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.