Lazarus Heart

I thought of how every day each of us experiences a few little moments that have just a bit more resonance than other moments – we hear a word that sticks in our mind – or maybe we have a small experience that pulls us out of ourselves, if only briefly…we would realize that we have been having another life altogether; one we didn't even know was going on inside us.  –Douglas Coupland

We often say, one day at a time but I say, one moment at a time.  A day, all 24 hours is packed with so many planned and unplanned events.  So, I suggest you have the overview of the day, but take it in small steps, one moment at a time.  –Eveth Colley

Last week:  It’s Wednesday.  I’m leaving work right around 6, and the sun is peeking out after what seems like a year of hiding.  I am grateful.  It’s been a long week full of emotional triggers that have been hard to check at the door, and the week is only half over.  The sun, warm on my face and stinging my eyes through the windshield is like a tangible ray of hope, Shirley Temple style.

Unlike most days of the week, I have a passenger.  A small fourth grader occupies my backseat, his green and black coat tossed haphazardly across the seat, his backpack tucked between his feet.  I give this nervous boy a lift home once or twice a week – his mom doesn't have a car.  Despite the small inconvenience of the trip, on days like today when I have too much on my mind, I welcome the distraction.  I’m learning to find hope in my students too.

This particular boy always wants us to be first out of the parking lot, but I've never asked him why.  Rarely do I pull out of my parking spot before my boss, and he exhales an audible sigh of disappointment in the back.  “Man, she’s going to beat us.”  This day is no different; we are second.

He comments all the way down the road on how far ahead her white hatchback seems – will we ever catch up?  He wants me to drive faster.  His excitement is palpable as we pull up to the stop light and wait to turn – we are directly behind her.  I honk and she joins in the fun, playing a modified peek a boo game in her rear view mirror.  As the light turns green, I say out loud, “I’m not sure we’re going to make this light.”  The green doesn't last long and we are barely positioned within the turn lane.  I hear my student plead, “Please stay green, come on, come on, stay green.”

It’s not until later, as I reflect on my week and all it has held, that I wonder – why was he so intent for the light to stay green?  Who was he pleading to?  I remember being a kid and doing the very same, the promise of a game continued was exciting.  I wasn't concerned with how long the game would last; I only wanted to keep it going.  As we sailed through the still green light and his cheers of success leaked out the car’s cracked windows, I was struck by the simplicity of his request and the joyous result when it was granted.

The more I chew on this experience, the more I see God in it.  As I fought my way though each day last week, feeling the strain of life, I felt as if I were trudging through knee deep mud.  But I was reminded in this interaction that God desires to give us good gifts.  He hears every whispered request, no matter how big or how small, and he is overjoyed that we would come to Him and ask.  But we need to ask.  What a privilege to see a request so immediately answered, a game continued, a memory made.  I have no way of knowing how such a small interaction may have changed this small boy’s view of the world, or his relationship with us as leaders, but I am grateful for having been a part of it.

I've always been told that working with students isn’t just about you teaching them – it’s about them teaching you.  I was reminded not to be afraid to ask for what I need, no matter how big or how small.  It doesn't matter how urgently I ask, or how loudly, what matters is that I ask and then watch, in hope and expectation, for the answer.

True Confessions of a Dreamer

Dare to dream!  If you did not have the capability to make your wildest wishes come true, your mind would not have the capacity to conjure such ideas in the first place.  There is no limitation on what you can potentially achieve, except for the limitation you choose to impose on your own imagination.  What you believe to be possible will always come to pass - to the extent that you deem it possible.  It really is as simple as that.  - Anthon St. Maarten

Most mornings, I wake up in another country.

Each morning is different, although I'll admit it was easier when I was living in my last apartment.  The high vantage point made it easy to imagine quaint Italian villages, or I could just as quickly find myself among the rolling hills of Ireland or between volcanoes in Latin America.  My current apartment has bedroom windows that open to another building.  It's not the best, but I can still envision a small, sparse apartment within a bustling city in Africa, or a sleek high rise in Australia.  It doesn't have to be a country I've visited before, and for a while, it was a treat to wake up in the morning and open the blinds.  I wasn't sure what I would find.

Yesterday morning, I woke up in Nicaragua.  It was early in the morning, somewhere around 6:30am, although it felt more like 5:30am with the recent time change.  I'm almost never up at this hour, and although my mind was alert, my body was tired.  I laid in bed, listening to the birds chirping outside my window, and I held on to the idea that, if I opened my eyes, I would suddenly find myself back in 2009 on La Finca Magdalena.

My cozy, fluffy bed became a cot, the fabric tight and covered with my orange twin extra long sheets.  It's one of 15 exactly like it, but mine is positioned in the middle of the hardwood floor of the girls room.  The room has wide wooden doors that slam shut in the wind, and not enough electrical outlets to meet the demands of the American visitors.  There's space between the walls and roof, allowing in light and air and all sorts of four legged visitors.

It was easy to imagine waking up, stretching, and opening the heavy doors as quietly as possible.  The wind is warm, rustling the hammocks that hang on the porch.  My eyes are assaulted by the vibrant colors - green, red, and yellow cover my field of vision.  My ears perk up at the sound of happy morning chatter coming from animals and people alike, languages mixing among one another.  My stomach is tempted by the smell of breakfast - gallo pinto, tortillas con crema, huevos, and fresh fruit juices.  My coral colored Crocs squeak across the white tile floor of the co-ed bathroom as I head in to wash my face in the cold spring water.  I'm careful to keep my eyes down, not wanting to unknowingly step on a wandering critter.

The day is pregnant with possibility.  We don't know our schedule beforehand and operating on "Nica time" often means things don't happen as planned anyway.  I remember to step down as I make my way to the picnic tables, covered in blue tablecloths, that will serve as our dining room table for the week.  Many travellers are already awake, and I am welcomed with a "good morning" and the offer of coffee.

Just as I begin to invest in the moment, my eyes open and I realize I was dreaming.  My chest gets a little tighter when I come to and see I'm not in Nicaragua.  Instead I'm cocooned in my cozy, plush bed, the light streaming in between the blinds and the birds singing in the day.  While it's not a bad place to be, I am starkly aware of my heart's desire to return to small cots, crowded rooms, excitement and adventure.  I know my time will come, so for now I will sleep well and wake up to something unexpected each day.

Wait for the LORD;

be strong and take heart

and wait for the LORD.

-Psalm 27:14

Walking Two Moons

Eating, and hospitality in general, is a communion, and any meal worth attending by yourself is improved by the multiples of those with whom it is shared.  - Jesse Browner

A life of hospitality begins in worship, with a recognition of God's grace and generosity.  Hospitality is not first a duty and responsibility; it is first a response of love and gratitude for God's love and welcome to us.  - Christine Pohl

Today, I didn't vacuum the floor.  There are still little piles of dirt hanging out throughout the apartment, tracked in as snow melted and the ground stuck to the bottom of my Chuck Taylors.

Today, I didn't play catch up on work.  Despite two snow days, I feel like there are so many moving parts, so many what ifs, that I'm in a perpetual state of catch up.

Today, I didn't go grocery shopping, or put gas in the car.  I didn't clean the bathroom or do laundry or take care of the recycling.

Instead, I hosted one of my best friends for coffee.  We talked about life, ours and the new one she's carrying inside her.  We laughed and connected, talking of the past and the future.  I realized how refreshing it is to start my day with honesty.

Today, I laughed with a friend over terrible games of bowling, each of us taking turns barely breaking 100.  My skills, or perhaps lack there of, got teased by friend and stranger alike.  I tried sushi, good sushi, for the first time and marveled over the different textures found in similar looking rolls of rice.  I fumbled with chopsticks and giggled over inadequacies.

Today, I celebrated a student's birthday with her and her family in their home.  I ate homemade tamales and looked at family pictures eagerly shared.  I made new friends and smiled until my face hurt.  I left with plates of food and a small headache from trying to keep up with the Spanish flying between family members.  My belly, and my heart, are full.

Today, I didn't check one single thing off my "to-do" list, but I did connect with important people in my life.  I played and laughed and was reminded of the simple joy of being together, as friends and as strangers.  I experienced a beautiful picture of hospitality and a caring for one another in a way that is often lost admist the hustle and bustle of daily life.

As I sit and reflect on the day, I am reminded at how important it is to spend time with one another.  Being an introvert and living alone allows me to get comfortable with myself - that in itself is not a bad thing.  But it also breeds complacency, and I sometimes find that I seek solace in myself, by myself, instead of with others.  I realize it can be easy for me to forget how much I need community in my life.

Although I'm a few days late, perhaps I will spend this Lenten season investing myself in the company of others.  During this time of renewal and preparation, I desire to draw closer to the Lord daily.  Many times, like today, it is in the company of others where His presence is most noticeable.  Even though these interactions are likely to be uncomfortable or inconvenient at times, I am hoping to see the Lord in each of them.

How are you renewing yourself during this season of Lent?

When I Don't Feel Beautiful

Everything has beauty, but not everyone sees it.  -Confucius

I want this space to be somewhere where I can be real and honest.  I want to put my thoughts out there, as I believe there is power in making oneself heard.  Sometimes the hardest step is giving voice to a challenge.

What is it about how women are wired that we constantly find ourselves engaging in negative self talk?  I've noticed it more and more in myself recently and I don't like it.  Here's a [gracefully redemptive] example.

A few Fridays ago, we had our biggest fundraiser of the year at work.  This event brings in 1/3 of the operating budget of our organization, and there are a lot of influential people that attend.  This being my first year on staff, I had little idea of what to truly expect.  But I knew that I wanted to look the part.

We cancelled program with the kids for the day, since the event was moved to a Friday this year.  LA and I spent a few hours in the morning moving things and generally rushing around, getting set up.  My one job was the powerpoint for the event.  I was charged with creating two - one to play it in the background during the mix and mingle, and one to list the live auction items during the event.  They looked awesome [in my humble opinion] and I was proud of my work.  A few hours before go time, I'm at the computer reviewing and making final touches, only to discover the first show won't play and loop automatically.  Even now I don't know what the problem was.  I'm not especially technically minded but I can usually figure things out given enough time.  I realized I created the show on a newer version of software than what is on the computer I'm using, and I do everything I can think of to make it work.  Finally, after no positive results, I resolve to take it home and see if I can run it off my laptop.

During my two hour break between set up and the event, I find not only can I not fix the show, but the IT guy can't offer any help either.  I had spent about 45 minutes troubleshooting only to see I was going to have to recreate the 50 slide show in the older version of software.  Game, set, match.  Technology 1, me 0.

All the "excitement" set me back quite a bit in terms of time and I jump in the shower 15 minutes before I'm due back at work.  I wash my hair quickly and, rather than dry it like I planned, I desperately try and get it to stay in a bun.  At one point, as I'm twisting wet hair into a knot on my head, my arms aching from being above my head for a little two long, the clip I'm trying to use slipping from my damp fingers, I almost cry out in sheer frustration.  I drop my hands and plead aloud that this comes together quickly.  I'm supposed to be at work right now.

I finally get the majority of my hair pulled back and I'm pinning some loose pieces in place as I catch myself thinking:

"This isn't turning out at all like you planned."

"People are going to know you don't belong here."

"Everyone will know you don't know what you're doing and you're trying too hard."

"Your hair is wet and your makeup is rushed and you don't look pretty."

Whoa, stop right there.

I was lucky this time.  Finally, I am able to recognize these negative comments and know that they are not true.  I'm not exactly sure where the change and recognition actually happened.  It used to be that I would hear the negative and know that it wasn't ok, but I couldn't give voice to anything else.  The negative would just sit there, acknowledged as wrong but not truly defied.  It wasn't challenged; it wasn't corrected.  It was at some point during my trip to Nicaragua, and shortly after I returned, that I began to see myself as the Lord sees me.

When I look in the mirror, I see an average girl, with hair that needs a trim and bangs that are too long.  She doesn't have the best skin, but overall she's alright.  Maybe her clothes don't fit exactly right, a little big in places, and there's a slight fold throughout her middle when she bends at the waist.  I see a girl who has big dreams but isn't always sure how to achieve them.  And it doesn't matter how hard I try not to put any stock in physical appearance, I care.  Although I appreciate my body and celebrate what it does for me every day, I can be honest in saying that sometimes I want to look a certain way.  Usually this ideal image does not match up to reality [does it ever?].

I find more and more than I am quick to remind myself and take comfort in knowing that when my Father looks at me, He is delighted.  He is overjoyed at what he has created and he sees that it is good.  The complexities of our physical bodies is awe-inspiring, and the intricacy with which everything works together blows my mind.  I remind myself that He knows me so well that "without the will of my Father in Heaven, not a hair can fall from my head."  [Heidelberg Catechism].  He sees into my heart and knows my dreams.  He knows the places in my life where I struggle or lack discipline.  He knows my insecurities.  And He loves me anyway.

And in that moment, staring into the mirror, I work hard at trying not to find my worth in the frustration of hair that won't stay up and makeup that I use to cover up insecurities.  As I watch myself try and step into this role I think I need to fill, He stops me.  And He speaks to me in a way that I never expected, audibly, through my own voice.  I look at myself in the mirror and I say, "Thank you that I don't have to be beautiful to anyone but You, and to You I am always beautiful."

And I know it's true.

A Desire to Serve

At the end of life we will not be judged by how many diplomas we have received, how much money we have made, how many great things we have done.  We will be judged by 'I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat, I was naked and you clothed me.  I was homeless, and you took me in.'  -Mother Teresa

Let's suppose you were sitting in church one Sunday, any Sunday, listening to the sermon.  Perhaps you have to catch your mind from wandering every so often.  You're making a note in the back of your notebook as the service comes to a close, but you overhear the pastor as he shouts out one last announcement almost as an afterthought.  He says there is a bus outside, waiting to take whoever wants to go on a mission trip.

He does not tell you where you are going or when you will return.  You will need no money, no tickets.  All travel has been arranged for you.  You do not have time to go home and pack a bag.  You can not tie up loose ends at work, or say goodbye to your family.  To say yes, you simply have to board the bus.

Would you get on board?

This was a situation presented to me in a sermon this past Sunday and I haven't been able to get the scenario out of my head.

"Yes" can be a scary word.  It can open a lot of doors and take you a lot of places, but it can cause discomfort as well.  There's a level of trust involved and oftentimes we are slow to trust.

I think here I would have said YES.

It's well known to most of you that I have a huge desire to travel, to touch the world and make a difference.  More often than not I feel stifled in my hometown, pigeonholed by many of the comforts held so close by so many.  The desire to serve overwhelms me sometimes, a constant weight on my chest that reminds me that my heart craves something more.

Pascuala, Somotillo, Nicaragua

I long to be challenged, to go on an adventure and to learn to fully rely on the Lord for my needs.  No doubt, it would be the hardest thing I've ever done, getting on that bus.  But nothing about the idea turns my stomach.  While many of the people in my life might not understand why I said yes, I would hope they'd know how much I love and care for each of them.  I strive to live my life in such a way that if I was whisked off one day, there would be no doubt from anyone how I felt about their presence in my life.

I am currently searching for opportunities to serve overseas this summer.  My heart longs for the chance to hold and love on children who have no mothers.  I have seen the power a simple touch can have on another and I want to be the one to touch heads and hold hands.  I want to serve the least and the lost, and to me that doesn't just mean sending money somewhere once a month.  Presence is key, a willingness to share life. I want to alleviate suffering, to meet basic needs.  I want to be the hands and feet.

People often ask me why I don't invest my time in an organization here in the US; there is so much need here at home.  My answer - not everyone is called to go.  I have that desire, and I am capable.  What happens if no one goes?  What would have happened if Jesus stayed in his own hometown?

Pascuala, Somotillo, Nicaragua

It will not be easy.  An experience like the one I'm seeking, be it for a summer or for a lifetime, will challenge me every day.  Some days I think about how things could go and I don't feel strong enough, but I recognize that I am not the one who needs to be strong.  The Lord uses the weak and the small.

I am nervous, anxious, about how things could play out, but I'm also excited.  Currently I haven't found an NGO to serve with but I'm exploring some options.  I hope you will join me on this wonderful, life changing adventure.

Come visit!

I'm writing today over at 

 with Growing Up in the Valley!

Head over to read a bit about my recent trip to Nicaragua with Because We Care Ministries

and I'll be back here next week!

Exciting news

So...I've got some pretty exciting news to share.

Starting last week, I began blogging for a local family magazine called Growing up in the Valley.  This young company is family owned and highlights activities in the area devoted to families.  Make sure to check out the magazine here.

I've titled my blog...

While the gig is unpaid, I'm excited to get some exposure but most importantly, to keep writing!  I've been looking for a creative outlet for some time, something that doesn't take a lot of stuff.  I enjoy crafting and creating art, but my small living space (and budget) don't really allow me to collect much.  

Here's an excerpt from my first posting - 

I’ve lived in this town my whole life.  That’s 26 years of familiar streets and faces.  Being purposeful about the way I spend my time, and reflecting on the little things that present themselves each day, gives this city a magic I long thought was lost.  When I travel, it’s easy to marvel at the simplest of tasks, to see the new and exciting.  But to seek out the small within the familiar can often be a challenge. 

I want to notice and document the tiny gifts I’m given amidst the frenzied life I all too often find myself in.  Hours and days are lost in the quick pace our culture encourages, and it all can become mundane quickly if we don’t open our eyes to the small things that make up the bigger picture. 

I responded to Growing Up In The Valley when I heard they were looking for bloggers because I believe I have a unique view on the world.  Usually, it isn’t hard for me to notice the little gifts I am presented with each day.  But as life picks up increasing speed sometimes I forget to look.  I want to foster a habit of being aware and open to the tiny treasures that are too often overlooked.  Regardless of the haphazard construction of our “nests”, they are beautiful and each twig is carefully placed exactly where it needs to be.  Sometimes appreciation just means taking a step back, seeing how the small pieces fit together and create the big picture.

So there ya go.  Check it out every Saturday (and maybe more).  I will continue to write here and hope you will join me on this new adventure!

Rushing Into Stillness

I have felt the stress of busyness lately.  The weekend left no room for rest, and I started the week strung high on adrenaline.  There's a countdown to the end of this week.  A countdown to rest, to a break from the routine.  

I unexpectedly found a break this evening, returning home to my parents house to assess the meaning of a bright orange light on my dashboard.  The additional bonus was grabbing a sleeping bag to cover me while I sleep outside the door of 12 or so of my female students as we celebrate the end of the semester with a lock in.  

Guiding the car up the gravel driveway, feeling every inch of its quarter-mile length, I notice a bright light on the horizon.  I stop, thinking briefly that it's a neighbor's Christmas lights.  But my parents have no neighbors.  It's only once I fully stop, and even reverse a bit, do I see the source of the light.  The moon.

I hurry the rest of the way up the hill, put the car in park, and head to the back deck.  The night is still.  A type of stillness that I grew up with but that, lately, has escaped me.  The weight of silence is familiar yet foreign, the night seems poised somewhere between surrender and expectation.

The moon hangs low, bright and full.  I feel the weight of it and it glows a color that isn't quite gold but isn't quite yellow.  I have no name for the color and my inability to capture its beauty leaves me wanting.

There is no wind, the only sounds come from the occasional bark of a distant dog or the whoosh of a car.  The trees, bent by the wind, stand like old soldiers, keeping watch over the rising moon.  Their dark forms break up the horizon.  Even the sky is a consistent shade of indigo, scattered with stars.

The air is cool and clean.  I find not much other than my hands are chilled, a blessing as usually I am quick to be cold.  Just the act of breathing is renewing, and I feel somehow less burdened by life.  I watch as blinking planes carry people to far off places and think about my own upcoming adventure.

I am looking forward to being able to live in the moment, a task that somehow seems easier when one is outside of things familiar.  I have been keeping my eyes open for the small things, and have had a few returns on my investment.  But still I wonder - what am I missing in the daily living, not because I fail to look but because I fail to truly pay attention?

Why Shopping At Christmas Isn't All Bad

"There's nothing more contagious than the laughter of young children; it doesn't even have to matter what they're laughing about."  -Criss Jami

Recently I was reminded of the innocence and excitement of childhood.  The day had been stressful.  Full of lists, to do and otherwise; one of those days where you're scrambling to write things down on scraps of paper before they leave the forefront of your mind.  This feelings was amplified with the knowledge that LA is heading out of town and won't be at work.  So much to do, so little time.

My reminder for the true meaning of the season came as I wandered the aisles of Walmart.  I was shopping for work, well past my scheduled hours, fighting through the clutter and metallic wrapping paper.  My shopping technique is pretty standard - weave up and down every aisle, sometimes twice, looking for whatever is on my list.  It's served me well thus far, and although time consuming, it leaves ample time for taking in the sites.

This particular trip took me into the garden-turned-Christmas area, a little room off to the side at the back of the store.  I was looking for big robe boxes for coats for our students, and wrapping paper to cover a window during our holiday party next week.  There were rows of ornaments and bows, small villages and tabletop trees; and as it always happens, what I needed was in the last two rows.

But I couldn't have been more grateful for the delay, the wandering up and down as I searched for what I needed.  For it was here, in this small area at the back of the store, where a mom was pushing a cart containing, among various gifts and necessities, two little girls.  I heard them before I saw them.  They loudly announced their arrival with a chorus of "ho, ho, ho," trying to make their little voices as deep as possible.

As they neared my cart, I see one in the seat and one in the basket, both wearing their curly dark hair up and flaunting Christmas stockings on their hands.  They sing a made up song, "Merry Christmas to everyone."  Their excitement and wonder at the season is infectious and I can't keep myself from smiling.  They have no idea how much their sweet spirits have brightened my stressful day.  There is something beautiful about the innocence of a child and the energy they can barely contain during this special time of the year.  I wish I could bottle it and keep it around for the hard days, cracking open the sound of laughter and appreciate for the joy of life seen though the eyes of a child.  It reminds me to take time and be present wherever I am, not only in during this season of anticipation and excitement, but in the mundane and everyday.

Liquid Sunshine

"Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet."  -Roger Miller

                              "Being soaked alone is cold.  Being soaked with your best friend is an                                     adventure." -Emily Wing Smith, Back When You Were Easier to Love

The red canvas of my shoes is stiff and unforgiving as I pick them up, two fingers at the heel, and put them in my closet.

Yesterday I helped a dear friend of mine ship a few boxes of her life to Texas.  She is preparing to move this weekend, driving over a series of days to return home.  I rode the relatively short distance to her house with my windows half way down, watching the fog in the mountains.  The day was gray but warm, as if it took no notice of the date on the calendar.  My heart was light, in spite of the overwhelmingly long to-do list that loomed over me, and my free hand was keeping time to the music on the window frame.

I had known the day was coming.  Our relationship is unique and my life has been intertwined with Beks for a few years; we are alike in more ways than not.  I knew this little town couldn't hold her big heart forever.  She recently settled into the idea of moving and I never doubted her decision - it's time.  The last month has been full of excitement and preparation and bittersweet conversations as I know she'll only be around for a bit longer.

I arrived at her house about 9am, accompanied by a light sprinkle.  In the midst of packing tape, address labels and sharpie markers, little attention was paid to the weather.  Not long before we had prepared to load the cars, a loud clap of thunder drew our attention outside - a full blown rainstorm, blowing in suddenly, wasting no time with pleasantries.

Because of other obligations we couldn't wait long to move our packing party to the post office.  Despite the weather, we took multiple trips across wet grass and pavement, balancing boxes and tugging on doors, running and laughing, trying not to fall on wet leaves and concrete floors.  We both emerged soaking wet, tracking in leaves, water running down our faces and changing the color of our clothes.  I'll admit, I had to fight the urge to stomp through the little rivers that appeared down the sides of the streets, and I marveled at the movement of the water as it collected and spilled around the tires of parked cars.  What is it about rain that encourages the child within us to be silly, to laugh and dance?

I will likely not see Beks again before she leaves, but I couldn't think of a better way to send her off.  As we left the post office and the rain began to let up (of course!), tears made new trails on our already wet faces as we hugged and said goodbye.  I know it's not really goodbye - you can never say goodbye to someone who has left such an imprint on your heart - but rather "see you later".

Waiting in the Queue with 3 Million Books

Thanksgiving has passed.  While I'm grateful my sleep schedule and waistline have returned to their proper times and places, the holiday was wonderful.  I got some much needed time off of work and spent a few days at home with family, eating, napping, and watching football.  Mom and I ventured out Friday morning for some shopping and I made a spur of the moment purchase.  In my defense, I've wanted one for a while but have been holding out.  My excuse is always -

"The price will drop again in a few months."

"In a year the technology will be old and outdated."

"They are expensive.  What if I accidentally drop it and it breaks and then I'm out a lot of money."

But, on Friday, now with the excuse that I'll be travelling again soon, I bought an e-reader.  I had done a little research but went with the Nook, feeling a little brand loyalty toward my former employer.  I swore I would never fall victim to any device like this.  I love wandering though a used bookstore (or really any bookstore for that matter, but used is certainly more desirable), searching, tracing my fingers along worn spines and soft pages.  Bonus points if they are dog-eared or underlined.

But travelling with books can be cumbersome.  It's very tempting to know that I can have whole libraries at my fingertips, or purchase new titles with no lines and no waiting.  The $50 off special going for black Friday sent the price below 3 digits and I made the leap.  As if to further comfort me in my snap decision, my heart rate increasing ever so slightly as I watch my register numbers rise, the guy beside me in line began talking about how he was buying one for his wife.  She is also an avid reader and, like me, was turned off by the idea of the digital format.  "But wait till she's cold, snuggled under a blanket while reading, and only has to touch one finger to turn the page."

Truer words have never been spoken.

I haven't been able to put it down since I bought it.  Earlier this week, about 10pm, I finished a loaned book and immediately checked out another.  I can borrow from any library in the city.  I can purchase something new whenever I like.

I was in love for a whole three days before I started to think about the downfalls of this type of technology.  The instant gratification mindset that it encourages is infectious.  I don't have to wait to get another book.  I can get one right now, any time of day, just about any book I want.  What other things should I not have to wait for?

This idea was juxtaposed by Sunday's sermon at church.  My Nook was waiting patiently in the car for my return, practically begging me to hurry and pick up where I left off.  The sermon for this first Sunday in Advent was all about exactly the opposite - it was about waiting.  I have become increasingly more aware of a season of waiting in my life, a season that has lasted longer than I would have liked, given the choice.

Our culture today emphasizes, and even encourages, a quick pace.  Energy drinks claim to get you through your work day, boasting that they can increase your energy with no annoying crash later. One might be swayed by their not-so-subtle ads, full of office assistants going from flat to fast with smiles on their faces.  We have coffee makers ready to perk any number of coffee varieties in under a minute, in your own individual cup - no need to share a pot with someone else anymore.  Smartphones keep us constantly connected and increase our presence in the world of work.  It is becoming harder and harder to be still without something in our hands, something to occupy us.

So, as one brand of candy famously asks - Why wait? 

As my pastor Tom pointed out on Sunday, waiting abolishes self-reliance.  It is in this season of waiting that I am learning to wait on the Lord and his timing.  Waiting teaches a quiet, simple confidence that the Lord will do what he says he will do.  I serve a true God, one who keeps his word.  I serve a loving God, who knows me and care for me more deeply than I could ever image.  If I were given everything right off, I would miss the care the Lord takes in orchestrating my life.  Without a constant awareness of His hand in my life, I would miss all the subtle nuances and tiny treasures he sends my way everyday.

However, as anyone who's well versed in the art of waiting will tell you, these realities don't always things easier.  The idea of instant gratification that our culture has has such a deep hold on us.  We are inundated with us everyday.  Waiting is hard.  No one said it would be easy.  But a change is happening.  A change in me - small, imperceptible changes that I can't see but that are necessary.

I know that something good will come with the waiting.  Something that was never expected.

The Downside to Dum-Dums

I was sitting in a Starbucks this morning, waiting for a coffee companion who would ultimately never show.  I had arrived to our meeting early, intending to prepare and organize a few notes, but instead I started writing.  Here's what happened:

Friday I had an interesting interaction with two of my students.  The first was a fifth grade girl.  She had opened the fridge where our students keep their water bottles. provided by the program, and where I keep the students' drinks and dinners for the week.  You may also find the occasionally abandoned soft drink, not to mention at least 2 bottles each of chocolate and strawberry syrup used to flavor the white milk almost none of my students want to drink.  A little flavor goes a long way.

Anyway, she's opened the fridge to get her water bottle, which is numbered to discourage students from sharing more than just water.  Standing with the fridge open, she realizes her bottle is empty and says that she'll just drink from her older brother's bottle.  She's going to wait for us "to fill up her bottle" for her.

Excuse me?

I looked at her and stated simply that LA and I are not responsible for filling up the bottles.  The only time we even worry with them is when we wash them [or pick them up from the table, floor, desk, playground, etc where they are carelessly left].  Despite her family's presence in our program for a number of years, this student seemed surprised that it was her responsibility to refill her water.  [And as far as I know, she still didn't fill it!]

The second occurred while on our field trip last week.  The students visited a local credit union to deposit the money they earn for grades each nine weeks.  I sent two boys in to use the restroom and followed them in to see how many students were still in line.  Clearly, the boys weren't aware I had followed them inside.  Both boys, despite have to go "so badly" stopped at the desk just inside the door and asked for a dum-dum sucker.  Normally I wouldn't have thought anything of it, but both students had already deposited their money and, upon doing so successfully, had received a plastic cup and 2 suckers.

I am not ok with my students expecting to receive things when we go on field trips.  [On the flip side, I am grateful for the generous hearts of people within our community].  Part of me wonders about myself in this situation.  I'll admit, I chastised the boys once they got outside.  They had already received, were already given where gifts were not expected, and then returned to ask for more.  I think, why point out and correct over something as small as a dum-dum when my students already have so little?

But I also wonder, where does this sense of entitlement come from?  What does this say about how we are meeting the needs of these students and their families?  I strive to empower my students, not come at their every call.  I want my students to work hard, advocate for themselves, and earn what they get.

My students thrive on questions.  Anytime something new is in the office, there are endless questions.  Are those for us?  Can I have it now?  When?  What's it for?  Where did you get it?  When can I have it?  Who's it for?  Why is it here?  Is it going to stay here?  Did you eat cake without me?  [This last one is a particular favorite, and it was asked only one day.  Another group had had a parent meeting and served cake, the remainder of which was in the trash.  More than one student came by, looked in the trash, and wanted to know who had cake and if they would get any.  All before they even said hello].

I do want them to feel comfortable asking for things, particularly help.  I want to give them the tools they need to succeed.

I do not want them to be given everything, to expect gifts each time we go into the community.  Nor do I want to deny them little joys, or rush them into growing up.  They are entitled to a childhood.  Where's the balance here?  Am I wrong?

I am the luckiest

I have spent my morning lingering over coffee, curled on the couch reading for hours.  There was a half marathon in town today that ran though my neighborhood so I decided to delay any outings.  To sit and be has been so refreshing.

Even now, sitting on the couch I glance out the window and see bright and clear blue sky.  The green of the tall evergreens is stark against the blue.  The sun streams in, brightening the side of the house across the street.  Never before has it seemed so white, the trim of the windows so bold.  The tree outside my window waves a few leftover leaves at me, wind whistles under the roof of the porch like a swarm of insects.  The day looks warm, but I am not fooled - 50 degrees is still cold in my book.

Like this morning, yesterday truly was a day of small things.

I got some things done at the office, donning comfy clothes [cause it's Friday] and a second cup of coffee.  I was able to finish up a few projects I had going and, while things are always going on and up in the air, I ended my office time feeling satisfied.

I got to spend the afternoon with my [mostly] sweet students, laughing and eating crunchy noodles from atop a plastic bag, listening as small voices joined together to thank God before they began eating.

We danced through traffic, arms waving about our heads and our bodies bouncing in the seats, on our way to the bank for them to deposit their money.  Upon parking the van I see a familiar face making her way into the bank.  Honking gets me 10 minutes with my old college roommate, catching up with my van of students looking on and growing restless.  While they were waiting to go in, everyone stood outside in a parking space playing Simon Says and eating suckers.  We were barely in the car when it started to sprinkle.

As I drove a few of my students home, I got asked some pretty heavy questions.  What is cancer?  What is HIV?  How do you get them?  Why did Chris Brown hit Rihanna?  Is he in jail?  It's amazing the things 4th and 5th graders bring up, and I find the perspective of my ELL students to be the most interesting.  [Over Halloween, the big concern was poisoned candy, where it came from, how it got poisoned and why].  Although things can be hard to explain, and I certainly don't want to give answers that cause too much distress, I feel honored to be a part of the conversation.

As soon as I got home, I checked movie times and made the quick decision to go see a movie.  I had asked a few friends to join me earlier in the week but we couldn't all get together.  I saw About Time, and was actually glad that I saw it alone.  It's refreshing, sometimes, to do things alone.  After the movie was over, I chatted with another lady who had also come alone.  We talked outside the theatre for at least a half hour.

The drive home was quiet and warm for this time of year.  The moon was hanging low, bigger than I've seen in a while.  Almost perfectly round except for a sliver at the top, covered by a dark, thin cloud.  I tried to find a good spot to grab a picture, but couldn't; it would have never looked like the real thing anyway.

I've been trying to pay attention to the small things.  I want to be a noticer.  An appreciator.  It's got to be a habit; too much get lost in the daily grind.  The only want to make a habit is to practice, I suppose.

The Giver Quartet

Recently, I've been reading The Giver series by Lois Lowry.  I read the first book, The Giver, when I was in third grade.  I remember being forced to by my librarian and, while I liked the book, I didn't jump at the chance to re-read it.  I'm fairly sure that has been the only time, other than recently, that I indulged in the novel, but certain scenes stuck with me throughout my childhood.

There are four books in the series, but I've only gotten my hands on three of them [borrowed from my mother].  The only one I haven't read is The Messenger.  I started The Giver one Sunday while I was doing laundry, and was so involved in the story, I finished it the next day.

Source

All the stories take place in a very controlled society.  Especially in The Giver and Son, one can see the structure clearly.  Each year, children are celebrated in groups each year at a ceremony, where participants are granted something new unique to their age group.  Sevens receive a jacket.  Nines get a bike.  Twelves, the last year to celebrated, ring in adulthood with their Assignments, the jobs they will do for the rest of their lives.

Singles apply for spouses, and parents apply for children.  Each family may only have two.  Among the first scenes in Son is a birth.  Claire, the story's protagonist, is pregnant.  Her Assignment at Twelve was birthmother, and she gives birth at the ripe old age of fourteen.  She refers to herself in her role as a Vessel, and the baby is known as her Product.  As soon as she gives birth, the baby is removed and placed in a Nurturing Center where it will be cared for.  Claire is never meant to see or interact with her baby.

I'm still not far along in the last book, but each time I open it I can't help but wonder if, to some small extent, this is where society is headed.  A life where things are so controlled and life and creativity and individuality are devalued, even hidden.  In the second book, Gathering Blue, a young girl named Kira with a deformed leg and a seemingly magical talent for embroidery is kept in captivity after her mom dies.  Although she doesn't see it at first, the comfortable room in the Council Edifice slowly becomes a suffocating prison.  She and her friends Thomas [gifted with woodcarving] and Jo [a toddler with a powerful singing voice] begin to realize that they are being held captive because of their gifts.

I've wanted to comment on this series since I started but I'm not sure what exactly I want to say.  In reading this morning, I came across a passage in Son, where Claire is talking with her co-worker Jeannette.  Claire is the only employee at her job who has not attended the December Ceremonies - someone has to remain behind to work.  As her co-workers return from a day of sitting at the Ceremony, Claire asks Jeannette about the Naming of the Newchildren, for all one year old children receive their names and are placed with a family.  Jeannette confesses that she was startled to hear the name Paul given away.  That had been her father's name, and two people within the Community can not have the same name.  Names, however, can be regiven once someone dies.

Jeannette did not know her father had died.  And what's more, she did not seem upset.  Her description of her father was "very nice".  She seems to not even know about the personality of the family who raised her, or if she did, could not adequately express herself in words.  As Claire listens, she thinks to herself that she feels "a little sorry for Jeannette, although she didn't know exactly why."

Once the two children in a family grow up and receive their Assignments, the parents are moved to a special house for adults without children.  It seems there is no communication between families after this process.  There are no phone calls or visits, and each go on to live his or her own life.

How similar does this sound to our culture?  The desensitization of teen pregnancy, the devaluation of the elderly, and to some extent, the suffocation of individualism.  I've been reading some blogs lately where the parents are adopting, and I think Claire's unique situation also gives insight into the struggles and desires a birth mom has for the child she places up for adoption.

I'm still not far into the last book, and I look forward to what's to come.  I suppose I wrote all this to say  that it's worth a read.  Lowry has an excellent, fluid writing style and it doesn't take long to get sucked into this story that seems so inhumane and foreign, but at the same time, all too familiar.

Amidst tears and word cards

I'll admit, most of my students are enigmas to me.  Having only been on the job for a few months, and noting that this is a very different population than I'm used to working with, I spend a good bit of time learning to communicate with my students and then processing what I've learned.

Today was no different.  There is one student who has sporadic attendance in our program, and would rather choose to constantly run around, do cartwheels and turn circles rather than do homework.  My boss had a meeting with his teacher and mom today [I would have been there too if I hadn't gotten up late...oops] and I gained a little more insight into his life.

There is a slew of challenges going on in this child's life both at school and at home, and getting the background made the daily grind a little easier.  After getting the run down on the meeting, I spent the better part of my day making word cards.  He is surprisingly good in math but struggles in reading and spelling.  LA [my boss] and I hoped that by making letters cards and word matching, he would be more apt to study.  We hoped that giving him something to move, something to put his hands on, would entice him a bit.

Today was not his best day, and about an hour into program he was frustrated and crying [and it wasn't even related to homework!].  After a little coercion, he finally worked with me on the word cards.  There is a lot of work to be done, and I do not have a hard time envisioning more frustration and tears, but he seemed to enjoy the work.

I'll admit - working at my computer all day and putting together these activities for him was tedious.  By the end of it my shoulders hurt, my legs were restless, and it felt like I had wasted a day doing nothing but cutting paper.  For the last few weeks I've been working on individualized activities for my students to do once they finish their homework.  With more than 25 students in 9 different schools, I've been spending a lot of time in front of a computer.  The work seems to be never ending and I didn't realize how tiring it can be.

But watching him work today was the reward.  I wasn't sure he would be on board with the activities but he seemed to enjoy them [as much as he could in his current emotional state].

There are so many things going on in the lives of my students, and sometimes I forget they are just kids.  I'm still learning a ton every day, but I'm lucky enough to have students and a boss who give me grace each day as I fumble my way.  I know there are more long days ahead, more mistakes, more tears and frustration [from my students or me?].  But I know it all works for good, and I hope I get some insight one day into the long term effect.

'Tis the season

I do not enjoy Christmas like I used to.

I think there are a number of reasons for this.  My family traditions have changed.  Family members have moved away, others have died, many have had kids, some live in other countries.  It's hard to get everyone together and when it happens, it's typically not actually on Christmas.  Getting the family together was always my favorite part anyway.

Recently it seems the holidays have been coming around earlier.  I am not ok with Christmas commercials in September.  I am not ok with Christmas carols on radio stations 24-7 starting on the first of November.  I am not ok with the skipping over of Thanksgiving or the crazy advertisements businesses use to encourage me to spend more money and buy more things.  I think part of this stems from travelling to third world countries, particularly the trip I took to Ethiopia.  There are times I walk into a grocery store completely overwhelmed with the sheer bounty surrounding me.  How much abundance we have.  How little we recognize it.

Don't get me wrong.  I enjoy the decorations, the songs, the lights, the joyful spirit that is sometimes palpable.  Love Actually, The Santa Clause, and The Polar Express can frequently be found in my DVD player.  I still give and receive gifts.  But the overall experience is not the same.  I miss the anticipation that happened when I was younger.  

Sitting with my middle school students in youth group this past Sunday, we began talking about the upcoming advent season.  We asked the students what traditions they had with their families.  Some talked of advent calendars, others of wreaths.  One soft spoken student talked about how excited she is the morning of Christmas.  She smiled as she recounted how she typically gets up way before the sun, going into her older sister's room first and then her parents room, proclaiming Christmas and asking to get up to open presents, only to be told by both parties to return to bed.  After going back to bed, she is up every half hour, barely able to contain herself until she is given the ok to venture into the house.

I miss the anticipation of presents, the excitement for Christmas morning, and yet I wonder too, why can't we be this excited about the true reason for Christmas?  When did we lose Jesus in this holiday?  Most years, I believe that humanity steps up to the plate, and we can see people showering others with joy and love if we know where to look.  I want everyday, and particularly around Christmas, to feel that same anticipation as my students.  But I want it to be directed to the One who deserves it most.  How does one equate the excitement of presents to the importance of Jesus without seeming "preachy"?  

For me, this season I am focusing my attention on reviving that child-like anticipation.  I am paying particular attention to my students, watching them for cues as the excitement for the holidays and a break from school builds.  I want to share in this season with them, to be present.  I want to change my mindset a bit and try to experience the world through their eyes.  

I hope they can sense my expectation at all that is to come.

Knee Deep

I'm feeling knee deep in various projects.  I'm working on individualized SOL folders for my [28] students, plus the daily operations of our program.  I'm tutoring a second grader twice a week, trying to make homework interesting.  I'm seeking out opportunities to write.  I'm leading preschool play dates.  I'm delving head first into books, something I haven't done for quite some time.  I'm preparing for another [short] trip out of the country.  I'm meeting friends for dinner, teaching Sunday school, chatting with Jesus over coffee and coming to some realizations about myself and what I want.

My life is full.

I spend a good portion of my evenings contemplating worksheet ideas for my students, researching projects, drinking tea, reading and learning from others.  My students are not too happy about our new academic focus and really, who can blame them?  I'm still fumbling along blindly - I have no formal education or experience as an educator.  I get that they've sat in school all day and sometimes the last place they want to be is with me in after school, particularly the middle school students.  This project is in its infancy and worksheets are the go-to.  Hormones are raging and attitudes are sharp, and some days I feel like I spend more time defending than anything else.  There are days I feel incredibly overwhelmed and inadequate.  Is this really how it's supposed to go?

Despite the busy, the insufficient, the push back, I see the gift.  I see the small and the lovely, the special and cherished.  It comes wrapped in laughter as I tutor, causing us to lose all focus.  It comes in the face of a preschooler as he sticks is hand in paint and proudly smooshes it onto his paper.  It comes in strangers helping me load boxes of food to feed my students.  It comes in motivation and in falling exhausted into bed each evening.  It comes in the quiet and in the noise.

In light of that idea, I'm contemplating a shift on the blog.  Perhaps a new web address and title will roll out soon, providing a place for intentional reflection on the gifts I receive each day.

And boy, are those gifts abundant!

The meaning of [my] life

I've been doing a lot of self-searching lately, trying to figure out where I want to be in a year.  Where I could, realistically, be in a year.

I just moved into this apartment.  I like its location.  I just started this job, and I [usually] like going into work every day.  So why am I looking ahead; why am I thinking of moving on already?

For many years, I have seen myself leaving town and moving abroad.  It's only been in recent years that the dream has begun to be fleshed out, but I still lack the courage to go.  It's a scary thing, especially when you've lived your whole life in one town.

What if I go to a country where I don't speak the language?  How do I open a bank account in a new country?  Can I even work for wages?  What would it be like to uproot every significant relationship I've ever known?  Everyday things would be new - laundry, cooking, getting from one place to another.  And don't even get me started on the idea of my travelling alone, as a single white female.  The idea of completing ordinary tasks seems exciting and new, giving me a chance to marvel at the simplest of things.  But without warning those same tasks can change to objects of paralyzing fear.

But it seems that everywhere I turn, particularly in church and small group, I keep getting the same message:


Go.  Love.  Be.  Travel.  Orphans.  Fear not.


And yet I fear.  Still I doubt.  Is this really where I am called to go?  Is this really who I am meant to be?

Last week, an interesting idea was presented in our small group.  The quote -

"We were created to glorify God"  [John Piper I think although I can't be positive]

What would it mean to embody this idea, to really live it out every day?  I know that the work I'm doing now is meaningful [actually, it's pretty close to what I would want to do as a career.  I think I only want my location to change].  I also know that one's calling is not necessarily the same thing one does as a vocation.  So why do I still feel so called to go?

That same night, a second question was posted.  This is not the first time I've been presented with this inquiry, but it's not one I find terribly realistic so I've never truly considered it.


"What would you do if you knew you could not fail?"


[Who can imagine a world without failure?  Failure is always a possibility, a scary one.]

What would I do?  I would travel the world, write, create art and not worry about how it's not perfect right away.  I would work with orphans, see and do things, leave a notable mark on the earth and the lives of its inhabitants.

And then tonight, a final thought, related to our small group study of John 6:1-25.  Mission [the work and opportunities we are given by God to accomplish, partnering with Him as His kingdom is realized, whether or not we choose to accept them] precedes faith.  Contrary to our belief, we don't have to have a certain amount of faith before setting out on mission with Jesus.  We don't have to have certain skills perfected; we don't have to have it all together.  Faith is the expectation that God will show up.

Perhaps my calling is not overseas.  Perhaps I am called down the street, to the orphaned of this community.  Perhaps I am called to a community in another state.  I don't know yet [does anyone ever know for sure?], but I'm eager to find out.

Not Who I Used To Be

It's been a long time.

I'm sitting on the couch, indulging in a newly established ritual of a cup of hot tea before bed, researching the possibility of a blog project for my students, and it hits me.

It's been a long time.

I've had the itch to be creative, to reflect.  It's been there for a while but I haven't been quite sure how to satisfy it.

So I thought I'd resurrect this old friend and see what happens.

After all, if I'm going to be leading my students in such a project, perhaps I should have a little success in it first.  Or if not success, at least consistency.  But I suppose if nothing else, the old adage will hold true - "Those who can't do, teach."

Little bliss list

I read on another blog recently (http://artsyville.blogspot.com/ - check her out!) this idea of a little bliss list each week.  So I started doing it, keeping a list on my iPod, because I almost always have that with me, and turning it into art on Sundays.  Here are some highlights from last week's list...

Recycling crayons for our art/science project.

I. Love. Buttons.

So many pretty colors.  Too bad I don't sew (yet).

I wonder how many places these suitcases have seen...

This spot of sun is one of my favorites in the whole apt.  Always warm

Add to that list:

• spending an hour browsing in an antique shop just because
• art inspiration
• dancing
• prepping for the kids art project at 9:30am one morning last week
• reading
• the sound of kid's laughing (or really anyone for that matter)
• making pizzas at home with good friends
• cloudless skies
• beautiful and wise ladies you meet in life at random but who give you exactly what you need right then (and it wasn't something you went into the store to get)
• middle schoolers who share their books with you - and attach little notes to each one