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.