Christmas Home

It's almost Christmas.

That makes twenty-three Christmases I've been through. That's a lot of holidays. A lot of "Jingle Bells" and "Silent Night." A lot of packages. A lot of readings of Luke chapter two.

And I am home for Christmas. But not really. Allow me to explain...

Once upon a time, all of us were little. And once upon a time, all of us wanted nothing more than to grow up. To be on our own. To forge our own path into the wild, beckoning, rosy world.

Then we got there. And of a sudden it wasn't so rosy any more.

Everyone tells you of the bills to pay, the job to hold down, the lack of "freedom." But those are the easy parts of growing up. Bills can be earned. Jobs can be fulfilling. Freedom is a relative thing.

Nobody told eight- or ten- or thirteen-year-old you of the pain you'd encounter. Of the friendships you'd lose. Of the times you'd want so desperately to cry--but you couldn't. Of the long walks in the woods just trying to find your heart and maybe put two pieces back together again. Of the suffocating darkness that would strike at you from every corner. Nobody told you about all that.

I'm still not sure if they didn't tell us because they didn't know--or because they didn't know how to explain--or because they'd tried so hard to forget, that they did forget...

It doesn't really matter. We're here now, and there's a part of us that desperately wants to go back, to be a child again, to go home. But we can't. There's no turning the clock back. There's no stepping backward.

What does Christmas really mean when you realize you will never be home for Christmas again? That there's not a place in this world that is your true home?

Maybe--just maybe--it's remembering that once, two thousand years ago, a Baby was born into a world. A world that, though He'd made it, would never, ever be His real home. Yet He chose to be born here, He chose to live here, He chose to die here--

So that, Someday, we could go Home. Home for Christmas. Home for eternity.

Because it wouldn't have been home for Him--without us.

Story

Bible class is always the hardest.

Oh, and I know why too. *Someone* isn't happy with any focus on the Bible or on our relationship with God. And thus it increases my prayer life, not knowing what I'm going to talk about until Friday or Sunday! ;)

This last week, praying (again) for inspiration, especially after stumbling across a revealing Bible journal entry by one of my kids, I was impressed by a thought:

Story, Bri. 

What story? I don't have stories.

Sure you do. 

THOSE stories? Oh my kids love stories. They don't care what it's about either. The magic words "I'm going to tell you a story..." get them all quiet and staring rapturously, no matter how uninteresting the story itself might be. But...really God?

Those stories.

 On my walk, I started thinking...God redeems everything. Every fall, every stumble, every pain and tear shed. And He has wired our hearts and souls for hearing stories. Even His Word is primarily stories. Perhaps story--our story--our testimony of His faithfulness--is the primary way He redeems the past.

So why should we be reluctant to tell, even though it may be raw and unpolished and stumbling? Why should I hesitate to share how He has worked and is working, even if it isn't "amazing"? Maybe, just maybe, the common everyday life stories of God's little and big providences are what we are missing.

Maybe, just maybe, some more of them should be told.

What's your story today?
What's mine?

IRL: A Thursday (Head Teacher Version)

It's 7:50 and I finish my e-mail to Mom and step outside my office. Turn on lights, unlock the front door, re-lock the inside door. Check over my lesson plans to make sure I have everything. Go back to the office. I've been here an hour now, been up for three and a half, and there are probably at least eight more to go. They'll fly, though--I know that much for sure. Having no more than half an hour of sustained "focus time" on one element of one subject makes for a fast-moving day. (Yes, I set it up that way on purpose...)

At four the kids will probably be gone (earlier if I'm lucky), and I'll have (hopefully) finished most of the grading while I wait for them to leave (perks of having a class of only six students!). Then it's attendance records, final grading, and plugging in the grades, organizing some sort of structure out of the chaos that seems to plague my steps (regardless of what others may see), and making phone calls as I drive to see my horse, hopefully leaving before 4:30 so it's not too late when I get back. I think most of what a principal/head teacher does is phone calls and e-mails. And paperwork. And putting out "fires."

If I'm lucky, I'll get to River's "house" by 5:15 or so, and spend a while with him before leaving around 6:30 for the drive home (in the dark, trying desperately to stay awake). I'll get home around 7 or a little later--wash dishes, take a shower, eat an apple and some peanuts (my superfoods), make tea, and crash on the couch to call my parents, drink my tea, spin, and try to recharge my batteries. Music practice until sometime after 9, and then bed.

And that is a day in the life. :)

What It Means

"Still Path"

"What does following in God's steps mean to you? And what happens when you do follow in His steps?"

Good questions, dear friend. I've been pondering them all week.

And as I sit here at the near-end of a week of rain, listening to music to fill the silence in my empty house, worn from a week of late nights and early mornings, trying not to think about how I miss my friends, overwhelmed with a hundred responsibilities, it's a little hard to see the light as I usually do. But I can say one thing with confidence.

For me, following God's steps means two words. Or actually, four:

Caring more. For healing.

More than is comfortable. More than is convenient. More than is necessary. More than others have. More than others will, or could, or should.

And yet, just caring isn't enough. You can care, and break. You can care, and wound. Horribly. And then it is better not to care at all.

So true caring must be always focused on healing. And that means receiving everything--every heartthrob, every touch on the shoulder, every smile, every tear, every note on the to-do list, every e-mail, every meeting, everything--from the ultimate Healer. Because as people, we are the Wounded. And without Him, we wound.

But praise God, with Him, we can heal.

What happens when I follow? Loneliness. Exhaustion. Emptiness. Sure. You read my third paragraph. But so much more. So much more. When they don't fill (because they never do), He does. Sunsets and stars. Full moons and foggy mornings. Flowers in the fields. Cool breezes. Storms sweeping down across the lake. Thunder and rain. So much beauty it literally hurts. Richness.

And, ultimately, a dream of the certain Victory to come. That's what it means.

IRL: Triumphs

There are days when I just love being a teacher.

Days when I go to church and get hugs from my kids and words of affirmation and encouragement from families.

Days when our Bible class is filled with questions and searching and going back to the Word for answers.

Days when my six kiddos are sprawled in the window seats reading their Bibles (for some of them, it's probably their first time having personal worship every day), and the sun streams in, and piano music floats in the background, and for a moment all is quiet.

Days when they get ridiculously excited about our lesson on a strong literary character.

Days when I bring a problem to them for class discussion and they solve it themselves (with a little help).

Days when I watch them get involved at church and my heart swells with joy as if I were their parent, not "just" their teacher.

Discouragement is one of my biggest setbacks--and it's something the devil throws at me almost daily. And so I hoard up these moments and days and look back on them.

"But I will remember the years of the right hand of the Most High." (Ps. 77:10)

Day Breaks

The sky is pink and orange over the eastern horizon.

I lean against the window seat and watch it. There's a moment of stillness in the hectic pace of life. The color shifts and fades and grows again, almost alive.

A thousand heart-stirrings surge inside. Someday I will have to leave this place. And though I love it here, I hope I leave soon.

Not for another school. Not for a marriage or for another job. Someday soon, I hope to leave because I'm not allowed to be here longer. Because only a short time after that, I'll stand and watch another sun rise. Watch a day break in which I know there'll be no end.

Soon, He will come. And the sunrise won't compare.

Oh, may the Day break soon.

But in the meantime, may it break in my heart every morning, as I watch the sun rise.

First Night

It was night when I became a guardian.

To you that might seem inconsequential--a little puzzling, perhaps. But we have only experienced night three times in six thousand years.

That was the second time.

It was also the reason I became a guardian.

You see, in the beginning, I thought about guardianship and decided not to. It seemed a very difficult job--and not only difficult, but wearing.

Then that night came.

It fell suddenly, like a shadow from some gigantic monster, a darkness almost smothering in its heaviness. From one side of the city to the other, we pressed into the Father's throne. The air vibrated with emotion. Only once before had this happened--and we could not imagine what might make it happen again. We did not know what fear was, then, but I daresay that fear was what we felt.

The Father was weeping. There had been tears of joy when the stars were made. There had been shouts of welcome when humanity was placed. But only once before had we seen sorrow. We glanced at each other, and pressed closer. He looked up.

"My children." The sound was flat, and almost dull, shot through with a pain I could almost touch. "My children--" and His voice failed. He only motioned. And we looked, and we saw.

The darkness. Oh, the darkness. If we had thought it was bad here, it was a hundred times deeper there. And as the days passed it grew worse. The planet itself seemed to groan. The ground, to shriek. And they were deaf. Deaf to the pain. Deaf to--to everything. They thought they saw, they thought they heard--but they saw only a flicker, heard only a whisper. When the light is gone, you do not know how deep the darkness is.

The light returned to the city. But not to Earth. Not to most of it, at least. I watched and the pain tore into me like so many knives (those, too--I had not known them before that night), till I could no longer stand it and I rushed into the Father's presence.

"Is there not something I can do?"

His eyes were full of pain, but gentle. "Yes. Yes, there is. But it is hard now."

"I do not care. Whatever it is. Anything to ease that pain."

"Anything?" He whispered, as if to Himself, and I thought He blinked away a tear. "Yes, my star, there is something for you. Look." He pointed. "See that one?"

"Of course. She is only a child. How can a child live in such a dark place? She will die. Oh, my Father, she will die!"

"She would," He said, with a smile, "if not for you. Will you go?"

I only bowed my head in response. He laid His hands upon me, and gave me blessing enough to last the years. And so I went into the night, and I became a guardian. And a star.

Little Things

Memories. Memories make a lifetime.

"Do you remember that Sabbath when we were all so tired--and we came to your house--and we made spaghetti and random tortilla things--and sat and talked--and played in the hammock?!"

"Do you remember that evening when we had that snow day and we all came over and had popcorn and hot chocolate and tea and talked?"

"Do you remember when we sat on the lawn and looked at the sunset?"

"Do you remember..."

Yes, I remember. How could I forget? Last semester I had the great privilege of becoming "mom"/"big sister"/"twin sister"/general-carer-for-of-people to a rather large group of college students. Many of whom I'm still in touch with, still their sister, still even called mommy on occasion. (All this, by the way, makes me ridiculously happy).

And I've noticed something. As we re-connect over the summer, and as I hear and recite with them the times most precious to us, we remember the big things--but it's the little things we really remember. The times when we felt heard and loved and we felt safe and cared for. The times when we looked another in the eye and said or just felt: "You too?!'

Those are the times we remember. And usually they were tiny times. Spur-of-the-moment thoughts. Words said that seemed to take no root at all. A quick invitation to a few friends. Popcorn and tea. But they are what sank in deep. 

I'm increasingly convicted that we are not called to great things. We are called to a hundred tiny little things. God alone does great things. But He does them through our tiny actions.

May I do little things in His love. 

"Don't look for big things; just do small things with great love. ...The smaller the thing, the greater must be our love." (Mother Teresa)

Passing of the Torch

Source

My heart flutters a little as I walk up the steps, raise my hand to ring the bell--and the giant door opens and he is standing there.

"Good--good morning, sir."

He is not the man I remember... not that I expected him to be. The ravages of illness do that to you. His face is white and lined, the eyes show pain, though a strange light still shines behind it all. I tear my eyes away. It is not polite to stare at your elders.

"Ah, Briana. Come in." 

He has waited there for me. I know, though he does not say so. Does he also anticipate this meeting? 

I step through the door; he closes it softly behind. My feet sink into the carpeting. He insists that I precede him down the hall, though I rather would not. His steps are slow, painful. I drop into a chair, more so that he will rest than for any other reason. He takes the one opposite.

We speak of small things, of teaching and of moving and of life. Of horses. He tells me how he always wanted to learn to ride. (There are more sides to this man than I ever dreamed.)

In time I hand him the letter I wrote last week. The letter that tries (unsuccessfully) to put into words what I have learned from him. It is long. Maybe too long. I watch as he reads it. Ever the consummate teacher, he comments on a word here, a phrase there. I smile. As he gets further in, the comments slow. 

"You were considering. . . ? Many people are. They just don't know what it's called."

"Ah yes. It was all God."

"Mmm. Yes."

He nods. Brushes something from his eye. Folds the letter and puts it back in the envelope. I let a smile flicker quickly across my face. We go on to speak of other small things. 

An hour passes and I must go. It is too long to stay. Yet I know what I have come here for. And as we rise and go to the door, I know it is now.

"May I pray with you." It is a statement, not a question, and I nod, bow my head. We clasp hands and the coldness of his hand is warm. His prayer is a blessing--a benediction. As his life has been, and is.

I remain with head bowed after we say Amen. Then I lift my eyes and meet his. The light--the fire--still burns there. It will continue till life itself is gone. But I know it has passed to me as well.

"We will meet again. May it be soon." 

The torch is in my arms. From this day forward, I carry it on. 

Salt and Light

"You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt loses its flavor, how shall it be seasoned? It is then good for nothing but to be thrown out and trampled underfoot by men.

"You are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hidden." (Matt. 5:14-15)

The salt, the light--their essence comes from deep inside. The light is lit by someone else; the salt distilled by another. Only the impurities allowed in, the loss of a wick or of oil, keep them from fulfilling their tasks.

May nothing else slip in to taint my heart; may nothing separate me from the Source of my light!

Evening Star

Dusk.

Sun slowly glides behind distant mountains. Thunderheads glow orange, then pink, then only the edges are highlighted gold.

Tires whir on the road. A car passes. Another. Blinker clicks and I glide to the left. A moment later, back to the right. Signs flash by. The highway twists and turns.

Sometimes I could believe the walls around my heart are real. Like tonight. I can almost feel them sliding up from where they've been hidden all day. The scattered tears dry on my cheeks and the glass doors close inside; the locks click into place. I brush a hand across my face. Keep my eyes on the winding road.

Dusk gives way to dark.

Half-moon appears in the sky, as if by magic. Evening star hangs low ahead.

Why do you come here? I ask it silently. Why do you bother?

Yet I know the answer. It comes for the same reason I return. Perhaps it, too, longs to stay in the safety of some far-away mountain. Perhaps it, too, aches with loneliness after a glimpse of what it no longer has.

But we are called here by One greater than ourselves. And so we come. We shine. And we wait for the morning.

On Strength

Alaska mountains

Strength is a funny thing. Some people wear it like chain mail, but it wraps round others like a cloak--a bit mysterious, but soft and warm. It hides some people and reveals others. It's a blaze that scalds and a hearth-fire that warms. In some people, it wounds; in others, it protects.

It's not always bad, but neither is it always good. And the wrong type of strong people are scary. They are not safe. But the good type are trustworthy and protective. Astonishingly so.

The difference lies in the root (as it always does). In why.

Some strength says, "I will never be hurt."
Some says, "I choose to allow myself to hurt . . . and rise again."

Some strength says, "I will never let anyone close to me."
Some says, "I will give--and love--and care deeply . . . even when you'll never return it."

Some strength says, "I am all I need."
Some says, "I will ask for help."

Some strength says "I."
Some says "Him."

Because to be truly strong, to be soft yet strong, this is the greatest kind of strength. And the greatest kind of strength can only be gained from the One who is truly Strong.

Oh my friends, as you go into this world today, this dark and broken and angry world, have that true strength. Don't go weak, but don't put on that chain-mail strength. Just don't. It's not worth it. It's not worth the pain to yourself, or to others.

Take His cloak instead.

If Truth Never Triumphed

There's been a shooting today, in the city I've known as home for the past eight years.

"Domestic terrorism"... "ISIS"..."violence"...

These words were never supposed to exist. Period.

We cry, "Why this little city? Why this little town? Why those children? Why these husbands? Those mothers?"

And we cannot know the answer. Because evil has no answer but the selfish core of selfishness. Evil is its own entity. And deep inside, the most hardened of us still know that it is a foreign entity. Evil is not supposed to be. 

This hatred of evil, this hatred of pain, this burning anger at things that are just wrong, this is one of the strongest indicators that we were made for another world.

But here, and now, truth, integrity, love...they battle today. And more often than not, they lose. In little ways, and in big.

Truth forever on the scaffold,
Wrong forever on the throne.

And so I have a question for you today--and a question for me. Why do we choose truth? Why do we choose integrity? Why do we choose love?

Do we choose it because we think life will be better when it triumphs?

What if it never overcame? (not, that is, that we could ever see...)

What if it never won? (not that our children, or great-great-great grandchildren, could ever enjoy...)

Would we still choose it now?

IRL: Absentia

Trail at a nearby state park

Well, I'm here now.

And mostly unpacked.

Actually pretty much all unpacked.

And dealing with a serious case of writers' block. In case you couldn't tell. ;)

Getting ready for school, visiting friends (and having friends visit), working out a routine for the hundred-and-ten things you suddenly have to do when you're living by yourself, and generally trying to be an adult--it's all filling up my days.

But I am slowly but surely getting some ideas for blog posts. So hopefully I will be back sooner rather than later. :)

Oh, How He Loves

We meet "virtually" at the end of a long week--she walking along a creek in the rain, I sitting atop a warm rock in the sun (by another little creek). Almost 200 miles apart, but still beside each other in heart. Sisterhood is like that.

It's been a week full of joy and full of sorrow, for both of us. Full of the joy of serving, of giving unashamedly, of pouring into other lives. Full of sorrow from others' pain, of staggering under the hundred-ton weight of someone else's hurt. Sometimes second-hand sorrow is hardest to bear.

We share (much-abbreviated) prayer requests and though we laugh at each other and with each other, our hearts break for each other and for our friends. People I haven't even met set my heart throbbing, make me close my eyes as if to try to block out the agonizing reality of the darkness that has set itself against them. I ache to wrap my arms around each one, hold them tight, tell them You ARE loved. YOU are loved. HE loves you--and through the darkness, through the pain--He'll never, ever let you go.

And that night as I go home, half-reeling from the overwhelming need to be loved that resounds through the hearts of this broken, pain-throbbing world, I can't help but think, this must be a glimpse into the heart of God.

'Cause if I love these people so much--people I've never or only barely met--how much more must He love each one of them and each one of us--His children--when He knows so deeply and so intimately?

Wow.

"Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed on us, that we should be called children of God!" (1 Jn. 3:1)

You Matter

Rallied by one young prince's victory, a thousand men of the Israelite nation rush from their hiding places, armed with sticks and shovels, to pursue and to destroy their enemies. Successfully.

Ranks of young men file into ships, to land at Normandy Beach and to scramble and battle their way inland in a desperate struggle to free Europe.

Suicide bombers train for days, weeks--only to destroy themselves in a final explosion for what they believe is the right.

We are obsessed, we humans, with being part of something bigger than ourselves. With fighting for the right. With the ideal of the stalwart hero who battles and struggles and finally, though his death or through his life, wins. We want this. We crave it. It is part of both our deepest fears and our deepest dreams. It constantly drives us upward toward glory, or downward toward greatest loss. 

Because we are. We are part of Something Bigger. We do fight for it. Every day. 

The question is: What? What am I fighting for? Am I the hero fighting to free Europe, to rescue Israel from the Philistines? Or am I the suicide bomber who destroys not only others, but himself, in a blaze of terror?

There are only two sides. The side that destroys, and the Side that renews. The side that wounds, and the Side that heals. And one of the essences of the Gospel is just this:

YOU MATTER.

Your life matters. Your choices matter. YOU matter. More than you can ever dream. Because in every choice, no matter how small, no matter how insignificant, you fight. Because every time you choose the good, evil loses. 

And so in a hundred little choices, in a hundred little prayers, in a hundred little surrenders every day...we fight.

By His grace, choose the good.

"Fight the good fight of faith, lay hold on eternal life, to which you were also called and have confessed the good confession in the presence of many witnesses." (1 Tim. 6:12)

Canaan Bound

Source

It seems all the stories start the same.

"It was just an ordinary day. . ."

Maybe that's because it was. Until. 

Mine was. Or I suppose, I should say, it was an ordinary night. Until...

Wait--the whole story--you haven't heard it. It's a long story, you know. You don't mind? Well, let's begin, then...

Flat roofs are meant for stargazing. I've always been up there nights, as long as I can remember, maybe even more once I had a family. The breeze skips by, touches your face like a lover's hand; the stars twinkle and flash overhead; sometimes the moon burns a hole in the sky. A whisper-smell of jasmine, a far-away owl's hoot. You just can't sleep for long, not in so much beauty.

The moon was full that night, and it threw a halo all around. I've hardly ever seen a moon that bright--seemed you could scarcely see the stars. I'd fixed a bed up top of the roof, threw down a blanket or two at the end of a long day. And I lay there, hands behind my head, staring up at that sky and a thousand questions running in my mind. Don't even remember what they were about, really.

I guess I dozed off despite myself. When I woke the moon was half across the sky. For a moment I wasn't sure what had woken me--but I knew there was something. Then I heard it. Music. But unlike any music I'd ever heard before. It started soft; it took a moment before I could make out... words. And what words...

Get out of your country
From your family
And from your father's house
To a land that I will show you.

If I'd had questions before, they paled in comparison to my questions now. This was unlike anything I'd ever heard before. All I knew was here. All I'd ever known was here. My family, my father's house--it was all I had. My inheritance, my life, my hope for the future. To leave all this--for an unnamed land?

But the music swelled and grew and pulled at me. Somehow I knew it was for me. I remembered how God--the great YAH--had spoken to men in the past. Was this how He spoke? This beautiful but so uncertain way? Would He not be more specific, not give more directions?

I will make you a great nation;
I will bless you
And make your name great;
And you shall be a blessing.
I will bless those who bless you
And I will curse him who curses you;
And in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.*

The music faded. Only the moon remained, and I found myself on my knees, knowing I bowed before the Creator of All. Was it enough--His promise? To leave all I knew, to begin in a new and hostile place, knowing no one, with no family, no inheritance, no life?

"I will go," I whispered, though deep within a part of me recoiled from such a life-altering decision. "Tomorrow I shall tell them. We shall go."

* Genesis 12:1-3

IRL: Summer Begins

• Quiet days at the office...
• Reading Pilgrim's Progress, Hinds' Feet on High Places, Captivating, and To Kill a Mockingbird...
• Long-distance book clubs...
• Arranging new songs...
• Google Hangouts with friends...
• Beautiful new lyrics stuck in my head all day...
• Honeysuckle and privet-scented nights...
• Catching up and talking with little brothers and friends...
• Planning a weekend trip to my "new home" to order books, have meetings with the pastor, meet (even more) people, and start getting ready for July...
• Poetry
• Music
• Delighted with others' joy :)
• Solo hikes in the rain
• Thunderstorms

"There are different kinds of happiness," she said. "There is an exuberant happiness, that comes bubbling up and bubbling out--like Old Faithful. And there's a quiet happiness, like when you're hiking with your family at 5,000 feet. And there's a bittersweet happiness, missing the old and being grateful for it, standing alone in the rain, driving by yourself across the mountains. But they're all happiness. All to be embraced."

Somewhere Between

Source

It's a strange feeling being between two worlds.

That's where most of us grads (or soon-to-be-grads) are right now. Two worlds. One world is the one we've been in for at least four, sometimes five or more, years--college. To expand it even further, school in general. We've been students for at least sixteen years, most of us.

The next world varies a lot from person to person, but it has one thing in common--the unknown. Unknown grad school, unknown new jobs, unknown mission service. Unknown.

And for the moment, standing between last finals and an anticipated-but-unknown future, we look at the world and wonder one thing: Where am I today--really?

Because I don't belong here any more, but I still am here.

Because I will belong there someday, but I'm not there yet.

And so we stand somewhere between, in a strangely surrealistic "wood between the worlds," happy but unsure, relieved but just a little apprehensive, not knowing.

The parallels are intriguing.

"These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland." (Heb. 11:13-14)

Broken Healer

"The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon Me,
Because the LORD has anointed Me
To preach good tidings to the poor;
He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to the captives,
And the opening of the prison to those who are bound" (Is. 61:1)

What makes God such an incredible Healer? Besides, of course, that He is God, and can do whatever He wants. . .

When we are hurting, we want someone who has been there before us. Somehow, knowing that someone has walked this trail before--it smooths the thorns. It gives us hope. And somehow, that hope is really what most of us are looking for.

So He was broken--He was crushed--so that we might be healed. And so that we might recognize that healing, see it in hands and feet and heart, in flesh and bone.

And perhaps, just perhaps, He sometimes asks us to share in that brokenness--so that we might be able to offer healing and hope to another.

Other Side of Chivalry

"UGH!"

She stomps her foot and crosses her arms and scowls. Seventh-graders haven't yet mastered the art of the death glare, but they're getting close. Especially this one.

He looks at her with a crooked smile and doesn't say anything (he's smart). With an exaggerated sigh, she flings her arms to her sides petulantly and stomps . . . through the door.

He grins and waits for me to go through and closes it behind us.

"He's trying to be a gentleman, M," I smile; "let him do it."

And they say chivalry is dead. Girls say chivalry's dead. Are we the ones who've killed it?

I find this definition when I look up "chivalry": "the combination of qualities expected of an ideal knight, especially courage, honor, courtesy, justice, and a readiness to help the weak."

I don't think girls really mind courage or justice, or even honor--look at the popular movies and books and you know we like those things. But it's that "courtesy" thing, especially because courtesy ties precisely to the last item in that list: "a readiness to help the weak," that gets us.

God made people to be strong. He made guys to be strong. He made girls to be strong too. Look at the women in the Bible and you see strength all over the place. Eve, Deborah, Esther, Jael . . . these women are no pushovers. And we, as their daughters, want to be strong. We want to be the warrior princess of the story. And our culture pushes that even harder. Women must be "empowered"; we must be tough and strong and not give in to anything. Especially men.

We say this--we do this--partly because strength is built into us, and partly because we are afraid. The strength part is good. The fear part is not. Because fear always makes a fake hardness, a brittle china sort of toughness that isn't at all tough. Instead, it breaks and cuts.

What are we afraid of? It probably depends to a degree on the individual girl, but I'd say there's one thing that carries through us all: We are afraid of being hurt.

"But I'm not hurting you!" the poor guy protests. "I'm being nice to you!"

Yeah, you are. But you are also, even in one small way, making me dependent on another person. You. I'm depending on you to hold that door for 30 seconds and not let it smash back in my face. I'm depending on you to hand those fallen books back and not toss them away just to spite me. I'm depending on you to not cut in front of me in line. Little things, yeah, but I'm depending on you. And that is a terrifying place to be. Most girls have been let down enough little or big times (even by seventh grade) that we're gun-shy of any kind of dependence.

Maybe it's a scary place for you too, gentleman at the door. Maybe it's not. I don't know. But if you want to make it better, what do you do?

Keep doing what you're doing. Try to be patient. Try to be a little bit nicely stubborn--sometimes that's what it takes. But don't just be a gentleman when it comes to holding doors or picking up books or letting me go first in the potluck line. Be dependable other places too. Build my trust. I don't care if I'm not and never will be your girlfriend. We all need to build trust--you, and me, and my seventh- and eighth-graders, and all of us.

Girls? That's a whole different post. But try to see the true strength behind accepting courtesy. It takes a lot more strength to graciously accept an offer that makes you momentarily dependent on another, than it does to bull your way through alone. Remember that. And act on it.

If we want chivalry, we can't refuse it. If we want kindness, we can't put it down. If we want to be open and true with each other, we must move past that fear that cuts.

IRL: Catch-up

Student teaching is going overall quite well. It's a bit of fun times trying to nail down my classroom management but fortunately my kids are really quite easy so that makes my life a bit better. Some days are better than others but they're recognizing when I'm serious and they listen. I, in turn, am learning to be a little bit tough with them when I need to. It's a matter of getting comfortable--I can't be tough with you until I feel we have a relationship, so that makes my management strategy a little different.

After this coming week, it's only two more weeks in the classroom--one more of full-time teaching, and then one week part-time teaching. Going to miss my kids but I'm glad I took my week off when I did (at the end of the school year). Grad is already going to be crazy enough, without trying to teach straight up until the Friday of graduation weekend!

Besides that, I'm trying to soak up every minute I can of the rest of this spring. I'm outside as soon as I get home and staying out till the sun goes down (lesson planning? yeah...that's Sundays...sometimes...I get them done!). Spending time with my friends and just trying to make the most of every minute.

Today I'm driving up to my "new home" to check out a place for my horse that will hopefully work out so that he can come with me. Also dropping by the two apartments/duplexes I'm deciding between.

How To Be a Teacher

...according to second grade:

--"But she's a STUDENT teacher."
--"Yeah...but she has a whistle!" 
--"That's true...I guess she's a teacher too!"

Never-failing source of amusement right here. Love having the combination of older and younger kids--best of all the worlds! :)

His Lamps

I don't remember if I've shared this before, but just in case I haven't...this is a great little poem I have posted on my wall to remember.

We are His lamps, to shine where He shall say;
And lamps are not for sunny rooms,
Or for the light of day,
But for dark places of the earth,
Where shame and wrong and crime have birth;
Or for the murky twilight gray,
Where wandering sheep have gone astray;
Or where the lamp of faith grows dim,
And souls are groping after Him.
And so sometimes we find a flame,
Clear shining through the night--
So dark we cannot see the lamp, 
   but only see the light.
May we so shine--His love the flame--
That men may glorify His name.

~ R.J. Flint

Teacher Diaries: New Journey

Yesterday and Friday found me up at my new community/church/school! Spent Friday looking around for apartments and possible places for my horse, and then yesterday was Sabbath School, church, and potluck.

It was really a great weekend--overwhelming sometimes and exhausting for the introvert who met what seems like a hundred new people, but great! The church members are really wonderful, very friendly and welcoming. I could hardly have a conversation without at least three other people coming up to say hello and welcome! Beautiful little active church, a healthy growing school and active homeschool community :) . I'm excited. God is doing big things there and I'm grateful He's given me the chance to be part of it!

It will be a big shift for sure as I transition. I've never lived away from home before, so it's all kind of happening at once. ;) But it's still fairly close which is a big positive. I can come down to visit home on a weekend or my family can come up. Friends can come up from university too, if they want to.

Life feels like it's duly in an uproar right now! Decisions--ah I hate decisions and there are about a thousand just waiting in the wings! But I know God's got His hand in this and He'll bring me through. That's what I'm holding on to. :)

Waiting: Part 2: What's It?

Or, some stories for you. :)

Once upon a time, there was a little girl. And this little girl loved horses. (Don't most?) The fabled "horse bug" bit her when she was around seven years old, and it just never really quit.

Of course she asked for a horse, she wanted a horse--but her parents couldn't afford a horse, and that was that. So she wore the covers off her book on how to take care of horses, reading it and re-reading it. And always she hoped for a horse. She befriended horses that showed up in the cow barn (unfortunately they stayed only a few days) and then she made friends who had horses, and she got to ride one at long last. But only once or twice before her family moved. She still hoped for her own.

Eventually, three years after the initial bug bit, her grandpa offered to fund riding lessons every other week. She learned to walk and trot and eventually to canter. And still she hoped for her own horse. There were bad instructors and good ones, lost confidence and regained confidence, and as she got older the horses got younger and a bit wilder sometimes. There were more falls, more bumps and bruises, broken bones, drives home in tears because things didn't work out. And still she hoped for her own.

* * *

Once upon a time, there was a little boy. And this little boy decided he wanted to work with physically hurting people, to reach their spiritual hurts too. So when he grew up he went to college to study. 

But when he got to college some huge issues came up. Issues so big that it seemed there was no way through. No way around. No way over. He tried every angle. He analyzed every opportunity. But things just didn't seem to be looking up. So he asked, and he shared:

"What keeps you going?" 

The answer? Hope. Hope to make a difference. Hope to change someone's life. Hope to shine a light. 

So he kept getting up every day, and he kept going to class, and he kept hoping for that difference. There were no answers, and there were no guarantees, and the dream was held off (it seemed) maybe forever. He waited on the answers, and he waited on the outcome, and there wasn't much promise of a good turnaround and a happy ending. Still he hoped to be that difference. 

* * *

Two stories, two very different people, two very different situations. Or maybe, at the core, not so different after all.

What is "waiting"?

Reflections

Image from Wikimedia Commons

I've grown a lot this semester. In a lot of ways.

I continue to ask God for His heart for others, and He is opening my eyes. Just as much as I can stand it--which isn't very much.

Guys, this world is a dark, dark place. Dark and empty and cold. Dark enough to suck the air from your lungs. Empty enough to leave you beaten and helpless. Cold enough to freeze your heart.

If you'll let it.

Don't.

Because it's also full of light. Because HE is full of light. And He is here. And He is in us, for us, with us. He is light, He is healing, He is joy, He is warmth and life and love. And if you'll let Him, He will set your heart ablaze.

For so much darkness, so much more light. Lord, make me a lamp.

"Where sin abounded, grace abounded much more, so that as sin reigned in death, even so grace might reign through righteousness to eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord." (Rom. 5:20-21)

First Placement Done!

Well my first student teaching placement is done!

The kids all made me cards Friday and I got hugged to death multiple times and had several offers to be kidnapped and hauled away to various students' closets/basements/etc. I suppose I'll take that as a compliment! ;)

I will miss them but at the same time it was an enormous relief on Friday afternoon when I got home, knowing I was done with that first placement. I love the kids but the environment I guess was still being stressful even though I'd gotten used to it. I walked around Friday afternoon feeling like I had a literal weight off my chest, haha!

Now I'm working in the office at college over spring break, and reminding myself that I can still understand Spanish. I've let it slide since freshman/sophomore year but I'll need it again come summer for my new job. This coming Friday I'll go up to my new school (the one where I actually have a job!) for the weekend. I've been talking with a number of the school board members on the phone these past couple weeks. Everyone has been super friendly and welcoming so far and I'm excited to meet them "for real" outside of just an interview trip. Excited and scared, but trying to focus on the excited part. ;)

A week from today I start my second placement. That will be a K-8 one-room school and I am super excited! I'm hoping to be able to meet with my mentor teacher sometime this week, or at least talk with her on the phone--we'll see. It will be a new adventure for sure--very different from my first placement in a lot of ways!

Real Life: From the Diaries: Surrender

Bit of a long post today but I'm just putting this out there in case anyone else stumbling across this corner of the Wide Wide Web finds it encouraging. Please don't anyone worry about me; I've since mostly worked this out though I know it will probably come back! Sometimes God leads us in very different ways than we anticipated--and that can be hard. Even though it's always for the best!

While coming to grips with the fact that I actually have a job now (wow), I’m also having to come to grips with the fact that, for whatever reason, that job is quite close. 2 ½ hours, to be exact. Which I have not been expecting. At all. And though it has very definite benefits, somehow it also hurts a lot more than I’d been expecting. I guess I still miss Peru more than I’d thought. A lot more. . . 

I know that here can be a mission field just like anywhere else can, and that the safest place for me is in the middle of God’s will, and that God has led me to northeast TN. I believe all of that with my whole heart. I believe He has the best plans, that He only gives good gifts, that He withholds nothing good from His children. I know all that.

I also know that experience Stateside often can translate into being a better missionary, that I will have the opportunity to continue my Spanish, that I can become an experienced teacher and missionary up there and learn a lot about running a school that will be extremely helpful if I ever go overseas.

None of that makes the hurt go away though. This is what I promised I wouldn’t do—but now I’m doing it because I believe God led me here. I’m not angry at God but I am confused. When so many people “out there” desperately need to know about Him, and so few people are willing or able to go, and I am willing and able to go, why is He keeping me here? Why? And it’s not like I didn’t try at all. I talked to two different organizations; neither offered me anything. One pretty much actively discouraged me from career missions at this point. 

I just miss Peru. Still. I think mostly I miss that call, that certainty, that sense of place, that coming home. I wonder if I will ever find it again.

I guess mostly God is just teaching me surrender. Ha. Surrender all ways. I never in a hundred years thought I’d have to surrender this. But He knows all the things I don’t. Which is a lot. ;) And there are many many many things I can’t see. I don’t know so much. And He knows it all. His plans are GOOD.

What I do know is that He called me to missions. I know that beyond a shadow of a doubt. That is what I can hold on to. That is what I can act on.

And answering that call means going wherever He calls, for the simple reason that He called me. And so I go to northeast Tennessee in July. Because He called me. No other reason is good enough.

Waiting: Part 1: A Question

Long conversation with a friend and "little sister" last night brought up a topic that I think isn't talked about nearly enough.

That being WAITING.

That is, waiting in a spiritual and emotional sense. I think we talk about physically waiting for things quite enough. :)

But we wait for a lot of other things too...

• "Mr./Ms. Right"
• God acting in a specific way
• Friends changing (for the better, we hope)
• Family changing
• New friends

I could go on and I'm sure you have your own list. The above is just some of what we talked about last night. ;) 

My question to you is this: Can waiting distract us from the bigger issues of life? If so, how do we keep it "in check," so to speak? 

Still Here!

Well I have been MIA lately. I'll try to update more often! Maybe!

I'm keeping very very busy pretty much. Student teaching is going well. I only have two more weeks left after this coming one, for my current public school (5th grade) placement. Then I'll have a week off for spring break, before moving on to my seven-week private school placement. This current placement is a "co-teaching" setup, so I really don't have complete responsibility for the classroom, but I'm still learning a lot and it is a good experience.

So I am in school or driving to/from school from 8 to somewhere around 4:30 every day. Evenings are taking care of my horse and then usually just crashing. For an introvert, teaching can be very draining--for an idealist and connection-focused person, public school environments are even more draining. So I am trying to figure out how to "recharge" in those precious before-and-after school moments. It's still a work in progress. :)

Sabbaths are busy 9-9:30ish with church, friends, Bible work, and more friends--Sundays are lesson planning and usually something with more friends, unless (as on this weekend) they're sick! :( And this Monday we also have the day off for Presidents' Day, so I'm enjoying the long weekend. I anticipate a snow day sometime this week as well, but we'll have to see on that one!

I also interviewed for and accepted a job in a little one-teacher school in northeastern Tennessee, so I know where I'll be moving this summer! I'm very excited and can't wait to go up there over spring break to look for apartments and a place for my horse, and attend church with "my" new people! Lots of changes but it will be good. :)

Teacher Diaries: Homeschooler Returns

Just a short update! It's a bright sunny morning outside and it's only 10:35 and already 50 degrees. Feels like spring.

On Thursday night, it snowed--big fluffy flakes half the size of my palm--and the roads froze and we had a snow day all day Friday. So by the time Martin Luther King Jr. Day is done, I'll have had a four-day weekend.

I love Tennessee. I love the South. Especially in January and February. :)

This coming week, probably Wednesday, I'll start teaching. Last week I observed a lot, did mini-teaching with small groups, and enjoyed my snow day Friday. This week, I will start actually teaching! Since our particular classroom only teaches reading, writing, and math (the students rotate to other teachers for science and social studies), I won't have quite so much to prepare--on the other hand, fifth-grade math is a lot of fractions. And I've never liked fractions, so I'm refreshing my memory! :)

Startled my poor mentor teacher on Thursday because she asked where I went to school. And when asked a point-blank question like that, there's only really one thing to say. . . so I told her I was home-schooled. Let's just say I don't think she was expecting that answer! ;) However, apparently she's decided I'm still not too scary, since we are planning for me to probably take the grammar lesson and at least some math lessons this coming week! We'll see how it goes!

One Step

From a day that, believe it or not, was warmer than today! 

"Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble." (Matt. 6:34)

Good morning, Thursday!

The air crackles in my nose--I can feel my breath freezing. In and out, in and out--frosty in, warmer out. I hold gloved hands to my nose, try to trap the warmer air around my face, focus on my steps, on the swing of my legs forward and back. The little rock fountain's frozen over--icicles draping over the moss, fish swimming under a glassy sheet. It begs a picture, even though my camera phone's notoriously bad at such things.

Another three stairs, behind the religion building, up the final long set of stairs to work. I take them one-and-two at a time--not brave enough to run, not warm enough to walk! Eyes laser-focus on the door; I swing it open, step inside the warmth, and gasp a still-shivery sigh of relief. I'm here. At last.

There's a trick to walking to work on cold mornings. At least, there is if you don't like the cold but you don't want to feel like a grumpy turtle when you do get to work. For me, that trick involves a double focus: #1, of course, is the warm work building. But just focusing on getting from A to B (in the cold) can create a distinct "grumpy turtle" attitude. Okay, it does create said attitude, at least for me!

#2 focus is every step. And the second focus is just as important (maybe because I forget it so easily!). Because though I may focus on the future, I live in each step.

And it's my choice how to live each of those steps. Will I live each step, or will I live each step? Will I live in frustration or in gratitude? In anxiety, or in trust? As a beggar, or as a child of the King?

It's hard (for some of us anyways) to understand living an entire life trusting God. But when you break it down to steps--to days and to hours and even to minutes--that looks a bit more doable. Not that I will do it all the time or even most of the time!--but it gives me courage to start over. To try again. To live each step in awe of that Future.

Filled with Him

Fall color many moons ago ;) 

Well, a new year is here!

For me? This last year has been, overall, good. I've grown so much, learned so much, grown SO much closer to God, met amazing (seriously, amazing!) people--it's just been a great year. I can honestly say I'm so much happier this year than I was at this time last year.

And someday I want to write a series of posts about why. :) But for now I don't have the time.

This coming year--will it be as good as last year? I think it can be. Will it feel as good? That's another question! I'm beginning student teaching in two weeks, and I'll be graduating college in May. The job search begins next week. That's a really surreal kind of feeling in itself, when I think about it (which I'm trying not to)!

But the best thing? Is that with God, every day is the start of a new year! In its own way. I don't have to wait till next January to make changes or to move forward. His mercies are new every morning! You can't ask for better than that!

This year, I decided I wanted to focus on true beauty, peace, and joy. Surrounding myself with them and asking God to fill me with them and let them spill out to others. But then I thought, oh, and love too--and hope--and--and well there are a lot of things I want to be filled with!

So really, I came to the conclusion that what I want is just to be filled. Isn't that what we all want? And so I decided (yes, maybe I'm a bit slow!) that I just want to be filled with JESUS. If that's all I am, I will be more than happy enough!

Source

Care to join me?