Church Shopping

Dear God,
   This past Sunday I attended a new church. I even stepped out of social comfort zone and met new people. Like, A LOT of new people. But I enjoyed myself and had my best friend with me. But I've been thinking...
   Since I've started asking, "Where do you want me to work?" I thought I should start asking, "Where do you want me to attend church?" Especially now that I have the opportunity to visit multiple churches, I don't want to pick any random ol' church. They're everywhere! I want to know where I can best serve and worship you. Where is that?
   If I ever get frustrated looking for a church, or worried that I'm too socially awkward to fit in (although, if there's any one place where socially awkward people reside, it's church). I don't want to miss out on the community that will give as much as take; and a community that rightfully expects the same of me.
   ...anyway, yeah.
   Help me not be so cynical when I walk into a sanctuary (whether a rented hall or historical site). You know how cynical I can be.
   Thank you.
   I love you.

Colored

Bad Blogger

I didn't blog yesterday or Saturday. I'm so sorry. I wasn't busier than usual I just... How dare I?! On Saturday, I was four days away from an entire month of blog posts. Next month will have to be an entire month of blog posts straight. I'm sorry. So, I guess today will be a threefer. Yesterday was supposed to be a twofer. Ah, c'est la vie.

what was supposed to be Saturday:
I read all of Galatians that morning because I realized that I'd hardly touched the Bible all week. I've already gone through James 15 times this past month, I wanted to read another letter: Galatians seemed most appropriate. A lot of people read Galatians and are amazed at Paul's explanation of his transition from persecutor to humble servant. It's difficult not to notice that. Really, it's a running theme in all of Paul's works.

Now that I look at it, Galatians is like Paul's version of James'...James, but it has a different twist. Instead of Paul writing that faith without deeds is dead, Paul writes that works of the Law is like old skin, and faith is new. Way back when he was Saul, he worked the Law perfectly, but "For all who rely on works of the law are under a curse: for it is written, 'Cursed be everyone who does not abide by all things written in the Book of the Law, and go them.' Now it is evident that no one is justified before God by the law, for 'The righteous shall live by faith.' But the law is not faith, rather, 'The one who does them shall live by them.' Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us [what we commemorate every Good Friday]...'"

Like James, Paul doesn't suggest that one can be done or had without the other, but he emphasizes faith because all he had before was works. I guess after 'coming to faith' he had a greater reason to work.

what was supposed to be Sunday:
I didn't sing any hymns that I recognized in church. I also attended a new church and stepped out of my social boundary skills so that I could meet A LOT of new people. What?! But!- here's a song from Tenth Avenue North called Beloved. If you want to know what inspired Mike Donehey to write this song (on the first album) click here.


and today:
The following isn't the result of a writing challenge. I think I wrote this two years ago. (Two years?!)

"oh, shit!" she yelled. "oh, shit!" she yelled. "...oh, shit!" she yelled and that's all she would keep yelling if he wouldn't leave the room, and she wants him to leave the room. 'poisonous apparition', she thinks, 'hasn't he poisoned me enough?'
   "you are being dramatic."
   "oh, shit!"
   he clamped her mouth closed with his sweaty hand. "cease." he said. "desist."
   'oh, shit.' she thought.
   "whatever is the matter?"
   "i'd thought i'd lost you!" she mumbled into his hand. he didn't ask her to repeat herself; he'd felt every word and was sorry she was suddenly so afraid of him.
   "why did you think you lost me?"
   "well, i don't know, let's see. oh, now i know: because you left!" she punched his arm to no avail. "you left without saying goodbye! here you are without saying 'hello!' you left! no reason! no explanation! no note! no phone call every now and then! no facebook message! you left! at many points in your lostness i thought you'd died! you- you left! where's my goodbye? you owe me a goodbye."
   "goodbye."
   "i won't accept it."
   "why?"
   "because you didn't mean it! say it like you mean it!"
   he paused. he took in a deep breath. "goodbye."
   "goodbye to you too!" she crossed her arms and turned away from him.
   he stepped outside of the room, left through the front door closing it behind him. he then knocked three times and she answered.
   "hello," he said.
   "hello! where the hell did you go?"
   "i left."
   "to where, damnit?!" she threw a pillow at him, but the pillow left her hand too late and landed at his feet instead of hitting his face at the earlier projection she'd intended.
   "you won't believe me."
   she looked at him and stormed back into the room. he followed swiftly behind her. "i won’t believe you?" she picked up another pillow. "i won't believe you?" she sat down. "i won't believe him!" she yelled at the ceiling.
   "i've already established that."
   "me? the girl who lets you do whatever you want. me? the girl who's patched up your ripped pants and bleeding scabs every time without interrogation. me? the girl who's cried at least once a week, hoping you were all right. me? this girl won't understand?"
   he bit his lip. "only once a week?"
   she threw the other pillow at him and this time did not miss his face. "oh, shit," she murmured. "i can't believe you're alive." she fell onto her chair and pulled her knees up close to her chest. "you're alive."
   the man got off his own seat and knelt at the young woman's trembling side. "i am alive. i'm sorry you thought i was dead."
   "yes. yes, i did. i thought you were more than dead. i thought you were having fun without me!"
   the man smirked and laughed. "while my adventures away from you were exciting beyond comparison," she shot him a look. "although i'm sure yours are just as exciting—all my adventures have proven one thing."
   "what's that?"
   "that i miss you."
   the young woman perked up and smiled. "you had to go on stupid, crazy adventures to figure out that you'd miss me? you couldn't take a personal holiday like a normal person and miss me? communication included?"
   "me? a normal person? me? the boy who's manipulated kings into believing me their lost prince. me? the boy who's planted dandelions in the amazon and fed poisonous scones to british intelligence? me? a normal person taking a normal holiday to figure out the most natural and inspiring thing is that i miss you?"
she bit her lip. "you only missed me?"
   he kissed her gently and quickly on her mouth and loved the feel of her shy smile. "no," he said. "i more than missed you." he took her hand. "now, it's time to go to confession."
   "excuse me?"
   "yes! you've just kissed an apparently dead man and said 'shit' at least ten times!"
   "don't forget 'hell' and 'damnit'." she mumbled.
   "off to confessional! christians are not supposed to touch, let alone kiss, dead bodies; nor are christians supposed to curse."
   "yeah, well," she said pulling on her sweater. "you make me feel human."
   "and that is why i have missed you."
   "dante says there’s a special circle in hell for you."
   "and which circle is that?"
   the woman paused and laughed. "my heart."
   "you cliché little she-devil."
   "ah, apparently you missed the clichés, you brazen bard!"
   "i thought you were almost going to call me a bastard."
   "i've filled my daily curse quotient."

Shoelaces

A lack of experience doesn't necessarily mean a lack of experience. On a small scale, some of my students don't know how to tie their own shoes. I, therefore, have the responsibility to tie it for them to prevent them tripping over their own feet. But I can't tie their shoes forever for two reasons (1) they'll have to grow up sooner or later (2) I only have, at most, 8 hours a week with these kids- there isn't much I can properly teach in that short time.

Still, with their imaginations as running wild as they do I'm surprised they haven't imagined a different way to tie their shoelaces. In their minds they can rob banks, or be the policemen who catch the robbers who rob banks. They can play house, pretend to be cats and dogs; climb mountains; score winning goals, but they're not creative enough to tie shoes?

Is it because it's too practical a task? It's not whimsical enough to use your imagination on?

I mean, when I was learning how to tie my shoes, I cried a lot of tears. A lot. I didn't receive my gold sticker for, like, ages.

I don't have a solution, but what would it take to transfer all that knowledge- all that imagination- to more 'practical' problems?

On a large scale, I was a never pleased when I knew that the school hired a teacher who didn't have a teaching degree, just a doctorate the field, or had a couple television shows-how's that so different from teaching a bunch of high schoolers?-hardly any sharks there. If its experience we want these children to grow up and have, it begs the question: what kind of experience?

Getting a high school diploma is a kind of experience, but surely it's not the only one. It wasn't until at least a century ago, and apparently, the world's much older than that- 6,000 or 30,000,000,000, a century's not very long.

That won't stop me from tying my students' shoe laces- seriously, they could hurt themselves if they trip! But I regret the day they think they can do anything, and are thwarted with, "Not Enough Experience."

"Experience" is too often equated with "qualifications": that undermines how much of an individual's life is truly out of his or her hands. She can get into RIT, Stevens, and Columbia, but she can't afford it nor does she 'qualify' for enough scholarships so she has to settle for community school. It may not undermine her determination and willpower, but it certainly undermines any potential prospects she could have had had she been able to afford RIT, Stevens, or Columbia in the first place.

We are responsible to make these choices, and take the consequences that come with those choices, but I think I need to stop imagining that every person has a multitude of choices from which to pick. Most of life choices are a fork in the road, not an overflowing buffet.

I don't know. I was just talking about having imagination enough to tie shoelaces in a different way, but I guess that doesn't look very good on a professional resume.

Eh, give and take what you can.

...but if you find out a different way to tie shoelaces, I know I'll be all ears.

ecumenical

i am unable to understand what you are saying.

i know you're speaking; i can hear every syllable you enunciate. 

i know. 

you're speaking.

but i cannot comprehend the ideas your words are forming.

"ecumenical" you say.

i heard you.

you spoke plainly.

spoke as plainly as if "ecumenical" were "ffffffffff-".

do you know what "ecumenical" means?

who told you it was a bad thing?

i don't know that i know what "ecumenical" means!

is it by your tone that i'm supposed to understand

that all things ecumenical are to be synonymous with all things avoidable?

ffffffffff-!

four letter words have certainly expanded. 

i'm certainly more amused;

definitely more culturally aware. 

because i've the taste for outright rebellion.

i rock and roll with ecumenists: the new battle to fight. 

hanging with druggies? 

so. yesterday. 

Responsibility.

Dear God,
   Easter's just passed.
   A slight panic attack awoke me Easter Sunday, then I realized: it's Easter Sunday. My panic attack completely dissipated when I realized it was the official anniversary of your Resurrection. I would like to relieve myself of panic attacks more often than just the reminder of Easter. As cheesy as it is, Easter should affect my every day.
   I don't know that my life would be easier to deal with, or that I'd be happier. Maybe I'd make better decisions. Ask better questions. For instance, I suddenly realized instead of begging you to "pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease give me a job" I should ask, "Where do you want me to work?" Because I have applied and applied and applied (like millions of other wandering twentysomethings) and have worried endlessly about tomorrow, but even non-religious folk will tell you, "All you have is today. Now." Right? Look at the lilies of the fields. Are they not dressed more finely than King Solomon? Yes, indeed, and they pay no bills- perhaps only owned by they who do.
   I know I still have responsibilities to pay taxes, and bills, and gas, and, you know, nourishment, but I don't want these things to be a chore, or something to dread.
   I have no doubt, God, that you will provide. I ask that you provide sooner and faster, but still...all in your time, isn't it? All things in your time. I must still have something to learn during this waiting period. I guess, technically, it's not a waiting period because I have no idea of anticipating anything special. Besides, I'm sure that as soon as I get a job I'll start waiting for my own apartment or home.
   My list of wants just won't end.
   Anyway, God, I love you.

because spring took its time to get here.

Lately [Haven't] Read // Writing Challenge

I've been wondering what I could do to make me read more because quoting a book isn't incentive enough for me to read consistently. I still haven't even finished Americanah. But I don't want to do book reviews. I don't want to review books. I just want to reeeeeeeeeeeead them. GASP! I've got it. I'll do a writing challenge.

-----

write a story using these things/elements/objects

• rabbits
• ice skates
• lighthouse
• rosebush

Mother shoved the ice skates into my face nearly cutting off my nose. "Don't be so dramatic," she said when I called out. "They're just ice skates. Now. Put them on." 

   "But I don't want to."

   "Jared. Put on the ice skates."

   "It's summer."

   "Put. On. The ice skates." 

   I stared at my mother who face looks as severe as an unexpected tsunami, all the more violent for its unexpectedness. I pulled on the ice skates without another question but my tongue burned for every word I didn't say. I almost asked my mother to open my mouth for me just so she could read all my questions. 

   As soon as I finished pulling on my ice skates she blind-folded me. Luckily for her, I have underdeveloped ninja skills and didn't slice off her leg with my tightly laced ice skates. 

   "Okay," she said, huffing and puffing, "I am going to carry you to the car."

   "What?! I can walk on my own."

   "Yeah, I know. You're ten years old, but if you walk around the house in ice skates you'll tear and scratch everything up. So, I'm going to pick you up now." 

   I opened my mouth to say, "Then you shouldn't've told me to put the ice skates on! I should've put them on later at the, you know, ice skating rink," but said instead, "Whose ice skates are these anyway?" She swung me over her shoulder. Out of breath, she murmured, "They belonged to the kid next door. She didn't want them."

   "These are girl skates?!"

   "An older girl's. Now, shh. No such anti-feminist things will be said while I'm around. Skates are skates. Do Mommy a favor, and try your best no to squirm. I don't want to drop you."

   Eventually, she got to the front door, and rushed out to the front lawn where she unceremoniously dropped me on my bottom. I growled, but she paid me no attention as she took my hand and instructed that I walk the rest of the way to the car. But as soon as I took my first step she yelled, "Wait! Don't step there." She let go of my hand. I lost my balance and landed flat on my back. I heard her whispering something, but was too winded, and too much in pain to care. 

   "Good thing you didn't drop me, Mom."

   She laughed, and after a minute helped me back up on my feet. This time, she lead me to the car uninterrupted. 

   She started the car and drove away with the music blasting as loudly as she could. I could hear her talking but I was too angry to bother responding to her. She deserves my cold shoulder, since I can't really afford to run away or anything like that. I mean, I can't leave! I need someone to make me my food. 

   Hours and hours later, she stopped the car and said, "Okay, my blind, incapacitated son, now you need to be deaf so I'm going to put in these ear plugs. Oh, and I also need to deprive you of touch, so I have to wrap you in a blanket!"

   "Enough!" I yelled. "Are you trying to kill me?!" Angrily, I kicked off the ice skates (well, I had to angrily untie them first) and ripped off my blindfold. I was just about to ask all those questions I wouldn't ask earlier when before me, people yelled, "Surprise!" 

   "It's not my birthday!" My face felt angry. My heart felt surprised. My voice sounded happy. "Why are you yelling 'surprise'!" All my cousins and aunts and uncles, and my dad stood behind my mom who was holding the fluffiest rabbit I'd ever seen. It was one in the pet shop window. "Is that mine?"

   My mom nodded her head. She passed the rabbit to my dad and hugged me. "Oh, I'm sorry, Jared. I wanted to keep Rosebush a secret from you. And you know how I am at keeping secrets, so I decided that if I couldn't talk to you about Rosebush, I'd just talk nonsense at you. But since I bought the ice skates, you'll have to start taking lessons, okay? Okay. Good. Win Mama an Olympic medal."

   I nodded, but I still didn't really understand. She must still be hiding something because that last part was still nonsense. "So," I said to distract her, "Rosebush is the rabbit?"

   "I hope you don't mind. Your little sister took liberties at naming it. It stuck."

   Before I could say, "I would rather name it Satan than Rosebush," my mom pulled me away, along with my family, to the beach where we stayed until the lighthouse awoke to warn passing ships of the rocky shore. But from where I lay with my family, Rosebush the rabbit, and some sun burn, on the sandy shore, not even the sinking of a ship could bother me. Because I'd probably swim out to save it anyway. 

From God; to You

When there's nothing to believe in, I believe in you.
Forget the past and let my hand in yours be the proof.
Though the strong could be my company, you're the one I choose;
So remember, I believe in you

I know it feels like every eye is watching you-
Waiting for you to fall, expecting you to lose
But I see victory, so all you have to do
Is remember, I believe in you

I believe, even when I see you crying.
I believe, let me dream for you.
When nothing comes from trying,
Remember, I believe in you

There will come a day when love will lift you out of here.
There will come a day when love will bring the truth.
There will come a day when love will free you from your fear;
And you'll remember, I believe in you.

I believe, even when I see you crying.
I believe, let me dream for you.
When nothing comes from trying,
Remember, I believe in you

Bethany Dillon's I Believe in You from her album, Imagination

Psalm 139

Psalm 139.4-6 reads,

Even before a word is on my tongue,
behold, O LORD, you know it altogether.
    You hem me in, behind and before,
    and lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me;
it is high: I cannot attain it. 

I don't generally have a problem with swearing. I think there can be an excessive and inappropriate use of it, but generally, swear words make me laugh more than cringe. No need to test me. Along with swear words, the phrase, "Oh, my God!" doesn't necessarily bother me either.

What does bother me are words said in vain. And I heard a lot of them. I say things in vain, too, don't get me wrong, but when I read these few verses in the 136th psalm: Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O LORD, you know it altogether. See, most people don't know what I'm going to say next- it's always a surprise what they're reaction will be. Hell, I don't know what I'm going to say next sometimes, but how intimidating that God knows what I'm going to say next. Not just the 'bad stuff' I say, like swear words, I guess, but the empty promises I make. I may not even intend to be empty.

I've said things I regret, and to know that God knew them before I said it...not even, "God, why didn't you stop me from saying that?" but, "Why do I still say stuff like that?" or "Why do I think like that?" I wouldn't say it if I didn't already think it. For out of the mouth, the heart speaks.

Perhaps that's why the psalmist continues with, You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. It's all a part of my training. Though I may regret words I've spoken, or words that were spoken to me, that makes them no more or less valuable to the experience you've planned for me. You know how I am, what I say and do, who I'll befriend, what I like, what I dislike, and intend to use every part of me to become better (vs. 23).

I may ascend to heaven, or descend to the depths of Sheol (vs. 10) and you are still there.

I praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
Wonderful are your works;
my soul knows it very well. (vs. 14)

Now, for my head to know it, and my hands to practice it.

Onward.

Exclusive

More than once I've had a student approach me to say, "They won't let me play with them." My first instinct is to tell the student to play on his own, or to find other friends, but out of my mouth always comes: "Okay. I'll talk to them."

Having already gone through growing pains, I now know and understand that I value my alone time, and am sometimes mature enough when people want to hang out without me. Sometimes I want to hang out without you, too [; But I still remember how it felt when I had no one to play with during recess- even after I stopped being the New Kid.

Students who come up to me expressing sadness at being left out don't lack independence, they probably just want to know, "Why won't they play with me?" which is an easier question to ask than, "What's wrong with me?"

Situations vary, and are separate from one another, yes, so there may be justifiable reasons only to play with a certain number of friends, but those reasons do not erase the larger problem at hand: exclusivity. In a present world of sides, I don't want future adults to continue the legacy of exclusivity. I want a future of empathy.

"But- but we're playing house and we already have the mommy and daddy and baby and doggie!"
   "How about an uncle?"

An entire future of empathy and creativity: How can we include more people? / I hurt that person's feelings. I shouldn't have done that. Because whether the consequences of exclusivity on the playground are short-term or long-term doesn't matter. If I tell the kid to go find other friends, then maybe when he's older he'll be a little more independent. Or if I tell the other kids to let him join, and the kid discovers on his own that he doesn't actually want to play with them, then he learns that on his own. Of all the possibilities that can unravel from that situation- I frankly don't care about the unraveling. No one knows what will unravel. I do, however, care a great deal of how I want these students and children to react: if I can foster a little flame of self and other-awareness I think I've done the majority of my job. If I can offer them the tools necessary to deal with whatever possibility comes at them then that should be enough.

"They won't let me play with them."
   "Here, come with me? Let's go talk with them."
   "Can you play with me?"
   "Oh yeah, of course."

And more often than not they eventually find other friends to play with.

today: April 6, 2011

i added my breath to the wind.
the wind must've liked it
for it did not cease, nor did it anger.
it rather pressed me on,
asking me to go further.
so i went on, gladly, to see that i had a companion who would come alongside me.

so, i added my breath to the wind
for it played with my hair,
and ran down my arms,
tickling my cold fingers, painted and small.

then i finally got to where i needed to be
and as the door closed behind me
i smirked, and heard the wind whistling, wishing me well
and missing me.

---because it's still wintry outside :P

I know a lot.

Dear God,

   Can you help my interpersonal skills? I believe I am an expert in intrapersonal skills, but seriously, I've observed people too much to know how to properly interact with them. It's like I know a lot, but I have no idea how to act on that knowledge. Like I've a doctorate in physiology, but don't ask me to teach aspiring physiologists because I don't know how to simplify information well enough for them to allow individual progression.
   That was a lot.
   I may regret telling you this, God, but I'm tired of just knowing. I want to do. But I don't know if the barriers that surround me are imaginary or legitimate. I don't want to feel guilty for the wrong reasons. I need to make sure I've actually committed the sin before I pretend I did, and be overcome with self-righteousness. What am I actually doing wrong? (This is the part where you tell me.)
   I just-. Even if I am doing all the right things, it still leaves me empty, or at least, desperate to keep full. Hell, was I ever full in the first place? I interact so freely and personally with delusions, honestly.
   Please help me do whatever work you've given me. And make sure to pop my bubble. (I'm going to regret that last request, I know it.)
   Love you. 

Fenced In

from Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein"

Alas! why does man boast of sensibilities superior to those apparent in the brute; it only renders them more necessary beings. If our impulses were confined to hunger, thirst, and desire, we might be nearly free; but now we are moved by every wind that blows and a chance word or scene that that word may convey to us.

Hosanna

I see the king of glory
Coming on the clouds with fire
The whole earth shakes, The whole earth shakes

I see his love and mercy
Washing over all our sin
The people sing, The people sing

Hosanna, Hosanna
Hosanna in the highest

I see a generation
Rising up to take their place
With selfless faith, With selfless faith

I see a near revival
Stirring as we pray and seek
We're on our knees, We're on our knees

Hosanna, Hosanna
Hosanna in the highest

Hosanna, Hosanna
Hosanna in the highest

Heal my heart and make it clean
Open up my eyes to the things unseen
Show me how to love like you have loved me

Break my heart for what breaks yours
Everything I am for Your kingdom's cause
As I walk from earth into eternity

Hosanna, Hosanna
Hosanna in the highest
Hosanna in the highest

Father of Great Lights and death

Psalm 136. 7-9 reads,

to him who made the great lights,   for his steadfast love endures forever;the sun to rule over the day,   for his steadfast love endures forever;the moon and the stars to rule over the night,   for his steadfast love endures forever

Then verse 10a reads,

to him who struck down the firstborn of Egypt...

Definitely never going to hear that in a hymn, am I right? The only deaths Christians like to talk about are death of sin, and Christ's death (we need to hear more about his Resurrection).

But that's what God did. He struck down the firstborn of Egypt, and the psalmist in 10b continues for his steadfast love endures forever. Because why shouldn't it? I could be wrong, but I don't think the psalmist rejoices in the death of hundreds or thousands of firstborns, I do think, however, (because he keeps repeating 'for his steadfast love endures forever') that he is rejoicing in God's steadfast love despite troubling circumstances. When the Hebrews were slaves to the Egyptians, God promised to save them, and he did in such unexpected, unrepeatable ways...

I'm not saying that I deny God's steadfast love, or for faithfulness to fulfill his promises, I just wonder at his methods. But then... Isaiah 55.8,

' "For my [God] thoughts are not your thoughts,
   neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. ' 

I don't know what comfort that should bring me, certainly not the kind of fluffy, cushioned comfort of feather beds, but comfort that I have a firm grasp on this mountain I'm trying to climb. Now, if only my legs would steady themselves.




If God will do anything to protect me, a Gentile, how much more so will he protect his Chosen People? Right? Am I walking into a trap, here?

Honesty is the Best Policy

Truth is a difficult concept. I believe in an Ultimate, universal Truth, but that's the not truth I'm talking about. I'm talking about truth with a lowercase 't', which frankly, is harder to find than the Ultimate, universal Truth because that doesn't change. Lowercase truth, however, is a paaaaaaaaaaaaaaaain.

Some of my students lately have asked me to tell them stories during their after school time, waiting for their parents to pick them up. They wanted to be characters in the story so in the stories I had them go on adventures with unicorns who steal rows of teeth, and changeling kittens.

Today was no different- they wanted to hear my stories again, except this time they would tell me the stories. This time I was the bad guy (although they couldn't think of a crime for me to commit) and they were the cops who were chasing me. Then I became a zombie. Then a human. Then a zombie again, but this time could be commanded to do stuff. So, they told me to run. I didn't think they actually wanted me to run because, you know, they were telling me a story, but then a student said, "You need to run because you're fat!" I expressed mock disbelief, and returned with, "That was not nice, mister," and proceeded to stay seated and listen to the rest of their story.

I am overweight. According to my BMI, I am obese...although I haven't checked my BMI in a while, so that could have altered, but still, I am not exactly slim, that's perfectly true.

And you know how difficult it is to tell children to be honest, to tell the truth, and yet counter them with, "Don't be rude!" Maybe instead of saying "Honesty is the best policy," or "Don't tell lies," adults should say, "Be encouraging with what you say. Don't not say the truth, but is it appropriate to say the truth just now? Did you really need to call your teacher fat just then?" I mean, why do adults tell kids such cheap lines like "Honesty is the best policy", and then get all surprised when they say embarrassing things to friends or strangers? You just told the kid it's the best policy, and you probably also told him he only deserves the best, and is the best, so why wouldn't he want to use the best policy? Why do adults talk to kids like kids?

Heck, why do we talk like that to each other? To our peers?

Now, okay, wait, back-up: I don't want to expose children/students prematurely (I already wrote a blog post about this here >> Expose vs. Educate), but why should I be the one to start them off confused? They're already going to be confused the rest of their lives- I want to give them the tools they'll need to search for and gain clarity instead of telling them the easy way out of things. Maybe they'll have a better chance at empathy and stop exclaiming, "That's weird!" (in a negative way) at everything (frankly, they're probably just as weird as what they're calling weird).




It's true people experience pain. It's true that there are those without homes and food. It's true that people are mean. It's true that I can't afford to pay off my bills. It's true that things aren't for forever. It's true that I'm lazy and frustrated and conceited and fat and distracted.

I'm sure there are a lot more truths about me that I could dig up and be ashamed of, but then the greatest truth of all: that I am loved--overpowers them all.

Trust me, you're loved, too.

twofer

(1)
you were so sure i was against you,
that you did not bother to check if i was anywhere near you.
i did not speak for or against,
i only spoke.
did you hear what i said?
because i was not admonishing you or your allies;
neither was i defending your enemies.
i spoke to all, but mostly to myself.
these, our hearts, are so tortured and bruised
that you imagine these trials the only ones ever endured
yet if you would only turn your head to the side
you would see that we are tortured and bruised with you.
we are you.

(2)
faint happiness;
i despair easily.
i sweat, though it's cold.
i burn, though i'm damp because
i have been drenched in oil-
a Greek fire, i am;
unwillingly blackened and boiled,
destroying everything i touch.
i wish my aim was not so bold
for i miss my target and strike innocence.

Justice Served

Dear God,
   Yesterday, I finally got a parking ticket. I say 'finally'... It only took them four months to finally notice I'd been violating their parking procedures, but generally, with better weather comes better morals. At most, I was embarrassed: a bright orange boot on your car is certainly not a pick-me-up. And people staring? Not good for the social ego. But other than that, I felt nothing else. I deserved it. I accepted the consequences. Because that's what happens when you break rules: negative consequences.
   Although, God, I have to say, thank you for delaying their moral compasses for a bit there, otherwise, I would've had a harder time getting to work... Maybe I shouldn't thank you for that...
   I sound high and mighty, indeed. If I am, I deserve-. Oh, I'm about to curse myself: that's even higher and mightier.
   But, still, yes, I want to thank you for being as just and as merciful as you are. You always know how I need to learn a lesson. You don't make me learn something just to spite me, or prove you're better than me. When you teach me, you're not competing with me; and you certainly don't ask me to compete with you. You just ask me to be like you, which is more intimidating, to say the least, but frankly, also more inspiring: I get to learn to be like you? Kind, gracious, merciful, wise? I get to be all those things just by trying to mimic you? Thank you for guiding me as you teach me. You always want me to improve.
   God, help me graciously accept every life lesson I need to learn. I know I won't always be so perfect and understanding as I am now (haha).
   ...the sun shines on the blessed and the damned.
   It's like you know what you're doing because despite what I believe to be true of you, you always surprise me with some new facet: keeps me on my toes.
   Thank you for keeping my life, and everyone else's life in your hands.
   I love you.

Copycat

Which is mine, and which is my student's? 

from "Van Gogh: the Life"

"No issue defined Vincent's reincarnation in 1881 more than money. Of all the accusations leveled against him over the previous years, none weighed more heavily on his new life than the charge that he could not support himself. This was, after all, the accusation on which his father had launched the effort to have him committed [to an asylum]. The pain and humiliation of those memories had driven Thomas a Kempis completely out of his thoughts. From the moment he arrived in Brussels, he could not protest loudly enough his single-minded determination to earn a living. 'My aim must be to learn to make some drawings that are presentable and saleable as soon as possible,' he declared in his first letter from the Aux Amis, 'so that I can begin to earn something directly through my work.' His first stop in Brussels had been at Goupil for a symbolic re-embrace of the family's mercantile heritage-- '[I] have now returned to the art field,' he proclaimed. To Theo [his younger brother], he confided his hope that 'if only I work hard...possibly Uncle Vincent or Uncle Cor will do something--if not to help me, at least to help Father.' (pg. 225)

978-0-375-50748-9

edit :: 2.45, from "The Girl Who Circumnavigted Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making" 

' Hats change everything. September knew this with all her being, deep in the place where she knew her own name, that her mother would still love her even though she hadn't waved good-bye. For one day, her father had put on a hat with golden things on it and suddenly he hadn't been her father anymore, he had been a solider, and he had left. Hats have power. Hats can change you into someone else. ' (pg. 26)

What a Friend We Have in Jesus

What a friend we have in Jesus,

all our sins and griefs to bear!

What a privilege to carry

everything to God in prayer!

O what peace we often forfeit,

O what needless pain we bear,

all because we do not carry

everything to God in prayer.

Have we trials and temptations?

Is there trouble anywhere?

We should never be discouraged;

take it to the Lord in prayer.

Can we find a friend so faithful

who will all our sorrows share?

Jesus knows our every weakness;

take it to the Lord in prayer.

Are we weak and heavy laden,

cumbered with a load of care?

Precious Savior, still our refuge;

take it to the Lord in prayer.

Do thy friends despise, forsake thee?

Take it to the Lord in prayer!

In his arms he'll take and shield thee;

thou wilt find a solace there.

People Pleaser

1 Corinthians 10.13 (ESV) reads,

No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.

 Then 10.14 reads,

Therefore, my beloved, flee from idolatry.

 Because why should I endure temptation and have to escape it, if I can avoid it altogether.

I doubt that Paul here is saying we should live in little bubbles so that we never interact with all life, including the best it has to offer- I mean, have you seen (read?) Paul's life all the stuff he did, and all the stuff that happened to him?! Bitten by snakes; shipwrecked; stoned (ahaha). He didn't avoid life, he threw himself into it.

Now, I'm also not saying (nor is Paul saying) we should all want to be bitten by snakes, and shipwrecked, and stoned (haha), but why walk into a trap when there's already a huge warning sign that says,

"TRAP!"

That's probably why Paul goes on to say for Christians that when you go to someone's house and they offer you food, just eat it. Be kind for they were kind to you. But in the same way, if your host says, "This has been offered in sacrifice..." -wait, what would be the modern equivalent of that? So, if your host says, "This food was made my enslaved, poorly treated house elves," you probably shouldn't eat it.

Now, admittedly, I don't really understand what Paul is trying to say in 1 Corinthians 10.29,30. I should not partake of the food not because of my conscience but for my host's conscience? I don't know why I should be denounced because of that for which I give thanks, Paul, why are you asking? I have to go find a pastor for that.

Anyway, 1 Corinthians 10.31-33 finishes with,

So, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God. Give no offense to Jews or to the Greeks, or to the church of God, just as I try to please everyone in everything I do, not seeking my own advantage, but that of many, that they may be saved. 

I doubt that a man who was bitten by snakes, shipwrecked, (almost imprisoned multiple times), and stoned was a people pleaser like we know people pleasers today; so, I think when Paul writes that he tries to please everyone in everything I do, he's not colorblind; he's aware of customs and cultures different from his own. He's not going to pretend that the rest of the world is just like his world and for that I am thankful. We need a lot more people like that. He couldn't write 1 Corinthians, chapter 10 (or the rest of his letters for that matter) if he didn't practice what he preached, yeah? :P

So, even though I don't know whose conscience I should be worrying about (probably my own because I can't read anyone else's mind, or live anyone else's life), I should do all the glory of God. Everything. I should live blamelessly. Like Christ. Yeah. I can do that. Okay. I guess I have to get out of bed to do that.

"Stop yelling at me!"

Sometimes I don't know what boils my blood until someone asks me a question, then the volume of my voice gradually increases until the questioner is like, "Calm down, Justine."
   "Sorry," I'd reply, "I didn't know this bothered me. Did you know? Is that why you asked?"

Now that I know whatever-it-is bothers me I can do something about it, but I have to admit: all that yelling I did didn't get anyone anywhere; well, except me, but that's selfish.

Why I equate an increased volume with clarification is beyond me; I need to change this assumption because I know the moment someone starts yelling at me I stop listening. I don't like being yelled at, and, frankly, in spite, I will stop listening.




Once, I told a student, "Look me in the eye!" and I immediately regretted it. Hadn't I learned never to command a student to do that? Why shouldn't I do that? Because it's belittling. It's like when my parents told me to look them in the eye, and I was like "Nope!" I don't remember why I demanded that particular student to look me in the eye, but I do remember that I apologized right after.

I once called another student a drama queen- I made him cry, and I apologized for that, too.




When I yell, I guess I feel a sensation of power over the one I'm yelling at. This sometimes is necessary, but I can't imagine why it would be necessary in a community of peers who are equal, not in age, or rank, but in situation because the moment any adolescent walks into the school building, he or she is made my equal. As a teacher, I don't fill empty jars (how many times do we need to hear that?); I hope, instead, that I am adding positive things to his or her collection of life experience and truths because I'm a human who just happens to have a degree- a sheet of paper (and loads of debt)- that my students don't have yet.

Yes, yes, I have a responsibility as an authority figure in that classroom to make sure my students are safe and comfortable, but I am not their dictator. I can't just yell and command things.

If I don't stand for yelling, and passive-aggressively ignore it, I can only imagine how other people who more active-aggressively might come to ignore it...to me--I don't need to foster this sort of negative environment, anywhere, ever.

If you are going to yell, make sure it's not at someone. And yell good stuff like, "Have a great day!" or something else cheesy. [:

when i speak to myself:

rain, rain,
come and stay;
please nourish my soul for forever and a day.
please
flood the valleys and mount the peaks
engulf salt water, fresh water, all bitter tears.
flood the nations that engage in hate--
if it's my nation i'll consent to my own request.

under the ocean we might find peace;
under the pressure of millions of water
we might be humbled.
because under the heavens we're fat with pride
and know no better diet than making sure of others' skinniness.

the few guilty of
too much acceptance and
too much love.
but only hatred is guilt-ridden.
hatred and clamor and deceit.

your discretion isn't working
because time won't stand still long enough to justify your hasty decisions;
because your discretion is infamous indiscretion--
Mama didn't teach you to say those things to people
whose lives aren't yours;
who neither will befriend you;
lives who cannot acknowledge your input
because you don't acknowledge their situation.

oh, rain, rain,
come and stay
rain upon those who deserve it,
and if i am one then i'll consent to my own request.

Unfortunate Choices

Dear God,
   I have to be honest with you: it bothers me that you are not at all selective with who you choose to work for you. Frankly, if you were a place of higher education, you're like community college- you just accept everyone. Everyone. Everyone, everyone, everyone. All of them. Including me. It is for the least of these that you live, but did you have to pick the least of these that make everyone else feel as though they are lesser than the least of these? Probably an imprudent, presumptuous question- what if I'm one of the least of these that make others feel less than they are? What's my deal? What's your deal?! Why did you pick me? I wouldn't pick me.
   But you did. And though I consider that an unfortunate (permanent) choice, I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you don't just willy nilly strike your greatest offenders with lightning. Indeed, the sun shines down on both the righteous and unrighteous [in this way, we're not entirely sure who is who; in this way, you are the only one who truly knows].
   Remind me: when I sing, or say, or read "So the last will be first, and first last" (Matthew 20.16 - ESV) that I shouldn't become so hoity toity. I should be humbled. I am the last. I've got a long way to go before I'm first in anything.
   On another note, I'm sorry, God, that I've been neglecting my time with you. I suppose that to a certain extent I've taken you for granted: I've been apathetic because I haven't been either miserable or overjoyed, therefore I didn't think to bother you with every little thought that passes through me. I hardly do that with humans, much less the God of the Universe. I don't know how to get into the habit of telling you every little thing, and after a while, I'm just talking to myself because even I don't care about everything I think and have to toss away some of those thoughts.
   But you'll teach me how to approach you, won't you? Kind of like if I were going to meet the Queen of England, I'll probably have to enroll in etiquette lessons. How can you be so approachable and yet so formidable?
   Perhaps Ravi Zacharias said it best,

' Who is God? God is your Holy Father. Every time you get on your knees pray to God, "Holy" keeps the respect, the reverence; "Father" brings Him close; intimate. The Christian faith is the only faith that calls God "our Father". '

Kiwis and Cobblestones