am I enough?

I consider myself to be a student of romance. Our culture is saturated with it, and I believe that romance is deep at the heart of who we are as human beings. I'm also fascinated by love stories of every variety, which my collection of chick flicks and "cotton candy" novels can attest to. While I long for human romance myself, (believe me, I do.), I know that no man, however incredible he may be, will ever come close to filling my heart the way my One True Love does. My Jesus has been my best and truest friend since I was 12, and I know he will continue to be for all of my days. I know that I break His heart with my satisfaction with "lovers so less wild", and he keeps bringing me back to the question "Am I enough?". He whispers it to me when the credits of that movie roll, when the last page of the novel is turned and the ache is fresh in my heart. Most of the time I assuage him and myself by whispering back "Of course!" and going on with my day-to-day life. This longing for romance and adventure in my own life won't be silenced, though. I know that my life is very significant and meaningful right now, but I long for more.

 The summer between my junior and senior years of high school, the summer of 2005, a very significant summer for me, I read God is Closer Than you Think by John Ortberg. This book talked about how any of us could have a life with God that few ever live -- a life with God like that of C.S. Lewis, Amy Carmichael, or Julian of Norwich. There is no limit to how close we can get to God and how much of a daring adventure He can make out of our lives -- the only lines between God and us are the lines that we draw. Up until that point in my life, I was a pretty normal Christian girl. Raised in the church and at camp, I knew what my life would look like when I grew up. I saw the women at church and their husbands and families and, logically, assumed my life would take the same course. Their Christianity was sincere, but limited. They truly loved God, but Christianity was more a lifestyle than a romance. Being a Christian meant you did certain things and didn't do certain things, that you talked a certain way, and that you always always always went to church on Sundays. Up until that point in my life, I kind of thought the life of faith was hereditary in a way -- that you had the same religious life that those of your social circle did. So I expected my life of faith to be similar to these women; very suburban. This book, though, told me that it could be different.

 My Jesus took a hold of my heart and my life when I was 12 -- since then I had been trying to figure out how to live with Him and reconcile His wild, boundless love with my suburban environment. Now, at age 17, I learned that it could be different. I could be a "saint". I didn't know much at 17, but I did know that I wanted that. So I kind of figured out how saints got to be saints. I read about the spiritual disciplines and ancient monastic practices. I went through a period of legalism when my Jesus' voice was drowned out by rules. Through it all, though, He kept whispering "Beloved, am I enough?". He took me through some rough times, and there were definitely times in those next few years I got through only by clutching His hand and gritting my teeth until it was over.

 All of this to say that I learned that my life doesn't have to be normal, to be suburban and tame. I've always longed for more, but it's hard when almost everyone you know is living a certain way and expects you to do the same. But I know my Jesus, and I know the last thing He wants me to be is "normal", to settle for living a certain way just because it's all I know. So I've given myself completely to Him. Every time He beckons me to a new adventure, He asks "Do you trust me?". Of course I can say "yes", but I also have to take His hand and walk with Him, which requires complete trust. Sometimes I don't trust Him as much as I think I do.

 So what does all of this have to do with romance? Well, as I mentioned earlier, romance is an interest of mine. I look forward to my romance with my future husband some day, and I pray for him every day. But in this conscientious preparation for my future marriage, romance has the potential to become, and has been at different times, an idol. I've dethroned this idol countless times, but then I put it back up on the pedestal almost daily, too. I long for romance, and I listen to the lies telling me that this longing will be fulfilled in a relationship with another human.

My Jesus asks me still "Am I enough?", and when I actually stop to consider that question instead of flippantly answering "Of course!", my actual answer hurts him and me. Sometimes I don't trust Him to be enough. Sometimes I settle for those "lovers so less wild". But He never fails to take me back into His arms when I return to Him.

 When I read or watch a really good, pure love story, my heart just aches. Have you ever seen something so beautiful it hurts? I believe that the truly beautiful things on earth hurt because they are glimpses of heaven, and make us long for our True Love and eternity with Him. I just watched a movie today, and the wedding scene just made me sob, because I thought about the beauty of the bride and groom's relationship, but also because this union between them brought glory to God. This kind of intimacy is a reflection of our intimacy with God, and I believe that He delights in it and blesses it.

 My Jesus and I are so close that for a man to win my heart, he will have to join in the relationship that my Jesus and I already have -- he will never take my attention from Him for one moment. And now, at age 24, my Jesus still asks me "Am I enough?", and I answer "I want you to be." He is enough for me, and I am whole, but I still long for romance. But I'm not going to have a human romance unless it's AWESOME, and makes God look good. This romance will probably look different than most of what I've seen in my life, but that doesn't mean that romance can't be more than what our culture dictates. That's like a middle schooler assuming that relationships can only last a week because that's all she sees, and always settling for shallow, week-long relationships. We see what our culture has to offer and say to ourselves "This must be it". I'm trying my hardest not to settle and not to compromise in this area, and my Jesus keeps reminding me "I didn't call you to be 'normal.'"

For many women my age, your wedding is seen as the culmination of your life, but I want mine to just be the beginning of a grand romantic adventure. I love that idea, that the wedding day is only the beginning. Most Christians would say that the day you "accept Christ" is the most important day in the life of your faith. But I would say it is only the beginning -- that night in 6th grade was only the beginning for my Jesus and me, and far more important and wonderful have been the days since.

 As this first year of my adult life draws to a close and I think about the years ahead, I have to trust Hin to lead me and not settle for what others expect me to do. I can't let my love life dictate where I go and what I do -- He is enough, and if I let Him be, He is more to me than any man ever can or will be. For now, I live to fall more in love with Him every day and trust Him to make my life into the daring adventure I know it will be.

the vision

I don't know where this came from, and I didn't write it.
The Vision
"So this guy comes up to me and says 'What's the vision? What's the big idea?' I opened my mouth and words came out like this…
The vision is Jesus – obsessively, dangerously,
undeniably Jesus.
The vision is an army of young people.
You see bones? I see an army. And they are Free
from materialism.
They laugh at 9-5 little prisons.
They could eat caviar on Monday and crusts on Tuesday.
They wouldn't even notice.
They know the meaning of the Matrix,
The way the west was won.
They are mobile like the wind, they belong to the nations.
They need no passport.
People write their addresses in pencil and wonder at their
strange existence.
They are free yet they are slaves of the hurting, the dirty,
and the dying.
What is the vision?
The vision is holiness that hurts the eyes. It makes children laugh and adults angry. It gave up the game of minimum integrity long ago to reach for the stars. It scorns the good and strains for the best. It is dangerously pure.
Light flickers from every secret motive, every private conversation. It loves people away from their suicide leaps, their Satan games. This is an army that will lay down its life for its cause.
A million times a day its soldiers
Choose to lose
That they might one day win
The great 'Well Done' of faithful sons and daughters.
Such heroes are as radical on Monday morning as they are on Sunday night. They don't need fame from names. Instead they grin quietly upwards and hear the crowds chanting again and again: "COME ON!"
And this is the sound of the underground
The whisper of history in the making
Foundations shaking
Revolutionaries dreaming once again
Mystery is scheming in whispers
Conspiracy is breathing…
This is the sound of the underground
And the army is discipl(in)ed.
Young people who beat their bodies into submission.
Every soldier would take a bullet for his comrade at arms.
Every tattoo on their backs boasts "For me to live is Christ and to die is gain."
Sacrifice fuels the fire of victory in their upward eyes.
Winners. Martyrs.
Who can stop them?
Can hormones hold them back?
Can failure succeed?
Can fear scare them or death kill them?
And the generation PRAYS
Like a dying man
With groans beyond talking
With warrior cries, sulphiric tears, and
With great barrows loads of laughter!
Waiting. Watching: 24-7-365
Whatever it takes they will give: breaking the rules.
Shaking mediocrity from its cozy little hide. Laying down
their rights and precious little wrongs, laughing at labels,
fasting essentials. The advertiser cannot mould them.
Hollywood cannot hold them. Peer-pressure is powerless to shake their resolve at late-night parties before the cockerel cries.
They are incredibly cool, dangerously attractive INSIDE.
On the outside? They hardly care.
They wear clothes like costumes to communicate and celebrate, but never to hide.
Would they surrender their image or popularity?
They would lay down their very lives-swap seats with the man on death row – guilty as hell.
A throne for an electric chair.
With blood and sweat and many tears, with sleepless nights and fruitless days,
They pray as if it all depends on God and live as if it all depends on them.
Their DNA chooses Jesus. (He breathes out, they breathe in)
Their subconscious sings. They had a blood transfusion with Jesus. Their words make demons scream in shopping centres. Don't you hear them coming?
Herald the Wierdo's! Summon the Losers and the Freaks. Here come the frightened and the forgotten with fire in their eyes. They walk tall and trees applaud, skyscrapers bow, mountains are dwarfed by these children of another dimension. Their prayers summon the hounds of heaven and invoke the ancient dream of Eden.
And this vision will be. It will come to pass; it will come easily; it will come soon. How do I know? Because this is the longing of creation itself. The groaning of the Spirit, the very dream of God. My tomorrow is His today. My distant hope is His 3D. And my feeble, whispered, faithless prayer invokes a thunderous, resounding, bone-shaking great 'Amen!' from countless angels, from heroes of the faith, from Christ himself. And he is the original dreamer, the ultimate winner.
Guaranteed."

resilience

TFA has a few essential qualities that they look for in prospective CMs, and I memorized them when I was interviewing (yes, I did — see my “applying?” page for how ridiculously over-prepared I was for my interview). I don’t remember them any more, but I think that TFA should definitely add resilience to its list of essential qualities.

In the weeks since Christmas break, my own resilience has been tested.

In this job, you will get knocked on your face. No matter how prepared you are, you’re still dealing with 27 warm-blooded, wonderful little time bombs. They will drive you crazy, and the best you can do sometimes is just ride it out. Roll with it. The thing with TFA is that they program you (even if you resist) to ALWAYS ALWAYS ALWAYS assume that anything that goes wrong is somehow your fault, or that you should have done something differently.

So say, for example, you have a bad day. A bad day of teaching results in a myriad of symptoms.

Physically, once the adrenaline wears off, there is the headache, mind-numbing exhaustion, and scratchy throat at bare minimum. You’re really fighting the urge to curl up under your desk and suck your thumb.

Your mind is still racing, and you’re analyzing and re-analyzing every facet of a particular class period or interaction. You’re thinking of all that you have to do that day and your car insurance that’s about to expire and how you should really start eating real food and wondering which credit card you haven’t maxed out yet and longing for summer, all of this while trying to plan for the next day.

You look haggard.

Emotionally, you’re experiencing so many things that you can’t name them all. You feel infuriated on behalf of your students and on behalf of yourself.

Some days it’s “They don’t deserve this!” and some days it’s “I don’t deserve this!”. There are really a lot of things to be infuriated about, and when your body is in its weakened state, your mind really goes to town.

You start to think about how, despite the fact that you work three times as hard as people in other jobs, you make one third their salary.

You think about how the paper mill in your town is polluting the air and making everyone, including you, unwell.

You think about all of the ridiculous hoops teachers have to jump through that interfere with their job.

You think about how much of your own already-scarce money you have to spend on your own classroom.

You think about your kids’ families, and the systems that have put them down and kept them down.

You think about how incompetent you feel 95% of the time.

You think about how your personal life is put on the back burner, and how easy it is to neglect your own health.

You think about how some of your boys have no idea how to treat women, and how it’s because they have no male role models.

You think about how some of your girls have no idea how they should be treated either, and how hard you have to work to convince them that they have value.

After all this thinking and even more of a headache, you come to the tired realization that it’s not fair.

And maybe that’s the point. We are choosing to leave a situation where we could be paid a salary we deserved for working reasonable hours. We’re choosing to count ourselves with those who are already being treated unfairly every day of their lives.

We’re giving up our “rights” in a lot of ways to help those who have their God-given rights stripped from them by a system that they were born into.

I’ve come to this conclusion so many times after a rough day, and it doesn’t get any easier to swallow.

After your tired realization that it’s not fair, though, you do the important thing.

You move on.

That’s where this resilience thing comes in, I think. You work and work, and if it were a sports movie and the outcome was based on your effort, you would win the game.

But let’s face it, you’re an inexperienced, poorly-trained first-year teacher who was in college this time last year. You have very little content knowledge of your subject area, and you live 2,000 miles away from your family and closest friends. You’re also doing an incredibly difficult job in an incredibly difficult situation.

Of course you’re going to get knocked on your face. The key is what you do while you’re lying there on the ground. In my life, resilience has come to mean having the courage to just do the next thing. Just do the next thing. Baby steps. Acknowledge that it’s not fair, but then move on.

What’s funny is that even when my students are ungrateful or rude to me, I can’t blame them. I can fight for them, though. Granted, some of them do need to be taken down a peg, but for the most part they are like little puppies who just need someone to love them and push them and fight for them.

So when you’re curled up in a fetal position underneath your desk, or hitting the snooze button for the fourth time, resilience is getting over yourself for a second and thinking about them. Resilience is also stopping to take care of yourself so that your students will have a sane, mentally healthy person who wants to be in the room with them.

I titled this blog from a phrase I read in a book about Abraham Lincoln, one of my FAVORITE PEOPLE EVER. The book was called Lincoln’s Melancholy, and it was all about his struggle with depression and the ground-breaking way he dealt with it. The author says

What distinguished Lincoln was his willingness to cry out to the heavens in pain and despair, and then turn, humbly and determinedly, to the work that lay before him.

This is resilience to me. Acknowledging what we’re up against, but then moving on and choosing to get back up and finish that powerpoint or grade those papers.

Because, after all is said and done, it’s not about us at all.

come on, come on, come on to the future

Well, here I stand, 2 days before the beginning of spring semester and recently returned from 9 glorious days in California. The time with my family was glorious, as always, and I didn’t really do much. I had a head cold the entire time, so it was a nice excuse to lay around as much as I wanted to. Highlights include seeing South Coast Repertory’s production of “A Christmas Carol” (a MUST if you’re ever in Orange County around the holidays) and bawling my eyes out, surfing with my family at Newport Beach on Christmas day, and eating Chipotle and In-n-Out like it was my job.

Now that I’m back in southern Arkansas, my attitude towards being here and towards teaching in general has gone up and down like a yo-yo. One minute I’m feeling good about teaching, and the next I’m wondering what I’m earth I’m doing here and why I ever wanted to be a teacher. My attitude is mostly good, but I have my moments.

I’m trying to get over the jet lag as fast as possible, but I’m still tired and feel kind of “off”. This is one of the many reasons I returned to Arkansas a week early instead of staying in California until the last minute.

I’m spending these last few days cleaning out my classroom, putting up twinkly lights, and re-organizing everything. I’m re-reading the First Days of School and hopefully I’ll be implementing more procedures in my class this semester. One thing I really want to do this semester is have a consistent format for class; I want my kids to know exactly what’s going to happen and exactly what’s expected of them during each part of class.

Big surprise, I’m having problems with money again. I spent a lot of money travelling to and from California, and my debt just keeps growing and growing. Meanwhile I’m here in southern Arkansas, and there are lots of things I need/want for my classroom and my house that would make my life a lot easier. I’m so frustrated that to be an effective teacher in my situation, I basically have to spend money out of my own pocket.

I’m optimistic about this semester. I think it’s going to be a lot better.

it bears re-posting

"Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light;
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow:
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more,
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out thy mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be."

-Alfred Lord Tennyson

especially poignant this year

"Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother,
And in His name, all oppression shall cease."

telling the truth

Thanksgiving break was GLORIOUS. It was so nice to be home in sunny California and see my family for the first time since the end of May. Coming back was very difficult, though. It’s amazing how in one week you can forget all of the good things about your life and only remember the bad.

All of the conversations I had with family, friends, and semi-strangers last week went something like this.

“So, you’re a teacher now?”

“Yes.” [I fought the urge to say "ma'am" about half the time]

“And you live in southern Arkansas?”

…we go on to talk about latent racism, the achievement gap, etc…

“Wow, it’s really like that?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, what you’re doing is really admirable.”

Thanks, I guess? That doesn’t make it easier to go back and face reality, though. I’ve been reading Lies My Teacher Told Me. Highly recommended, but very depressing. It basically explains how everything we learned in history class was complete propaganda. The author writes a whole chapter about the misconceptions Americans choose to have about the explorers, especially Columbus. I thought it was relevant to read on Thanksgiving week, and I started to think the denial our society lives in all the time.

People just pretend that since the Civil Rights Movement, racism is over and everything’s all hunky dory now. And people pretend that the Thanksgiving feast is a representation of the pilgrims and the Native Americans and the actual relationship they had. I know I’m guilty of this too, but it seems that people would rather pretend that something doesn’t exist — that way they don’t have to do anything about it. And if they pretend for long enough, then they start to really believe that segregation, for example, is a thing of the past.

It’s sad that I had to convince so many people of a reality that slaps me across the face every day. Talking about it, though, reminded me of why I’m here. I realized that it is November, and according to the month-by-month mood swing calendar in See Me After Class, this is Disillusionment Month. I have become pretty disillusioned. A lot of my idealism has worn off with months of hard work yielding seemingly spare results.

I remembered that I am here for a reason, and I do think that I can empower my students and (hopefully) help them treat each other with more respect. I don’t think I’ll be changing national statistics any time soon, but I’ll do what I can.

This semester hasn’t been that bad, truly. But the next 3 weeks might be rough. Other teachers have told me that the weeks before Christmas break are rough because the kids are just done and you are too. So I’m trying to let go of control and just ride it out.

With the coming of Christmas and the advent season comes the reminder of the Incarnation, and how it changed human history forever. I don’t want to get too preachy, but I’m reminded every year around this time that Jesus saves, and we are to manifest His reign here on earth. And as I try to treat my students as He would treat them, I’m reminded that He’s the only one I’m trying to please after all, so I don’t have to worry about pleasing everyone.

Truly He taught us to love one another,

His law is love and His gospel is peace

Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother,

And in His name all oppression shall cease.

Such beautiful words. I’m resisting the urge to get a Sharpie and scrawl them all over my bedroom wall.

I have “And in His name” written on my forearm, reminding me that I’m taking part in ending the oppression that so many Americans choose to ignore.

I’m also very excited to see my kids tomorrow .