I had an unexpectedly high Sabbath this week. I really love how God surprises me... He knows exactly how. Even though it's completely contrary to my idea of a good time (at first.)

God is really working in the lives of some of my students. There is one particular student who is really starting to get a taste for the word. Please pray for her. Her name is Soo Jung (yes, that is her first name.)

We had a guest speaker today come in and talk about his experiences and "escape from Iraq." (That was the title of the message.) He was speaking about the Sabbath and how he came to be a Sabbath observer as a Muslim in Nineveh, modern day Mosul. Apparently, all roads connect to Jonah's grave which is in the center of the city; a constant reminder of the call to repentance thousands of years ago.

I've said before that I believe God moved the world to save me. I believe that it was truly a miracle. Everyone who accepts God and stays in His care is a miracle and I am no exception... and although my story is not as thrilling as they can go, I am proof enough in my own life that God moves.

And so it was with this man. His initial encounter with Sabbath-keeping Christians in Iraq is strange enough as it is. He was the first bible study contact the pastor had in over 20 years. He recounts that when he first heard the message about keeping the commandments of God, he was angry. Not that the commandments were wrong, but that God expected such a sacrifice. Giving obedience to God required him to stop working on Saturdays which was suicide (familialy, economically, socially, etc.) and he resisted for 4 years while he studied engineering on a state scholarship.

The day before his yearly exams, his mother coerced him to join her at a local church (I believe it was an Orthodox church) since it was some special event: one like Easter when people would come even if they didn't normally go. Even though he hadn't been to church (and had stopped studying the Bible and praying) in four years, he accepted his mother's request. At the service, the priest went up and confessed that for the first time in his life, he was woken up in the middle of the night and was convicted to change his message. He proceeded to preach on martyrdom. Joseph (the speaker) felt the presence of God draw near and experienced God's calling.

He went madly to different pastors and priests, all of which told him that Saturday was actually the right day. The Catholic priest told him that the Church had the authority to change the day and did, but the Biblical Sabbath was Saturday. Even the tiny Presbyterian church's pastor confessed that the Biblical Sabbath was Saturday, and that the theological basis was made after accepting the Catholic change of day. This wasn't the problem; the question of 'which day is Sabbath?' was not an issue for him. He just wanted out of the obligation to worship. But God was moving the world and the people on it.

And then God spoke again. He had to take the exams the next day, which was Saturday. If he didn't, he would lose a whole year of studies. He knew that it was not the day, it was God. Did he love God enough to worship on the day that God had ordained? He did. He would lose a whole year of school. But he knew that it was not about a year; it was about eternity. He wondered if thousands of people could be wrong. But he knew that it is not about a majority, it was about Christ. He knew he would lose family. But he knew that even though everyone would be against him, he had gained God.

God had become the fairest of ten thousand.

His story goes on, about how being nearly beaten to death and disowned by his family ended up being the very means by which they were saved; about miracles and prayers and church growth.

But I came away inspired. Often, I think we like to take religion into our own hands. We twist ideas and beliefs to fit the mold we have made for them. God has become our slave, and we obey when we see fit. But God is bigger, grander, stronger, more powerful than any human agency or cognitive concoction. He fills heaven and earth. What is it that keeps us from trusting Him? He is able to do the impossible.

I love the idea of the Sabbath. I love the idea that time is the most precious gift of all, and to think that God gave it to us just tickles me sometimes. I love the idea that something as intangible as time can be sacred. I love the Sabbath and rest themes scattered all over Scripture. I love that I can do it the way He wanted it to be done, not the way man wanted it to be done. But it still bothers me that it is still a matter of contention.

What is it about obedience that is so scary? We see the implications looming before us, but where we see death and pain, He sees miracles and souls saved. Where we see impossibility, He sees perfection. Where we see misery, He sees matchless joy and peace.

God delivered Daniel's friends not from the fire, but in the fire. They would have preferred to have been saved from the fire (don't blame them) but they submitted to God ("and even if not...") and they became an inspiration for millions of people for thousands of years down the line. They had a worship experience in the fire with the great consuming Fire Himself.

These things are not set forward as examples for us just so we can pull out interesting Bible applications. (Although that has its necessary place.) They are examples so we can follow them, come what may. There is no promise that we will end up walking around in a fire with just the ropes that bind us being burned off. But the promise does not lay in the experience of salvation. The promise lies in Salvation. It lies in a love for Jesus that takes you anywhere, everywhere, come what may. It lies in a trust for a God who knows how to make people take notice.

I believe that He is able. Above and beyond my own ability to think or see or create or even imagine.

Sometimes there really isn't a good option. No, I take that back. All things work for good to them that love God, and are called according to His purpose, right? Sigh. Sometimes though, it doesn't quite seem good.

This job is starting to knock me out. I'm pretty sure I am changing as a professional, as a mentor, as a person. I'm starting to spend a lot more time with my students. Especially on weekends. I spend my Sabbath with them (I miss spending all hours of Sabbath fellowshipping... so my students will have to do.) I spend Sunday mornings with them (I made a deal that I would supervise soccer if they let me give them Bible Studies beforehand.) I spend my weekdays with them (8:20 until at the earliest 6:20, every day. I just now realized that was 10 hours. Sigh. But who's counting? Some days it's until way past 7.)

They consume me.

They have been threatening to consume me all last year. I fought it. Determined to have "my own space." This year? I gave up. I figure it's going to happen anyway, I might as well enjoy the ride... the other option would just be to beat against the incoming tide and end up with the wind knocked out of me. So I choose to enjoy.

And enjoy it I have. These kids really rock my world. They tear me into so many pieces most days I don't know if I should be ecstatically happy or supremely depressed. I don't know if I am changing their lives or if I'm barely even making a dent. I don't know where to go or how to go about doing it.

But I am praying. And I don't know how it helps but it does. I think I would die without Him. (Pause.) Interesting how theology works its way into the physical realm.

One of my students in particular is driving me to the brink. The brink of what, I don't know. But I know my heart aches for him. It's times like these when I love Jesus the most. When I could (even in the smallest ray) empathize with His great heart. I'm thinking of how He sat looking down at Jerusalem (Luke 10:41ff) wept over it, seeing the future of the City and how it would be destroyed. I imagine the love He felt for its inhabitants and His sorrow at their continual hardness of heart.

And so I weep over these kids. It's the most painful thing in the world to see them walk down a path that leads to sorrow, guilt, and emptiness. I wish I could make decisions for them, love God for them, hold their hands and cause them to taste and see...

I find comfort in the fact that I, unlike Jesus, cannot see the distant (or nearby) future. That what seems impossible to me is possible with Him. That although all signs point the wrong way, that God can still make a way. He did it for me, and I know if it was possible with me, it's possible with anyone.

And there are students who just touch my heart with love. I see them loving God and being called by Him. I see them dedicating themselves and turning into beautiful adults. I see them rising up to be leaders, listening for the voice of God directing their lives and planting their feet where He leads.

So what can I do? Laugh? Cry? I don't know how biological/adoptive parents do this. I don't want to sign up for that kind of job. And yet it feels like I have two hundred+ children. Go figure. I feel like I'm being pulled from east to west, north to south... the intelligent answer would be: "You need to quit working so much." or, "You need to give yourself some space. It'll be good for all parties involved." This is what I would tell whoever would be in my situation. But I? I laugh in the face of danger! Ha! Ha! Ha... no. I'm doing what I know needs to be done. Or am I...?

Please help me pray for my student. His name is Benjamin. I think he is an amazing kid but things are taking a spiritual nosedive and it seems like he's enjoying the ride. I don't think my heart can handle what he's doing to it. He knows.

I didn't know revival could hurt this much.

I didn't know love could be so agonizing.

I need to not burn out. I can't afford that right now. I don't think I'm in danger of that yet, but God knows what I need. I'm waiting. And trying to get plenty of sleep.

It's been a while. I've decided to forgo the typical excuses for posting: Christmas. Vacations. The New Year. I know. What a rebel.

So I've taken a long break from Xanga. There are some things I need to settle, some things I need to work out, and some things that require breaks. This one wasn't quite so intentional... I just... don't have much to say anymore. (Incredible, isn't it?) Well, ok. I always have something to say. I think I'm still musing over it, though. I'm sure you'll hear about it once I'm done.

As odd as it is, I think if I had to sum up last year, I'd say it was the Year of Me. Sounds self-centered, doesn't it? What I mean by that is that it was a lot of time spent learning different things about myself. Not more than usual, I suppose, but for some reason it was different this time around. I suppose even the mundane or routine looks different under the lens of each phase of passing time. So it was. A reflection of me: My habits, my shortcomings, my dreams, my goals, my potentials, my capabilities, my shortcomings, my failures, my hopes... me. Which is ironic, since this coming Lunar New Year is supposed to be the year of the cow.

Perhaps because it was the year of Me, it was also the year of struggles. I think I came to face a lot of issues that helped me grow mentally and spiritually. I realized that as much as I prided myself in the love of knowledge, I don't like the learning process... I just want the goods, not the walk. It's frustrating to me that I'll still have to wait another few years until I can become comfortable with myself as a seasoned teacher. I want it now. Now now! Like I said, the year of Me. Sigh.

So what now? I'm not quite sure. Things are a lot quieter at home. I've turned off the TV (tv fasting... it's been a week and a half so far and I don't miss it.) I haven't even tuned in to NPR in the mornings (humming Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring instead: it's my alarm clock ringtone.) I've abstained from sweet things (that one came about because I am also fighting a cough.) I'm kinda liking this quietness. It's like my body missed it. Craved it. Now only to fill it.

I came into this year thinking that an "Everything Fast" would be a good idea. Why not just go all the way? (Typical of me, actually.) Then a verse spoke to me, and it was the voice of God in Isaiah 58:5: Is this the fast have chosen?

(Jen, is this the fast I want you to have? An Everything Fast? Sounds good, doesn't it. Sounds doable, even. But what is it that you really ought to be giving Me? Everything you have, or Everything you are?)

D'OH! Have I told you about how He likes to interrupt me mid-conversation? He interrupted me mid-thought (read: talk with myself.) Perhaps the Year of Me was concluded by this very conversation. Perhaps the whole point of the Year of Me was that I could pick up all those dirty pieces and give it all to Him.

I suppose I didn't even realize what I was doing. My whole focus on my own issues, my own job, my own 'perfecting my craft,' my own students, my own needs... all that caused the God of my Heart to blur into the background and only when I found myself alarmingly disoriented did I realize what had happened. And how much I missed Him. How much I loved hearing His voice and being confident in Him. How much peace it was to be secure in Him and to speak plainly of Him to others. I realized again that I need Him in a way that is more than just as a Creator. I need Him more than just as an intellectual anchor or an end that justifies the means.

So here it is. My Everything Fast has been modified to a 'Give-Him-Everything' Feast. It's a bonanza, guys. A real bona-fide cornucopia of Everything. A smorgasbord of All Things You Hold Dear. You are welcome to the party. The entrance fee is everything you have, but the party favors are something to see. I guarantee it. Are you in?

I'm hoping this year will be the Year of Him. The Year of Good Things. The Year of... come what may!

(On reflecting that the world
is ready to go to war again)

Detestable race, continue to expunge yourself, die out.
Breed faster, crowd, encroach, sing hymns, build
bombing airplanes;
Make speeches, unveil statues, issue bonds, parade;
Convert again into explosives the bewildered ammonia
and the distracted cellulose;
Convert again into putrescent matter drawing flies
The hopeful bodies of the young; exhort,
Pray, pull long faces, be earnest,
be all but overcome, be photographed;
Confer, perfect your formulae, commercialize
Bacateria harmful to human tissue,
Put death on the market;
Breed, crowd, encroach,
expand, expunge yourself, die out,
Homo called sapiens.

It's the cusp of the New Year. Getting close, anyway. Celebrating New Year's has lost its novelty for me after a while. I guess I figured January is just the month following December... and since I've taken to use every opportunity for resolutions and new beginnings, this one is just another one of those moments (shared by people across the world.) But anyway. I am trying not to be a New Years grinch.

It's also been a long while since my last update. I take my vacations pretty seriously. I've also had a lot to muse about. And a lot of time to not muse about those very things. Like I said, I take my vacations pretty seriously. I figured I should update though, since the latest entry is one of those that usually find its ways to the 'private' sector pretty quickly but didn't. I am rambling already. This is not good.

There are some themes that have carried over for the past few months, and perhaps they will come with me into the new year. No, nix that 'perhaps.' These issues are long-term. And by long term, I mean every day. Forever.

Forever.

That word has the ability to discourage just as much as it has the power to thrill (and confuse.) Fortunately (or unfortunately) we live out this trek to forever one day at a time.

There are some key themes that have popped up again and again this year. I know that these are things that God has brought to my attention to grow me, change me, raise me higher. And like any respectable growth spurt, it'll come with growing pains.

Obedience. It's difficult to reconcile the balance between being a free agent and being a servant of Christ. Sometimes believing that one is the son/daughter of a King allows one to believe that one is entitled to certain rights. Entitlement is not to be confused with having this gift of free will. Ultimately, sin is the monster that rears its head asking, "What about what I want?"

Continuous Submission. When do I get to stop? It's frustrating to know that even though I know the answers already and have walked the path before doesn't automatically exempt me from having to walk it again. And again. And again. Every day. Oswald Chambers says, "just because we have responded properly in the past is no guarantee that we will do so again." Paul says, "I die daily." We die because we must, because we do, because it is who we are: people who struggle with the natural vs. the spiritual. In this daily battle. In this minute-by-minute battle. And although there really is no guarantee, the odds are better if you can keep on keepin' on.

Community. I've recognized the need for community. For like-minded friends. And yet the need for us to reach out and press into the fearful areas. I've learned a lot about myself, about various kinds of persecution, and about love for fellow brethren (and sistren.) I'm seeing the beauty of a Christian community that some people just never get to have.

Mission. Missions are like the physical exercise of spiritual life. If prayer is the breath, and bible study living bread/water, missions are just as crucial to the spiritual life. Sometimes they are thrust upon you (Your mission, whether or not you choose to accept it...). Sometimes they are requested of you (Whom shall I send?) Sometimes you have to seek them out. (Here I am Lord... send me.) I think I have to muster up in me the desire to do more of the latter. Missions keep you from getting fat and lazy in the spiritual sense. I do not want to be a spiritual couch potato. Who's up for the "Biggest Loser: Spiritual Fat"?

Whichever the case may be, I want this coming year to have the theme of Christ, the desired of all nations. The craving of every man's heart. The call of every soul that seeks after the truth. Let us not be ashamed of the gospel of this Christ, for it is indeed the power of God unto salvation to everyone that has faith. The power of God. Who knows how the path will change? But it seems like a good step in.

I am interested to see what new things He will teach me. Interested, trepidated, and a little excited. But a lot sure that He will take care of me... through crucible, through wind and fire, through sunny days and clear skies, through torrential rain and crazy snow... did I mention crucible? He has not changed, my desire has not changed, and His ability to fill every need in me has not changed. I want to be teachable.

But in conclusion, I want to say that I am happy, encouraged, and profoundly grateful for the community I have found through Him. I only pray that someday it will not be a rarity. But until then, my fellow brothers and sisters, joint-heirs, princes and princesses, thank you. Let's keep encouraging each other. Let's share the burdens, the honest experiences, and the precious insights that God gives to each one of us. I am grateful for every one of you, whichever phase of spiritual experience you are in.

Happy New Year! Much love to all of you.

I cried today. 

And by cry, I mean a few wet things escaped (with a struggle) from my eyes for a total of about 15 seconds.  OK, maybe 10. 

I am admitting this now because I have to remind myself that I am capable of this.  I've trained myself for so long to keep these things in that even today, a few "leaks" were all I needed.  I begged them to retreat and they did. 

I've been quoted once as saying, "Tears are weakness."  I will say that I don't believe this is true,  while admitting that I still hold to this.  I hate tears.  This spasm of uncontrollability.  I even hate that word.  Uncontrollable.  That word in itself rolls out unpredictably, irregularly, uncomfortably.  But even as the tears retreat on command, they do not return even when bidden.  Strange things, they are.

So I come here.  This is my outlet.  These words are what leap out of me, soaking me, shaking me. 

But this is my solace.  My comfort.  Often I "conference" with myself, the words not written, but there all the same.  Is that strange, this conferencing with the self?  This socratic question-and-answer session that involves only one party? 

I've never been so heartbroken at this kind of situation before.  The words fighting to be the first to come, while the floodgates kept my watery insults at bay. 

I am sad.

But life has already moved on.  Someone else's tears have already been shed. 

They say bad things come in threes.  Today was not a three.  There are fours and fives, sixes under rugs of kids in the boys' dorm, sevens and eights, nines and tens, elevens whispered about in dean's council, twelves and thirteens...  and on and on.  Tonight though, I am thinking about the one, who almost made me cry all by herself.  And the two, who spun my world off its axis for a whole twenty minutes almost.  It is still recovering.  The world will not be the same.  And three who completely unexpectedly opened up the floodgates but not before I turned around after telling him I loved him "no matter what, ok?"  (I think it's necessary to insert here that this was addressed to a student whose story I can't tell right now...)  But I didn't expect two and three to ambush me at once and do me in.  And four is coming around the bend but that is a story I don't even want to think about.

But now I am ok.  I looked for the stars today but they are gone. 

No, not gone.  

I told my girls one day that just because you can't see the sun, doesn't mean it's not there.  Just because all you see are clouds doesn't mean you should lose faith in what you know is beyond. 

So somewhere out there, Orion is burning intensely in the sky.  Somewhere out there, Cassiopeia is hanging just where she always has this time of night, this time of year.  I however, am grateful for the clouds tonight.  I will choose to see them as a comfort, shielding me from the ever-rotating moon that reminds me that time has already spun on. 

And all in all, there is still the Rock of Ages, cleft for me, as steady and as safe as ever. 

...It's me, Me. 

As schizophrenic as that sounds, it seems to me that I've been looking for me all my life.  Not that I have experienced some kind of epiphany in which I found this elusive "me", but I am also realizing that it's not so much of a search.  That makes things  a lot less complicated. 

I needed this break.  Granted, I hit the ground running when I came back, but I'm glad I got it. 

With that said, I head my voice again.  That doesn't make much sense to many people unless they are writers.  I've lost my voice for a long time now.  It happens.  I suppose if you're Maslow, you'd say that you can't get creative unless the more basic levels in the hierarchy of needs have been satisfied.  Although I'm not a fan of Maslow (picking apart his worldview does that) it might have been the case that I was on survival mode.  Creativity does not often flow when one is in survival mode. 

But on the plane ride back from the frigid Upper Peninsula of Michigan, I heard it.  It's still somewhat quiet and would need some coaxing that I cannot afford to provide for it right now, but it's enough that I heard it again.  I missed it being there.  I suppose that's why I love writing on Xanga so much.  There's something oddly comforting about this place, even though sometimes it feels like I am shouting into an abyss. 

I've asked my Psychology kids this same question every year as we go through our "sensation" unit: if a tree falls in a forest and no one is there, does it make a sound?"  The best response I've heard yet was from a kid who fights the afternoon sleepiness every day in the front row: "It don't make a sound, but it might make some noise." 

So I am going to make some noise.  Just because I heard my voice doesn't mean it's back in full use.  I do, however, want to be more honest and open about my experiences along this thing we call a walk.  And just because no one might be around to hear it (except for a few faithfuls: thanks Ray and Ellen) doesn't mean I'll stop.   

I'm reading a book called "Eat, Pray, Love" by Elizabeth Gilbert.  She has a very easy writing style which I appreciate, but frankly, I'm getting a little stirred up over her constant insistence that God is inside her, outside her, and is her.  According to her experiences in an ashram in India, God is so intimately entwined in the world that you can experience God as you.  Apparently, the last and final step is to break free from the shackles of even needing the notion of God and this is the ever-elusive nirvana, where complete detachment from all things is attained. 

Not that it's a poor book.  I believe that her spiritual experiences are real, and in some spaces she waxes as eloquently as any theologian.  But I am understanding that I do not want a god who is me.  (And it sounds like she does not, either.)  I do not want to abandon myself to nothingness.  But her thoughts made me think.  (Surprise, surprise.)  

I want to change the world.  And this hapless self is so completely useless at the task that had I not needed this feeble body to make it through the world, I would have opted to scrap it years ago.  The more frustrating part of all this is that not only is this body feeble, but so is the mind.  That's right.  Feebleminded.  Even if I had done away with the body, this limping mind of mine would have been crushed by the weight of its own stupid decisions. 

So where does one go from here?  I am sitting here.  I have finished singing praises from my favorite hymn book and commiserated more on Elijah, and am now being watched by the only three stuffed animals I have in this room: a cow, a fish, and a orange polka-dotted hippo.  The latter is lolling on his back, and he seems to ask the same thing: "so what now?"  The others are silent, but they still ask: what now?  Their eyes want to know.  

It's always been a point of frustration for me that there are some things I can never know for sure.  I've learned to be content with this, even relish it.  Or perhaps it was all pretense.  I pretended to relish it only in the way that a masochist finds some pleasure in pain.  It's embracing the inevitable, the uncontrollable.  It's denying the boiling frustration and admitting that perhaps the grapes aren't so sour.  It doesn't change the situation but makes it more tolerable. 

Perhaps it is because I can see myself at an ashram in India, emptying myself of everything except blue, or taking up the flag of skepticism and enjoying the company of elite religion snubbers, assured that intelligence ruled out any sort of intelligent design.  It's fun to pretend to be on top, looking down.  Is it too late to choose?  But I've done this before. 

And I want to know.  I want to know for sure.  But I also know that no one knows for sure.  That contentment might come for a shallow second but the questions remain.  That perhaps the problem is not which path I am on, but that I am afraid to keep on it.  Because if I keep on it, I will have to go all the way.  That is my nature.  It is also my nature to need to be in constant control.  And yet I know that this is an illusion.  I do not control the weather, the package delivery system, the registrar's office, the gears in my car, the stitches in my boots, the ebb and flow of ocean tides.  And yet I rely on them all.  And they flow through (albeit not always seamlessly) just fine without my help.  Gilbert acknowledges this too.  Interesting how contentment in two diametrically opposed worldviews are reached through the same venue of surrender. 

I am rambling now, fully expecting no one to really make it through this (or any) entry, but the question remains.  What now?  Where now?  And how now (brown cow)? 

And I remember that I have chosen.  I have chosen this path, this tree, this old rugged cross.  I have chosen this Man, this plan, this epic saga of death, redemption, and incomprehensible love.  I have chosen to give my life over to this cause and I was once willing to go all the live-long way.  And I am still there, still pressing on, and although sometimes I find myself at the side of the road, wounded, bruised, mourning, or merely lamenting, there is no turning back.  But here too I have found contentment, and yes, joy, that I wouldn't trade for anything.   

Perhaps it is just plain insight, but it is easy for me to see struggle in a student.  It is easy to assess: "so-and-so is under conviction." or "so-and-so is struggling with God." and when this eye is turned inward, there is a little maid in me that says, "thus and thus is your own problem..." 

And so it is.  This daily, ongoing, convicting, moving, struggle with God.  Sometimes it is a fantastic dance.  Sometimes I am awkward and tripping.  Sometimes He carries me.  Actually, I think it's more than just sometimes.  I know that this is more than just a game, more than just a difficult road.  I know that there is so much more out there, and I want it all.  I want to put my face to the firehose and drink, not because it hurts, but because even the drops that smash my nose is worth it enough.  Heaven is cheap enough.  His grace and love has been sufficient for the prayers of seven thousand years of souls wrapped in flesh and bone, and it is much more than sufficient for me.  I am never alone. 

I know that I run into the rut where my controlling, planning, practical self wants to run the show: ok, first, pray more, then, read more, then, make this, do that, say this, write that.  And as much as I love steering this rickshaw around in circles, I think I will just stop for a while.   Perhaps in this Indy 300 of my life, I will make some room in the front of the car for the Guy with the license to drive it.  We can roll the windows down for once and maybe take it off the track.  Maybe I'll learn how to do this without complaining.   

God is good. 

I realize that sometimes, I have a terrible memory.  On top of that, I am a very terrible (by terrible, I mean huge) liar.  And on top of that, I am very good at avoiding the issue.  I am reclusive, selfish, and extremely insensitive.   

Recipe for a nightmare relationship, right?

I realized that I really haven't been treating God the way I should.  I saw this through a personal experience and it was quite eye-opening.  It wasn't on any level even approximately close to divine, but it did the job.  Apparently, this method works well since He seems to pull it out quite often.  Darn.  Continue reading →

Sometimes I really hate this world.  I hate what it is doing to me, I hate what it is doing to my family, I hate what it is doing to my friends, and I hate what it is doing to my students.  I hate that there is such a struggle and that no matter what we do, there is this ever-present enemy.  I hate it.  I hate that although God has won the war, the enemy still prevails in some battles.

Sounds bad, doesn't it?  Sigh.  I'm not going to lie: it's been a much tougher year this year.  And not because the students are making it rough: they are the ones that keep me going.  Sometimes I feel like Moses: every time I try to put my hands down, the Amalekites start winning.  (Exodus 17, the latter part.)  Aaron and Hur helped keep Moses' hands up, but as for me, I just want to go on Thanksgiving break. 

I am angry with myself for not being able to make it.  I feel like a beaten, malnourished, haggard-looking horse being whipped up a hill.  I laugh at the analogy, and I suppose I shouldn't whip myself.  (I think I might've made a really good monk.  If flagellation really worked as penance, I'd be at Heaven's gates!)  

It's frustrating coming face-to-face with my own humanity.  I am glad my students are patient with me.  They don't know better. 

Today, I came face-to-face with something else, as well: the broken heart of God.  The strength of the analogy was so clear that it was almost repulsive.  Not in the way one shrinks away from a rotting carcass, but in the way Peter cried out, "You will never wash my feet...!"  or "Depart from me, a sinner!"   

I am remembering that I should have been prepared for this when I asked for a revival.  Darn.  Can I take that back?  I suppose I don't want to.  But shoot.  C'mon now. 

I made it to a field trip with my Seniors yesterday.  It was the first time I was able to pry myself away from school.  My students made it (I hope.  I didn't ask too many questions.)  I heard there were a lot of crazed students asking "Where is she?!"  I learned that it was possible to take a day away.  I might do it again next year. 

We visited a variety of temples and mosques.  It was a World Religions tour with the senior bible class.  It was somewhat interesting.  The kids had good questions to ask. 

I need to get some rest.  They want me to be there tonight to see them put on some skits.  I kinda want to stay at home, vegetate, and wallow, but I suppose it's a good thing to be out and about.  Sigh. 

That's right.  SIGH! 

I would appreciate prayers (even though at one point, someone said I was asking for "rare requests for prayer" not-so-rarely.)  I seriously feel more burnt out right now than I have in a long time.  It almost feels like...  desperation.  This is an odd feeling.  I am going to explore it some more and see what turns up.  But all in all, He is always good.  If this is a crucible...  well, then it is a crucible. 

My need for a vacation is becoming more and more evident, and although I know I'll make it to Thanksgiving break, it's becoming less and less clear as to what condition of "alive" I will be in when that day comes. 

Gas has finally dipped below $2.00 here and pundits are unsure of whether or not this is a good thing.  We have a president-elect who, contrary to some people's beliefs, has not has his life compromised since Election Day.  I am enjoying my smoothie maker (and have been for a few nights now.)  Blending frozen fruit and OJ has never tasted to good.  I am never paying for a smoothie again.  Tomorrow I may see what blending flaxseed in will do. 

I extended the deadline for a project I am having my College Psych kids do.  The original deadline was Monday, but because I wanted to make sure they got the concept down before they finalized it into a project, I had them hand in a "final draft" instead. 

What happened was interesting. 

But first, an important sidenote. 

I am a stubborn person.  This is a characteristic that God is working on.  I know because it hurts sometimes.  And yet He still uses it to get through to me.  Perhaps because when it comes down to it, the only person I really listen to is me.  I have no problem with people telling me what to do as long as it's something I'd like to do anyway, or something I'm willing to comply with.  I love information, but when I hear it, I usually assess it for trustworthiness and integrity: how do you know?  where did you find out?  who told you?  are you sure it's true?  (I ask this of myself too.)  Even in my conversion process was (it was, really, praise God, thanks to a mass of people), largely a struggle and conversation with myself that started long before I graduated college and culminated on a deserted highway heading westbound on the Mass Pike.  I am an atypical introvert with a penchant for thinking out loud. 

I am over-exaggerating a little here (being a wikipedia fan betrays this hard-nose approach to truth, anyway,) but the point is, God uses me to teach me.  It's a little humbling, actually.  Have you ever hear God's voice in your head?  Not in the schizophrenic sense, but that still, small voice that that prompts, "You should listen to yourself."?  He does this to me all the time. 

And sometimes when that happens, I stop mid-sentence.  And sigh.  My students think this is odd.  But they're quickly getting used to some of my quirks. 

But back to the extension on the project.  One of my students comes up to me, having nothing to show.  At all.  He is not the only one.   

"What do you mean, you don't have anything?  Since you thought the deadline was today, you should've at least thought of something."  This is me trying to reason with a high school junior.  Surprisingly, they are always quite reasonable.  (Nix that "always.")

"But Miss.Song.  You have us grace.  So I figured I'd accept that grace and really grab hold of it." 

"You can't abuse..."  ("You should listen to yourself...")  Sigh.  "You need to give something to me by the end of the day.  Or else."  I stretch my fingers out and crack my knuckles into a fist.  He grins, apologizes, and stays with me so I can help him make sense of what he has to do. 

As I sat and thought about it, this is not just some passing object lesson.  I am not peaching to the choir.  I am the intruder in the midst of the flock, the black and speckled goat in a sea of white sheep, bleating out of tune with the other baa's...  as I think of the only verse that pops into my head: "...I do not frustrate (nullify, invalidate) the grace of God...  for if righteousness came by the law, then Christ is dead in vain."  (Gal 2:21)  And it's like the preacher in the pulpit is stretching forth his finger and it is trained on me.  I am the crimson in a blanket of snow. 

And yet there is hope.  The verse before that one is one that has comforted me and held me up for years: "For I am crucified with Christ; nevertheless I live, yet not I, but Christ lives in me, and the life that I now live in the flesh, I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave Himself for me." 

God's grace is eternal.  Longsuffering.  Patient.  And for whatever reason, I find myself pushing against it.  Using it for all it's worth.  (For all it's worth...!  What is more worthy than the gift of the life of the Son of God?)  I don't want to milk God's grace.  What is more appealing is living by Him, making Him happy, and working in accordance with His will.  And yet not I, but Christ who lives in me.