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  • Not So Gentle

    Registration has begun.  I am exhausted and it's not even Monday yet.  

    This is my retaliation.  I need to go to sleep.  Even ice cream did not help tonight.  I'm going to need some serious help getting through this First Week of School.  

    Not So Gentle into that Good Week
    with thanks to Dylan Thomas

    I do not need to be advised
    Not to go gentle into that good week
    So I rage, rage, against the dying of the break. 

    Though wise men know that all things good
    Come to their own unfavored end
    No different from the bad and the ugly into that good week 

    Good workers still cling to tides of summer
    Image of beaches, gardens, and blue skies
    Fading like a memory as it dies into that good week 

    Wild pleas to cling to what’s left of time
    When summer seas and whistling winds
    Never hinted at disappearing into that good week

    So grim satchels and whiteboards march steady on
    Heedless and resolute in the blazing rays, deaf to our
    Rage against the dying of the break.  

    And you, my shadow, there on that sad step,
    Fierce in clinging to what cannot be kept
    Tenacity will keep you from going gentle into that good week
    So I rage, rage, against the dying of the break.   

    (c) j.e.s

    The original inspiration.  You can even hear him read it!  

    As a disclaimer, I am very excited about school starting.  I love these kids.  I am EXCITED!  At the same time, I am completely exhausted.  I thought I'd have some fun.  

    And yeah, I miss the break.  But I'm glad to start this week, and this new year...  

  • Missing the Missing

    I haven't had a teachermare yet.  

    Not that I miss them...  they were quite perturbing when they struck.  And if I remember correctly, last year I started having them two weeks before school started.  
    It's less then two days until registration.  And I've got nothing.  
    Maybe I do miss them.  They're not fun, but at least they were somewhat routine.  And they usually ended well--at least with some sort of affirmation of my ability to control my classroom.  No matter what crazy situations I would cook up, in the end, my dreams ended with me thinking: "Ah, well, it'll be ok."  
    This year, I've got too much to prepare for, and too little motivation to do it.  I miss the "it'll be ok" dreams.  I need my kids to motivate me.  They're not around right now and I'm suffering for it.  I'd have them invade my dreams anytime if that's what it takes. 
    I'm achy.  And tired.  And a little wary about the future.  This is unusual.  Disconcerting.  But...  it'll be ok.  Even if this isn't happening in the safety of my dreams.  Plus, revival is still in the air...  
    ...and in the end, that is all that really matters...

  • The Curious Case of Being in Love

    Ever been in love?

    No, this isn't about any recent affairs of my heart.  Not with a particular man-person, anyway.  (ahem, or woman, for that matter.)  
    I woke up one morning to a phone call.  Granted, I typically wake up pretty pleasantly, but seeing that it was pretty early (especially for summer vacation standards) I would've had good license for rage.  But I was happy once I found out who it was, and I even got up, brushed my teeth and washed up just so I could be coherent enough to return the call which I figured would be pretty important for me to be lucid enough to take.  
    My student didn't pick up the phone...  perhaps she was sleeping or taking a shower.  But my love and concern for her motivated me to call her back.  Even if it meant shaking off a few more hours of sleep.  
    So here I am pondering the situation.  If this is love...  and I think it is--I have not been secret about my love for my students--what of it?  I like the feeling.  It is both motivating and pleasant at the same time.  It makes me do things and feel things that are altogether too intense but I wouldn't ask for it to be removed from me.  It causes me to gladly do things I would not normally want to do, wordlessly endure things I would normally not tolerate, and change in ways that I ultimately realize that I can't control.  
    I loved God like this before.  Looked for His call in the wee morning hours.  Loved to be woken up by His thought or voice in my mind.  Would go anywhere and everywhere to be nearer, still nearer...  
    And why do I write about this in the past tense?  Has this experience really just passed by?  Must I refer to it in words that denote things not present?  I wanted to be more honest on this thing.  Would I still delight to look for His call?
    Yes.  Yes I would.  I would.  
    But sometimes amid the intensity and fervor of "real life" the initial feelings of love seem like just a memory.  When was it that I actually felt like I could shout it from a mountaintop?  
    Where has the love gone?  I find it much appalling to discover that it's hard to find.  Not only in my own day-to-day experiences, but in the culture of the world I live in and read about.  It's all been obliterated: love for God, love for man, love for self...  Scratch that last part.  Love for self is pretty much the consuming piranha that eats away--perhaps more parasitically than carnivorously--at every other love.  Or maybe it is just a carnivore.  
    I see documents.  I see efforts.  I see humanitarian good will.  I see well-oiled (and less so) machines.  But love?  Has it just flickered away?  Does no one notice the absence of the larger light as we strike our own flints against the ever-wearing walls of intolerance and judgment?  Was it Barry Manilow that sung 'What the World Needs Now?'  Did He know that the "sweet love" the world needed was agape, Jesus Christ Himself?  
    I don't want to give the impression that I am sighing after days that have passed.  I am grateful for my ever-furthering walk with the God I gave my decision over to, never to withdraw.  And the life that I now live, I live happier, fuller, healthier, and wiser than I have ever before.  The world makes more sense to me now than it ever has, even in all its confusing glory.  My anchor is sure, and my steps, though they may falter, are always held up.  I am assured that the banner I walk under is unflappable and held up by Hands that will never fail.  
    It is perhaps easier to look at our own capacities and agendas and to-do lists.  But what if love gets trampled underneath it all?  What is it good for?  Absolutely nothing.  
    No matter what, I pray that we all find this motivating love.  This love that directs our gaze from looking through the frames of our own bodies to looking beyond, and even away from it.  This love that changes, purifies, exemplifies...  a love that is tolerant, patient, understanding, and suffers long.  One that keeps no record of wrong and always holds out an unwavering hand...  
    It is this love that changes us, gives us new eyes for healing others and ourselves.  It is this love that makes us new vessels.  It is this love that draws us and keeps us close to Him.  
    I want to be in love forever.  

  • Justsomethoughts

    For future reference, I would not recommend watching the movie 'ALIVE' before taking an early morning flight the next day (or in a few pre-dawn hours.)  I would also not recommend this in the particular case in which you happen to be seated in the rear of the plane...  because everybody knows that when something goes awry, the back part of the plane is the first to snap off, sending the non-elite, non-first class, cramped, and screaming coach passengers hurtling into the snowy alps to die upon impact while the surviving members freeze to death while contemplating eating each other's flesh.  

    Notwithstanding the reality that there are no alps between Michigan, Minneapolis and LaGuardia (a NYC airport), I was still a little vigilant.  Not that vigilance would've helped but the grogginess really hinders much lucid thinking and just about any shred of rationality.  Take the fact that I had paid $3 bucks for an asiago bagel with cream cheese.  This turned out to be a plain bagel with a crispy, oily topping that I ended up peeling off only to find that they did not provide me with napkins.  But it was toasty.  Yum.  
    Beyond that.  And beyond the fact that I had the thought of my mom's home cooking in the back of my mind...  so what if I actually fell out of the sky in the bottom-half of a plane that had snapped in two?  What if this was my last flight?  I'd like to say that I am ready to die.  To some extent I am, but largely, I know that I have a lot of unfinished business.  Not only in regard to what I want to say to others, but what I know I need to do myself.  
    I want God to be the Lord and Savior of my life.  Not only Savior, but Lord, God and King.  I want Him to be my first and last thought.  I want to confess and repent and experience the refreshing of the Holy Spirit.  Daily.  I want to be better, not worse, and move upward, not downward.  I want to lead, not be led.  I want to control, not be controlled.  Most of all, I want God to not only endorse and ratify but produce and motivate these decisions.  
    Because in the grand scheme of things, I suppose we are all in the back end of a plane.  But some of us will make it.  And when we land, it won't be in the alps.  You know?
    All in all, I had a great time in Michigan, and I am grateful for all the friends whose friendship, generosity, big-heartedness, and godliness made my trip possible and made my life that much more enriched while I was there.  I am blessed to have people like ya'll in my life.  I didn't realize how much of my life was entangled in that glove of a state (and above) which I never thought I'd live in or love.  But look at things now.  I not only lived in it, but I found that there is a lot to love about it.  
    Thanks.  I'm glad we're together on this Great Road Home.  

  • Put It Over There...

    There's a story my associate pastor shared in church today, and I thought I'd share it with you. The story gets fuzzier with each retelling, I'm sure, but I want to remember it too.

    The verse comes from the book of John, chapter 19. v.23 begins, "Then the soldiers, when they had crucified Jesus, took His garments, and made four parts, to every soldier a part; and also his coat: now the coat was without seam, woven from the top throughout. They said therefore among themselves, Let us not rend it, but cast lots for it, whose it shall be: that the scripture might be fulfilled, which saith, They parted my raiment among them, and for my vesture they did cast lots. These things therefore the soldiers did."

    Usually these verses are glossed over as fulfillment of another messianic prophecy. The spotlight is still on the Man on the cross, and the squabbling soldiers are mere background noise.

    And yet.

    The story the pastor tells is about a man who had a son. He and his wife attempted to raise him well, and through ups and downs guided, mentored, disciplined, and prayed over their charge. The son grew, and entered school, graduating near the top of his class, as president, and with honors. He went on various missions and developed a heart for helping others and for God, and decided to enroll in the Seminary.

    Then came the call.

    The call that all parents dread. Their son had been in a car accident and was killed. The parents grieved. They went through all his things, his pictures, his papers, books, and other possessions. (At this point, I was sitting next to a couple who lost a daughter that would've been around that same age. I almost wasn't able to hold it together.)

    After much thought, they decided to donate his things so that someone else would at least benefit from their loss. The father folded some articles of clothing slowly and carefully, and loaded them gently in the passenger seat of his car. As he approached the charity, he held these precious memories in his arms and headed to the counter.

    The woman there was on the phone, busy, and a little distracted. He set his donation on the counter with misty eyes, and waited until the woman turned to him. She, looking at him with some aggravation, motioned to a corner of the room that was already littered with opened boxes and disheveled clothing. "Put it over there," she said, and motioning brusquely with her hand, turned her back to him.

    The man was appalled. The woman couldn't possibly know what these meant to him. But he took up his donation and without a word gently laid it on top of a wrinkled heap of jeans and quickly left before anything could be noticed.

    How often do we treat Christ like this? Completely obsessed with our own lives, and completely disregarding the preciousness of the things that are His. The man is giving the gift of this son's clothing, only to be met with little understanding and appreciation. God has given the gift of His Son, and his death was met by some with squabbles about his clothing.

    "Put it over there." Christ comes knocking and we acknowledge Him with barely a nod. Just sit over there for a bit. I'll be right with you...

    "Put it over there." What suffering Christ endured for us... and yet we can't hold Him in mind amid our own distractions. Things are a little crazy right now... can you wait?

    "Put it over there." Do we know who we're talking about? What's distracting us from seeing what worth this gift is? Does it belong among the other riffraff our our lives? Certainly not... And yet.

    I've been guilty of that. Guilty of letting things fall over. Guilty of taking the precious sacrifice of God and tossing it on top of a dirty, messy, disheveled pile of remnants from my day. And the frustrating thing is that it seems to happen in a neverending cycle. Again. and again. and again.

    May God help us understand.

  • Next

    The past few days have been a mixed bag for me.

    I watched my students graduate on Sunday, and I was so happy for them that I didn't have to worry about crying. I remembered my own High School graduation and how happy I was. (See previous post for other details.)

    This week has been a torture--ahem, I mean, a necessary evil--ahem, I mean, a great meeting among colleagues in what we call 'post session.'

    I hate meetings like these. Well, to be fair, it wasn't all that terrible. But it wasn't a bowl of ice cream, that's for sure.

    I like meetings which are quick, to-the-point, gripe-less, efficient, and fruitful. These... tend to be much the opposite. Is it normal to discuss dress code for 2 hours? Someone tell me. All in all, it's not too terrible. It's good to spend some time with the faculty, anyway.

    I miss my students. Like, a whole lot. I had a few of them over last night and we spent a while together. It was nice. Looking to the summer, I almost feel... fear. Isn't that funny? I think it is. Fear. It's the best feeling I can use to describe this sensation. CS Lewis said that grief feels a lot like fear. Maybe that's what it is... grief. Man. What have these kids done to me?! ? ?

    So now I'm done. I don't know why I feel unsettled. Part of me wants to stay here. Yes, over the summer. And just wait for the kids to drop by and say hi. (And I know they would!) I can't wrap my mind around why this is. It's too exhausting to try so I've just given up and will let it be.

    I wonder if, when Jesus shouted, "It is finished!" He felt what I do now. Not that my 'finishing' is any close to His by any stretch of the imagination. But after a long, exhausting, fun, sad, completely-emptying-out experience, "finished" is a funny word. It's a mix of joy (not much of this: more of an anticipation, really), relief (a lot of that), nostalgia (oh yeah), and grief (I'm gonna miss these guys.) I'm sure the feeling of dread will pass as I get in Beannie and say goodbye to the rapidly disappearing town in VA through my rearview mirror and remember what it's like to have a life.

    But I'll be back. That gives me joy. I'll have much more to do, and will do it better. That give me joy too. And I suppose Christ too felt joy knowing that it is over, but there will be much more to do, and the ability to do it on a much larger scale...

    So here's to next year! And here's to having a BLAST over the summer. Watch out, Fun. We're about to get reacquainted. =)

  • Surprise

    I didn't know that being a boarding academy teacher would teach me so much about parenting, about God, and about being someone's child. I was prepared to teach, to guide, to mentor, and to help my students. But man. I was completely surprised by this love business. Coming from one who does not like surprises, however, this one isn't too bad.

    I'm surprised that I am so moved at seeing my seniors graduate. I'm wondering how my parents felt when I graduated from High School. Did they cry? It was the happiest day of my life until that point, and I was so excited to go out and conquer the world. Did it hurt them that I didn't want to look back? That my gratitude was sparse? That I didn't think that they needed to hear how much I loved and appreciated them? Maybe I didn't know how much I loved and appreciated them then.

    One senior cried during his parent recognition speech. In hindsight, I wish I could've been that daughter who gave her parents the gift of tears. I don't cry very often, but there are times when tears are so appropriate. We also didn't have a parent tribute in public high school, but that's beside the point.

    I'm surprised how much I actually loved these students. Somehow they became like my own children, and I've cried over them and prayed for them more earnestly than I've ever done in my life. I knew my capacity for love was large, but I am alarmed to see its boundaries stretched to these lengths.

    I'm surprised at how much God is teaching me about Himself. This is my favorite part of teaching: God has always revealed Himself to me in the most powerful ways through this avenue. He is teaching me about His unconditional love for me, about trust, and love, and devotion, and constancy. I realize that He gets the least credit while He does the most in our lives. And what are we without Him, really?

    I confess that I have already wept over these guys. (In private, of course.)

    I confess that I am too exhausted to monitor what is coming out through my keyboard. I need to sleep.

    I confess that I really. really. really. love these guys.

    I confess that it is both a joy and a sorrow to see them turn away... more a joy. But an empty sorrow.

    The juniors sing this song as the seniors leave Class Night (phase 4 of 5 in the countdown to Commencement):

    Farewell to you, God bless you too,
    We'll miss you as you leave your alma mater,

    ...and I forgot the rest.

  • Abundance

    I'd like to take a moment
    (of impromptu broken prose)
    to give thanks

    to a God who provides
    much more
    than I even ask for

    and for my students
    (my seniors)
    (two, in particular)
    (or maybe four.
    make that five.
    aw, shucks, while we're at it
    make it all of them)

    who've shown me their love
    and given it to me in abundance

    especially the two tonight
    who kicked me out of my own office
    (8:45pm)
    (miss song, what are you doing?)
    (we're not leaving until you leave
    and that's not fair b/c we have to go to the dorm
    and study for     your final...)

    (disclaimer: it was after a show
    put on my my kids which ended at 8:30)

    I am grateful that even as I pour myself out
    I am being poured into
    and this pouring in
    I am so addicted to
    that I will keep pouring
    so that I can keep being filled up

    (O fill it up)

    and I will keep decreasing
    ever the more (happily)
    so that He can increase in my life

    Here's to our God
    who does exceeding abundantly above
    all that we ask or think
    (Ephesians 3:20)

    i am forever in debted
    forever in love

    and words are never an oblation enough
    my deeds never sufficient

    thanks, Lord.
    thanks, kids.

    sigh.

  • Oh Thank Heaven (for my arm and leg)

    Took this picture tonight as some of the kids and I headed back from dinner. They were excited to be able to pull in to 7-11 and snap some pictures. Hehe.

    711

    Who knew gas prices would get THIS bad? Hehehe.

  • Good Time

    Man alive, I love my job.

    Just when I think things are getting way over my head, Christ pulls through in His good time.

    Burdens that I didn't even think were there are lifted up. How did He know to take care of those? He knows. I am grateful. Really grateful.

    I want to go out for a run but it's 9pm now and I'm not sure if that's the best idea.

    I spent the entire evening with some of my kids. Man ALIVE, I'm going to miss them over break. And I don't even want to think about how much I'm going to miss my Seniors. Especially my boys. I don't want to think about that. But time is nearing. I don't know how long I can keep seeing them being torn from me year after year.

    I suppose I'll have to learn.

    Got a major dose of some high-quality, unadulterated endorphins tonight. Laughed a lot. I REALLY want to go for a run. I'm not sure exactly what's holding me back save me being wary of the neighborhood (yeah, it's in VIRGINIA, but the fear of the 'hood' from growing up in Brooklyn has never left me) and the fact that it's late and I'll need to sleep soon. But tonight was fun.

    The kids are doing surprisingly well after Daisy passed away. In this sense, I am grateful that my foresight was not completely accurate. They are doing well, helping when they can, and being able to talk about it. I am relieved... a large part of my own concerns were for them. So me... I think I'm ok too. I suppose the edge of that blade gets a little easier to endure after a while.

    But I'm still... yeah. Is it strange that I avoid going to funerals? Unless bound by certain unavoidable obligations, I try to opt out. I've only been to one open casket funeral and I don't have much recollection of it. I'm not even sure I looked in. I'm not sure I want to think about it enough to understand why I do this... death is a mystery my brain shies away from. If I could plan... nevermind. I'm starting to get morbid.

    I'm sneezing like crazy. I'm certain it has to do with the cinnamon donut holes I bought for my kids. Usually when I bring my love gifts like that, I don't have any myself. But those were good. And maybe I'm not used to all that sugar. Time to wean myself back off it. My histamines are killing me. I don't like that I can't think straight.

    I love these kids. They are so great... and I... I've given myself over to them. Completely. Their love is enough. I'd completely do all this for free. Maybe even pay to do it. Just to be with them. I'm crazy. They are starting to eat away at some of my 'personal borders' that I drew up and I don't care. I love that they know that they can call me at 9:30pm and cry.

    And as I point them to Christ, they are in their own way, pointing me to Him. Reminding me that His love for me is so much greater than my love for them, these temporary students put in my charge. They reveal to me that the way I forgive their mistakes and their faults, God can and does forgive mine. I am reminded daily that He loves me "no matter what" like I tell these guys all the time. And mean it.

    I am entranced by His beauty, His graciousness, His patience, and His love. I am completely taken. And I know that even in this degree, I am only experiencing a small portion of all He is. This is what first drew me to this amazing God: His enduring and all-encompassing love for me. Just because. And without any take-backs or requests for reciprocation. Just because. And I don't have to do a single thing. It's what awakened something I had left for dead years ago. And now this love drives me.

    He is the fairest of ten thousand. My bright and morning Star. The center of my orbit.

    O for a thousand tongues to sing my great Redeemer's praise...

    Thanks, Lord, for a full day today. I'm going to need to remember this for those low days.

    I think I'm going to put "write a poem about dahlias" on my Dream List. Not because I can pound one out in 5 mintues, but because I can't. (There's a long story behind that.) How're your Dream Lists going? Another one of mine is to go see the Northern Lights. I've wanted to see an aurora ever since I was a kid.

    What are we without our dreams? What are some of yourn? =)