kitchen, laughing, and I wait for you to notice it once again.
It’s the same question every time.
“It’s still broken?
It wasn’t working the last time I was here.
Why don’t you throw that clock away?”
If you don’t mind my saying so,
You’re practical, smug.
“If it never tells the right time, why keep it on the wall?”
Like last time, you reach to drop it to its doom.
And like last time, I re-hang it on my wall, and tell you,
"Leave it alone. I love that clock."

True, it cannot claim beauty or expensive pedigree,
or even an interesting story of how it came to be there.
And yes,
It is defective as far as clocks go.
I’m not pretending that it’s a clock champion.
Hours arrive, expecting to be marked, and they must wait
for the minute hand scrambling nearly ten shy of its goal.
It struggles along, always reaching toward the truest moment
And missing by several, but refusing to abandon its quest.
We don’t look at that clock to know the time.
My wristwatch can serve that punctilious purpose.

I’d explain it to you,
But you leave the house thirty minutes early if it’s snowing
And have seen the beginning of every movie you’ve ever watched in a theater.
And I’ll bet you’ve never limped all day in high heels because you ran to beat the bride into the church, either.

You wouldn’t understand.

******

Two weeks after writing this poem, we actually took the clock down as a prelude to throwing it away. (Poetic kindred spirits aside, it IS disruptive to have an unpredictable clock.) In so doing, we discovered that the clock keeps time when it's not on the wall. Must be some problem with the battery. Therefore, it's still in the kitchen, ticking away. So perhaps there is hope for me, too!

Surprises

This morning in chapel I watched a fifth grader (a former student) wow everyone as she portrayed an over-the-top teacher in a skit. She's always been a wallflower kid, the type who answers questions with the fewest words possible, so I was surprised when she recently joined my drama group. Turns out she's a natural. Her character was supposed to fly off the handle at a student for forgetting something, so I suggested that she threaten detention or having to repeat sixth grade. She took it a few steps further: "No, that's NOT OK! You know what? You're getting detention -- for 140 days! And you're going to have to live in your locker! And so you'll become this small! And you'll have to eat bread and drink water for the rest of your life!...And, you'll have to wash your hands in your own saliva, and dry them on your pants! And you'll never get out of sixth grade, ever!" To top it all off, she threw back her hands and did the "evil villianess" laugh. It was delightful. (I am, of course, choosing to believe that she drew her inspiration from her own creativity rather than her own experience with our teachers...)

Not only is she braver than I thought, but creative, too. Today's performance was God drawing back the curtain a bit for the rest of us, whispering, "Here's a peek at what I see and value in her!"

On the other end of the spectrum, an unexpected encounter with a former parent brought a flood of memories with it. Two months into my first year of teaching, her daughter gave me a crash course in helping a first grader cope with the pain of divorce. I so clearly remember this precious little girl hanging at the back of the line one day, chin quivering. She didn't want to go to gym class. When I questioned her, she leaned against the wall, hung her head, and whispered, "I don't want my mom and dad to live in two different houses." And then the tears came in torrents -- for both of us. We spent the gym period back in the classroom, crying together. I bonded deeply with that little girl; my heart hurt as I remembered her today. I don't think I've ever felt the pain of a student to that depth again. I don't think I could keep teaching if I did.

Eventually, the year ended, and life went on for both of us. Over time, I learned that longevity in this profession requires a certain guardedness, one I sometimes regret. I wonder what she's learned over the past five years...

Why Soggy?

Why "Soggy Inspiration," you ask? Because "Soggy Delights," my first idea, sounded like something from a Prairie Home Companion quasi-commercial, that's why. ("Soggy Delights -- the remarkably honest cereal! Because your breakfast will taste better with lower expectations.")

Truly, it's because a small handful of the thoughts that fly through my mind each day seem to ring of something real, something that matters. Fleeting markers of vivid moments, they cause me to smile, or burst out laughing, or sink to the floor and cry out in prayer. And I am compelled -inspired- to find the words.

Thus far, however, I have failed to develop the discipline of instantly recording these words, leaving them instead to marinate in my milky brain with everything else. By the time I finally pause, usually just before I hit the pillow, what earlier passed for inspiration is now a shapeless, drippy mess.

Blegh.

Hence, the name. In this blog, I'm seeking to decrease the soggy quotient in my life. Here goes.