_
Love is tricky. It is never mundane or daily. You can never get used to it. You have to walk with it, then let it walk with you. You can never balk. It moves you like the tide. It takes you out to sea, then lays you on the beach again. Today's struggling pain is the foundation for a certain stride through the heavens. You can run from it, but you can never say no. It includes everyone.
-Amy Tan, The One Hundred Secret Senses
Nov 18, 2008
Nov 13, 2008
I'm Cool, See?
I have been trying to build meaningful connections with my students. I have been trying to impress upon them my genuine interest in their well-being, and earn the right to speak into their lives.
But sometimes, it works better just to moon walk.
Today I played the "Golden Deer" in Period 4's play. They'd needed an extra body for the part early on, and I agreed to do it temporarily-- but before I could stop them, they'd written my name into the script, and I was committed. In rehearsal, I'd done my deer-prancing with pointed toes. Viola had remembered my ballerina background and ordered me to do a leap-- and when this lady tells me to jump, I jump. Har har. Once I did the split leap.. It was all over. I was the hit of the play. The kids kept talking about how I was the BEST Golden Deer, and it was so cool when I did the leaping thing, and that I was their favorite part. I earned love and adoration for prancing around in gold lame.
Per. 6, the Swing Class, was won over when I did the moon walk. I did it as a joke one day at the end of class, and the kids flipped out. On Halloween, I tried to teach them-- I had extra slippery shoes on that day, so I figured out how to do it not only moving backwards, but staying in place. They couldn't stop talking about it. I was lauded and revered for my throwback to a Thriller dance I'd done in high-school.
How funny, you know? Who ever would have thought that playing a toothless zombie for a friend's senior dance project would set me up to be the Cool Teacher in town? Who ever would have guessed that ten years of ballet would prepare me, not to be the professional ballerina like I'd initially hoped, but the kick-a** Golden Deer for Period 4? I just think it's so funny.
But hey, if doing the moon walk gets me their respect, I'm not complaining. Wanna see my chaîné turns??
But sometimes, it works better just to moon walk.
Today I played the "Golden Deer" in Period 4's play. They'd needed an extra body for the part early on, and I agreed to do it temporarily-- but before I could stop them, they'd written my name into the script, and I was committed. In rehearsal, I'd done my deer-prancing with pointed toes. Viola had remembered my ballerina background and ordered me to do a leap-- and when this lady tells me to jump, I jump. Har har. Once I did the split leap.. It was all over. I was the hit of the play. The kids kept talking about how I was the BEST Golden Deer, and it was so cool when I did the leaping thing, and that I was their favorite part. I earned love and adoration for prancing around in gold lame.
Per. 6, the Swing Class, was won over when I did the moon walk. I did it as a joke one day at the end of class, and the kids flipped out. On Halloween, I tried to teach them-- I had extra slippery shoes on that day, so I figured out how to do it not only moving backwards, but staying in place. They couldn't stop talking about it. I was lauded and revered for my throwback to a Thriller dance I'd done in high-school.
How funny, you know? Who ever would have thought that playing a toothless zombie for a friend's senior dance project would set me up to be the Cool Teacher in town? Who ever would have guessed that ten years of ballet would prepare me, not to be the professional ballerina like I'd initially hoped, but the kick-a** Golden Deer for Period 4? I just think it's so funny.
But hey, if doing the moon walk gets me their respect, I'm not complaining. Wanna see my chaîné turns??
Nov 12, 2008
Small Victories
Today, 3rd and 5th periods were supposed to perform their plays. These two periods have struggled more than any other; Viola even decided to cancel the audience she'd arranged for 5th period's play, since they were so behind. Regardless, today was the day to perform: ready or not, here they flounder.
5th period starting running through their scenes at the beginning of class for one last rehearsal. When it came time to run Isaac's scene, I watched for what he would do. On Monday, he'd been in a black mood and refused to take any of the direction we gave him. When I finally said, "What's going on Isaac??" he glowered, and said he didn't want to do the scene at all.
Viola told him, "That means you'll get a zero for your grade."
"Fine," he said, and walked out of the room. I followed him, and we talked out in the hall. I finally told him to take a minute to just cool off and come back in. He ended up skipping the rest of the period, which ticked me off.
But teenagers-- especially the boys-- can be moody, and I hoped it would prove to have been a temporary "Black Monday" sort of thing. For all his attitude, I've got a soft spot for the footsie-ing, holstering twerp.
But when it came time to run his scene, Isaac came up to us. "They found someone else to do my part, so I don't have to do it," he said.
Viola was in yelling, wrangling, director mode. "That means you'll get a ZERO," she said loudly.
He shrugged, and his face got hard. "Fine."
"Then LEAVE. You can spend the rest of the class in the office," Viola said. "I don't want you here if you're going to take that attitude."
He shrugged again and started getting his stuff.
Viola sighed. "Do you want to talk to him?" she asked me. I followed him out into the hall.
Isaac is a little guy, and I've heard the other kids make fun of him for being so small. He compensates by wearing big sweatshirts, baggy shorts, and sporting a determined mustache. He has bright blue eyes that either twinkle or glower. I know he cares about his grades: he tries with the homework, and he gets super bummed over a bad test score. One day, he got a C grade on a packet he turned in, and ended up staying after school for an hour to improve it. He ended up getting a revised grade of 161 out of 165-- a high A. When I gave him the packet back, and he saw the new score, he was SO HAPPY. You should have seen it-- it was such an awesome moment for me. He was SO PUMPED that he'd gotten that grade up so high. On the first day that Isaac and his partner rehearsed their scene, Isaac played the king and his buddy Drew played the queen. K-- oh K...-- had scoffed from the audience. "Shouldn't ISAAC play the girl?? Kings are supposed to be GOOD-LOOKING." I chided K, but I saw that it stung Isaac. We've also heard from his little gal-pal that there's something going on with his family at home. I don't know how much of all this was a factor. I'm sure some of it was.
"Isaac... what's going on??"
He shrugged again and his face was sharp. "I don't wanna do it."
"But Isaac, that would mean the highest grade you could get this quarter is a C... And I KNOW you care about your grades."
"Viola's bein' stupid, she keeps yelling, she takes it so frickin' seriously... I don't wanna do it."
"Honestly dude, that's a pretty common mode for directors to take right before the show... I remember I once directed an assembly for the ASB officers when I was in high-school, and it was based on the Wizard of Oz... And I was in this big poofy pink dress, because I was supposed to be Glinda the Good Witch, and the middle-school boys could NOT get their part ready, and I just about lost it. I was like, 'FIGURE IT OUUUUT!'"
He didn't say anything.
I paused. "...I get that you don't agree with exactly how she's acting, but... That's kind of life, you know? There's always going to be someone that you have to toe the line for, and sometimes you'll like them and sometimes you won't. But... it doesn't hurt HER to give you a bad grade. EMOTIONALLY, it hurts us, because we care about you, and we want you to do well, but ultimately... You're the one that the bad grade impacts. And Isaac... I know you CARE about your grades. I still think of you coming in after school and working on that packet. You worked SO HARD, and that made me feel so good, like that was a good moment for ME, as a TEACHER. Because sometimes it's hard to get you guys to try. But you really did an amazing job with that packet."
He looked away, and his eyes were slits. I saw a water drop fall from the side of his face turned away from me.
"You don't have to ace this one, Isaac. I'm getting that the performance stuff isn't your thing. But... if you can just GET yourself through it... That would be really good."
He stayed silent.
"Is there something else going on Isaac...?"
He still looked hard at the wall, and narrowed his bright blue eyes, but there were tears coming out of both of them now. I sighed. "I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better." I paused. "Okay. Why don't you take five minutes, and just... think about it. And if you're not back in class in five minutes, then I'll go look for you in the office, and... we'll understand that you've made the decision to just not do it. Okay?" He nodded. I went back inside.
His friend Jessica asked to go talk to him, and she did. Viola asked how he was; I said he was upset. She went to go find him too. Jessica came back in and said, "I was starting to get him to laugh...! I think I could have maybe gotten him to come back in, but then Viola made me leave...!"
"It's okay," I told her. "Isaac needs to make his own choice, you know?"
Viola came back in. "He's coming," she said. "He's just going to do the crowd scenes."
And sure enough: Isaac did a crowd scene.
He got dressed in the Indian garb like everyone else, and even let our resident India-expert put a turban on him, and during the wedding scene he got up, and danced with everyone else.
And to me, that was a TRIUMPH.
As grad school interns, we're supposed to be collecting evidence of our students' work: evidence that will show we're impacting their learning. But most of the moments I'm most proud of have been when I've succeeded in just getting a kid to TURN THE WORK IN-- or in this case, to DO the performance. I can think of two boys that I hassled, and prodded, and encouraged, and spent hours working on drafts with so that they would TURN IN an essay. By the time they finally got them in, they were weeks late, and the boys only got between 25%-50%. But: they TURNED THEM IN. And that was such a great moment for me. We were only able to give Isaac 50% for his performance grade on this-- but he was IN the performance. He wore a green turban. He did the clapping dance in a circle. He came BACK into the classroom.
They're not much, but these small victories are seriously the moments that make me feel the best about teaching. I think of one of those two boys I'd mentioned, Adam, getting the paper back that he'd finally finally FINALLY turned in, and reading the comments that I'd written. His paper was ghastly-- truly-- but I'd written how proud I was of him for doing the work. Normally when Adam gets another failed assignment or test back, he crumples it up and throws it in the garbage. When I gave him that paper back, he looked at the comments for a long time, and then he carefully put the paper in his notebook. I LOVE that.
5th period made it through their performance-- and they had a small audience after all, of about 6 upperclassmen! They limped their way through, and during the last scene we all-- Viola, the kids, and me all together-- just cracked up because it was so haphazardly thrown together. But they actually did really well-- the play really came together pretty well! We had them all write their names on grading rubrics after class so that we could give them a score, and Isaac gave me his. "Thanks Isaac," I said, distractedly, collecting the others.
He started to walk away, but he looked back at the same moment I looked after him. "Thank you," I said. He gave a little nod of acknowledgment.
Small victories. But dang, do they make me feel good.
5th period starting running through their scenes at the beginning of class for one last rehearsal. When it came time to run Isaac's scene, I watched for what he would do. On Monday, he'd been in a black mood and refused to take any of the direction we gave him. When I finally said, "What's going on Isaac??" he glowered, and said he didn't want to do the scene at all.
Viola told him, "That means you'll get a zero for your grade."
"Fine," he said, and walked out of the room. I followed him, and we talked out in the hall. I finally told him to take a minute to just cool off and come back in. He ended up skipping the rest of the period, which ticked me off.
But teenagers-- especially the boys-- can be moody, and I hoped it would prove to have been a temporary "Black Monday" sort of thing. For all his attitude, I've got a soft spot for the footsie-ing, holstering twerp.
But when it came time to run his scene, Isaac came up to us. "They found someone else to do my part, so I don't have to do it," he said.
Viola was in yelling, wrangling, director mode. "That means you'll get a ZERO," she said loudly.
He shrugged, and his face got hard. "Fine."
"Then LEAVE. You can spend the rest of the class in the office," Viola said. "I don't want you here if you're going to take that attitude."
He shrugged again and started getting his stuff.
Viola sighed. "Do you want to talk to him?" she asked me. I followed him out into the hall.
Isaac is a little guy, and I've heard the other kids make fun of him for being so small. He compensates by wearing big sweatshirts, baggy shorts, and sporting a determined mustache. He has bright blue eyes that either twinkle or glower. I know he cares about his grades: he tries with the homework, and he gets super bummed over a bad test score. One day, he got a C grade on a packet he turned in, and ended up staying after school for an hour to improve it. He ended up getting a revised grade of 161 out of 165-- a high A. When I gave him the packet back, and he saw the new score, he was SO HAPPY. You should have seen it-- it was such an awesome moment for me. He was SO PUMPED that he'd gotten that grade up so high. On the first day that Isaac and his partner rehearsed their scene, Isaac played the king and his buddy Drew played the queen. K-- oh K...-- had scoffed from the audience. "Shouldn't ISAAC play the girl?? Kings are supposed to be GOOD-LOOKING." I chided K, but I saw that it stung Isaac. We've also heard from his little gal-pal that there's something going on with his family at home. I don't know how much of all this was a factor. I'm sure some of it was.
"Isaac... what's going on??"
He shrugged again and his face was sharp. "I don't wanna do it."
"But Isaac, that would mean the highest grade you could get this quarter is a C... And I KNOW you care about your grades."
"Viola's bein' stupid, she keeps yelling, she takes it so frickin' seriously... I don't wanna do it."
"Honestly dude, that's a pretty common mode for directors to take right before the show... I remember I once directed an assembly for the ASB officers when I was in high-school, and it was based on the Wizard of Oz... And I was in this big poofy pink dress, because I was supposed to be Glinda the Good Witch, and the middle-school boys could NOT get their part ready, and I just about lost it. I was like, 'FIGURE IT OUUUUT!'"
He didn't say anything.
I paused. "...I get that you don't agree with exactly how she's acting, but... That's kind of life, you know? There's always going to be someone that you have to toe the line for, and sometimes you'll like them and sometimes you won't. But... it doesn't hurt HER to give you a bad grade. EMOTIONALLY, it hurts us, because we care about you, and we want you to do well, but ultimately... You're the one that the bad grade impacts. And Isaac... I know you CARE about your grades. I still think of you coming in after school and working on that packet. You worked SO HARD, and that made me feel so good, like that was a good moment for ME, as a TEACHER. Because sometimes it's hard to get you guys to try. But you really did an amazing job with that packet."
He looked away, and his eyes were slits. I saw a water drop fall from the side of his face turned away from me.
"You don't have to ace this one, Isaac. I'm getting that the performance stuff isn't your thing. But... if you can just GET yourself through it... That would be really good."
He stayed silent.
"Is there something else going on Isaac...?"
He still looked hard at the wall, and narrowed his bright blue eyes, but there were tears coming out of both of them now. I sighed. "I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better." I paused. "Okay. Why don't you take five minutes, and just... think about it. And if you're not back in class in five minutes, then I'll go look for you in the office, and... we'll understand that you've made the decision to just not do it. Okay?" He nodded. I went back inside.
His friend Jessica asked to go talk to him, and she did. Viola asked how he was; I said he was upset. She went to go find him too. Jessica came back in and said, "I was starting to get him to laugh...! I think I could have maybe gotten him to come back in, but then Viola made me leave...!"
"It's okay," I told her. "Isaac needs to make his own choice, you know?"
Viola came back in. "He's coming," she said. "He's just going to do the crowd scenes."
And sure enough: Isaac did a crowd scene.
He got dressed in the Indian garb like everyone else, and even let our resident India-expert put a turban on him, and during the wedding scene he got up, and danced with everyone else.
And to me, that was a TRIUMPH.
As grad school interns, we're supposed to be collecting evidence of our students' work: evidence that will show we're impacting their learning. But most of the moments I'm most proud of have been when I've succeeded in just getting a kid to TURN THE WORK IN-- or in this case, to DO the performance. I can think of two boys that I hassled, and prodded, and encouraged, and spent hours working on drafts with so that they would TURN IN an essay. By the time they finally got them in, they were weeks late, and the boys only got between 25%-50%. But: they TURNED THEM IN. And that was such a great moment for me. We were only able to give Isaac 50% for his performance grade on this-- but he was IN the performance. He wore a green turban. He did the clapping dance in a circle. He came BACK into the classroom.
They're not much, but these small victories are seriously the moments that make me feel the best about teaching. I think of one of those two boys I'd mentioned, Adam, getting the paper back that he'd finally finally FINALLY turned in, and reading the comments that I'd written. His paper was ghastly-- truly-- but I'd written how proud I was of him for doing the work. Normally when Adam gets another failed assignment or test back, he crumples it up and throws it in the garbage. When I gave him that paper back, he looked at the comments for a long time, and then he carefully put the paper in his notebook. I LOVE that.
5th period made it through their performance-- and they had a small audience after all, of about 6 upperclassmen! They limped their way through, and during the last scene we all-- Viola, the kids, and me all together-- just cracked up because it was so haphazardly thrown together. But they actually did really well-- the play really came together pretty well! We had them all write their names on grading rubrics after class so that we could give them a score, and Isaac gave me his. "Thanks Isaac," I said, distractedly, collecting the others.
He started to walk away, but he looked back at the same moment I looked after him. "Thank you," I said. He gave a little nod of acknowledgment.
Small victories. But dang, do they make me feel good.
Nov 9, 2008
And... SCENE
Now: a return to the teaching blogs. Only because I'm required to do one teaching-related-blog per week. Plus: I know ya love 'em. Right?
This last week, we started trying to put together a play of The Ramayana, which is the Indian epic we just finished reading. Early in the week, Viola had mentioned that she might need to leave early. "That's fine!" I said. "I can take 5th period. It would probably good for me to get more face time with them before Matt observes me anyway."
But Viola hemmed and hawed, suggesting another teacher come lead the class, or that she get a sub. Finally, she said, "I'll just stay. It's fine." I admit I was a little disappointed-- I'm comfortable enough with our kids now that I'd love to start "stretching my wings." Plus, I was a theater major-- and we were running scenes! Obviously though, I respect Viola's leadership-- I'm her fourth intern, and she knows what to do with us.
I did ask her though, "I hope you feel comfortable leaving me with the kids... I want you to feel like you can trust me to do a good job with them!"
"Oh, absolutely I do!" she said. We left it at that.
Then I got my chance after all. :) When we started running scenes, I think Viola quickly realized that directing was something I'm very comfortable doing. I was giving the kids blocking (stage directions), and explaining that levels and placement on the stage can indicate more or less power, and I was giving them character directions, and all sorts of things. Working the scenes became very naturally shared between us-- she gave the kids a direction, and then I gave a direction, and us both supported the other. We only disagreed at one point: I encouraged the kids to build " the rickety bridge across the ocean" using chairs and tables, "And then, you know, just carefully traipse across them!" That was the only time Viola pulled rank.
"Liability!"
She was right, and we all knew it. We good-naturedly deferred, the kids giving me a, "Daaang," sort of grin.
Later at lunch, Jane the theatre teacher was complaining that our school sub wouldn't agree to cover her 6th period. "It's his birthday, so he's leaving early..."
"Greta could do it," Viola offered. "She was a theatre major! She was great working with the kids today."
Aww! "I wouldn't mind!" I said.
Jane paused, considering it. "Okay. That would be great."
So then I got to teach a theatre class all by myself! We ran the freshmen's mini-play, and then I worked with the seniors on their scenes. I got to direct almost every kid in some way or another, and I felt really good about how the scenes improved. Jane came in at the end and said, "So how'd it go?"
One girl, who had seemed frustrated that she hadn't gotten more attention earlier, said, "It was BORING."
Talk about raining on my parade. Jane reprimanded the girl, and then watched me finish giving direction to the seniors.
After class, I went to the student who had made the "boring" comment and I said, "Kaley, is everything okay? You seemed a little upset at the end of class."
She looked caught off-guard. "I'm okay."
"Okay. I just wanted to make sure you had a chance to talk to me, if you had anything on your mind. My feelings were a little hurt when you said the class was boring, because I really did my best to make sure everyone had a chance to perform, and that you all got feedback."
"Sorry," she said.
"It's okay. I want you to know that I value your opinion, and that I'm open to talking with you, but I also appreciate your respect."
"Okay."
"Okay. Have a good afternoon."
I finished up with Jane, telling her the directions I'd given the kids. She nodded enthusiastically and affirmed the notes I'd given them. The week culminated with me teaching almost ALL the classes on Friday, because Viola was getting grades in, and she figured I could do it-- that I could run the scenes. And I did it! Even with the hard classes! YAY!!
And what's GREAT about that is that the kids are starting to get used to me as Viola's co-TEACHER, not just her assistant.
I'm loving the one-on-ones, as far as dealing with "attitudes" go. There was a lot of 'TUDE on Friday so I had several more chats, and the kids are just SO much better to talk to and relate to when you're chatting with them one-on-one, than when they're just trying to be a spectacle in class. I haven't mastered the en masse classroom management yet (though I'm definitely getting better), but because I've built relationships with most of these kids, it is SO GOOD talking to them one-on-one about their behavior in class. The conversations are typically polite, and open, and I'm usually able to joke with the kids a little, or at least show them that I empathize with what they're dealing with.
"Okay guys, we're going to do a theatre warm up to get us all a little more energized. Let's start in the neutral position-- arms at your side, legs shoulder-width apart, weight evenly spread-- K? Can you drop your arms to your side?"
(K has her arms crossed, and is SCOWLING. She LIFTS her eyebrow in a challenge when I ask her to drop her arms.)
"Please?"
(Rolls her eyes and flings down her arms.) K was my main antagonist on Week One, but she's been great since then. The fact that she was being contentious over standing in the "Neutral Position" obviously indicated she was in A MOOD.
After the circle broke up and the kids were getting into their groups, I called her over.
"Hon what's up? You seem kind of off today."
"I'm having a REALLY bad day," she said angrily, and started to tear up.
"Okay... Okay. I know how a crappy day can affect... everything. I'll try not to ask too much of you today, but if you are involved in something we're working on... Can you give it your best shot?"
She nodded.
"Okay. Do your thing. Feel better."
And off she went.
Anyway: point being: I love the one-on-ones.
I AM SO LONG WINDED. THIS BLOG IS SO LONG. MY BLOGS ARE SO LONG.
Speaking of: it turns out that this is La vie d'une fille's 100th blog. The centennial blog. Bam.
Also, the two songs rounding out New 2 were picked yesterday: Eddie Vedder's "Hard Sun" from the Into the Wild Soundtrack, and then Michael Franti and the Spearhead's "Say Hey" which is AMAZING!!!! Watch the video. It will make you so happy. Let's all move to Jamaica.
This last week, we started trying to put together a play of The Ramayana, which is the Indian epic we just finished reading. Early in the week, Viola had mentioned that she might need to leave early. "That's fine!" I said. "I can take 5th period. It would probably good for me to get more face time with them before Matt observes me anyway."
But Viola hemmed and hawed, suggesting another teacher come lead the class, or that she get a sub. Finally, she said, "I'll just stay. It's fine." I admit I was a little disappointed-- I'm comfortable enough with our kids now that I'd love to start "stretching my wings." Plus, I was a theater major-- and we were running scenes! Obviously though, I respect Viola's leadership-- I'm her fourth intern, and she knows what to do with us.
I did ask her though, "I hope you feel comfortable leaving me with the kids... I want you to feel like you can trust me to do a good job with them!"
"Oh, absolutely I do!" she said. We left it at that.
Then I got my chance after all. :) When we started running scenes, I think Viola quickly realized that directing was something I'm very comfortable doing. I was giving the kids blocking (stage directions), and explaining that levels and placement on the stage can indicate more or less power, and I was giving them character directions, and all sorts of things. Working the scenes became very naturally shared between us-- she gave the kids a direction, and then I gave a direction, and us both supported the other. We only disagreed at one point: I encouraged the kids to build " the rickety bridge across the ocean" using chairs and tables, "And then, you know, just carefully traipse across them!" That was the only time Viola pulled rank.
"Liability!"
She was right, and we all knew it. We good-naturedly deferred, the kids giving me a, "Daaang," sort of grin.
Later at lunch, Jane the theatre teacher was complaining that our school sub wouldn't agree to cover her 6th period. "It's his birthday, so he's leaving early..."
"Greta could do it," Viola offered. "She was a theatre major! She was great working with the kids today."
Aww! "I wouldn't mind!" I said.
Jane paused, considering it. "Okay. That would be great."
So then I got to teach a theatre class all by myself! We ran the freshmen's mini-play, and then I worked with the seniors on their scenes. I got to direct almost every kid in some way or another, and I felt really good about how the scenes improved. Jane came in at the end and said, "So how'd it go?"
One girl, who had seemed frustrated that she hadn't gotten more attention earlier, said, "It was BORING."
Talk about raining on my parade. Jane reprimanded the girl, and then watched me finish giving direction to the seniors.
After class, I went to the student who had made the "boring" comment and I said, "Kaley, is everything okay? You seemed a little upset at the end of class."
She looked caught off-guard. "I'm okay."
"Okay. I just wanted to make sure you had a chance to talk to me, if you had anything on your mind. My feelings were a little hurt when you said the class was boring, because I really did my best to make sure everyone had a chance to perform, and that you all got feedback."
"Sorry," she said.
"It's okay. I want you to know that I value your opinion, and that I'm open to talking with you, but I also appreciate your respect."
"Okay."
"Okay. Have a good afternoon."
I finished up with Jane, telling her the directions I'd given the kids. She nodded enthusiastically and affirmed the notes I'd given them. The week culminated with me teaching almost ALL the classes on Friday, because Viola was getting grades in, and she figured I could do it-- that I could run the scenes. And I did it! Even with the hard classes! YAY!!
And what's GREAT about that is that the kids are starting to get used to me as Viola's co-TEACHER, not just her assistant.
I'm loving the one-on-ones, as far as dealing with "attitudes" go. There was a lot of 'TUDE on Friday so I had several more chats, and the kids are just SO much better to talk to and relate to when you're chatting with them one-on-one, than when they're just trying to be a spectacle in class. I haven't mastered the en masse classroom management yet (though I'm definitely getting better), but because I've built relationships with most of these kids, it is SO GOOD talking to them one-on-one about their behavior in class. The conversations are typically polite, and open, and I'm usually able to joke with the kids a little, or at least show them that I empathize with what they're dealing with.
"Okay guys, we're going to do a theatre warm up to get us all a little more energized. Let's start in the neutral position-- arms at your side, legs shoulder-width apart, weight evenly spread-- K? Can you drop your arms to your side?"
(K has her arms crossed, and is SCOWLING. She LIFTS her eyebrow in a challenge when I ask her to drop her arms.)
"Please?"
(Rolls her eyes and flings down her arms.) K was my main antagonist on Week One, but she's been great since then. The fact that she was being contentious over standing in the "Neutral Position" obviously indicated she was in A MOOD.
After the circle broke up and the kids were getting into their groups, I called her over.
"Hon what's up? You seem kind of off today."
"I'm having a REALLY bad day," she said angrily, and started to tear up.
"Okay... Okay. I know how a crappy day can affect... everything. I'll try not to ask too much of you today, but if you are involved in something we're working on... Can you give it your best shot?"
She nodded.
"Okay. Do your thing. Feel better."
And off she went.
Anyway: point being: I love the one-on-ones.
I AM SO LONG WINDED. THIS BLOG IS SO LONG. MY BLOGS ARE SO LONG.
Speaking of: it turns out that this is La vie d'une fille's 100th blog. The centennial blog. Bam.
Also, the two songs rounding out New 2 were picked yesterday: Eddie Vedder's "Hard Sun" from the Into the Wild Soundtrack, and then Michael Franti and the Spearhead's "Say Hey" which is AMAZING!!!! Watch the video. It will make you so happy. Let's all move to Jamaica.
Nov 7, 2008
Annotated Song List
I've started a new tradition for myself: as I find new songs and purchase them on I-Tunes (yes-- I always pay for my music. Not because I'm that ethically impervious, but because I'm not savvy enough to find the places to get it free)-- I put them in a playlist titled simply "New." I file them in there in the order found, and when I've got about 17 of them, I burn a CD. What results is a CD that is indicative not only of my current music tastes, but also my mental state of being during the accumulating. I have a "New 1" and am finishing up "New 2." I sort of like it.
So, in honor of a rainy Friday evening during which I feel no compulsion to do homework yet still find the need to kill time before I head out to meet up with my darling girlfriends: I give you: my annotated "New 2" list. Links are provided when the songs were findable.
New 2 might be distinguished for being an especially odd assortment.
1.) Somehow, Someday: Ryan Adams.
I've never just gotten myself "hooked" on Ryan Adams, but this Gold album is GOOD. The chorus is strong, downward strumming chords, and the words say, "Ain't no way I'll ever stop from loving you now"-- which is wonderfully reminiscent of the OTHER "Somehow, Someday" song that I know of from West Side Story. You remember? The part where Maria and Tony clasp hands and tearfully promise that they'll be together somehow... someday? When I was 14, I agreed to paint my neighbor's extra long driveway with a "sealer" and spent an entire week working on that driveway in the hot July sun, listening to the West Side Story soundtrack nonstop on a walkman. West Side always makes me think of sealer and extra long driveways. Did you follow that then? Ryan Adams=> West Side Story=> Sealing my neighbor's driveway. You got that? Good.
2.) Grey Days: The Concretes
I sort of don't know why I put this song on New 2. I don't like it as much as I thought I did. Never mind.
3.) California: Mason Jennings
My friend Caroline told me about Mason Jennings. He has a very odd, very endearing sort of voice. This song is about saying goodbye to his girlfriend who's moving to California. I woke up with the song stuck in my head the other day, and decided it deserved a spot on the New 2, even though I've had it for a little while. My favorite line is: "Don't you know baby, I'm a leading man: I dig down deep when I say I love you." I like thinking that his girl wants to go be an actress, and he's saying, "But hey baby, ain't I good enough for your love story?" It's a wistful song. I relate to the wisting.
4.) Someone Should Have Told Me: Reserved 16
This one's actually by Beau-- he wrote it, even though it's sung by a girl, from a girl's perspective. My favorite part is when he sings "erstwhile" during the chorus just because I love the word "erstwhile." Who says "erstwhile"?? I also like when the girl sings, "Should I dress up for Halloween as the homecoming queen that I used to be? Or should I dress as the new girl, new world that Autumn slowly unfurls?" The Homecoming queen line makes me think of Annie (who, it should be noted, was Homecoming queen) and I like listening to songs about autumn during autumn. And I like listening to the beau every once in a while. You can find it on I-Tunes! (Plug. PLUG.)
5.) Godspeed: Jenny Lewis
Here's where the playlist starts getting emotional. My new amazing friend Kelsey recommended this song when I was having a particularly hard night, and I downloaded it as soon as I got home from her house. The chorus goes, "Godspeed to you: keep the lighthouse in sight." The first several times I listened to the chorus, I thought: alright. Lighthouse. Nice image. Whatever. But I suddenly became much more attached to the song, when I pictured looking AT the lighthouse from WITHIN the storm. Godspeed is right.
6.) Your Love is Strong: Jon Foreman
The Switchfoot frontman is apparently putting out a solo EP, which is where this song comes from. He basically just sings the Lord's prayer-- which is sometimes just really helpful to hear. His chorus is simple, and anchors down an aching heart when it's slipping: "Your love is, your love is, your love is strong." I heard it on the radio one night when, again, I was having a hard time. I cranked it and cried.
7.) Free: Shawn Mcdonald
I love this guy. Heidi (my sis-- has it been so long since the Europe blogs that I have to re-specify she's my sister??) recommended this one. How are these lines for you? "I know the heaviness that’s making me cold/ Is stealing my youthful soul and making me old/ You said your burden is light and your load is no more/ You said your ways are right and in you I would soar/ I want to be free." Plus: it's great sometimes when a song makes you think of a person you love love love love love. Heidi=lovelovelovelovelove.
8.) What's Been Going On: Amos Lee
This song has a hook that kills-- it makes me think of being on a swing at night, reaching up for the sky with my boots. Another segment that makes me think of that afore-mentioned best friend: "There goes her old beat up car/Outside of our old favorite bar/ She's probably in there playin' her guitar/ With stars in her eyes." How appropriate is that for our Nashville songwriter with a gig at the Bluebird? Love you Annie. :)
9.) Revelation: Third Day
I posted this one in an earlier blog. Normally I snobbishly dismiss Third Day as trying-to-be-a-hardcore-Christian-band-but-are-really-sort-of-Creed-wannabes, but the lyrics to this one just reflect the words on my soul. I'm not going to write them all here, because that almost feels too exposing. But. You should listen to it.
10. and 11.) Warwick Avenue, Scared: Duffy
Duffy gets the next two. My cool Uncle Ken describes her as, "Sort of like Amy Winehouse, except not a train wreck." Her Warwick Avenue is just a GREAT song-- "I'm leaving you for the last time, baby"-- such a good line! Especially because she growls it out to a beat that sounds like she's WALKING AWAY. And "Scared" is just relatable. Because. Sometimes. I feel scared.
12.) The Best Things in Life are Free: Good News Soundtrack
This is when the playlist starts getting really random... Viola started humming this song the other day, and I freaked out because "Good News" is a classic from my childhood. Specifically: this is the movie we always watched with my Grandma Bean. Even as a kid, I recognized that the leading man is a total jerk and plays June Allyson like a PUTZ, but there's a GREAT dance number in a soda shop (to warn: it's totally not PC), and this song is just so dang sweet... And I won't lie: when Peter Lawford starts singing the verse in french, it gets downright swoonworthy.
13.) Last of the Mohicans: Last of the Mohicans Soundtrack
In keeping with the soundtrack theme... I started humming this tonight at dinner, and got so excited thinking about this movie THISISTHEMOSTAMAZINGMOVIE!!! Gramps has never seen it, and I went into rhapsodies describing when Daniel Day-Lewis is RUNNING through the forest, and when he KISSES Madeleine Stowe... When I went to my funky arts high-school, we had to do a project that somehow conveyed our "foremost characteristic," which we took various tests to determine. My defining characteristic turned out to be "Passionate," and I ended up doing a solo dance to this song. I still remember wearing a purple dance dress with a long flowing skirt, and performing the dance on a big dark stage. Listening to it makes me still feel as though I should be running, and spinning, and leaping into a dark unknown world.
14.) I Will Find You: Clannad
Another one from Last of the Mohicans. This is eerie, and Irishy, and betrays the hopeless romantic in me once again. It's deep in there, however it may have attempted to conceal itself recently. "No matter where you go, I will find you/ If it takes a long, long time/ No matter where you go, I will find you/ If it takes a thousand years." It sounds like a prayer, and I suppose it's one I've uttered in some voice, in some way, in some part of my heart. Don't we just want to know that we'd be worth that kind of searching after...?
That's all I've got for New 2 so far. Quite the odd bundle. And if you get into the "psychoanalyzation" of the playlist, it gets even odder.
But I've never claimed to be normal, so there you go.
So, in honor of a rainy Friday evening during which I feel no compulsion to do homework yet still find the need to kill time before I head out to meet up with my darling girlfriends: I give you: my annotated "New 2" list. Links are provided when the songs were findable.
New 2 might be distinguished for being an especially odd assortment.
1.) Somehow, Someday: Ryan Adams.
I've never just gotten myself "hooked" on Ryan Adams, but this Gold album is GOOD. The chorus is strong, downward strumming chords, and the words say, "Ain't no way I'll ever stop from loving you now"-- which is wonderfully reminiscent of the OTHER "Somehow, Someday" song that I know of from West Side Story. You remember? The part where Maria and Tony clasp hands and tearfully promise that they'll be together somehow... someday? When I was 14, I agreed to paint my neighbor's extra long driveway with a "sealer" and spent an entire week working on that driveway in the hot July sun, listening to the West Side Story soundtrack nonstop on a walkman. West Side always makes me think of sealer and extra long driveways. Did you follow that then? Ryan Adams=> West Side Story=> Sealing my neighbor's driveway. You got that? Good.
2.) Grey Days: The Concretes
I sort of don't know why I put this song on New 2. I don't like it as much as I thought I did. Never mind.
3.) California: Mason Jennings
My friend Caroline told me about Mason Jennings. He has a very odd, very endearing sort of voice. This song is about saying goodbye to his girlfriend who's moving to California. I woke up with the song stuck in my head the other day, and decided it deserved a spot on the New 2, even though I've had it for a little while. My favorite line is: "Don't you know baby, I'm a leading man: I dig down deep when I say I love you." I like thinking that his girl wants to go be an actress, and he's saying, "But hey baby, ain't I good enough for your love story?" It's a wistful song. I relate to the wisting.
4.) Someone Should Have Told Me: Reserved 16
This one's actually by Beau-- he wrote it, even though it's sung by a girl, from a girl's perspective. My favorite part is when he sings "erstwhile" during the chorus just because I love the word "erstwhile." Who says "erstwhile"?? I also like when the girl sings, "Should I dress up for Halloween as the homecoming queen that I used to be? Or should I dress as the new girl, new world that Autumn slowly unfurls?" The Homecoming queen line makes me think of Annie (who, it should be noted, was Homecoming queen) and I like listening to songs about autumn during autumn. And I like listening to the beau every once in a while. You can find it on I-Tunes! (Plug. PLUG.)
5.) Godspeed: Jenny Lewis
Here's where the playlist starts getting emotional. My new amazing friend Kelsey recommended this song when I was having a particularly hard night, and I downloaded it as soon as I got home from her house. The chorus goes, "Godspeed to you: keep the lighthouse in sight." The first several times I listened to the chorus, I thought: alright. Lighthouse. Nice image. Whatever. But I suddenly became much more attached to the song, when I pictured looking AT the lighthouse from WITHIN the storm. Godspeed is right.
6.) Your Love is Strong: Jon Foreman
The Switchfoot frontman is apparently putting out a solo EP, which is where this song comes from. He basically just sings the Lord's prayer-- which is sometimes just really helpful to hear. His chorus is simple, and anchors down an aching heart when it's slipping: "Your love is, your love is, your love is strong." I heard it on the radio one night when, again, I was having a hard time. I cranked it and cried.
7.) Free: Shawn Mcdonald
I love this guy. Heidi (my sis-- has it been so long since the Europe blogs that I have to re-specify she's my sister??) recommended this one. How are these lines for you? "I know the heaviness that’s making me cold/ Is stealing my youthful soul and making me old/ You said your burden is light and your load is no more/ You said your ways are right and in you I would soar/ I want to be free." Plus: it's great sometimes when a song makes you think of a person you love love love love love. Heidi=lovelovelovelovelove.
8.) What's Been Going On: Amos Lee
This song has a hook that kills-- it makes me think of being on a swing at night, reaching up for the sky with my boots. Another segment that makes me think of that afore-mentioned best friend: "There goes her old beat up car/Outside of our old favorite bar/ She's probably in there playin' her guitar/ With stars in her eyes." How appropriate is that for our Nashville songwriter with a gig at the Bluebird? Love you Annie. :)
9.) Revelation: Third Day
I posted this one in an earlier blog. Normally I snobbishly dismiss Third Day as trying-to-be-a-hardcore-Christian-band-but-are-really-sort-of-Creed-wannabes, but the lyrics to this one just reflect the words on my soul. I'm not going to write them all here, because that almost feels too exposing. But. You should listen to it.
10. and 11.) Warwick Avenue, Scared: Duffy
Duffy gets the next two. My cool Uncle Ken describes her as, "Sort of like Amy Winehouse, except not a train wreck." Her Warwick Avenue is just a GREAT song-- "I'm leaving you for the last time, baby"-- such a good line! Especially because she growls it out to a beat that sounds like she's WALKING AWAY. And "Scared" is just relatable. Because. Sometimes. I feel scared.
12.) The Best Things in Life are Free: Good News Soundtrack
This is when the playlist starts getting really random... Viola started humming this song the other day, and I freaked out because "Good News" is a classic from my childhood. Specifically: this is the movie we always watched with my Grandma Bean. Even as a kid, I recognized that the leading man is a total jerk and plays June Allyson like a PUTZ, but there's a GREAT dance number in a soda shop (to warn: it's totally not PC), and this song is just so dang sweet... And I won't lie: when Peter Lawford starts singing the verse in french, it gets downright swoonworthy.
13.) Last of the Mohicans: Last of the Mohicans Soundtrack
In keeping with the soundtrack theme... I started humming this tonight at dinner, and got so excited thinking about this movie THISISTHEMOSTAMAZINGMOVIE!!! Gramps has never seen it, and I went into rhapsodies describing when Daniel Day-Lewis is RUNNING through the forest, and when he KISSES Madeleine Stowe... When I went to my funky arts high-school, we had to do a project that somehow conveyed our "foremost characteristic," which we took various tests to determine. My defining characteristic turned out to be "Passionate," and I ended up doing a solo dance to this song. I still remember wearing a purple dance dress with a long flowing skirt, and performing the dance on a big dark stage. Listening to it makes me still feel as though I should be running, and spinning, and leaping into a dark unknown world.
14.) I Will Find You: Clannad
Another one from Last of the Mohicans. This is eerie, and Irishy, and betrays the hopeless romantic in me once again. It's deep in there, however it may have attempted to conceal itself recently. "No matter where you go, I will find you/ If it takes a long, long time/ No matter where you go, I will find you/ If it takes a thousand years." It sounds like a prayer, and I suppose it's one I've uttered in some voice, in some way, in some part of my heart. Don't we just want to know that we'd be worth that kind of searching after...?
That's all I've got for New 2 so far. Quite the odd bundle. And if you get into the "psychoanalyzation" of the playlist, it gets even odder.
But I've never claimed to be normal, so there you go.
Nov 5, 2008
The Eternal Part
Tonight, I blew off my grad school paper and went to a prayer vigil for Ben Towne. I got there a minute or two late, and walked into a hushed, packed sanctuary. There must have been around 1,000 people there-- for this little boy. For this family.
They had dimmed the lights, and lit the front with candles. We sang quiet worship songs, and a pastor read Psalms intermittently. He focused his brief talk on Psalm 88-- the darkest Psalm. This is the Psalm with no easy answer at the end-- no provisional resolution. It expresses unfathomable sorrow, and despair, and pain. I imagine the Townes are feeling something close to unfathomable sorrow, and despair, and pain. I imagine that they are finding no easy answers. Nor were any of us.
The worship was contemplative, and it was easy to pray and think throughout. At one point, I looked around the packed sanctuary-- at all these people, at all these believers-- at all these souls who were hoping for a miracle from their Lord, but ready to trust Him even if it didn't come-- and I wondered. I pictured Ben's little soul. I pictured it already stretched between this world and another. He has begun to comfort his mother, telling her not to worry, that he loves her. I wonder if he is already more Heaven than earth.
I pictured the souls in that sanctuary-- these combining, pleading souls-- I pictured them floating like wisps above us all and then pictured them gathering comfort and love, and rushing off to the Townes to deliver them. I pictured the eternal parts of us-- the parts that existed long before, that will exist long after, that exist even now, because isn't that what eternity means?-- and I pictured those reflective souls crowding into the Townes' home. There were so many of us in that sanctuary, we would be crowded up against the walls of the Townes'. We would be spilling out the windows, blooming out of the chimney, filling every corner, infusing from wall to wall the Towne home with comfort. With love. With hope for a miracle. With weeping empathy. I tried to picture Carin walking through all those comforting souls, and being warmed by them. Like a whiff of cinnamon. I pictured Jeff being wrapped up in them, like a wash of sunbeam. I pictured little Ben being cradled like a dear lullaby.
And I pictured the eternal parts of us that must already know heaven, that must already know the ends of our own stories, and I pictured Jeff's and Carin's souls at the front of the pack, watching over their grief-stricken selves below. I imagined them remembering the pain of this moment. I thought of them looking at their son below, and preparing themselves to catch him.
Jesus wept, you know. He lost a dear friend, and He wept. But what always surprises me about that story is that He didn't weep when He found out that Lazarus had died: He wept when he saw everyone else in such devastating grief. It says, "When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled... Jesus wept." I wonder if Jesus had only really experienced the "catching" part before-- this part on the Heaven side, the part that must be more welcome than goodbye. Before He was human, he must have always experienced more of the celebration when a soul passes into Heaven than the grief. But as a human: He saw it. He must have realized the incredible pain that exists on the earth side-- on the temporal side. On the side that can't see ahead, that doesn't have a glimpse of the eternal. He realized the immense pain that a family could go through during a death... And it made Him weep.
I hope, even as Jeff and Carin prepare themselves to say goodbye, that they feel some sense of comfort from all those praying souls. I hope that Ben's pain is eased; that as the scales begin to tip towards Heaven, he is less imprisoned by earthly pain. I hope the eternal parts of this family remain intertwined, and that some part of Jeff and Carin are able to hold Ben on both sides of the curtain. And I pray that, even as they weep, and even as we weep with them: there is comfort in the knowledge that He did too.
Sometimes there are no easy answers. Sometimes eternity just feels too far away-- even if it is all around us.
They had dimmed the lights, and lit the front with candles. We sang quiet worship songs, and a pastor read Psalms intermittently. He focused his brief talk on Psalm 88-- the darkest Psalm. This is the Psalm with no easy answer at the end-- no provisional resolution. It expresses unfathomable sorrow, and despair, and pain. I imagine the Townes are feeling something close to unfathomable sorrow, and despair, and pain. I imagine that they are finding no easy answers. Nor were any of us.
The worship was contemplative, and it was easy to pray and think throughout. At one point, I looked around the packed sanctuary-- at all these people, at all these believers-- at all these souls who were hoping for a miracle from their Lord, but ready to trust Him even if it didn't come-- and I wondered. I pictured Ben's little soul. I pictured it already stretched between this world and another. He has begun to comfort his mother, telling her not to worry, that he loves her. I wonder if he is already more Heaven than earth.
I pictured the souls in that sanctuary-- these combining, pleading souls-- I pictured them floating like wisps above us all and then pictured them gathering comfort and love, and rushing off to the Townes to deliver them. I pictured the eternal parts of us-- the parts that existed long before, that will exist long after, that exist even now, because isn't that what eternity means?-- and I pictured those reflective souls crowding into the Townes' home. There were so many of us in that sanctuary, we would be crowded up against the walls of the Townes'. We would be spilling out the windows, blooming out of the chimney, filling every corner, infusing from wall to wall the Towne home with comfort. With love. With hope for a miracle. With weeping empathy. I tried to picture Carin walking through all those comforting souls, and being warmed by them. Like a whiff of cinnamon. I pictured Jeff being wrapped up in them, like a wash of sunbeam. I pictured little Ben being cradled like a dear lullaby.
And I pictured the eternal parts of us that must already know heaven, that must already know the ends of our own stories, and I pictured Jeff's and Carin's souls at the front of the pack, watching over their grief-stricken selves below. I imagined them remembering the pain of this moment. I thought of them looking at their son below, and preparing themselves to catch him.
Jesus wept, you know. He lost a dear friend, and He wept. But what always surprises me about that story is that He didn't weep when He found out that Lazarus had died: He wept when he saw everyone else in such devastating grief. It says, "When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled... Jesus wept." I wonder if Jesus had only really experienced the "catching" part before-- this part on the Heaven side, the part that must be more welcome than goodbye. Before He was human, he must have always experienced more of the celebration when a soul passes into Heaven than the grief. But as a human: He saw it. He must have realized the incredible pain that exists on the earth side-- on the temporal side. On the side that can't see ahead, that doesn't have a glimpse of the eternal. He realized the immense pain that a family could go through during a death... And it made Him weep.
I hope, even as Jeff and Carin prepare themselves to say goodbye, that they feel some sense of comfort from all those praying souls. I hope that Ben's pain is eased; that as the scales begin to tip towards Heaven, he is less imprisoned by earthly pain. I hope the eternal parts of this family remain intertwined, and that some part of Jeff and Carin are able to hold Ben on both sides of the curtain. And I pray that, even as they weep, and even as we weep with them: there is comfort in the knowledge that He did too.
Sometimes there are no easy answers. Sometimes eternity just feels too far away-- even if it is all around us.
Nov 1, 2008
Ben Towne
This blog was written on Aug. 25th, 2007. This last week, Jeff and Carin found out that, after a hellish ordeal of chemotherapy, radiation, and excruciating pain that was endured in the hopes of ultimate healing, their son Ben has four new tumors: three on his brain and one on his liver. On their Caring Bridge blog, they wrote that they were in absolute despair. It makes me wonder what on earth God is doing-- something I've asked lately in reference to my own life. This blog asks that same question.
I found out this week that the two-year-old son of one of my pastors at church has neuroblastoma cancer. The Towne family took Ben to the hospital on Tuesday for tests when he was diagnosed with cancer, and apparently, the family hasn't left the hospital since then. The Sunday before the Townes were to receive this earth-shattering news, Jeff, Ben's dad, gave a sermon in front of our 4,000+ member church. I remember him saying that he wished sometimes that God would do something flashy to get our attention-- that He would perform some incredible work, or do something to scare us into understanding His power. He ended his sermon with saying that we needed to understand, simply, that Jesus is enough.
Two days later, the Townes moved to Children's Hospital, and are now keeping vigil over their two-year-old little boy, who does not yet have the vocabulary to articulate the pain he's in.
My friend Annie was expressing that she doesn't know how people without faith in God get through situations like this. But I have to wonder: is it harder to go through a situation like this without faith-- or with it? I'm trying to put myself in this heart-rending situation, imagining that I am an atheist, and that I don't believe in miracles or directed, predestined paths; that there is no one watching out for me, there is no one battling for my soul, there is no dark spiritual force wreaking havoc on my existence, there are no angels to save me from it. There is simply chance, science, and if you're superstitious, luck. If my little boy were to be diagnosed with cancer, I would have no higher power to turn to, no reassuring father to cry out to, no faith that there might be some greater plan at work, no hope in a miracle. That would be difficult, incredibly so. But there would also be no one to blame.
At the end of the rope, in the most desperate of circumstances, the atheist may at last cry out-- taking the chance that there might be a God who would reward his last ditch effort at hope-- his extended olive branch in the form of a prayer. At the end, the atheist might be able to pronounce a plea: "God, if you exist... help my son." But if the cancer wins, the atheist only received what he expected: nothing. Nothing miraculous. No reward for a faith in what was- must have been- nothing. He is angry at the air, angry at the world for turning, and forcing the sun to go up and down too many times. He is angry at the doctors for not doing enough, angry at the medicine that didn't work, angry at himself perhaps, for hoping that a figment might save his son. But his world remains only devoid of one important presence; the other presence at question was never there to begin with; of that he can now be sure.
Jeff Towne is a pastor, and his wife is involved in the church as well. They have inspired and taught and loved hundreds of middle and high-school students over the years. How does a situation like this rock the faith of a family that has been so devoted to God for so many years? I'm reading Job in my Bible right now-- he's the guy that every terrible thing in the world happened to-- and I haven't gotten very far yet, but at one point, Job asks his wife, "Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?" Is that the logic then, for the Towne family? Do they go along with the will of God and just accept it? Can they hope, expectantly? There are parts of the Bible that say things like, "If you have but faith as small as a mustard seed, you can throw mountains into the sea." Do they ramp up the faith even more then, and hope with all sureness that the stage-4 cancer their son is battling will relinquish its hold by the power of the Mightiest Force of All? Will their faith save him? If they pray enoughenoughenough to their father God, will He listen to their petitions and save their son?
I don't know. I've heard stories of things like that happening before. I've also heard stories where the person did die, even with great faithful prayers being made on their behalf. God knows I prayed for my grandma.
Then the terrifying logic comes into play, or at least it did with me. You start debating with God, arguing your case; petitions are given up in favor of cold reason. God MUST save this boy; it wouldn't make any sense to do otherwise. You convince yourself of all the good that could happen in God's overall plan were He to grant life. If Ben Towne were to be saved, think of how many people might come to faith through that miracle! Think of the testimony Jeff could tell to all those church members, think of the newspaper readers that would read about how the faithful family experienced a miracle with their son Ben-- how many of those readers would give a mental nod to God? Think, God, think! It makes SENSE for you to save him! Why would you take this boy from us, when you could do so much by SAVING him?
...But what if--after the petitions and the prayers and the debating-- He doesn't?
Is this where the absence of faith is an easier burden to bear? How do we reconcile with a God that allows cancer to take a two-year-old boy? We're back at the end of the rope, but there is no final hope in a prayer offered this time, because prayers have already been uttered countless times, by countless people. At the end, for a man of faith.... There is....
What?
Too many questions.
Where were you? Why? How COULD you?
Are you even there?
What happens to faith in that moment? And how do we manage faith in the mean time? Do the people praying for Ben Towne pray with expectancy, feeling assured that a miracle will occur? And if a miracle doesn't happen, does that mean God isn't there?
Do they pray for God's will, trusting in whatever that is? Even if that means trusting in what seems like senseless cruelty?
Or do they pray in the safe way, like Doubting Thomas-- hoping it works out, but with a degree of skepticism that if the chemo and treatment can't heal him... Well, then God probably won't either. ...What then? Do you just STOP trying to figure out what that says about God?
I am praying for Ben Towne. I don't know how much faith, or hope, or expectancy to invest my prayers with. It scares me. And if it scares me, how much more must it scare the Townes?
There is a famous hymn, written by a man that had lost his home and wealth in a fire, and subsequently lost his daughters in a shipwreck. He wrote the hymn as he sailed across the ocean, over the vast watery grave of his girls. The words of the Psalm go:
"When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul.
"Though Satan may buffet, though trails may come,
Let this blest assurance control:
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul."
Those last two lines: Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and hath shed His own blood for my soul-- those words have enabled me to feel comforted by God when I wasn't sure I wanted to be on speaking terms with Him at all. When I mourned my Grandma, people said all kinds of things to me that were meant to be comforting. However, I'm not sure any of them provided the peace that those simple words did: that Jesus knew exactly what was happening, and He knew my pain. He sees it, and understands it, and came to earth to die so that I could be saved from it.
God knows what it is to lose a son. I suppose, if anyone could relate to Jeff and Carin's fear right now, it would be the Heavenly Father. And this is when I return to what Jeff spoke about on Sunday, and hold on to the knowledge that, even in these darkest of times, Jesus is enough. He has to be enough, because He has walked this gauntlet already, and we are already saved.
So I am glad after all, I suppose, to believe in God at a time like this.
Please join me in praying for baby Ben and the Towne family.
I found out this week that the two-year-old son of one of my pastors at church has neuroblastoma cancer. The Towne family took Ben to the hospital on Tuesday for tests when he was diagnosed with cancer, and apparently, the family hasn't left the hospital since then. The Sunday before the Townes were to receive this earth-shattering news, Jeff, Ben's dad, gave a sermon in front of our 4,000+ member church. I remember him saying that he wished sometimes that God would do something flashy to get our attention-- that He would perform some incredible work, or do something to scare us into understanding His power. He ended his sermon with saying that we needed to understand, simply, that Jesus is enough.
Two days later, the Townes moved to Children's Hospital, and are now keeping vigil over their two-year-old little boy, who does not yet have the vocabulary to articulate the pain he's in.
My friend Annie was expressing that she doesn't know how people without faith in God get through situations like this. But I have to wonder: is it harder to go through a situation like this without faith-- or with it? I'm trying to put myself in this heart-rending situation, imagining that I am an atheist, and that I don't believe in miracles or directed, predestined paths; that there is no one watching out for me, there is no one battling for my soul, there is no dark spiritual force wreaking havoc on my existence, there are no angels to save me from it. There is simply chance, science, and if you're superstitious, luck. If my little boy were to be diagnosed with cancer, I would have no higher power to turn to, no reassuring father to cry out to, no faith that there might be some greater plan at work, no hope in a miracle. That would be difficult, incredibly so. But there would also be no one to blame.
At the end of the rope, in the most desperate of circumstances, the atheist may at last cry out-- taking the chance that there might be a God who would reward his last ditch effort at hope-- his extended olive branch in the form of a prayer. At the end, the atheist might be able to pronounce a plea: "God, if you exist... help my son." But if the cancer wins, the atheist only received what he expected: nothing. Nothing miraculous. No reward for a faith in what was- must have been- nothing. He is angry at the air, angry at the world for turning, and forcing the sun to go up and down too many times. He is angry at the doctors for not doing enough, angry at the medicine that didn't work, angry at himself perhaps, for hoping that a figment might save his son. But his world remains only devoid of one important presence; the other presence at question was never there to begin with; of that he can now be sure.
Jeff Towne is a pastor, and his wife is involved in the church as well. They have inspired and taught and loved hundreds of middle and high-school students over the years. How does a situation like this rock the faith of a family that has been so devoted to God for so many years? I'm reading Job in my Bible right now-- he's the guy that every terrible thing in the world happened to-- and I haven't gotten very far yet, but at one point, Job asks his wife, "Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?" Is that the logic then, for the Towne family? Do they go along with the will of God and just accept it? Can they hope, expectantly? There are parts of the Bible that say things like, "If you have but faith as small as a mustard seed, you can throw mountains into the sea." Do they ramp up the faith even more then, and hope with all sureness that the stage-4 cancer their son is battling will relinquish its hold by the power of the Mightiest Force of All? Will their faith save him? If they pray enoughenoughenough to their father God, will He listen to their petitions and save their son?
I don't know. I've heard stories of things like that happening before. I've also heard stories where the person did die, even with great faithful prayers being made on their behalf. God knows I prayed for my grandma.
Then the terrifying logic comes into play, or at least it did with me. You start debating with God, arguing your case; petitions are given up in favor of cold reason. God MUST save this boy; it wouldn't make any sense to do otherwise. You convince yourself of all the good that could happen in God's overall plan were He to grant life. If Ben Towne were to be saved, think of how many people might come to faith through that miracle! Think of the testimony Jeff could tell to all those church members, think of the newspaper readers that would read about how the faithful family experienced a miracle with their son Ben-- how many of those readers would give a mental nod to God? Think, God, think! It makes SENSE for you to save him! Why would you take this boy from us, when you could do so much by SAVING him?
...But what if--after the petitions and the prayers and the debating-- He doesn't?
Is this where the absence of faith is an easier burden to bear? How do we reconcile with a God that allows cancer to take a two-year-old boy? We're back at the end of the rope, but there is no final hope in a prayer offered this time, because prayers have already been uttered countless times, by countless people. At the end, for a man of faith.... There is....
What?
Too many questions.
Where were you? Why? How COULD you?
Are you even there?
What happens to faith in that moment? And how do we manage faith in the mean time? Do the people praying for Ben Towne pray with expectancy, feeling assured that a miracle will occur? And if a miracle doesn't happen, does that mean God isn't there?
Do they pray for God's will, trusting in whatever that is? Even if that means trusting in what seems like senseless cruelty?
Or do they pray in the safe way, like Doubting Thomas-- hoping it works out, but with a degree of skepticism that if the chemo and treatment can't heal him... Well, then God probably won't either. ...What then? Do you just STOP trying to figure out what that says about God?
I am praying for Ben Towne. I don't know how much faith, or hope, or expectancy to invest my prayers with. It scares me. And if it scares me, how much more must it scare the Townes?
There is a famous hymn, written by a man that had lost his home and wealth in a fire, and subsequently lost his daughters in a shipwreck. He wrote the hymn as he sailed across the ocean, over the vast watery grave of his girls. The words of the Psalm go:
"When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul.
"Though Satan may buffet, though trails may come,
Let this blest assurance control:
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul."
Those last two lines: Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and hath shed His own blood for my soul-- those words have enabled me to feel comforted by God when I wasn't sure I wanted to be on speaking terms with Him at all. When I mourned my Grandma, people said all kinds of things to me that were meant to be comforting. However, I'm not sure any of them provided the peace that those simple words did: that Jesus knew exactly what was happening, and He knew my pain. He sees it, and understands it, and came to earth to die so that I could be saved from it.
God knows what it is to lose a son. I suppose, if anyone could relate to Jeff and Carin's fear right now, it would be the Heavenly Father. And this is when I return to what Jeff spoke about on Sunday, and hold on to the knowledge that, even in these darkest of times, Jesus is enough. He has to be enough, because He has walked this gauntlet already, and we are already saved.
So I am glad after all, I suppose, to believe in God at a time like this.
Please join me in praying for baby Ben and the Towne family.
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