...weakness.

Before I continue, I'd like to thank you guys for respecting my request not to read the previous message. (If I really meant it, I would have made it private, which some entries are.) Except Steph, who chose to laugh at me in my moment of need. Special thanks to you, girl. Don't forget to step on me on your way out.

For some reason, I don't like crying. I feel out of control, and it's just... messy. I especially don't like when I get so emotional I can't talk. That is frustrating, as you might imagine. Good thing, the situations in which I am thus compromised are very few.

But there is a couple. One of them, in particular. This person has never failed to bring me to tears. In fact, I have even openly cried in front of him, the whole gasp, cry, and choke-out-my-words thing. Once. Because as much as I wanted to wait, I HAD to tell him something, and it had to be right then and there. AND tonight, I did it in public. For him. I am astounded, and (albeit morbidly) interested.

But tonight, even with my embarrassingly public display of weakness, I am encouraged, as I always am when I come in contact with this man. I am inspired, and I am moved to press forward. The vision that comes in the wake of this person is enough to boost me up. God has done a lot through him, and I suppose I am moved that much more deeply because I know that God has used him to do a lot through me. It is so real, and so powerful, and I am so blessed to be such a front-row-seat witness to a miracle like that. It is rare that one brushes past someone who is changing the world, and even rarer that he has put your own hands to the same plow. I am honored.

See? I am getting emotional just thinking about this. The story deepens, but that's all for tonight. Vision restored. All is well. Uterus still up for sale.

Something smells like fire... and it might be my desire to live.

No, it's not that bad. But I have to admit that I am tired. Exhausted, really. Cranky (that could be attributable to PMS, which is highly likely since "America the Beautiful" played on the organ almost made me cry today... as did an episode of Glee a few days ago when a cranky gym teacher is found to have a sister with special needs. Don't tell anyone, though. Tears are weakness.) I woke up late for work one morning and didn't feel an ounce bad about it.

...OK, maybe I felt, like, 4 ounces bad about it, but that didn't keep me from laughing about it and secretly being grateful for being able to "sleep in." I usually love going in to work. I've been sleep-deprived, partially because I'm up talking to graduates who want to "fill me in" on their knife-selling business at 10:45 at night. For 45 minutes.

I called out a student in class this week. I mean, called him OUT. Worst of all, WITH the intention of shutting him down and making him feel bad. For record, I have NEVER done that in the past... I was in control of myself, but I was definitely not holding myself back. I am trying to convince myself that I don't believe he deserved it. I am still now working on repentance... he SO deserved it though....... the carnal beast in me is taking FOREVER to die on this one. He's a rough one, though, even the students agree. Unusual case, maybe?

My patience is on... I am mixing up my metaphors here because I want to say "a shoestring," but I'm certain that's not the word. Ida is on the loose (the hurricane, not a student, or a rabid dog) which made this week really oppressive, which made my students that much more needy, which made them call out my name at LEAST (I mean it!) 5x more than normal. Which can explain why I'm going crazy.

Either all of the above is true, and happening at the same time, or... I'm burning out.

I'd much prefer the former option, even with all its necessary coincidences. I'm pretty certain I'm PMSing. Augh, the shackles of womanhood. Can I sell my uterus? Anyone? Anyone? Aaaaanyone?

In the midst of all this chaos, there is one constant. By now, ya'll should know what that is. (See? I used the word "ya'll." Do you have any OTHER explanation for this behavior?! And I'm shouting! Ranting, really. As much as I can in print, anyway. Somehow it's.... almost... as effective as the real vocalizations. Much quieter. Which brings me to remember that I have been on the ranting mood lately, which really doesn't happen that much, either. Or maybe it does and I only notice it when I'm PMSing. At this point, I am desperately hoping this is PMS. Help me, someone.)

Oh yes, I was talking about the Constant. I was talking to a student about this once... he liked math, so I was trying to talk to him from a mathematical perspective... though all the world around us (including ourselves) are variables, God is our One True. He is the Constant. The one that stays the same.... the one that can be relied upon to remain the same, no matter what equation He is plugged in to. He is the creator of the equation, of the balance, of the safety net, of all the padded rooms in our brains...

Anyhow. I should get going. I am remembering that I do love my students after all. Even "that one." Well, I might have to pray about that some more. But believe you me, I will. I will. Watch out, buddy...

Sigh. Or maybe it's not a bad thing to want a hand once in a while...

Thanksgiving Break is coming to save the day.........

or, the Hounds

Belief trails
Like an untrained hound dog
Baying his complaints behind the massive behemoths
Of Faith, Hope, and Love.
Together they've raced over highways
Byways
Parkways
Driveways...

He is always behind.

No match for the beast of Faith whose spawn he is,
No match for the rippling sinews and trained tendons of Hope,
No match for Love whose beastliness causes even the great to submit to his fangs--

And yet he follows, doggedly, as the canine he is,
Out of breath, out of energy,
Out of luck.

They can not leave him behind

and so he trails
Help! Thou! Mine!
Belief yelps with each faltering step
Unable to match Faith's strong strides--they have been perfected, almost--

Prayer has already gone ahead,
Is already engaged in battle,
Blades and swords already snicker-snacking in the distance,
Already drawing blood (his or theirs?)
Already tearing and snarling, waiting for The Gang--
Faith, Hope, and Love already halfway in the air,
Jaws open, saliva dripping, claws outstretched--

And here Belief cowers
And the chains that bind him to the other three grows taut,
Snapping them back just before they hurl themselves
Over overturned trashcans and banana peels and opened tin cans of Uncle Fester's Best Tuna
To reach the jugular of the Thing that holds them back from All That Is Good in life

And the mass of fur and bone and fang that binds them is this grown-up hound who still thinks he's a pup,
Still tries to sit on laps and crawl into tight spaces,
Still thinks he can live on the milk of Faith,
Still thinks his name is Belief, when the name on his collar is clearly
ACTION,
Still thinks the Other Three can handle things quite readily on their own
Thinks he can sit around and watch Homeward Bound (with the dogs and the cat)
While Faith and Hope and Love go to the dog gym to buff up for "next time."

Still desiring that,
Like some other teams,
Not quite as bold, perhaps,
He could follow through, half a step behind, perhaps...

Or better yet, (next time), fly with his jaws open,
In line with his Partners,
Neck and neck,
Cutting edge on cutting edge

-----------

I found this poem this morning (in my head.) It sprung out so quickly I'm not sure I contained it all. It is, as the title suggests, unfinished. Help me finish it. Yes, this means in concept, in design, or better yet, in its application.

In other news, I am happy for rest, happy for the day blessed by God, and happy for Hope, who sometimes flies so far ahead of my pack I almost lose sight of him into the dawn of that glorious Day...

or, Bumping Into Me in the Mirror

For some reason, I am thinking of the time I was in a department store years ago. I was pushing through some particularly cluttered aisle of clothes, looking for whoever I had come with, and in my struggle, I bumped into someone. "Oh, sorry!" I had said, apologetically. I turned around to meet my victim, and came face to face with... myself. I had backed into a mirror. (As a side note, I've done this with mannequins as well.)

It's been quiet lately. The good news is that as it gets darker earlier, I've also been coming home from work earlier. The days I come home before 7 are becoming more and more frequent, and some days I'm home before 6:30! Astounding and amazing! Will wonders ever cease?

The thought crossed my mind that everything I've wanted to blog about, I've already blogged about. It wasn't long until I dismissed that thought as preposterous. It's like how John ended his gospel. If all the acts of Jesus were to be recorded, it would fill the world.

And if I recorded all that He has done in my life, it too, would run over the volumes and volumes of bound books that would come out from under my hand, or perhaps in this digital age, jump over into gigabites and tetrabites, and whatever other kind of inflictions the jaws of my keyboard pounding could cause.

More to come. More to come.

Even so, Lord Jesus, come quickly....

Friday, October 2, 2009

If Monday had been like a Tuesday,
There would have been icecream and cookies involved
(Or at least the thought of it.)
There would have been more sugar, and less
Lemons (in the lemonade that would have been leftover
From that previous Monday.)

If Monday had been like a Tuesday,
There would have been dances and barn parties
(Or at least the music of it in my head)
There would have been singing and working
Railroads and steamships, working machines, instead of this
Stagnation and empty mugs of imitation coffee.

If Monday had been like a Tuesday,
There would have been walks around the park,
Exercise sneakers and pilates (or at least the
Intention of it) with fresh air and
Reflective pull-overs. There would have been less fat
Gelling over into places they didn't belong
And more spinach, and roasted corn, and sweet potatoes.

If Monday had been like a Tuesday,
There would have been just 3 more days until the weekend, and time wouldn't have
Hung, limp and unthreatening, over deadlines and to-do lists.
There would have been productivity,
Orange juice and potato knishes (not at the same time), bagels which (just for that day)
Were not equivalent to ten slices of white bread.
There would have been toast with just the right amount of butter and
Strawberry jam, and maybe dipped in hot chocolate (once in a while.)

If Monday had been like a Tuesday,
There would have been world peace, and an agreement between nations
To throw away their nuclear weapons and facilities, and Clark Kent
Would've wrapped them up in a net and thrown them into
Outer space, because everyone knew and accepted that he was
Super. We would've held hands and
Sung peace songs like they did (minus the hallucinogens.)

If Monday would have been like a Tuesday,
Every day would be a Tuesday until it was the weekend,
Which would be on Wednesday, and Fridays would be strictly reserved
For carnivals and cupcakes. Saturdays would be Holy, as it
Has always been ordained to be, and Sundays would be
The weekend all over again.

If Monday would have been more like a Tuesday,
I wouldn't be wasting my time writing a poem about Monday
On a Tuesday, and thinking about it on a Friday before Monday started all over again,
and people would smile because I would smile
Because I wouldn't be distracted by breakfast food,
Steam-powered machines, and the peace riots.

---

Needless to say, I had a bad Monday this week.
Next Monday will be better. I know this.
What would life be like for you if Mondays were like another day?

You know, after all this, and by all this I mean more than just years and years of blogging, it all comes down to the same thing.

I need Jesus.

Not in the whole cliche, "yeah, we all need to be saved," kind of deal, but in the rawest sense. In the deep down, everything-else-can-only-fail (and-I-keep-trying-those-doors-anyway) sense. Those were a lot of hyphens. If you haven't noticed, those are my favorite punctuation marks. After the parenthesis, of course. I still have a vivid memory of 5th grade, when my teacher's friend was visiting and decided to edit my paper. It was on Christopher Columbus or something, and she was commenting on my hyphens. Or were they parenthesis? Who knows.

I digress.

So here I am, already past my bedtime (I refrained from making a parenthetical comment on that one. Oh wait. Darn.), thinking about the past few years. And seriously, I feel like one of those punching bag dolls. You know, the kind that are inflatable and kind of roll around on the floor on some kind of curved base. The idea is that you punch it, and punch it, and punch it, and it keeps poppin' back up.

I am being frank here. I am getting tired of getting punched. Admittedly, there is a lot of pride wrapped up in the fact that I keep getting back up. But I am still sick of getting thrown down.

And I can say that because a lot of the time, I am the one punching myself. You know what I mean. There are punches that come from the world, and then there are punches that are self-inflicted. Situations that you put yourself into that you walked into that shouldn't have even been set up in the first place. Counsel that you've neglected. Good ideas that are just put on the back burner because you are prioritizing other, "more important" things.

And when I say "you," I mean "I." I am prioritizing other things. I am not eating the things I know will give me a sharper, clearer mind that I so value in this line of duty. I am not keeping my body in tune like I used to. Furthermore, I am not eating or exercising my spiritual muscles as they need to be exercised, and I am just sick of it.

There is no more '"bouncing back up."

Because there will be no more self-sabotage.

As if it were that easy, huh. If victory could be won by sitting behind a computer screen, I think a few thousand people (I am being conservative) would already be able to hand in their vouchers for entrance through those pearly gates. Unfortunately, as we have been justly warned, life ain't that easy. I still don't understand how the knowledge (that things won't be that easy) does not help the situation AT ALL. You'd think it would make some significant difference. Perhaps it does.

So maybe this isn't an ultimatum. It's not even a decent treatise. What it is is the expression of my frustration. I am sick of coming up short-changed. And knowing that it is I who am doing it to myself. I am sick of self-sabotage. And I am sick of seeing it around me.

I'm sick of the devil messing with my students. I am sick of the things they have to deal with and the problems that they will continue to have in their future because of the things that are thrown at them now. I am sick of dealing with drugs, sex, and the retarded entertainment industry that is effectively robbing my kids of useful brain cells.

Do you hear me? I'M SICK OF IT!!!!!

And I am not trying to be cute, or dramatic, or anything other than frustrated.

I am honestly so sick of fighting. And it seems like the battle never ends. What I think are the frontlines are just a confused huddle in a mass Controversy that spans bigger than it often seems on my spot of the planet. And you know what? That little confused huddle is more than enough for me to handle at this point.

Ahem.

So, apologies in advance for my outburst. But I am going to revise my battle strategies (for the umpteenth time.) And once again, I am going to throw my trust behind the One Man who can actually do this. And remember that it is not just about action. It is about faith. And importantly (important, because this is the thing that often falls to the wayside) it is about obedience. It is about being humble, and open to the possibility that there are options out there that has never even been considered.

I am open to that.

I believe.

An excerpt from a book I am reading.  I thought it was interesting, and thought I'd share.  It is from a book called "Chasing Daylight" by Erwin Raphael McManus.  The book has also been published under the title, "Seizing Your Divine Moment."  [Comments in brackets have been supplied.] 

You know those days that are just hopeless from the start?  

I am not girly. 

It is Thursday and I am beat.  It's been about 8 straight days now of being on the job...  with a break for Sabbath, I suppose.  It's a supposition because well, you'd have to be here to understand it.  I've made a commitment to spend more time in prayer, and I must say, I'm glad I did.  I don't know if I'd of (is that conjunction allowed?) made it otherwise.  

I went to an overlook today.  It didn't take that much time, and it was so peaceful up there.  Quiet.  Breezy.  And there was a HUGE rainbow coming down into the Valley.  It really put things into perspective.  And I really love my students.  They're really precious to me.  (This is an actual picture, taken by my cameraphone.)

Last year, I taught my students in Algebra the word "attrition."  One of them still remembered it, and can even use it appropriately!  I am proud.  

But there's been attrition.  Not only in the amount of strength I have left to expend for the week, but in the frequency of posts on Xanga...  and I've seen posts written about this before, but I suppose it's my turn:

Is it time to leave Xanga?

Honestly, the only thing keeping me here is the community I've built.  And I suppose that's enough to make me want to stay.  But I've experimented with different sites already: blogger, wordpress, and open salon.  I like the latter two.  There is some familiarity, though, that is here.  And shoot, I am still keeping the party going after I finally got the "TRUE" status.  Not to mention that I have a lifetime commitment to this thing...  

But if I truly am to say that I write for me, what does it matter where I go, huh?  Sometimes I only hear a cavernous echo when I write.  Is there anybody out there....  there.....  there....?  So I suppose I must admit that I don't write only for myself.  I write to share, to contribute, to throw my personal experience out into the vast networked world, to make a wave, even if it is just the particles of sound leaping out from my keyboard into neurons and synapses and....  and....  and what?  

I attribute some of this lull on blogging sites to Facebook: opportunities to provide 15-minute intervals of status updates are easy replacements for blogs which used to hold at least some documentation of life events.  There are some defectors to other blogging sites, but I think FB has taken over the world of blogging...

Whatever the issue is, I am bent on keeping on keeping on.   

Holla back.