Holy, Happy Words

"And then he said a bunch of holy, happy words!"

This was Grayson's summary of what Zechariah did "when he could finally talk again" (following the birth of John). We review the Christmas story every December in my class -so I know the story inside and out- but this little catchphrase snagged my mind. He was right; Zechariah's words bubble over with joy, yet they are immensely sacred.

This is the beginning of his prophecy:
"Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
For He has visited us and accomplished redemption for His people,
And has raised up a horn of salvation for us
In the house of David His servant--" (vv. 68-69)

And here are his prophetic words over his newborn son:
"And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High;
For you will go on before the Lord to prepare His ways;
To give to His people the knowledge of salvation
By the forgiveness of their sins,
Because of the tender mercy of our God,
With which the Sunrise from on high will visit us,
To shine upon those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death,
To guide our feet into the way of peace." (vv.76-79)

A few thought-bursts of my own on these holy, happy words:

• I love how God works on the macro and the micro levels at the same time. He's bringing about salvation for the world, yet He knew the deepest heart-cries of Zechariah and Elizabeth for a child. I've seen it in my life on a smaller scale, the way that God brings things together which answer many different prayers in one situation.

• It seems to me that Zechariah's desire for a Messiah may perhaps have exceeded his desire for a son (this prophecy doesn't have a "me" in it -- Zechariah was rejoicing in the Big Picture and the fact that God was going to use his son in the middle of it!). While carrying an unsatisfied hope in his heart for all those years, he wasn't poisoned or overtaken by it.

• Often, holy, happy words such as these are preceded by disappointment, struggle, pain, and lots and lots and lots of waiting. God works waiting into a lot of things. Apparently, He doesn't see it in the same negative light I usually do.

• My favorite phrase is "with which the Sunrise from on high will visit us." I am awed by the sunrise as I drive toward it every morning. Every day, the world transforms as it turns toward the sun. Gradually, the light makes everything visible. Some days, it's dramatic. Other days, clouds make the exact moment imperceptible, but the light comes nonetheless.

Mmmm...

I so desire that the Sunrise from on high will illuminate a dark struggle I'm witnessing in a nearby marriage.

I'm asking Him to shine on a student's mother who's facing cancer.

I want the warming light of His tender mercy to comfort my dear friend who's facing her first Christmas without her husband or mother.

I am crying out to Him to shine the light of His mercy over past hurts, that they may see His hand both then and now. I'm begging Him to surround them with the light of His presence now, that they may rest fully in it. And I'm asking Him to fortify and energize them with hope in Him for tomorrow.

I'm praying that they may have the strength to continue trusting God while waiting for His sunrise, that they may someday (soon, I hope!) burst forth with some holy, happy words of their own.

"I waited patiently for the LORD;
And He inclined to me and heard my cry.
He brought me up out of the pit of destruction, out of the miry clay,
And He set my feet upon a rock making my footsteps firm.
He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God;
Many will see and fear
And will trust in the LORD." (Psalm 40:1-3)

What Do You Get When You Cross the WWF with Overgrown Rodents? Recess, Naturally

Stepped back as a stream of heavily insulated children thumped past me, all in pursuit of one fourth grade boy.  Snagged one I know to be a storyteller, inquiring, "What on earth are you guys playing?"

 

He cheerfully brushed snow from his face. "It's a fun game. We all chase Bart, and then we pile drive him!"

 

I was obligated to create a new rule. "Hey, no pile driving at recess."

 

"I know," he responded, "but if we don't, then HE touches US, and he turns us into mutant gerbils, just like he is!"

 

Which made the pile driving entirely acceptable, of course.  Can't have a bunch of mutant gerbils running around at recess.

Skinny Jeans Are Not Bread...

...in case you were wondering.

Neither are "likes" on your Facebook status, new shoes, or good hair days, for that matter.

Recently spent an evening with a precious group of girlfriends, reflecting on Scripture and life and then praying together. Much of the conversation centered on being satisfied in God, and I drank in from the wisdom and honesty of others present.

One friend's story stuck with me in particular. She told of being on the way home from work one day when she was struck by an overwhelming urge to buy a pair of skinny jeans. Right then. In the space of a few minutes, she'd transformed from a self-described non-shopper to a woman on a mission. She mentally mapped out shopping possibilities and re-routed herself, plotting and planning her acquisition.

As she pulled into the Opitz Outlet parking lot, a song by Jill Phillips came on the radio. The beginning lyrics arrested her attention:

"O gently lay your head/ upon My chest/ and I will comfort you like a mother while you rest."

In an instant, she recognized her true hunger. It had been a tough day -and week- and she was craving comfort, relief from the load of anxieties and stresses she'd shouldered all day long. What she wanted was exactly what the song described: to rest her head on a faithful Father, soak in His perfect understanding, and know that because of Him, she would not be crushed by all of the situations she could neither remove nor solve.

Regardless of your take on skinny jeans, I think we can agree that no pair of jeans is cut out for THAT task.

As a tag-along to that story, another girl read from Isaiah 55:

Why do you spend money for what is not bread,
And your wages for what does not satisfy?
Listen carefully to Me, and eat what is good,
And delight yourself in abundance.

Isaiah 55:2

In a loose paraphrase: Why do you spend your energy chasing down temporary, visible things to satisfy the invisible needs of your heart?

Oh, do I relate. When I'm honest, I recognize these misplaced expectations as a source of familiar frustration. I've done my share of chasing, whether by shopping or performing or re-reading my blog comments (hint, hint). Getting a pat on the back from my boss or hearing an affirming word from a friend or finding orange leather ballet flats for five dollars (true story!) -- well, none of these is bad, exactly.

That is, unless I'm hoping that receiving them will somehow silence my inner cries for satisfaction and affirmation. When that's the case, deep disappointment inevitably follows even the sweetest gifts.

I sometimes respond to those deeper desires in the same way I deal with hunger after a long day at work: I stand in the kitchen and eat whatever's out on the counter while I pretend to find something to cook...until my appetite has been dulled and I can go on my way. Give me half a bag of chips or a pack of cookies, and I'll momentarily forget my need for a balanced meal.

But just as my body needs that nourishing meal, my soul needs time where I'm listening to God speak to my truest, neediest self. I can crunch away at fleeting reassurances (work a little longer, fish for another compliment, look in the mirror once again), but I'm still hungry (and a bit sick) down the line.

My soul wants bread, and skinny jeans –or anything else I might pursue- just won't cut it.

"Jesus said to them, 'I am the bread of life; he who comes to Me will not hunger, and he who believes in Me will never thirst." John 6:35

"Satisfy us in the morning with Your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days." Psalm 90:14

Postscript: This post by Genevieve Thul is worth your time -- about prioritizing and consuming God's Word as the only thing that will satisfy. Read it!

Can't Argue With That

Our chapel theme last week was "God is the sovereign creator of all things." To illustrate the point that creation reveals the nature of its Creator, I brought out a drawing that I'd done with my pastels earlier in the week. I'd taken a little drawing time after school one day, and I was pleased with the result. The picture communicated that I still possess some artistic talent.

I was compelled to explain, however, that in my case, my creation also reveals my limitations. Having had no training with pastels and little practice, my technique is poor at best. "This picture shows you a little of what I can do with pastels. There are a lot of things I can't do with pastels, though."

"Yeah," piped up a third grader. "like, you can't brush your teeth with pastels."

True. Not what I was attempting to communicate, but so true.

Not That We Don't Love Cookies

Taylor was antsy all Thursday, knowing that his grandparents were coming to visit sometime that afternoon. At his request, Grandma was bringing cookies.

Unfortunately, the cookies and grandparents showed up just as we were beginning our independent writing time. I expected to cut writing short, but Taylor -at the beginning, my most reluctant writer- surprised me.

From his cozy workspace under a table, he looked up at Grandma and said, "Um, can you come back later? I'm busy writing right now."

I think I managed to control my facial expression, but I was doing internal fist pumps like crazy.

Things That Are Most in First and Second Grade

Funniest tattle:

"Ms. Djerf, Ashton called me a zebra!"

This was accompanied by tears and everything. And perhaps a few covert chuckles from Ms. D.

Most direct answer to "Write about what the ocean floor looks like:"

"I can tell you what.

It is not strate."

Thank you, I'll remember that.

Most descriptive prayer request:

"Um, I have a cough. And then, when I sniffle, boogers go down my throat, and then I have to hack them up."

She was ready to provide even more information on this topic, but we moved on.

Least helpful response to a classmate's prayer request about a grandma's illness:

"That could kill her! Is she still alive?!"

This reminded me of the time someone told a (probably not true) story about nearly being run over by a motorcycle. They all sat for a moment, wowed by the gravity of the situation, and then one first grader asked softly, "Did you survive?"

Most unusual tattle:

"Ms. Djerf, Ms. Djerf, someone keeps organizing my crayons!"

It was with great disappointment that I persuaded this young man that no benevolent desk-organizing fairy (or fellow classmate) was at work in our classroom. Because, oh, do I want to believe in that fairy. If only she would pay a visit to MY desk!

Reading for a Hopeful Ending

After multiple evenings away from home, last night I allowed myself the luxury of time on the couch with a novel. The narrative and characters of Home, by Marilynne Robinson, have captured my attention in a way I didn't expect (her last book, Gilead, was beautiful, but I wouldn't call it gripping), and I continue turning "just one more page before I go to bed..."

 

You probably wouldn't label this book as "gripping," either.  I'm not on the edge of my seat, reeling from dramatic plot twists.  Rather, I feel like I've been sitting at Glory Boughton's kitchen table, listening to her haltingly unpack her heart, and I cannot walk away without her story continuing to whisper in my ear.  I care about what happens to Glory and her wayward brother, Jack, and I want to keep reading.  But Robinson isn't hurrying this, so neither can I.

 

Different books require various kinds of reading. I'll admit to skimming chick lit, reading for the ending, even though I already know the girl will get the guy. Well-written literature, however, requires its readers to walk through life at the pace of the characters, to feel what they're feeling.  When I read a book such as this one, a subtle shift happens within me. Instead of seeking the happy ending, where every last loose end is sewn up in the epilogue, I become hungry for a hopeful ending. 

 

I want Glory to find genuine fulfillment in her life. I want Jack to find his place in his family and this world.  I want there to be a resolution to the deep questions resounding silently within these characters. Marilynne Robinson has made me yearn for redemption in the midst of brokenness, and I keep reading, hoping to find it.  I'm waiting for it to show up, ready to cherish the smallest evidences of hope.

 

I think we're made to live life in a similar way to how good fiction must be read. We have to engage.  Choosing to feel the weight of our own or someone else's plot twists can feel heavy, tedious, painful. But it also makes us yearn for redemption.  When we truly feel the destructive force of sin and the messiness of our fallen world, we become hungry for better.  It makes us remember that this world is not our home, that we were made for eternity. 

 

I'm going to keep turning those pages.

Looking For Trouble

Thoughts are bursting out from my soul like popcorn. 

Just returned from a powerful, deep, five-hour(!) seminar entitled "Suffering for the Sake of the Body," and I feel compelled to wrestle with what I just consumed. Or one point, anyhow, since I can't go every direction at once.

Cognitively, I understand that suffering is a part of being a follower of Christ.  I'm glad that God in His Word prepares us for difficult times, telling us not to be surprised when they arrive.  And I'm even more grateful for His many promises that no pain experienced on this earth can outweigh the eternal future He's prepared for us.  I'm well aware that God often does His deepest, most profound works in us through suffering.

At smoother times of my life, however, this knowledge has left me with a question: If I'm not suffering much right now, should I be seeking suffering?  Should I, for God's glory and my own growth, be trying to make my life harder?

I remembered today that I wrestled with this question much of my senior year of college. After four years at an Christian college in an urban setting, sitting in chapels every day about pouring one's life out for God, I'd acquired a sense that there were (mostly difficult) places which were more meaningful in God's kingdom than others, and that the work done there was more significant to Him.

I wasn't in those places, but I had an idea that I was supposed to be, probably teaching middle-school somewhere in the inner city. Getting in there and doing what REALLY mattered.  Suffering through the grimmest situations and seeing God work.

Then I got a job in a suburban Christian school teaching first grade, which I had viewed as both easy and insignificant. I knew God had directed me there, but didn't expect it to be difficult.

And then, every day for the first two months, I thought I was going to die – or at least fail dramatically. For all the success I had experienced in college and even in student teaching, I was ill-prepared for the way it demanded so much more than I had to give.

In the big scheme of things, the suffering was small. I know this. For the first time in my life, however, I experienced what it was to be perpetually empty in a situation which requires you to be perpetually full.   And this pushed me toward God like nothing in my life had before.

Previously, I'd measured my status before God by my own contributions to the relationship.  Desperation and brokenness, however, swept my feet out from beneath me, and I discovered that I didn't stand before God based on my work. I stood before Him as His child based on who He is and what Christ has done on my behalf.  For the first time, I rested truly on Him, and found Him to be enough.

 I wouldn't trade that year for anything.  

 I've faced much more difficult situations since then, and never once because I was looking for pain.  Simply following Jesus where He's led has, at times, put me in places where I've been called upon to screw my faith deeper into Him than it was before.  

Knowing this, then, I'm not going to be a spiritual tornado-chaser. I am, however, challenged today to follow Christ ever closer, trusting that wherever He brings me -even if it hurts!- will be for His glory and my good.

 "... for I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that he is able to guard until that Day what has been entrusted to me." 2 Timothy 1:12

You Tell 'Em, Brother

I'm a fairly structured [read: bossy] teacher, so I tend to dictate many aspects of classroom life. However, I always love to see what's revealed about each student's personality when I remove parameters and allow them to choose. My favorite today was a free writing "story" that came from a sweet first grader:

My school doesn't put up with any nonsense. My family doesn't either.

That was it. I will hereafter think of him as a sweet, rather straight-laced first grader (who perhaps has a secret desire to get away with a little nonsense?)...

I Wonder What OSHA Would Do With This?

Last Thursday, I experienced my first work-related injury of the year.  And quite possibly, the most foolish one of my career.

 

The cause of my headache and sore neck? A lively (and thoughtless!) demonstration for my class of what would happen to you if you did a spacewalk OUTSIDE of a rocket while it was being launched.

 

Let's just say at least one of us got the point.

Close Encounters of the Beach Kind

"Do you know what I just saw?!"

His question, prefaced by a sharp intake of breath and laced with urgency, struck a little fear in my heart. We were at the beach, and he and I were taking a Cheez-It break while his brother and sister played down by the water.

I stalled a bit, because I knew what I'd just seen: a European woman who'd removed her bikini top just a short distance from us (and then took her sweet time getting dressed).  Clearly she didn't get the "family beach" memo.

And he's six years old.  Too old for the women's locker room, so to speak.

"No...what did you just see?"  My mind was racing with explanations (to him and to his mom when we came home).

"A SANDY CHEEZ-IT!"  He leaned back and laughed, pointing to his half-buried crackers. Never have I been so glad for a child to dump his snack in the sand.

Post-It Notes and Intentions

If you came over tonight, it's a good bet that your first question would be, "What's with the orange post-it notes everywhere?" I'd be happy to explain:

A nasty fall yesterday left me with an open scrape the size of a dime on my foot. Circumstances of the fall being what they were, the scrape was more or less left unattended. Unfortunately, it wasn't content with its lack of care. Today, it upped its demands on my attention with a little swelling, red streaks, and pain whenever I put weight on my foot, all obvious signs of infection. Wonderful. The urgent care doctor confirmed my suspicions. I picked up a prescription, brought it home, set it on the table, and...forgot.

It took another hour of hobbling around the kitchen before I finally remembered. The antibiotic! Right! I have something to fight this infection AND I'M NOT USING IT!

That situation has now been rectified. The first pill has been swallowed. Soon, my foot will feel like it's on my side again...as long as I stick to the program, that is. My job is to remember to take my Keflex four times a day for the next ten days. A small task, but one I don't exactly trust my memory for. As already demonstrated tonight, my follow-through isn't the greatest.

Thus, the neon signs and charts on the bathroom mirror, the refrigerator, the door, and my computer, all reminding me to do my part in combating the opportunistic bacteria in my foot. I want the infection TO LEAVE.

I wonder what my life would look like if I were so careful to follow through on other things I KNOW I should do...the things that perhaps aren't so easy as making a chart or swallowing a pill. Like when I know I need to humble myself and apologize...but I never quite bring up the topic in conversation. Or when I'm aware of a need within my arm's reach...and I never quite get that meal made or card sent.

My dad likes to remind me that while we tend to measure others by their actions, we frequently measure ourselves by our intentions. Intentions don't fight infection, however. Neither do they heal relationships or put food on an empty table. Action does.

I believe that obeying God's Word can bring about radical change in me and the situations around me, just like I believe that my Keflex can effectively defeat the infection in my foot. In both cases, however, I have to put my belief into action. Intentions, lofty though they may be, just don't cut it.

"But the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in his doing." James 1:25

Sign Me Up For That Bargain

My 14-year-old sister and I saw the following license plate this afternoon:

IM2DLS

Curiosity (and creative interpretations) abounded. My favorite was hers: "I'm two deals."

I thought about it for a minute. "That doesn't make sense."

"Yes it does," she countered. "Like, I make the money AND I'll rub your feet at night!"

Life Soundtrack, on Repeat

I think I might have jinxed myself.

It started months ago, when my roommate received Jason Gray's new album as a Christmas gift. One listen, and it became my go-to CD whenever I was home. To say that I was enamored is putting it mildly. (Tiff can attest to my infatuation; I didn't hesitate to reassure her of my enthusiasm. We lost count of how many times I've gushed, "I LOVE THIS CD!")

February came and went, and the gushing continued: "I'm still not tired of this CD! I love every song!" Finally, in March, I copied the CD and brought it in my car (hoping that my morning passengers would love it as much as I do).

Something odd happened that fateful day, however. When my sister tried to eject Jason Gray in favor of Sara Groves, he refused to come out. Two months later, he's still stuck. The CD plays -it starts automatically as soon as I turn the key- but it will not be moved.


This new circumstance presents a choice every time I get into my car, albeit a subtle one. When I'm paying attention, I think, "My mind needs something different!", and I switch to the radio for my MPR fix. However, I'm embarrassed by how often I get twenty minutes down the road before I realize that I am once again singing along to the same three songs. For lack of conscious intervention, I've allowed this CD to become my unofficial driving soundtrack. These thirteen songs are permanently stuck in my head. It's not bad (have I told you I love this CD?), but I'm not sure it's good for me, either. It's narrow at best, depriving at worst.

God's been speaking to me about my life soundtrack lately. Not so much about Jason Gray, but about the thought patterns which loop continuously in my mind all day long -- for better or for worse. The moment I wake up, the same old cd (the mix labeled "Old Anxieties and Insecurities Under New Names") starts to play. It moves effortlessly from that vague conversation I had with a friend last week (and things I wish I'd asked) to the insulting comment from a relative (and the underlying meaning) to the cryptic e-mail that I could interpret ten different ways, and even to the wardrobe choices I have for the event next weekend (which one will make me feel most confident?).

I break up the shallow, self-centered playlist to worry about other people in my life, wondering about their choices, their options, their friends, their difficulties, their health, and my connection to each one. It feels more noble than overthinking my own life, but isn't any more fruitful. That worry has a way of paralyzing me from loving involvement in their lives.

Before I know it, I've spent my entire day singing along to the same four songs, and my soul is miserable. Talk about being stuck.

It takes effort -mindfulness- to think differently. But God continues to remind me that there are other soundtracks available, if I'm willing to change the station:

"And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind, so that you may prove what the will of God is, that which is good and acceptable and perfect." (Romans 12:2)
"Set your mind on things above, and not on things on the earth." (Colossians 3:2)

I heard two quotes recently which resonate with this theme:

"The most important choice you make every day is what you choose to think about." - Chip Ingram

"Spiritual battles are won or lost in the day-to-day thoughts we harbor." - Carolyn McCulley, Radical Womanhood

I can't change my life circumstances (I can't even change the cd in my car!), but I can choose what I will listen to and sing along with.

Toothbrushes and Opossums

It has NOT been boring in first and second grade lately.
***

Best attempt to get out of cursive practice:

"You know what, Miss Djerf? You're not respecting who I am. You're just trying to change me!"

I had to explain that no, actually, I AM supposed to change some things about my students, their handwriting being one of those things. But nice try...

Best prayer request of the week (from a second grader who'd had a tough start to her day):

"Um, can we pray that we don't have to pay to fix the plumbing at my house? Because I accidentally flushed my toothbrush down the toilet this morning."


The best question (in the middle of a lesson on the day of Pentecost):

"Miss Djerf, why were there opossums in the upper room?"

Until today, I never realized how closely related the words "apostle" and "opossum" are. I'm glad he asked, though. It really puts the story in a different light to be imagining opossums praising God in different tongues with flames of fire on their heads.

An Easter Meditation on...Immigration?

Last week, I took my students to a class about immigrants to Minnesota. After establishing that we were mostly natives to the state, the instructor asked, "Does anyone know how every single one of us is connected to an immigrant?"

Though we'd been reading about immigrants for weeks, something about her wording threw the whole class off. They sat there, confused, for several seconds before Ira raised his hand and offered the standard Christian school guess: "Jesus?"

To my delight (and respect!), the teacher rolled with it! "Well, I suppose you COULD say that Jesus was an immigrant..." she replied thoughtfully, chuckling. "A different kind of one. He was more of a celestial immigrant, wasn't he?"

She smiled, paused, and moved on.

I, however, haven't moved on yet. So much to chew on in two words! A "celestial immigrant" -- how very different Jesus was from the immigrants we studied, and yet how appropriate a title.

We've read that immigrants came to the United States in search of a better life, to flee war or famine, or to escape persecution, to name a few reasons. All were hopeful that their lives would improve here. They came to better themselves, their families, and their futures.

In contrast, we are told the following about Jesus,
"...though he was in the form of God...[he] made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross." (Philippians 2:6-8, ESV)

Second Corinthians 8:9 also speaks of the sacrifice He made in coming to us:
"For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich."

Nothing about Jesus' coming was easy. He lived a simple life amongst an oppressed people. The climax of his earthly life and ministry -the cross- certainly doesn't fall under our ideas of "success" or "a better life." Never once did He take a "I'm-actually-God-so-I'm-just-going-to-skip-this-part" shortcut. He didn't come to enrich Himself in any way.

That's impressive by itself. This celestial immigrant demands my respect, if nothing else. But to realize that it was so that I might become rich? I, who had nothing to offer Him, being "qualified to share in the inheritance of the saints in Light?" I move from being impressed to awed. Overwhelmed.

This Holy Week, may the reality of the incarnation pierce our hearts and cause us to worship! May the glory of this Celestial Immigrant, who came to reconcile us to Himself, not to be served (which He deserved) but to serve, cause us to say along with Thomas, "My Lord and my God!"

"And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth." (John 1:14)

Real-Life Application; or, Quotes Borrowed From Third Grade

Two quotes currently on the favorites board in our kitchen:

"It's not like when I grow up and buy a house, I'm going to pay them in Base 10 blocks!"

- A third grader in Tiffany's class frustrated by her emphasis on concept over speed or procedure. Feeling bogged down by the use of Base 10 blocks during a multiplication lesson, he made his case against them (rather convincingly, if you ask me).

***
"Where's the yelling?"

- A dad at spring parent-teacher conferences after Tiff showed him his daughter's most recent writing assignment, a flowery description of her family's morning routine before coming to school. Apparently, she left out a few details.

Great Kid Quotes You Can Use In Your Everyday Life

Stick a couple of these authentic first and second grade quotes in your back pocket, and you'll never be speechless again. (People may look at you with strange expressions on their faces when you talk, but that already happens, doesn't it?)

"You wouldn't live a DAY in MY body!"

- A second grader (who yelled this across the room at another student, for no evident reason - making it even more useful)

"I think I tore a limb."

- The same second grader, referring to a gym-class injury. He has a gift for the dramatic.

And now, a creative writing tutorial from another second grader. The next time you need embellishment, perhaps you can draw inspiration from this young man.

The assignment? Write at least six lines about the Hansel and Gretel opera we saw. Here is his first (one-line) attempt:

Hansel and Gretel sleeped at the forest and the angels saved them.

Grouchy dictator that I am, I demanded more details. At least five lines worth of details, to be exact. It's possible I even instructed him to be creative. He hemmed and hawed, and then an idea dawned on his face. I want to hang the finished product on my refrigerator:

Hansel and Gretel sleeped at the forest and the angels saved them from getting eaten and killed and curceds or torchered or cut or blood presher or heat attack or getting sick or captured or drowning and from the night.

So it might not follow the opera's story line exactly. But he met the six-line minimum, and you have to admit, it's pretty darn creative.

A Question of Discipline and Parenting...Sort Of

You may be wondering why this blog has sat deserted for the past two -no, three- months. Well, the answer is a rather embarrassing. You see, I'm having a little discipline problem with my words.

Here it is, plain and simple: my words won't mind me.

How am I dealing with the problem, you ask? Oh, I lecture and they listen, and they nod their heads and promise they understand exactly what I'm telling them, but by the time we've made our peace again, we're too worn out to do anything productive. Tomorrow, we say. Tomorrow, we will work together and write. And then they behave beautifully, as long as we're driving down the road or sitting in the middle of a reading group or some other setting in which WRITING THEM DOWN is impossible. At all those times, they dance to the tune I play, and I nurse great hopes for them.

But get us home after a long day's work, and give us a chance to say something meaningful, and there is no cooperation, or obedience, or patience to be found. They scatter every which way, snickering and mocking, and I am left alone, pouting like a child. I'm supposed to be the one in charge here, right?

What do you do when your words just won't sit when you say sit? When they show off when they should be serving, or they run and hide when you'd like them to sit and properly answer your company?

Am I expecting them to be something they aren't? Am I asking too much of them? Is this the reason they don't listen? Or am I being too lenient, allowing them to run free when they should be shaped and disciplined? Is this why they no longer respect me?

Those of you more experienced in administering discipline, what do you suggest?


[For some crazy reason, when I haven't written for a while, all I can write about is NOT BEING ABLE TO WRITE! Here's hoping that this is a priming of the pump...]

What I've Been Reading While I Haven't Been Blogging

Haven't managed lately to contend with my thoughts enough so as to wrestle them into a blog entry. Journal, yes. Blog, no.  It'll come again, though. (Spring does manage to show up after winter, doesn't it?)

 

In the meantime, I've stumbled across many bloggers truly worth reading. Here are a few I recommend:

 

Genevieve Thul - a mother of young children, doctoral student, current cancer patient, and thoughtful, poetic writer Food for the soul on so many levels.

 

Caroline Ferdinandsen - reflects on life and culture. I usually ponder her posts for days.

 

Jennifer Straw - friend who's teaching in Mozambique, Africa. She paints sensory-rich pictures of her experiences -- makes me want to be there!

 

Abraham Piper - it's amazing what he can say in 22 words. Makes me laugh, think, argue, ponder, and take action - all in twenty-two words or less.

 

In the mood to explore further? Try Christy Tennant (she'll make you think), Desiring God (authored by a variety of people from Bethlehem Baptist Church -- all good at writing valuable, short posts), or Improv Everywhere  (this links to one of my favorite, must-see Improv Everywhere videos -- I Love Lunch - The Musical).