Well Then

Or, a not-so-well-thought-out post that just kind of rambles, because it has been over six months since I wrote anything, and anyone who still reads this likely believes that I'm dead or missing in action.

Everything is turned upside down right now because this lovely little school doesn't have kids.

So I have been here since August (well, all summer really), trying to figure out what a teacher does with nobody to teach. It's been interesting.

I visited my best friend a lot over the summer, also visited family, took a class for my certification. Got a very mischievous ginger kitty from said best friend's family. ^_^ Read new books, enjoyed them, got new plants (currently have an African violet, an aloe vera, a basil, and a viney thing). Tried to recruit kids with not a whole lot of success.

Continued to repeat that last sentence indefinitely this fall. Did finally register one child officially for the January semester--yay!! Also heard that two will not be able to come back till next fall--hrmm. :/

Created a school website, chased my (proverbial) tail in circles over various projects, some of which were accomplished and some of which weren't, and here we are at the end of September and I have received a tentative offer to do a long-term substitute position somewhere in Georgia (the level of secrecy regarding location is both amusing and frustrating, you'd think it was classified CIA information). For various reasons I said yes (with my board chair's approval) and so I sit here and wait a final decision that will launch me southward, at least for a short period.

But I did talk to one of my eighth graders from last year, just yesterday, and she is in academy and doing well and enjoying herself. Which, I like to think, she would not be if it hadn't been for what we'd been able to do last year. So it was worth it, however it turns out.

I know this time will be, too. Some things just take longer to see results than others.

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?

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.

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. 

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.

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)

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)

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.

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. :)