Word of the day: lugubrious. As in: spring break starts in one more week, but I shall be lugubrious until then.
Not true actually. I'm still giddy from the sunshine. Did anyone see Rainier this morning?? Radiant.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Favorite moment from the mock interviews today:
Mike, a tall confident senior, had indicated an interest in applying to "Reber Ranch"-- a glorified pet store, apparently-- so when he entered the classroom I greeted him with a cheerful Southern accent: "Howdy son! What's yer name?"
He responded with a drawl to rival my own: "Howdy! Mah name's Miy-ke."
I looked at Mike, eyebrows raised. "I detect a Suthin' accent. Are yew frum here, Miyke?"
"Yes ma'am!" he replied cheerfully.
I paused. "Then WHY are yew talkin' in a Suthin' accent?"
He looked at me, confused.
"Are you MOCKIN' my accent?"
"No ma'am! I'm jus talkin', same as yew."
"If you are not from the Sayouth, then you should not be talkin' lahk me. Are you mockin' me? I believe you are mockin' me."
He stared at me-- still confused. I said, "I think yew should leave, son. I am not in the habit of workin' with people who like to mock otha people's ways a' talkin'."
He looked at me incredulously. "Are yew serious?" he asked, still in heavy drawl.
I laughed and dropped the character. "Go on kid, get out! If you have an interviewer who speaks with an accent, you can't talk back to them in that same accent if it's not your own, they'll be insulted! Go on, try again."
He hopped back out into the hall, and poked his head back in, eager to please. "Okay! This is Mike's interview-- take two!"
He shut the door-- then swung it open and walked back into the class.
"Howdy son!" I greeted him. "Welcome to Reber Ray-anch!"
"Well thank yew!" he replied. "I 'preciate you havin' me!"
We laughed him out of the classroom. Seconds later, he was poking his head back into the room to say with a grin, "Okay-- this is Mike's interview, take three!"
On take three, he spoke like a good ol' Washingtonian. :)
Mar 23, 2011
Mar 22, 2011
Tell me about yourself!
Have kicked off the heels and am sitting Indian style in my desk chair, taking an essay grading break. One great big perk of daylight savings: it feels soooo much less lame to be here until 7pm! "It's still light outside! I've got PLENTY of evening left!"
Today's word of the day: filament. As in, The Noiseless Patient Spider, by Whitman. A good SPRINGTIME word, no? When all the world is cautiously creeping forward, reaching tentative petals out of the cold, wintery ground... we are all still fragile filaments-- not yet the robust vines of summer.
But gosh, we're getting there...!
Have been mock-interviewing my Seniors. They're learning a lot, I think-- lots of trouble-shooting as they watch each other, observe what questions seem especially tricky, and visually recognize what looks and sounds good. "Woah... Chris NAILED that! His answers were so good!" "Jane was really confident, she sounded like she knew what she was talking about." "Tom kept saying 'um.'" "What do you think guys? What did they do well? What could they do better? Let's rehearse this so you're ready for the real deal!"
I'm, of course, enjoying the theatrical potential of the mock interviews. For Samantha's mock interview at Doggie Daycare, I pretended to be an effusive old woman who hugged her on the way in and the way out. "Oooooh, honey I just BET you love dogs!! Sweetie, sit down, tell me all about it. Are you a pet parent? We are pet PARENTS here! We love all dogs, even the ugly ones, we show no pet prejudice!"
For Brian and Jake's mock interview at Costco, I pretended to be painfully nervous, shy, and awkward, and didn't make eye contact with them once. They seemed taken aback, but handled themselves well in spite of it. Nice work guys!
Shane had written down that he wanted to apply to be the Husky mascot, so Mel, our school counselor and I pretended to be members of the cheer squad. We were warm and friendly, and bounced around and clapped our hands. We asked him to demonstrate any special mascot moves he had, and made him end his interview by coming up with a cheer. At one point, Mel asked what would he do if a kid kept hitting him, and acted it out herself-- moving around the floor on her knees and hitting his legs: "hey! Give me a high five, hey!" (whack whack whack) "I'm talking to you!"
Trevor wanted to interview at Disney, so Mel played the part of the starry-eyed Disney advocate, in love with the magic of the happiest place on earth. I countered that, playing the part of the embittered, disgruntled employee. I gave Trevor eye-rolls, sarcastic retorts, and pretended to gag anytime either of them mentioned "Disney Magic." Trevor focused his attention on Mel and enthusiastically described his long-held passion for Disneyland-- doing an excellent job to elude my attempts to rain on his Disney parade.
Dan and Clark both wanted to apply at performance bike shops. I borrowed another teacher's bike and-- pacing up and down the classroom energetically and barking questions at the boys-- asked the guys to tell me all about it. The other students were blown away as both boys launched into technical commentary on the bike's frame, its style, its suitability-- especially as I gave them example customers to discuss the bike with. Both of these students typically struggle with Language Arts and often feel discouraged about their abilities in this class, so it was fun to see them impress their peers with their obvious expertise.
After school, a former student dropped by with her new boyfriend. Without meaning to, I launched back into interviewing mode. "George, is it? Great to meet you. So tell me about yourself! ...You're into literature? Excellent! Any favorite books, or favorite authors? ... And George, how would your friends describe you, do you think? Like-- throw out some adjectives." I couldn't help it. Think it caught poor George off guard, but my former student seemed amused. Whoops.
More mock interviews tomorrow. Hooray. :)
Today's word of the day: filament. As in, The Noiseless Patient Spider, by Whitman. A good SPRINGTIME word, no? When all the world is cautiously creeping forward, reaching tentative petals out of the cold, wintery ground... we are all still fragile filaments-- not yet the robust vines of summer.
But gosh, we're getting there...!
Have been mock-interviewing my Seniors. They're learning a lot, I think-- lots of trouble-shooting as they watch each other, observe what questions seem especially tricky, and visually recognize what looks and sounds good. "Woah... Chris NAILED that! His answers were so good!" "Jane was really confident, she sounded like she knew what she was talking about." "Tom kept saying 'um.'" "What do you think guys? What did they do well? What could they do better? Let's rehearse this so you're ready for the real deal!"
I'm, of course, enjoying the theatrical potential of the mock interviews. For Samantha's mock interview at Doggie Daycare, I pretended to be an effusive old woman who hugged her on the way in and the way out. "Oooooh, honey I just BET you love dogs!! Sweetie, sit down, tell me all about it. Are you a pet parent? We are pet PARENTS here! We love all dogs, even the ugly ones, we show no pet prejudice!"
For Brian and Jake's mock interview at Costco, I pretended to be painfully nervous, shy, and awkward, and didn't make eye contact with them once. They seemed taken aback, but handled themselves well in spite of it. Nice work guys!
Shane had written down that he wanted to apply to be the Husky mascot, so Mel, our school counselor and I pretended to be members of the cheer squad. We were warm and friendly, and bounced around and clapped our hands. We asked him to demonstrate any special mascot moves he had, and made him end his interview by coming up with a cheer. At one point, Mel asked what would he do if a kid kept hitting him, and acted it out herself-- moving around the floor on her knees and hitting his legs: "hey! Give me a high five, hey!" (whack whack whack) "I'm talking to you!"
Trevor wanted to interview at Disney, so Mel played the part of the starry-eyed Disney advocate, in love with the magic of the happiest place on earth. I countered that, playing the part of the embittered, disgruntled employee. I gave Trevor eye-rolls, sarcastic retorts, and pretended to gag anytime either of them mentioned "Disney Magic." Trevor focused his attention on Mel and enthusiastically described his long-held passion for Disneyland-- doing an excellent job to elude my attempts to rain on his Disney parade.
Dan and Clark both wanted to apply at performance bike shops. I borrowed another teacher's bike and-- pacing up and down the classroom energetically and barking questions at the boys-- asked the guys to tell me all about it. The other students were blown away as both boys launched into technical commentary on the bike's frame, its style, its suitability-- especially as I gave them example customers to discuss the bike with. Both of these students typically struggle with Language Arts and often feel discouraged about their abilities in this class, so it was fun to see them impress their peers with their obvious expertise.
After school, a former student dropped by with her new boyfriend. Without meaning to, I launched back into interviewing mode. "George, is it? Great to meet you. So tell me about yourself! ...You're into literature? Excellent! Any favorite books, or favorite authors? ... And George, how would your friends describe you, do you think? Like-- throw out some adjectives." I couldn't help it. Think it caught poor George off guard, but my former student seemed amused. Whoops.
More mock interviews tomorrow. Hooray. :)
Mar 21, 2011
Oh, to find a daffodilled quagmire of Greta-people
Word of the day: quagmire.
As in, "Our hike went well until we fell into the quagmire and had to hog-tie the gators."
Or, "Gee! This pile of grading sure has me in a quagmire. How many days left til spring break again?-- er, summer vacation?"
The last definition of quagmire is "anything soft or flabby." Seriously?? As in, a dimpled thigh could be called a quagmire?
That seems a bit harsh, eh? Regardless: it's a fantastic word.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I saw a description of my Myers-Briggs type this weekend. The subtitle describing ENFJ is: "Smooth-talking persuader."
Hey little kid, want some candy?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I had a great weekend. Besides soaking in the looooooong-awaited spring sunshine (spring!! it's SPRING!!!) I finally got around to spending my Anthropologie gift-cards from Christmas and my birthday. HOORAY. Shopping lately has been an interesting experience. I've stopped buying things based on whether or not I like them and more so on whether or not they seem inherently MINE. In Ashland, for example, I tried on a vintage pink twirly dress with yellow ribbon trim, and I knew it belonged to me. Whether or not I bought it (although I DID buy it)-- that dress simply belonged to me. Later I showed the dress to two of my students and they gasped in happy surprise. "We saw that, and we all said it looked like you!"
See? My dress.
At Anthropologie, one drapy shrug inspired me to twirl in the dressing room. If it inspires me to twirl: it's a Greta. Another intricate lace top sang a little Greta-tune. Yep: that's a Me.
I tried on a terrific green blazer, but it inspired no twirling, had entirely conventional buttons, and was undeniably practical. That one did not make it to the register.
It was not mine, see?
I've started applying this philosophy to people as well, which I'm sure is wholly off-base. In conversation with someone, I might think to myself, "What a nice person. What an intelligent, well-rounded person. But this isn't a Greta-type-of-person."
Most people aren't. Kindred spirits are rare for all of us, of course. Most of my friends are not Greta-people, but they are still dearly Greta-beloved.
Still, it's awfully fun to FIND a Greta-person. In those cases, even upon a first acquaintance, friendship seems inevitable. Because, clearly, we BELONG in the same habitat. We KNOW the same little tunes. We are the same rare species! Hallelujah.
I met some fun new people this weekend. Don't think any of them are Greta-people, but golly, are they fun people. When talking to new-friend-Andrew yesterday evening, we decided getting together that night wasn't going to work out after all. "But we'll see each other soon I'm sure," he said. "That's what new friends do, right?"
I like people so much.
And I love blooming crocuses and daffodils and cherry trees so much!!!
As in, "Our hike went well until we fell into the quagmire and had to hog-tie the gators."
Or, "Gee! This pile of grading sure has me in a quagmire. How many days left til spring break again?-- er, summer vacation?"
The last definition of quagmire is "anything soft or flabby." Seriously?? As in, a dimpled thigh could be called a quagmire?
That seems a bit harsh, eh? Regardless: it's a fantastic word.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I saw a description of my Myers-Briggs type this weekend. The subtitle describing ENFJ is: "Smooth-talking persuader."
Hey little kid, want some candy?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I had a great weekend. Besides soaking in the looooooong-awaited spring sunshine (spring!! it's SPRING!!!) I finally got around to spending my Anthropologie gift-cards from Christmas and my birthday. HOORAY. Shopping lately has been an interesting experience. I've stopped buying things based on whether or not I like them and more so on whether or not they seem inherently MINE. In Ashland, for example, I tried on a vintage pink twirly dress with yellow ribbon trim, and I knew it belonged to me. Whether or not I bought it (although I DID buy it)-- that dress simply belonged to me. Later I showed the dress to two of my students and they gasped in happy surprise. "We saw that, and we all said it looked like you!"
See? My dress.
At Anthropologie, one drapy shrug inspired me to twirl in the dressing room. If it inspires me to twirl: it's a Greta. Another intricate lace top sang a little Greta-tune. Yep: that's a Me.
I tried on a terrific green blazer, but it inspired no twirling, had entirely conventional buttons, and was undeniably practical. That one did not make it to the register.
It was not mine, see?
I've started applying this philosophy to people as well, which I'm sure is wholly off-base. In conversation with someone, I might think to myself, "What a nice person. What an intelligent, well-rounded person. But this isn't a Greta-type-of-person."
Most people aren't. Kindred spirits are rare for all of us, of course. Most of my friends are not Greta-people, but they are still dearly Greta-beloved.
Still, it's awfully fun to FIND a Greta-person. In those cases, even upon a first acquaintance, friendship seems inevitable. Because, clearly, we BELONG in the same habitat. We KNOW the same little tunes. We are the same rare species! Hallelujah.
I met some fun new people this weekend. Don't think any of them are Greta-people, but golly, are they fun people. When talking to new-friend-Andrew yesterday evening, we decided getting together that night wasn't going to work out after all. "But we'll see each other soon I'm sure," he said. "That's what new friends do, right?"
I like people so much.
And I love blooming crocuses and daffodils and cherry trees so much!!!
Mar 18, 2011
Documentation
Ooohhh, blog.
Last night, I looked at my "March 2010" blogs. It's amazing to see and remember where I was just about one year ago. It's crazy, for instance, to remember that just one year ago I was a battered shipwreck. Yet this morning, when I prayed, I imagined myself talking to God on a sunrise shore. We chatted in a beached row-boat while the quiet morning waves lapped the sides, and then finally we pushed off.
And when I considered that I was ship-wrecked just one year ago, and now I'm setting off into that crazy ocean again-- I think, "Wow. Can't believe I got here. Thanks for the healing, God."
Reading my old blogs made me wish I wrote more regularly. I remember very little of what I DON'T get written down.
So how about I write things down that I'd like to remember?
Good things:
- An Ashland trip to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival with my AP class. Felt proud of my students-- I have really classy students. They're polite and intelligent and well-spoken and just CLASSY. Sometimes I miss the rag-tag crew of my student teaching days-- but since I'm with a different crew now, I'm enjoying them for who THEY are.
- One of my AP students, C, has "taken me under her wing." It's almost like I'm a new kid at school and she wants to make sure I have a friend and feel comfortable-- it's incredibly sweet, actually. When we go into chapel, she waves me over, "Miss W! Sit with us!" She and her friend asked to be my Ashland roommates. On the bus ride down, she would call me to the back of the bus and say, "Miss W! Will you tell us stories?" And every once in a while, I'll make a comment in class and she'll stop by my room after school and say, "I just wanted to check in with you and see how things are going..." I sort of love her.
- In fact, C and two other students stopped by my class yesterday after school and we all just talked for a while-- about faith at our school, where students are at, what adults they feel comfortable talking to... I stressed about wishing that our school was a "safe" enough place for kids to openly question aspects of Christianity, or be real about the issues they're dealing with. I worried aloud about trying to make my classroom "safe" but acknowledged that kids still seem hesitant about being truly transparent. One of the girls said, "I think you've done a good job with that actually. I don't think anyone's ever felt judged in YOUR classroom."
For someone who has a history of being judgmental-- that was so good to hear.
What else do I want to remember?
- Had a great discussion with the Seniors about Utopias and Dystopias yesterday to kick off our next unit on Fahrenheit 451-- had them each imagine what THEIR personal paradise or nightmare would be. It was fascinating to discuss with them their ideas-- and, even in my little classes, the various attempts that humanity has made to create world harmony emerged. Some kids were in favor of tighter government oversight and rules; other kids wanted no government at all, or a very limited one. Some people stressed that everyone should share with everyone. Some people wanted Christianity to be taught to all; other people asserted that freedom of religion was imperative for a Utopian society. Many kids wanted badly to create a Utopia where humans were perfect, even though I stressed that their Utopias should still take into consideration that humans are still fallen, messed up people. "No jails, no government, no rules" they said-- "we all just treat each other with respect." Some kids brought it all back to education-- "Unless we do a better job training people in what's RIGHT, we'll HAVE to have all those rules. It all comes back to the SCHOOL."
In 45 minutes, they unknowingly endorsed Communism, Totalitarianism, Anarchy, Democracy, Socialism, and even the philosophy that our school bases itself on-- which many of them grumpily complain about.
It was amazing to see. Humans are so HUMAN.
At the end of class I said, "Folks-- you're seniors. You're about 5 minutes away from graduation. This is YOUR world now. What are you going to do to make sure it's more of a UTOPIA than a DYSTOPIA? How will you make your world a better place?"
- Yesterday was a fun teaching day. I guess most of my life these days revolves around teaching stuff.
- Although! It was a fun St. Patrick's day party at Malia and Peter's.
- And: the cherry trees are beginning to bloom! This LONG WINTER is finally ending...!
Bit of a boring blog I guess-- but one perk to having a blog that's not massively popular is that I can really just write for me. If you enjoy it too-- whoever YOU are-- well hey, how nice. :)
Incidentally, I've given up Facebook for Lent. Felt like it was become a dangerous time suck... and thought a break from it could only be a healthy thing. You know what I miss the most? Coming up with interesting status updates and sending those out into the populated void. How narcissistic is that??
Ha-- humans are so HUMAN. Good thing there's grace.
Last night, I looked at my "March 2010" blogs. It's amazing to see and remember where I was just about one year ago. It's crazy, for instance, to remember that just one year ago I was a battered shipwreck. Yet this morning, when I prayed, I imagined myself talking to God on a sunrise shore. We chatted in a beached row-boat while the quiet morning waves lapped the sides, and then finally we pushed off.
And when I considered that I was ship-wrecked just one year ago, and now I'm setting off into that crazy ocean again-- I think, "Wow. Can't believe I got here. Thanks for the healing, God."
Reading my old blogs made me wish I wrote more regularly. I remember very little of what I DON'T get written down.
So how about I write things down that I'd like to remember?
Good things:
- An Ashland trip to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival with my AP class. Felt proud of my students-- I have really classy students. They're polite and intelligent and well-spoken and just CLASSY. Sometimes I miss the rag-tag crew of my student teaching days-- but since I'm with a different crew now, I'm enjoying them for who THEY are.
- One of my AP students, C, has "taken me under her wing." It's almost like I'm a new kid at school and she wants to make sure I have a friend and feel comfortable-- it's incredibly sweet, actually. When we go into chapel, she waves me over, "Miss W! Sit with us!" She and her friend asked to be my Ashland roommates. On the bus ride down, she would call me to the back of the bus and say, "Miss W! Will you tell us stories?" And every once in a while, I'll make a comment in class and she'll stop by my room after school and say, "I just wanted to check in with you and see how things are going..." I sort of love her.
- In fact, C and two other students stopped by my class yesterday after school and we all just talked for a while-- about faith at our school, where students are at, what adults they feel comfortable talking to... I stressed about wishing that our school was a "safe" enough place for kids to openly question aspects of Christianity, or be real about the issues they're dealing with. I worried aloud about trying to make my classroom "safe" but acknowledged that kids still seem hesitant about being truly transparent. One of the girls said, "I think you've done a good job with that actually. I don't think anyone's ever felt judged in YOUR classroom."
For someone who has a history of being judgmental-- that was so good to hear.
What else do I want to remember?
- Had a great discussion with the Seniors about Utopias and Dystopias yesterday to kick off our next unit on Fahrenheit 451-- had them each imagine what THEIR personal paradise or nightmare would be. It was fascinating to discuss with them their ideas-- and, even in my little classes, the various attempts that humanity has made to create world harmony emerged. Some kids were in favor of tighter government oversight and rules; other kids wanted no government at all, or a very limited one. Some people stressed that everyone should share with everyone. Some people wanted Christianity to be taught to all; other people asserted that freedom of religion was imperative for a Utopian society. Many kids wanted badly to create a Utopia where humans were perfect, even though I stressed that their Utopias should still take into consideration that humans are still fallen, messed up people. "No jails, no government, no rules" they said-- "we all just treat each other with respect." Some kids brought it all back to education-- "Unless we do a better job training people in what's RIGHT, we'll HAVE to have all those rules. It all comes back to the SCHOOL."
In 45 minutes, they unknowingly endorsed Communism, Totalitarianism, Anarchy, Democracy, Socialism, and even the philosophy that our school bases itself on-- which many of them grumpily complain about.
It was amazing to see. Humans are so HUMAN.
At the end of class I said, "Folks-- you're seniors. You're about 5 minutes away from graduation. This is YOUR world now. What are you going to do to make sure it's more of a UTOPIA than a DYSTOPIA? How will you make your world a better place?"
- Yesterday was a fun teaching day. I guess most of my life these days revolves around teaching stuff.
- Although! It was a fun St. Patrick's day party at Malia and Peter's.
- And: the cherry trees are beginning to bloom! This LONG WINTER is finally ending...!
Bit of a boring blog I guess-- but one perk to having a blog that's not massively popular is that I can really just write for me. If you enjoy it too-- whoever YOU are-- well hey, how nice. :)
Incidentally, I've given up Facebook for Lent. Felt like it was become a dangerous time suck... and thought a break from it could only be a healthy thing. You know what I miss the most? Coming up with interesting status updates and sending those out into the populated void. How narcissistic is that??
Ha-- humans are so HUMAN. Good thing there's grace.
Mar 2, 2011
Infusion
Yesterday was my birthday.
In my journal, I wrote, "Hope Year 27 is marked by a greater ability to extend grace to others and more readily accept it for myself."
It's funny: phrases that I've heard and "known" my whole life-- concepts like, Love and Grace and Forgiveness-- those Christian buzzwords, you know? For years, they've been in my head. Something about this season though is getting those abstract concepts finally, finally down to a deeper place inside. It isn't sudden, and it isn't glamorous or dramatic. It's more like a waking up percolation-- an infusion of substances and experiences and thoughts dripping down slowly into the deepest understanding-place. Within me, something potent is brewing.
I think it has something to do with all of this.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Pastor Richard often talks about the importance of holding blessings with open hands. That's a very difficult thing for me to do. Isn't that a difficult thing for ALL of us to do? It seems as though when the good things come, I'm able to keep my shaky hands open just long enough to see them tremble in would-be preparatory flight. Then, in a hiccup of panicky fear, I clap my hands shut and clutch tight, fearfully tightening my hands into fists. Inside my grasp, those tissue wings, those dusty rivulets of fragile life-- perish.
I so badly want to hold on.
But today, something different happened.
I had a hope and it landed on my finger-tips. For a long moment, I waited, eyes focused on this diaphanous vibration. Stay.
Won't you stay.
But I plucked no daisy petals and made no demands. I tornadoed no dandelions, and sought no falling stars. I didn't even curl my fingers. I kept my palms upraised, open, spacious. I hungered for this lovely thing, and held my breath-- but most of all my heart prayed freedom.
And-- it flew away.
And even though I ought to be disappointed about the fact-- and even though I suppose I am disappointed about the fact-- it all feels more free than anything has felt in a long time.
The open hands place is a freedom-place, it's a GOOD place, it isn't a trapped place, it's a GRACE place.
Something about this has something to do with everything else. And I know that doesn't make much sense, but most of it doesn't make much "sense," and very little of it looks like what I would choose for it to ACTUALLY look like--
Yet despite that, something about open hands, and even the peace that comes with watching something beautiful fly away... is the most hopeful, restful thing I've known in a long time.
And that makes me feel good about this wide open space I'm in.
In my journal, I wrote, "Hope Year 27 is marked by a greater ability to extend grace to others and more readily accept it for myself."
It's funny: phrases that I've heard and "known" my whole life-- concepts like, Love and Grace and Forgiveness-- those Christian buzzwords, you know? For years, they've been in my head. Something about this season though is getting those abstract concepts finally, finally down to a deeper place inside. It isn't sudden, and it isn't glamorous or dramatic. It's more like a waking up percolation-- an infusion of substances and experiences and thoughts dripping down slowly into the deepest understanding-place. Within me, something potent is brewing.
I think it has something to do with all of this.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Pastor Richard often talks about the importance of holding blessings with open hands. That's a very difficult thing for me to do. Isn't that a difficult thing for ALL of us to do? It seems as though when the good things come, I'm able to keep my shaky hands open just long enough to see them tremble in would-be preparatory flight. Then, in a hiccup of panicky fear, I clap my hands shut and clutch tight, fearfully tightening my hands into fists. Inside my grasp, those tissue wings, those dusty rivulets of fragile life-- perish.
I so badly want to hold on.
But today, something different happened.
I had a hope and it landed on my finger-tips. For a long moment, I waited, eyes focused on this diaphanous vibration. Stay.
Won't you stay.
But I plucked no daisy petals and made no demands. I tornadoed no dandelions, and sought no falling stars. I didn't even curl my fingers. I kept my palms upraised, open, spacious. I hungered for this lovely thing, and held my breath-- but most of all my heart prayed freedom.
And-- it flew away.
And even though I ought to be disappointed about the fact-- and even though I suppose I am disappointed about the fact-- it all feels more free than anything has felt in a long time.
The open hands place is a freedom-place, it's a GOOD place, it isn't a trapped place, it's a GRACE place.
Something about this has something to do with everything else. And I know that doesn't make much sense, but most of it doesn't make much "sense," and very little of it looks like what I would choose for it to ACTUALLY look like--
Yet despite that, something about open hands, and even the peace that comes with watching something beautiful fly away... is the most hopeful, restful thing I've known in a long time.
And that makes me feel good about this wide open space I'm in.
Feb 9, 2011
Signs you're dealing with an English Teacher
-- Subject frequently makes cryptic allusions to mythology, Shakespeare, and/or obscure poets. Subject will probably try to solicit knowing nods from his/her audience by grinning and winking after aforementioned allusion. Don't respond. It's best not to encourage this sort of behavior.
-- Subject will often dress oddly. When asked why he/she is wearing a toga, or a floor length gown, or a cap and mustache, subject will respond immediately with something along the lines of, "We're doing mythology"; "We're in Pride and Prejudice"; "I'm supposed to be Mr. Period to talk about independent clauses." Do not feel concerned with these odd displays. Although this IS a mild form of insanity (subject experiences delusions that he/she is actually IN books), subject's delusions are relatively innocuous and will not generally lead to harm.
-- Subject may show empathy and concern for world issues and/or serious life events; however, the most immediate trigger for subject's weeping will be incorrect apostrophe usage.
-- Subject can be seen muttering to him/herself in lines of iambic pentameter.
-- Subject will show an appalling lack of recall when asked to repeat details from friends' lives. However, subject WILL be able to spout off minute details from a novel and/or poem, and can locate any given quote within said novel within 90 seconds. Those who display this unfortunate psychological imbalance can be classified as "Language Arts Savants."
-- Subject vigilantly keeps records of students' hypothetical incomes (both advances and losses) when playing societal games as part of a class curriculum. Subject, however, may be clueless as to the actual state of his/her own finances.
-- Subject will usually be oblivious to the essays stuck to his/her shoe. It's best not to call the subject's attention to this embarrassing situation. Researchers have found that an English Teacher's discovery of one more ungraded essay can easily lead to hyperventilation and/or hysterics.
-- Subject carries a red grading pen for protection, mistakenly believing "the pen is mightier than the sword."
-- Subject loves grammar jokes. "Knock knock." "Who's there?" "To." "To who?" "No, to WHOM!" This unfortunate humor can most quickly be stopped by an obliging chuckle, followed by a quick change in subject.
-- Subject becomes flushed and passionate when discussing meaningful syntax, and may show disappointment when others do not demonstrate the same heart-pounding fervor.
-- Subject finds symbolism in everything: a can of soup; a garbage can; a rearrangement in the produce aisle. In cases such as these, there is no curbing the rhapsodic ramblings; it's best to just let them play out.
These creatures are unquestionably odd, but can be charming if taken with a grain of salt and a large helping of patience. They will feel great appreciation for their friends, since clearly, they could never make it in this world on their own. An English Teacher acquaintance can come in remarkably handy when seeking an editor for grad school essays, the correct spelling of a word, or a quick grammar check. All things considered, this breed should be considered a "necessary evil," for-- though eccentric and unreasonably incensed by mistaken homonyms, the English Teacher can be helpful in his/her own idiosyncratic way.
-- Subject will often dress oddly. When asked why he/she is wearing a toga, or a floor length gown, or a cap and mustache, subject will respond immediately with something along the lines of, "We're doing mythology"; "We're in Pride and Prejudice"; "I'm supposed to be Mr. Period to talk about independent clauses." Do not feel concerned with these odd displays. Although this IS a mild form of insanity (subject experiences delusions that he/she is actually IN books), subject's delusions are relatively innocuous and will not generally lead to harm.
-- Subject may show empathy and concern for world issues and/or serious life events; however, the most immediate trigger for subject's weeping will be incorrect apostrophe usage.
-- Subject can be seen muttering to him/herself in lines of iambic pentameter.
-- Subject will show an appalling lack of recall when asked to repeat details from friends' lives. However, subject WILL be able to spout off minute details from a novel and/or poem, and can locate any given quote within said novel within 90 seconds. Those who display this unfortunate psychological imbalance can be classified as "Language Arts Savants."
-- Subject vigilantly keeps records of students' hypothetical incomes (both advances and losses) when playing societal games as part of a class curriculum. Subject, however, may be clueless as to the actual state of his/her own finances.
-- Subject will usually be oblivious to the essays stuck to his/her shoe. It's best not to call the subject's attention to this embarrassing situation. Researchers have found that an English Teacher's discovery of one more ungraded essay can easily lead to hyperventilation and/or hysterics.
-- Subject carries a red grading pen for protection, mistakenly believing "the pen is mightier than the sword."
-- Subject loves grammar jokes. "Knock knock." "Who's there?" "To." "To who?" "No, to WHOM!" This unfortunate humor can most quickly be stopped by an obliging chuckle, followed by a quick change in subject.
-- Subject becomes flushed and passionate when discussing meaningful syntax, and may show disappointment when others do not demonstrate the same heart-pounding fervor.
-- Subject finds symbolism in everything: a can of soup; a garbage can; a rearrangement in the produce aisle. In cases such as these, there is no curbing the rhapsodic ramblings; it's best to just let them play out.
These creatures are unquestionably odd, but can be charming if taken with a grain of salt and a large helping of patience. They will feel great appreciation for their friends, since clearly, they could never make it in this world on their own. An English Teacher acquaintance can come in remarkably handy when seeking an editor for grad school essays, the correct spelling of a word, or a quick grammar check. All things considered, this breed should be considered a "necessary evil," for-- though eccentric and unreasonably incensed by mistaken homonyms, the English Teacher can be helpful in his/her own idiosyncratic way.
Feb 4, 2011
Pride and Prejudice
... Is the book I'm trying to get my seniors through right now. Frankly, I'm not sure how they're managing with the text. I DO know, however, that we're having a blast recreating the society of Pride and Prejudice within our classroom.
We started by going over the different class levels of Jane Austen's world. These are, listed from the "top down," in terms of respectability:
Aristocratic Land-owners (Mr. Darcy; Lady Catherine de Bourgh)
Gentry-- also referred to as members of the aristocracy (Bingleys)
Pseudo-gentry (Bennets, Lucases-- people who are trying to maintain their gentry status through appearances and behavior, but may have difficulty in doing so because of low income and/or questionable family connections)
Clergy (Mr. Collins)
Educated working class (The Gardiners)
Un-educated working class
Servants
After establishing the esteem of each social class, each kid drew an income out of a hat. Based on that income, they were divided into classes.
Then, we turned my classroom into England.
Different corners are taped off, and the students decorated their class' respective areas. The aristocracy, for example, get to sprawl into two different corners of the classroom: first, their country residence in one corner, which is distinguished by large white cardboard pillars, ivy, and a "Harvard" banner. They also can enjoy their city residence, in the fashionable corner of London, i.e. the fashionable corner of my classroom, where I've hung various photographs and art posters. The pseudo-gentry crowds together in a smaller corner, adjacent to the gentry's comfortable abode. They've done the best with what they have, hanging tulle curtains on the wall, setting up candleabras, and generally making their best efforts to "keep up with the Darcys." The clergy are near the pseudo-gentry, and sit beneath a giant paper cross. The Educated Working Class, meanwhile, are in the unfashionable area of London. They've hung giant pieces of paper from the ceiling with windows cut out, to imitate flats in close proximity; they've also hung aprons and baskets as a nod to their various professions. The servant must sit in a small corner in front of the filing cabinet, in a portable desk. The kids MUST sit in the corner of the classroom dictated by their social status.
There's room for movement within this society though. In Austenian society, your status-- especially those in the middle classes-- was entirely dependent on how well you followed the "unwritten rules" of society. To emphasize the concept of the "unwritten rules" of decorum that each member of society was trying to follow, we played a game of cards. If kids were the first to get rid of all their cards, they could raise their income by up to 1,200 pounds, and thereby move towards a more elevated status. If they were caught with 12 cards in their hand or more, they risked losing up to 600 pounds. Here's the catch: only the aristocracy knew the rules of the game. They made the rules up with one another out in the hall, and the pseudo-gentry went in blind, trying to catch on as quickly as possible. If they accidentally broke an unwritten rule, they were penalized with a card. The sooner they caught on and managed to follow decorum, the better their chances were in advancing within society.
The events that played out were totally reflective of the actual Austenian society! Examples:
-- The student playing the servant wasn't allowed to participate in the game, since social advancement for servants was essentially impossible. However, as a member of the aristocracy's household, the servant had privileged information-- he KNEW the "rules"-- and therefore could be bribed by members of the pseudo-gentry to fill them in. Ultimately though, the richest member of class finally "bought" the servant's silence by giving him 1,000 pounds to keep the secrets. The lesson was clear: it was more advantageous in the long run for a servant to be faithful to a benevolent master than to be found untrustworthy.
-- The clergymen in each classroom struggled to maintain their incomes. At the end of the game, I told the class that their clergy would either need to abandon the work of the Lord and take up a more lucrative profession, or would need to be supported by tithes from their congregation. Some of the kids who had done well in the game agreed to support their local clergy-men, and the clergy remained in their parishes.
-- After each game, the pseudo-gentry frantically conferred to discuss their ideas of what the "unwritten rules" of the aristocracy were-- a conversation which frequently would have occurred back in Austen's society as well.
-- Although the students playing the aristocracy knew the rules, they didn't especially worry about keeping them... especially the wealthiest member of the class. What incentive does he have to keep the rules? Even if he lost thousands of pounds, he'd still be the wealthiest member of class. The kids, therefore, through their own experience, directly see why Mr. Darcy wouldn't be inclined to dance with all the ladies at Netherfield if he didn't want to. What incentive does he have to play the "social game"? He's already on top. No WONDER he comes across as such a jerk!
At the end of the game, some members of the pseudo-gentry were forced to move down into the working class, because their incomes had fallen to unsustainable levels. Some members of the working class though, who had acted shrewdly and advanced their incomes, are now close to being able to buy a "gentleman's title," and advance upwards into the pseudo-gentry.
Oh don't worry, it doesn't stop there.
Yesterday, when working on homework that asked students to analyze the text for authorial persona and irony, the kids were only allowed to work with students within their social classes. However, if the aristocracy so chose, they could invite a member or two from the pseudo-gentry to come work with them. Two of my brightest students in 4th period are members of the pseudo-gentry, and the aristocracy were obviously eager to solicit their help. Therefore, they extended a cordial invitation to the two ladies to come join them in their coutry estate.
The girls wrinkled their noses at me. "Do we HAVE to go?" they asked. "Or, at least could we choose which aristocrat we help?"
Their reluctance was immediately recognized by the other students as improper. The aristocracy had invited them in!! That was a BIG deal!
I turned to the class. "This is the situation that Elizabeth Bennet finds herself in!" I said. "Clearly, for her to turn down an offer from the aristocracy-- to risk offending them by her ironic comments, and her breaches of decorum-- is totally imprudent. She has an opportunity to advance and snubs her nose at it! BUT... she sincerely dislikes some members of the aristocracy because of their arrogance and snobbishness. Her reluctance to join them, therefore, shows her to be both bold and courageous... while also showing her to be a little reckless."
Next week, the kids will continue to either advance their statuses or fall down the social ladder by following rules of decorum. The girls have come up with rules for the guys:
1.) Gentlemen must be mustachioed.
2.) Gentlemen must compliment ladies, with sincerity, not sarcasm.
3.) When a lady walks into a room, gentlemen should stand. Gentlemen must stay standing until all ladies are seated. If a lady gets up to leave, gentlemen must stand as well. In other words, for as long as a lady is on her feet, a gentleman must stand to show her adequate courtesy.
4.) Gentlemen should escort ladies to their classes, and offer to carry a lady’s belongings.
5.) Gentlemen must address ladies as “Your highness,” or “Your majesty.”
... And the guys have come up with rules for the girls:
1.) Ladies may only drink water; while at school, no alternate beverages should be seen.
2.) A lady’s hair must be worn in two side pig-tails.
3.) Ladies should not disguise their natural beauty with make-up of any kind.
4.) Ladies should preface any utterance of a gentleman’s name with, “Oh gracious _______.”
5.) Ladies must open doors for gentlemen.
They are expected to follow these rules all day long, all week. Every day when they come to class, they'll vote on who's done the best job following the rules, and who is obviously breaking them. Kids who follow the rules well gain money and increase their statuses; kids who break the rules will lose money and fall in status. At the end of the week, we'll vote on the overall best rule-abider; that person will get 15 free homework points. Once again, the students who have the most to gain or lose are the students within the pseudo-gentry class... just as it was in Jane Austen's time.
The week after that, kids can try to advance their stations by proposing to one another. The catch? Their proposals must be in the style of one of the actual proposals in the book. Poor members of the pseudo-gentry, who are just barely hanging on, are already considering how they might try to align with a wealthier member of the working class-- an engagement which would foreseeably benefit both. The class is totally falling into the same patterns of behavior that members of Jane Austen's society fell into!
Anyway.
We're having lots of fun. :)
We started by going over the different class levels of Jane Austen's world. These are, listed from the "top down," in terms of respectability:
Aristocratic Land-owners (Mr. Darcy; Lady Catherine de Bourgh)
Gentry-- also referred to as members of the aristocracy (Bingleys)
Pseudo-gentry (Bennets, Lucases-- people who are trying to maintain their gentry status through appearances and behavior, but may have difficulty in doing so because of low income and/or questionable family connections)
Clergy (Mr. Collins)
Educated working class (The Gardiners)
Un-educated working class
Servants
After establishing the esteem of each social class, each kid drew an income out of a hat. Based on that income, they were divided into classes.
Then, we turned my classroom into England.
Different corners are taped off, and the students decorated their class' respective areas. The aristocracy, for example, get to sprawl into two different corners of the classroom: first, their country residence in one corner, which is distinguished by large white cardboard pillars, ivy, and a "Harvard" banner. They also can enjoy their city residence, in the fashionable corner of London, i.e. the fashionable corner of my classroom, where I've hung various photographs and art posters. The pseudo-gentry crowds together in a smaller corner, adjacent to the gentry's comfortable abode. They've done the best with what they have, hanging tulle curtains on the wall, setting up candleabras, and generally making their best efforts to "keep up with the Darcys." The clergy are near the pseudo-gentry, and sit beneath a giant paper cross. The Educated Working Class, meanwhile, are in the unfashionable area of London. They've hung giant pieces of paper from the ceiling with windows cut out, to imitate flats in close proximity; they've also hung aprons and baskets as a nod to their various professions. The servant must sit in a small corner in front of the filing cabinet, in a portable desk. The kids MUST sit in the corner of the classroom dictated by their social status.
There's room for movement within this society though. In Austenian society, your status-- especially those in the middle classes-- was entirely dependent on how well you followed the "unwritten rules" of society. To emphasize the concept of the "unwritten rules" of decorum that each member of society was trying to follow, we played a game of cards. If kids were the first to get rid of all their cards, they could raise their income by up to 1,200 pounds, and thereby move towards a more elevated status. If they were caught with 12 cards in their hand or more, they risked losing up to 600 pounds. Here's the catch: only the aristocracy knew the rules of the game. They made the rules up with one another out in the hall, and the pseudo-gentry went in blind, trying to catch on as quickly as possible. If they accidentally broke an unwritten rule, they were penalized with a card. The sooner they caught on and managed to follow decorum, the better their chances were in advancing within society.
The events that played out were totally reflective of the actual Austenian society! Examples:
-- The student playing the servant wasn't allowed to participate in the game, since social advancement for servants was essentially impossible. However, as a member of the aristocracy's household, the servant had privileged information-- he KNEW the "rules"-- and therefore could be bribed by members of the pseudo-gentry to fill them in. Ultimately though, the richest member of class finally "bought" the servant's silence by giving him 1,000 pounds to keep the secrets. The lesson was clear: it was more advantageous in the long run for a servant to be faithful to a benevolent master than to be found untrustworthy.
-- The clergymen in each classroom struggled to maintain their incomes. At the end of the game, I told the class that their clergy would either need to abandon the work of the Lord and take up a more lucrative profession, or would need to be supported by tithes from their congregation. Some of the kids who had done well in the game agreed to support their local clergy-men, and the clergy remained in their parishes.
-- After each game, the pseudo-gentry frantically conferred to discuss their ideas of what the "unwritten rules" of the aristocracy were-- a conversation which frequently would have occurred back in Austen's society as well.
-- Although the students playing the aristocracy knew the rules, they didn't especially worry about keeping them... especially the wealthiest member of the class. What incentive does he have to keep the rules? Even if he lost thousands of pounds, he'd still be the wealthiest member of class. The kids, therefore, through their own experience, directly see why Mr. Darcy wouldn't be inclined to dance with all the ladies at Netherfield if he didn't want to. What incentive does he have to play the "social game"? He's already on top. No WONDER he comes across as such a jerk!
At the end of the game, some members of the pseudo-gentry were forced to move down into the working class, because their incomes had fallen to unsustainable levels. Some members of the working class though, who had acted shrewdly and advanced their incomes, are now close to being able to buy a "gentleman's title," and advance upwards into the pseudo-gentry.
Oh don't worry, it doesn't stop there.
Yesterday, when working on homework that asked students to analyze the text for authorial persona and irony, the kids were only allowed to work with students within their social classes. However, if the aristocracy so chose, they could invite a member or two from the pseudo-gentry to come work with them. Two of my brightest students in 4th period are members of the pseudo-gentry, and the aristocracy were obviously eager to solicit their help. Therefore, they extended a cordial invitation to the two ladies to come join them in their coutry estate.
The girls wrinkled their noses at me. "Do we HAVE to go?" they asked. "Or, at least could we choose which aristocrat we help?"
Their reluctance was immediately recognized by the other students as improper. The aristocracy had invited them in!! That was a BIG deal!
I turned to the class. "This is the situation that Elizabeth Bennet finds herself in!" I said. "Clearly, for her to turn down an offer from the aristocracy-- to risk offending them by her ironic comments, and her breaches of decorum-- is totally imprudent. She has an opportunity to advance and snubs her nose at it! BUT... she sincerely dislikes some members of the aristocracy because of their arrogance and snobbishness. Her reluctance to join them, therefore, shows her to be both bold and courageous... while also showing her to be a little reckless."
Next week, the kids will continue to either advance their statuses or fall down the social ladder by following rules of decorum. The girls have come up with rules for the guys:
1.) Gentlemen must be mustachioed.
2.) Gentlemen must compliment ladies, with sincerity, not sarcasm.
3.) When a lady walks into a room, gentlemen should stand. Gentlemen must stay standing until all ladies are seated. If a lady gets up to leave, gentlemen must stand as well. In other words, for as long as a lady is on her feet, a gentleman must stand to show her adequate courtesy.
4.) Gentlemen should escort ladies to their classes, and offer to carry a lady’s belongings.
5.) Gentlemen must address ladies as “Your highness,” or “Your majesty.”
... And the guys have come up with rules for the girls:
1.) Ladies may only drink water; while at school, no alternate beverages should be seen.
2.) A lady’s hair must be worn in two side pig-tails.
3.) Ladies should not disguise their natural beauty with make-up of any kind.
4.) Ladies should preface any utterance of a gentleman’s name with, “Oh gracious _______.”
5.) Ladies must open doors for gentlemen.
They are expected to follow these rules all day long, all week. Every day when they come to class, they'll vote on who's done the best job following the rules, and who is obviously breaking them. Kids who follow the rules well gain money and increase their statuses; kids who break the rules will lose money and fall in status. At the end of the week, we'll vote on the overall best rule-abider; that person will get 15 free homework points. Once again, the students who have the most to gain or lose are the students within the pseudo-gentry class... just as it was in Jane Austen's time.
The week after that, kids can try to advance their stations by proposing to one another. The catch? Their proposals must be in the style of one of the actual proposals in the book. Poor members of the pseudo-gentry, who are just barely hanging on, are already considering how they might try to align with a wealthier member of the working class-- an engagement which would foreseeably benefit both. The class is totally falling into the same patterns of behavior that members of Jane Austen's society fell into!
Anyway.
We're having lots of fun. :)
Jan 29, 2011
Not Forgotten
Sometimes, I think of God as an ocean. Some people don't see the ocean at all; they turn their backs on its vast horizon and face the parking lot, denying there's anything there. Some come down to the sand and acknowledge the ocean's thundering existence, but admit they'd rather not get their feet wet. Others step into the water and let it wash over their toes and ankles: they experience the ocean in a completely different way than they ever could by just looking at it. Still others wade in-- they let the ocean nudge them with its waves and currents, soaking themselves up to their waists. Others swim out deep, diving into the ocean, getting wholly immersed. Those people understand the tides, the taste, the power of the ocean that few others can truly comprehend; they let themselves get beyond the power of their own control, they have departed from shore-- and as a result, they are carried along and directed in a way they could never have been if they'd held on to their own "sure" footing.
However, even those last people will never be able to understand the width, the depth, the height of the ocean. They will never know all the creatures, all the underwater worlds, all the secret volcanoes. They cannot see the storm on one end and the sunrise in the other. They cannot predict the ocean's movements, or winds, or direction. It's just too big.
Still, one thing is certain: the goal must always be to go deeper.
I have a story.
The story begins a week from last Thursday. For the last several months, I had been working on a plan-- a plan which I thought was great, really really great. But then Thursday night, the plan fell apart. It unexpectedly, comprehensively dissolved. I was crushed. It was such a disappointment.
But do you know? It wasn't a screeching-tires-crunching-metal sort of falling apart. The way it fell apart was so right, and so beautiful in its dissembling, it was more like a heavy gray cloud falling apart into thousands of crystalline flakes. It was a floating sort of fall.
Still, I cried on Thursday night for a long time, and Friday met me with a heavy heart.
Saturday found me in my apartment all day, grumpily tearing through stacks of finals. Finally, at 8pm, I escaped. It was after dark, but I didn't care. I needed fresh air, and gulped it in while walking to the lake.
What do I do when I need a reset button?
I climb a tree.
I had a specific one in mind-- I'd spotted the tree on a walk earlier that week with Carly. This tree stretches out over the water, its branches simultaneously reaching down, and to the side, and up towards the sky, like a great bark-covered sunburst. In the dark, I climbed up its trunk, wedged myself between the branches and began to pray.
It was a pissed-off prayer. I was really ticked at God. I was angry at Him for messing with my plan, even though I knew the plan probably wasn't the best in the first place, and I was angry at how He's been running my story.
"I am SICK of being here God!" I said. Or whispered. Or mouthed silently, while swinging my fists between branches. "I am TIRED of this. I'm sick of this season-- why does everyone else get to be in a different season God? I'm TIRED of what you're doing!!"
At one point I pictured Jesus hovering there and I demanded answers. Normally when I picture Jesus during prayers, he looks very much like a normal guy. This Jesus, though, was more of the cliched, cartoon version-- white robed and everything. How OBNOXIOUS: a floating, cartoonish, white-robed Jesus. Probably indicative of my current feelings about Him-- and perhaps my momentary suspicion that He was not as powerful or as attentive as I've believed Him to be.
"Can I even maintain this hope?" I demanded. "Can I even believe you ever gave me the promise I thought you did?! Is it ever going to happen?? I want more than what you're giving me right now!"
"It's COMING!" Floating Jesus said.
"WHEN?!!" I roared at Him.
"You have to WAIT," He said adamantly.
That sort of made me want to flip Him off.
It was an honest prayer-- an angry, tearful, raw prayer. And it was intense-- only interrupted once when a man came down to the water and began to pee into the lake.
Yes. A man peed directly beneath me while I was shouting at the Floating Jesus.
I did my best to look like a tree branch.
When the man was done peeing, and I was done praying, I slid back down. I felt a little guilty walking back home that night. I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to want to flip Jesus off-- I hoped God wouldn't smite me.
Far from it. I look back on this moment now after the week I've had, and realize God's response was something more along the lines of: "Fine. You want to get real with me? I'm about to get real with you. Listen up daughter." From this point on, God cranked up the volume.
I was exhausted by the time I got back-- once in bed, it didn't take long for me to feel my body slipping out of consciousness. But just before I did, a thought suddenly lit into my mind:
"Am I enough for you Greta?"
I paused. I had no idea how to answer that question. The thought hovered there, like a flickering neon sign. Finally, I pushed it out of my head and let oblivion take over.
The next morning however, I wrote the question down in my journal while church worship was starting:
"He asks, 'Am I enough for you Greta?' ... And I don't know how to answer." I paused and thought about my prayer from the night before. Beneath what I'd just written, I wrote:
"I want more. :("
Richard's sermon addressed God's burning bush moment with Moses. In that moment, Moses doesn't like God's plan any more than I did in my tree the night before. At one point, Moses asks God, "What name do I give to the Israelites when they ask who sent me?"
God thunders back, "I AM." Richard elaborated-- "'I AM your sufficiency. I AM the power of your freedom. I AM everything you need to fulfill your calling.'"
I wrote that last line down in my journal, and then drew an arrow from what I'd written before-- "Am I enough for you Greta?"-- to the words Richard had just spoken: "I AM everything you need to fulfill your calling."
"Well then," I thought to myself.
Then Richard got to the end of his sermon. He began discussing Moses' disillusionment. Even though Moses finally stepped into God's story, and went and talked to Pharaoh, things got pretty crappy for Moses. Pharaoh basically laughed at Moses' request to lead the Israelites out of Egypt, doubled the Israelites' work load, and had his overseers beat the Israelites if they couldn't meet their daily quota. The Israelites were furious with Moses, and basically wanted to pulp-ify him. Moses then cries out to God and basically asks Him, "What are you DOING, God?!"
I imagined Moses shaking his fist at the sky. "Like me," I thought.
"The lament is one of the purest forms of worship there is," Richard said. "God wants our honesty. He wants a relationship with us. If we assume that the Christian life is only ever praise, we're missing the point. Just look at the Psalms; look at David's crying out and his despair. We should feel comfortable coming to God with laments. The dancing comes after the tears."
This was a great comfort-- and yet, I returned to heart-ache. As the worship started up again, I wrote in my journal: "Why ME, God?"
The answer arrived like a lightning bolt in the ocean storm of my mind:
Let me take you deeper, Greta.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Starting Monday, my school commenced our annual "Spiritual Life" week, where the kids have chapel every day. Monday's speaker was a guy named Zach. He talked about plans falling apart. He talked about seeking purpose. He talked about Daniel being taken away from his home and forced to work in the court of the Babylonian king. He discussed his suspicion that Daniel must have doubted God on the long journey to Babylon; must have asked, "What are you doing Lord?" He talked about the necessity of prayer within our hungry, angry questions.
After chapel, I told my seniors about my experience with prayer over the last year. I really try hard to be open and transparent with my students, so that they then feel comfortable being vulnerable with one another in our class discussions. "Last year was one of the hardest years of my life," I told them laughingly. "It was my first year of teaching, so I was crazy stressed out, trying to get everything together and planned, and trying to 'prove' myself, and I felt insecure and scared half the time... My parents were getting divorced, my personal life was a ROLLER-COASTER, it-- was-- terrible!" I laughed again. "BUT! In the midst of that... I had to pray. There was just absolutely no other way I was going to make it through the day. There were literally some mornings when I cried under the covers and told God that I could not do it, I could NOT do it, and I would TELL him I couldn't do it, and then He would somehow tell me that He would carry me through. Only then... would I be able to get out of bed and face it all. As a result, one of the hardest years of my life... taught me to love prayer."
I told them about my angry prayer in the tree the other night, and encouraged them to be real with God. Then I told them about the man that peed right beneath me, and mimed looking like a tree branch. That was probably their favorite part.
After endorsing prayer so fervently though, a funny thing happened. Tuesday and Wednesday, I didn't particularly feel like having my morning prayer. Normally, after doing my hair and makeup, I crawl back into bed in my pajamas with a cup of coffee and just talk to God for a while. Wednesday morning I thought, "Eh, I don't feel like I have much to talk to God about today. And I'm running late. Phooey."
Still, I climbed back into bed with my coffee, anticipating a mind-wandering prayer, a going-through-the-motions prayer. Sometimes that's what morning-coffee-prayer-time looks like.
Not this morning
As SOON as I "got into position," I suddenly had two Bible verses filling my whole head. I can't remember the last time I've read these passages, but there they were. The first was from Isaiah 40:29-31:
He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.
Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall;
But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
They will run and not grow weary,
They will walk and not be faint.
Isaiah 40:29-31
The second was from Hebrews 12:1-3
... Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus... Consider Him... so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.
Furthermore, when reading my Bible the night before, I had found these two verses stacked right on top of each other in my One Year Bible-- two verses that appear miles away from one another in the actual Bible but happened to be within the same centimeter when organized in the One-Year format:
Psalm 27:13-14
I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. WAIT for the Lord; be strong and take heart and WAIT for the Lord.
And:
Proverbs 20:22b
WAIT for the Lord, and He will deliver you.
Once again, it all went into the journal. Beneath the four passages, I wrote: "I suppose the message is clear then: Look to the Lord and be strong, take heart. Do not grow weary, but hope in the Lord. Persevere and WAIT on the Lord. He is faithful in keeping His promises."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Shall I get louder, Greta?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The speaker at chapel on Wednesday was a guy named Jeff. Jeff is probably 6'5" and is all arms, legs, and giant facial expressions. He moved those arms and legs into all kinds of ridiculous shapes as he acted out various stories in his talk, pantomiming trying to push his truck out of his garage that morning which subsequently led to his kicking a hole in the garage wall; singing a song about his deep ardor for his comfort food, cheese; interviewing one of our seniors about the school's losing football team; then acting out meeting a girl, falling for her, and ultimately getting rejected. Throughout the talk, Jeff was hilarious, animated, and ridiculously silly.
And then all of a sudden he got profound.
In addressing different failures-- different failed "plans"-- Jeff brought us back to this:
(I'm quoting from his notes, which I demanded he give me after I heard this talk):
"Our grounding promise should be this: Romans 8:28-- We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Purpose is the magic word. There is purpose in the trial you are undergoing, your hardship, the direction of your path. ... James 1:2-4 tells us, Consider it pure joy my brothers whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing. This dissonance gives way to a more satisfying consonance; this dense rain to a bolder rainbow; this wretched sin to a more glorious redemption. ...No matter where we are in life, we will have our plans frustrated; we will not have our way. Instead of reaching for the cheese of comfort, take comfort in the fact that God has a purpose in our trial for maturity and completeness."
In the midst of my grief over frustrated plans, in the midst of my fatigue, in the midst of my desire for something ELSE-- these words were medicine.
Jeff ended his talk by reading a blurb from an email he had once received from his best friend Kirk, as Kirk was preparing to go off to Africa. Jeff gave me a copy of this too-- look at the end of it:
"I must learn to listen, to wait, and to be. So in the holy silence that comes when I abandon my own pursuit to 'be enough' I hope to hear the voice of God saying, "Kirk, I love you. Let that be enough.' So I will place my hope in the God of hope, whose promises do not go unfulfilled and whose Word and love for his people will always endure, that I will let him love me and let that be enough."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He asks, Am I enough for you Greta?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
That night, I led my Bible study of five freshmen girls who go to UW. The chapter we happened to be on was John, Ch. 6. It's all about how Jesus is the bread of life-- that everything else will leave us hungry but that He is ENOUGH. I had asked each of the girls to consider what their next "step" in their faith walks might be. The last girl to share said that she wanted to get to a place where she understood that Jesus was truly ENOUGH.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He asks, Am I enough for you Greta?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On Thursday, driving to school, I heard a song lyric that said something about getting so far into the ocean that you lose sight of shore; only then, is it time to turn back.
I don't know yet if my heart fully understands that God is enough; I think part of my heart still longs for more... still longs for shore. But I understand now that I am meant for deeper waters, and that I will only be capable of successfully living on land once I have lost sight of it altogether in the vast depth of the ocean.
On Friday, the chapel at school was simply a day of worship. I tried at first to worship up front among my students, but found myself feeling self-conscious. I wondered: am I closing my eyes for them, or for the Lord? Finally, we started singing a song that begins, "He is jealous for me." At that point, I left my spot among the students and walked to the back of the auditorium where I could worship without being seen.
I closed my eyes and sang. I pictured being deep in the ocean, far, far away from shore, in the crow's nest of a ship. The sun was rising over the water. Something lifted me out of the crow's nest and I danced in the sky.
Disappointment lingers. My story is still not the story I would wish for today. But in spite of that, I am overwhelmed with understanding God's LOVE for me. I have not been forgotten. I am part of an incredible adventure, and I am in the midst of something powerful. There is PURPOSE in this moment.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Let me take you deeper, Greta.
Yes, Lord-- I will go.
However, even those last people will never be able to understand the width, the depth, the height of the ocean. They will never know all the creatures, all the underwater worlds, all the secret volcanoes. They cannot see the storm on one end and the sunrise in the other. They cannot predict the ocean's movements, or winds, or direction. It's just too big.
Still, one thing is certain: the goal must always be to go deeper.
I have a story.
The story begins a week from last Thursday. For the last several months, I had been working on a plan-- a plan which I thought was great, really really great. But then Thursday night, the plan fell apart. It unexpectedly, comprehensively dissolved. I was crushed. It was such a disappointment.
But do you know? It wasn't a screeching-tires-crunching-metal sort of falling apart. The way it fell apart was so right, and so beautiful in its dissembling, it was more like a heavy gray cloud falling apart into thousands of crystalline flakes. It was a floating sort of fall.
Still, I cried on Thursday night for a long time, and Friday met me with a heavy heart.
Saturday found me in my apartment all day, grumpily tearing through stacks of finals. Finally, at 8pm, I escaped. It was after dark, but I didn't care. I needed fresh air, and gulped it in while walking to the lake.
What do I do when I need a reset button?
I climb a tree.
I had a specific one in mind-- I'd spotted the tree on a walk earlier that week with Carly. This tree stretches out over the water, its branches simultaneously reaching down, and to the side, and up towards the sky, like a great bark-covered sunburst. In the dark, I climbed up its trunk, wedged myself between the branches and began to pray.
It was a pissed-off prayer. I was really ticked at God. I was angry at Him for messing with my plan, even though I knew the plan probably wasn't the best in the first place, and I was angry at how He's been running my story.
"I am SICK of being here God!" I said. Or whispered. Or mouthed silently, while swinging my fists between branches. "I am TIRED of this. I'm sick of this season-- why does everyone else get to be in a different season God? I'm TIRED of what you're doing!!"
At one point I pictured Jesus hovering there and I demanded answers. Normally when I picture Jesus during prayers, he looks very much like a normal guy. This Jesus, though, was more of the cliched, cartoon version-- white robed and everything. How OBNOXIOUS: a floating, cartoonish, white-robed Jesus. Probably indicative of my current feelings about Him-- and perhaps my momentary suspicion that He was not as powerful or as attentive as I've believed Him to be.
"Can I even maintain this hope?" I demanded. "Can I even believe you ever gave me the promise I thought you did?! Is it ever going to happen?? I want more than what you're giving me right now!"
"It's COMING!" Floating Jesus said.
"WHEN?!!" I roared at Him.
"You have to WAIT," He said adamantly.
That sort of made me want to flip Him off.
It was an honest prayer-- an angry, tearful, raw prayer. And it was intense-- only interrupted once when a man came down to the water and began to pee into the lake.
Yes. A man peed directly beneath me while I was shouting at the Floating Jesus.
I did my best to look like a tree branch.
When the man was done peeing, and I was done praying, I slid back down. I felt a little guilty walking back home that night. I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to want to flip Jesus off-- I hoped God wouldn't smite me.
Far from it. I look back on this moment now after the week I've had, and realize God's response was something more along the lines of: "Fine. You want to get real with me? I'm about to get real with you. Listen up daughter." From this point on, God cranked up the volume.
I was exhausted by the time I got back-- once in bed, it didn't take long for me to feel my body slipping out of consciousness. But just before I did, a thought suddenly lit into my mind:
"Am I enough for you Greta?"
I paused. I had no idea how to answer that question. The thought hovered there, like a flickering neon sign. Finally, I pushed it out of my head and let oblivion take over.
The next morning however, I wrote the question down in my journal while church worship was starting:
"He asks, 'Am I enough for you Greta?' ... And I don't know how to answer." I paused and thought about my prayer from the night before. Beneath what I'd just written, I wrote:
"I want more. :("
Richard's sermon addressed God's burning bush moment with Moses. In that moment, Moses doesn't like God's plan any more than I did in my tree the night before. At one point, Moses asks God, "What name do I give to the Israelites when they ask who sent me?"
God thunders back, "I AM." Richard elaborated-- "'I AM your sufficiency. I AM the power of your freedom. I AM everything you need to fulfill your calling.'"
I wrote that last line down in my journal, and then drew an arrow from what I'd written before-- "Am I enough for you Greta?"-- to the words Richard had just spoken: "I AM everything you need to fulfill your calling."
"Well then," I thought to myself.
Then Richard got to the end of his sermon. He began discussing Moses' disillusionment. Even though Moses finally stepped into God's story, and went and talked to Pharaoh, things got pretty crappy for Moses. Pharaoh basically laughed at Moses' request to lead the Israelites out of Egypt, doubled the Israelites' work load, and had his overseers beat the Israelites if they couldn't meet their daily quota. The Israelites were furious with Moses, and basically wanted to pulp-ify him. Moses then cries out to God and basically asks Him, "What are you DOING, God?!"
I imagined Moses shaking his fist at the sky. "Like me," I thought.
"The lament is one of the purest forms of worship there is," Richard said. "God wants our honesty. He wants a relationship with us. If we assume that the Christian life is only ever praise, we're missing the point. Just look at the Psalms; look at David's crying out and his despair. We should feel comfortable coming to God with laments. The dancing comes after the tears."
This was a great comfort-- and yet, I returned to heart-ache. As the worship started up again, I wrote in my journal: "Why ME, God?"
The answer arrived like a lightning bolt in the ocean storm of my mind:
Let me take you deeper, Greta.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Starting Monday, my school commenced our annual "Spiritual Life" week, where the kids have chapel every day. Monday's speaker was a guy named Zach. He talked about plans falling apart. He talked about seeking purpose. He talked about Daniel being taken away from his home and forced to work in the court of the Babylonian king. He discussed his suspicion that Daniel must have doubted God on the long journey to Babylon; must have asked, "What are you doing Lord?" He talked about the necessity of prayer within our hungry, angry questions.
After chapel, I told my seniors about my experience with prayer over the last year. I really try hard to be open and transparent with my students, so that they then feel comfortable being vulnerable with one another in our class discussions. "Last year was one of the hardest years of my life," I told them laughingly. "It was my first year of teaching, so I was crazy stressed out, trying to get everything together and planned, and trying to 'prove' myself, and I felt insecure and scared half the time... My parents were getting divorced, my personal life was a ROLLER-COASTER, it-- was-- terrible!" I laughed again. "BUT! In the midst of that... I had to pray. There was just absolutely no other way I was going to make it through the day. There were literally some mornings when I cried under the covers and told God that I could not do it, I could NOT do it, and I would TELL him I couldn't do it, and then He would somehow tell me that He would carry me through. Only then... would I be able to get out of bed and face it all. As a result, one of the hardest years of my life... taught me to love prayer."
I told them about my angry prayer in the tree the other night, and encouraged them to be real with God. Then I told them about the man that peed right beneath me, and mimed looking like a tree branch. That was probably their favorite part.
After endorsing prayer so fervently though, a funny thing happened. Tuesday and Wednesday, I didn't particularly feel like having my morning prayer. Normally, after doing my hair and makeup, I crawl back into bed in my pajamas with a cup of coffee and just talk to God for a while. Wednesday morning I thought, "Eh, I don't feel like I have much to talk to God about today. And I'm running late. Phooey."
Still, I climbed back into bed with my coffee, anticipating a mind-wandering prayer, a going-through-the-motions prayer. Sometimes that's what morning-coffee-prayer-time looks like.
Not this morning
As SOON as I "got into position," I suddenly had two Bible verses filling my whole head. I can't remember the last time I've read these passages, but there they were. The first was from Isaiah 40:29-31:
He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak.
Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall;
But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.
They will soar on wings like eagles;
They will run and not grow weary,
They will walk and not be faint.
Isaiah 40:29-31
The second was from Hebrews 12:1-3
... Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus... Consider Him... so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.
Furthermore, when reading my Bible the night before, I had found these two verses stacked right on top of each other in my One Year Bible-- two verses that appear miles away from one another in the actual Bible but happened to be within the same centimeter when organized in the One-Year format:
Psalm 27:13-14
I am still confident of this: I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. WAIT for the Lord; be strong and take heart and WAIT for the Lord.
And:
Proverbs 20:22b
WAIT for the Lord, and He will deliver you.
Once again, it all went into the journal. Beneath the four passages, I wrote: "I suppose the message is clear then: Look to the Lord and be strong, take heart. Do not grow weary, but hope in the Lord. Persevere and WAIT on the Lord. He is faithful in keeping His promises."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Shall I get louder, Greta?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The speaker at chapel on Wednesday was a guy named Jeff. Jeff is probably 6'5" and is all arms, legs, and giant facial expressions. He moved those arms and legs into all kinds of ridiculous shapes as he acted out various stories in his talk, pantomiming trying to push his truck out of his garage that morning which subsequently led to his kicking a hole in the garage wall; singing a song about his deep ardor for his comfort food, cheese; interviewing one of our seniors about the school's losing football team; then acting out meeting a girl, falling for her, and ultimately getting rejected. Throughout the talk, Jeff was hilarious, animated, and ridiculously silly.
And then all of a sudden he got profound.
In addressing different failures-- different failed "plans"-- Jeff brought us back to this:
(I'm quoting from his notes, which I demanded he give me after I heard this talk):
"Our grounding promise should be this: Romans 8:28-- We know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. Purpose is the magic word. There is purpose in the trial you are undergoing, your hardship, the direction of your path. ... James 1:2-4 tells us, Consider it pure joy my brothers whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing. This dissonance gives way to a more satisfying consonance; this dense rain to a bolder rainbow; this wretched sin to a more glorious redemption. ...No matter where we are in life, we will have our plans frustrated; we will not have our way. Instead of reaching for the cheese of comfort, take comfort in the fact that God has a purpose in our trial for maturity and completeness."
In the midst of my grief over frustrated plans, in the midst of my fatigue, in the midst of my desire for something ELSE-- these words were medicine.
Jeff ended his talk by reading a blurb from an email he had once received from his best friend Kirk, as Kirk was preparing to go off to Africa. Jeff gave me a copy of this too-- look at the end of it:
"I must learn to listen, to wait, and to be. So in the holy silence that comes when I abandon my own pursuit to 'be enough' I hope to hear the voice of God saying, "Kirk, I love you. Let that be enough.' So I will place my hope in the God of hope, whose promises do not go unfulfilled and whose Word and love for his people will always endure, that I will let him love me and let that be enough."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He asks, Am I enough for you Greta?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
That night, I led my Bible study of five freshmen girls who go to UW. The chapter we happened to be on was John, Ch. 6. It's all about how Jesus is the bread of life-- that everything else will leave us hungry but that He is ENOUGH. I had asked each of the girls to consider what their next "step" in their faith walks might be. The last girl to share said that she wanted to get to a place where she understood that Jesus was truly ENOUGH.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He asks, Am I enough for you Greta?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
On Thursday, driving to school, I heard a song lyric that said something about getting so far into the ocean that you lose sight of shore; only then, is it time to turn back.
I don't know yet if my heart fully understands that God is enough; I think part of my heart still longs for more... still longs for shore. But I understand now that I am meant for deeper waters, and that I will only be capable of successfully living on land once I have lost sight of it altogether in the vast depth of the ocean.
On Friday, the chapel at school was simply a day of worship. I tried at first to worship up front among my students, but found myself feeling self-conscious. I wondered: am I closing my eyes for them, or for the Lord? Finally, we started singing a song that begins, "He is jealous for me." At that point, I left my spot among the students and walked to the back of the auditorium where I could worship without being seen.
I closed my eyes and sang. I pictured being deep in the ocean, far, far away from shore, in the crow's nest of a ship. The sun was rising over the water. Something lifted me out of the crow's nest and I danced in the sky.
Disappointment lingers. My story is still not the story I would wish for today. But in spite of that, I am overwhelmed with understanding God's LOVE for me. I have not been forgotten. I am part of an incredible adventure, and I am in the midst of something powerful. There is PURPOSE in this moment.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Let me take you deeper, Greta.
Yes, Lord-- I will go.
Jan 28, 2011
Old Slippers, Spiky Heels, and a mischievious Cowboy Boot
1.) Quote from Sandy, a teacher I work with, from a conversation we had yesterday after school:
"Oh Greta, I think a little excitement in the beginning is important. Some day, it's fine to be an old slipper. My husband and I... we're old slippers. And we still kiss each other, and we love each other, but after 30 years... you just get to be old slippers. And that's fine. That's beautiful, in its own way. But in the beginning--? Oh honey. You're looking for something more like a spiky heel."
- - - - -
2.) Yesterday, when weaving around the desks to check off the sophomores' vocab, I caught my cowboy boot on a desk-leg and fell-- with great flailing-- all the way to the ground. The kids were shocked and worried. I died laughing.
Apparently I am not QUITE ready for spiky heels. :)
"Oh Greta, I think a little excitement in the beginning is important. Some day, it's fine to be an old slipper. My husband and I... we're old slippers. And we still kiss each other, and we love each other, but after 30 years... you just get to be old slippers. And that's fine. That's beautiful, in its own way. But in the beginning--? Oh honey. You're looking for something more like a spiky heel."
- - - - -
2.) Yesterday, when weaving around the desks to check off the sophomores' vocab, I caught my cowboy boot on a desk-leg and fell-- with great flailing-- all the way to the ground. The kids were shocked and worried. I died laughing.
Apparently I am not QUITE ready for spiky heels. :)
Jan 14, 2011
The Fairy Tale
I grew up with them.
My grandma used to take my siblings and me on walks through the woods and tell us stories of the gnomes hiding under the toadstools; of the fairies that had caught their hair on the trees, leaving it behind as lichen; of the trolls that lived under the massive stumps and flossed their fangs, waiting for prey.
And I loved stories of princes and princesses.
And I loved stories of happily ever after.
And I believed in them-- with my whole, young heart.
This week, I told my AP class that I didn't like stories with easy endings anymore. "I love the stories that show brokenness," I told them. "I like the stories that show flawed people, struggling to make their best life in this world. Stories that end too happily, that end too easily... I just can't believe those. They don't ring true to me anymore."
It's amazing how growing up changes things, isn't it?
My favorite movie is When Harry met Sally, a hilarious romantic comedy that nevertheless shows two very real people struggling towards love. They're flawed, they're hopeful, they fight, they overcome... they're real.
I believe them. I believe that happy ending.
One of my LEAST favorite movies, however, is Love Actually. I don't believe a single stitch of it. The people seem too pretty; too perfect. The stories fall into place with little conflict, with almost no consequences. I can't stand it-- I see no truth there.
I told my roommate recently, "I don't need the fairy tale anymore. I just want something I can believe in. I want something I can trust."
Where I used to cherish the idea of perfection, of instant love, of happily ever after, of a prince on a white horse-- now I cherish the idea of a partner, of a best friend, of a man who will wade with me through conflict and pull me close to him as we emerge on the other side. I cherish the idea of trust growing incrementally, of laughter bubbling up after tears, of prayer occurring in the midst of stress, of a relationship that is not instant, but rather grows and strengthens and deepens over time. I love the idea of working to make something beautiful. I want deep conversations over a kitchen table, I want communication about the victories and the defeats. I want dogged solidarity and resolute team-work.
I don't want a frog that shows princely potential. I don't want a king that promises me the world.
I want a muddied up knight, who knows what it means to be in battle; who has dents in his armor, and determination on his mind. I want a man who expects a long journey, and knows there will be beauty, and knows there will be trials, and knows there will be deep, passionate, truthful love.
And I want freedom in my spirit.
And I want vulnerability to be safe.
Maybe I want the fairy tale after all...
I just want one I can believe in.
My grandma used to take my siblings and me on walks through the woods and tell us stories of the gnomes hiding under the toadstools; of the fairies that had caught their hair on the trees, leaving it behind as lichen; of the trolls that lived under the massive stumps and flossed their fangs, waiting for prey.
And I loved stories of princes and princesses.
And I loved stories of happily ever after.
And I believed in them-- with my whole, young heart.
This week, I told my AP class that I didn't like stories with easy endings anymore. "I love the stories that show brokenness," I told them. "I like the stories that show flawed people, struggling to make their best life in this world. Stories that end too happily, that end too easily... I just can't believe those. They don't ring true to me anymore."
It's amazing how growing up changes things, isn't it?
My favorite movie is When Harry met Sally, a hilarious romantic comedy that nevertheless shows two very real people struggling towards love. They're flawed, they're hopeful, they fight, they overcome... they're real.
I believe them. I believe that happy ending.
One of my LEAST favorite movies, however, is Love Actually. I don't believe a single stitch of it. The people seem too pretty; too perfect. The stories fall into place with little conflict, with almost no consequences. I can't stand it-- I see no truth there.
I told my roommate recently, "I don't need the fairy tale anymore. I just want something I can believe in. I want something I can trust."
Where I used to cherish the idea of perfection, of instant love, of happily ever after, of a prince on a white horse-- now I cherish the idea of a partner, of a best friend, of a man who will wade with me through conflict and pull me close to him as we emerge on the other side. I cherish the idea of trust growing incrementally, of laughter bubbling up after tears, of prayer occurring in the midst of stress, of a relationship that is not instant, but rather grows and strengthens and deepens over time. I love the idea of working to make something beautiful. I want deep conversations over a kitchen table, I want communication about the victories and the defeats. I want dogged solidarity and resolute team-work.
I don't want a frog that shows princely potential. I don't want a king that promises me the world.
I want a muddied up knight, who knows what it means to be in battle; who has dents in his armor, and determination on his mind. I want a man who expects a long journey, and knows there will be beauty, and knows there will be trials, and knows there will be deep, passionate, truthful love.
And I want freedom in my spirit.
And I want vulnerability to be safe.
Maybe I want the fairy tale after all...
I just want one I can believe in.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)