My sister and I awoke at dark-thirty this morning to take her to the airport in Austin. As we backed out of the driveway and headed down the road that today would lead us both away from home, I found myself amazed at the fact that we had shared ten days together as a family. A rare treat any time of the year, but especially during the holidays.
As I pulled away from the airport, I contemplated which route to choose to return to my house. Due to the rain and the hectic pace of I-35, I thought I'd take the longer, slower country route. But then I noticed a new road up ahead. A toll road that I'd heard good things about. One that beckoned me with its large letters advertising that it would take me to Waco. In spite of knowing little about the road's route and having no coins for the toll, I opted for the toll road.
It took a little while for me to figure out that I could drive to my heart's content, allowing the cameras to take pictures of my vehicle so that the authorities could bill me for the tolls later. Once I figured out this process, I enjoyed the drive over this unpopulated area outside the city that appeared to have been previously uncharted. The three other cars on my side of the road alternated places with me as we navigated the misting rain, watching the miles to Dallas decrease sign by sign.
After about forty minutes, my relaxing drive on the new road morphed into clenched jaws and white-knuckled hands on the steering wheel as I saw an unexpected sign: Toll road ends. Exit now onto I-35. With the rain starting to pound heavier, the toll road forced me to enter I-35 just north of Georgetown; its advertisement--that it would take me to Waco--a lie.
Although the toll road saved me from driving on I-35 for that brief period, I felt taken advantage of. I will receive a bill in the days ahead for driving on a road that I would not have taken had I known where it led. Yet, I know now not to use that road in the future.
I see similar parallels with some of the roads I have chosen to take in my life. I probably wouldn't have chosen some of them if I had known ahead of time the exact route that they would take or the place where they would end. Yet, some of them have taught me valuable lessons that I would not have learned any other way than by walking down them.
So as the New Year rapidly approaches, which road will you take? The one that is known, the one that is unknown, or maybe a combination of each? Whichever you choose, may you enjoy the scenery as you move down it.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
More Memories
In between rounds of the card games golf and spades, walking, and cooking, we've had some fun photo opportunities. Here's a glimpse of what's been going on at our house:
I wish we had a video that captured how we took the following shots by posing a camera on a tower of boxes. As hard as it is to capture children, it seems even more difficult to get a picture that three adult women will agree is good of everyone. There were at least seven (if not more) versions of this shot, but these two made my cut.
And here's what happens when you don't have the best lighting and wear a black sweater dress with black tights and black tall boots . . . it comes off as somewhat of a space suit!
I hope to recommence real blogging with words soon. Stay tuned!
Annie is such a sweetie and goes along with our antics.
Christmas carols, anyone?
"Santa" brought us a live noble fir from San Antonio, but Annie slept through it.
Annie decided to wait until Sunday to be photogenic.
A little sisterly fun!
I wish we had a video that captured how we took the following shots by posing a camera on a tower of boxes. As hard as it is to capture children, it seems even more difficult to get a picture that three adult women will agree is good of everyone. There were at least seven (if not more) versions of this shot, but these two made my cut.
And here's what happens when you don't have the best lighting and wear a black sweater dress with black tights and black tall boots . . . it comes off as somewhat of a space suit!
I hope to recommence real blogging with words soon. Stay tuned!
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Making Memories
It's as if Christmas time counts differently than the normal minutes and hours we see and feel the rest of the year. I've been home for three days, but even that feels like a minute in spite of all that we've done together as a family. Here are some of my favorite memories thus far:
On Thursday, my sister drove me and my dog home, and the almost 4.5 hour drive seemed like it took no time at all. We sang and talked and even got in a little shopping along the way. She said that the only reason she knew it had taken a while was that the steering wheel started to feel "fat." If you make long drives, hopefully you'll understand that.
At night, and only at night, it seems that my dog chooses the exact same place to go potty: right near the manger scene that is brightly illuminated in our neighbors' yard and right when there is a line of cars driving by to look at the lights.
On Friday, we took lunch to my mom at work. We received the royal treatment by being introduced as "Kathy's daughters." That evening, we made journals. It was as if we were at camp, and we enjoyed watching one another's creativity flow onto the covers.
On Saturday, we took a short road trip to a nearby town and did some shopping in an attic. Fun doesn't even begin to describe the time we had! We hope to make that an annual tradition.
Today, we visited with old friends at church and then received a surprise visit during the afternoon from one of the girls that I used to babysit. Mom answered the door and did not recognize the visitor until she introduced herself as Candice. It was fun to catch up with her and her family.
It's wonderful to have no place we "have" to be other than right where we are, spending time with each other and making memories. I hope that you allow Christmas time to go at its own pace and make wonderful memories with your family as well.
On Thursday, my sister drove me and my dog home, and the almost 4.5 hour drive seemed like it took no time at all. We sang and talked and even got in a little shopping along the way. She said that the only reason she knew it had taken a while was that the steering wheel started to feel "fat." If you make long drives, hopefully you'll understand that.
At night, and only at night, it seems that my dog chooses the exact same place to go potty: right near the manger scene that is brightly illuminated in our neighbors' yard and right when there is a line of cars driving by to look at the lights.
On Friday, we took lunch to my mom at work. We received the royal treatment by being introduced as "Kathy's daughters." That evening, we made journals. It was as if we were at camp, and we enjoyed watching one another's creativity flow onto the covers.
On Saturday, we took a short road trip to a nearby town and did some shopping in an attic. Fun doesn't even begin to describe the time we had! We hope to make that an annual tradition.Today, we visited with old friends at church and then received a surprise visit during the afternoon from one of the girls that I used to babysit. Mom answered the door and did not recognize the visitor until she introduced herself as Candice. It was fun to catch up with her and her family.
It's wonderful to have no place we "have" to be other than right where we are, spending time with each other and making memories. I hope that you allow Christmas time to go at its own pace and make wonderful memories with your family as well.
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Welcome Home!
It took over three weeks, numerous phone calls, and two trips to Knoxville, Tennessee, but my computer is finally home. It supposedly has a new hard drive and a new motherboard, so we'll see how it goes. The frustrating process of getting my computer fixed could be its own post, and it wouldn't paint me in a very nice light. So, I'll postpone that for now.
And now that my computer is home, it's time for me to leave. I am making the road trip home tomorrow and looking forward to having my sister at the helm during our annual sister road trip. I should be able to post from there as the muse and time allow.
In the meantime, I've posted my Christmas letter below and wish all of you a wonderful Christmas with family and friends!
And now that my computer is home, it's time for me to leave. I am making the road trip home tomorrow and looking forward to having my sister at the helm during our annual sister road trip. I should be able to post from there as the muse and time allow.
In the meantime, I've posted my Christmas letter below and wish all of you a wonderful Christmas with family and friends!
2008 Christmas Letter
My friend Madison was kind enough to highlight some points from my Christmas letter on her blog, so I've decided to post it here for those of you who know me only via the blogosphere.
As I sit down to write this letter and reflect on 2008, most of the year seems like a repeat of 2007. Same church, same friends, same job, same house, same dog. Had the year come to a close in June, I could have sent a duplicate of last year’s letter. But then July came, and my story changed.
While I was working at my same job, I was offered and accepted a part-time position to teach a class called Legal Analysis Research & Writing III. My duties included teaching a two-hour class for thirteen weeks on how to draft an appellate brief and prepare and deliver an appellate argument. It looked a lot easier on paper than it turned out to be.
While I was working at my same job, I was offered and accepted a part-time position to teach a class called Legal Analysis Research & Writing III. My duties included teaching a two-hour class for thirteen weeks on how to draft an appellate brief and prepare and deliver an appellate argument. It looked a lot easier on paper than it turned out to be.
The online chatter later came up to me and explained that the one-year anniversary of the death of a sibling was approaching and that she and her family were struggling to deal with the weight of the loss. The absent student explained that he was trying to keep a third-generation business going in a tough economy, as well as lead a family, and that, much to his chagrin, his classes were at the bottom of his priority list. The emailing student later revealed that he had a speech impediment and that it was much easier to email than to stutter through a question in front of his peers.
Just as Mary put her focus on relationships, by spending time with Elizabeth prior to giving birth to the Savior, my prayer is that we will also invest in those around us by taking the time to listen to their stories instead of assuming that we know a story just because a person acts a certain way.
So when you see a snowflake, I hope it will spur you to find out someone’s story. And I hope that you will share your story with me because I’d love to know how your story has changed this year.
Merry Christmas!
So when you see a snowflake, I hope it will spur you to find out someone’s story. And I hope that you will share your story with me because I’d love to know how your story has changed this year.
Merry Christmas!
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Paying Attention
As I've thought about the Christmas song that I posted below, a scene from my trip home at Thanksgiving has been replaying in my mind.
After I boarded the train, I noticed a father and daughter sitting in one row ahead of me on the opposite side of the train. I smiled as the father drew a picture for his daughter as his daughter coached him on what to add to the picture. A text message on the father's phone interrupted the scene unfolding on the drawing pad. He quickly typed a text message back. And then another. And then another.
At some point, he resumed drawing the scene that his daughter had requested, but not before his daugher asked, "Daddy, when are we going on a vacation?"
He replied, "We are on vacation. I'm off from work."
The response did not satisfy her. But she left her father alone with his phone.
This little girl has grown up in an age of electronics and probably doesn't crave the type of undivided attention that we, who grew up without parents with cell phones, know. Or does she?
I toyed with that question: whether we are all wired with a desire to have the undivided attention of a loved one. At our core, I think we do, and I think that people will fail to fulfill that desire over and over again throughout our lives.
But there is One who awaits to give us that undivided attention around the clock. We may not always feel seen, but He sees us. And my prayer is that we will turn to Him to meet our desires, not just during the holidays, but every day.
After I boarded the train, I noticed a father and daughter sitting in one row ahead of me on the opposite side of the train. I smiled as the father drew a picture for his daughter as his daughter coached him on what to add to the picture. A text message on the father's phone interrupted the scene unfolding on the drawing pad. He quickly typed a text message back. And then another. And then another.
At some point, he resumed drawing the scene that his daughter had requested, but not before his daugher asked, "Daddy, when are we going on a vacation?"
He replied, "We are on vacation. I'm off from work."
The response did not satisfy her. But she left her father alone with his phone.
This little girl has grown up in an age of electronics and probably doesn't crave the type of undivided attention that we, who grew up without parents with cell phones, know. Or does she?
I toyed with that question: whether we are all wired with a desire to have the undivided attention of a loved one. At our core, I think we do, and I think that people will fail to fulfill that desire over and over again throughout our lives.
But there is One who awaits to give us that undivided attention around the clock. We may not always feel seen, but He sees us. And my prayer is that we will turn to Him to meet our desires, not just during the holidays, but every day.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
2008 Christmas Song
Last year, I decided to post a new Christmas song that had quickly become my favorite. I want to continue this tradition, so this year I have chosen a song by Casting Crowns entitled "While You Were Sleeping."
Oh little town of Bethlehem
Looks like another silent night
Above your deep and dreamless sleep
A giant star lights up the sky
And while you're lying in the dark
There shines an everlasting light
For the King has left His throne
And is sleeping in a manger tonight
Oh Bethlehem, what you have missed while you were sleeping
For God became a man
And stepped into your world today
Oh Bethlehem, you will go down in history
As a city with no room for its King
While you were sleeping
While you were sleeping
Oh little town of Jerusalem
Looks like another silent night
The Father gave His only Son
The Way, the Truth, the Life had came
But there was no room for Him in the world He came to save
Jerusalem, what you have missed while you were sleeping
The Savior of the world is dying on your cross today
Jerusalem, you will go down in history
As a city with no room for its King
While you were sleeping
While you were sleeping
United States of America
Looks like another silent night
As we're sung to sleep by philosophies
That save the trees and kill the children
And while we're lying in the dark
There's a shout heard 'cross the eastern sky
For the Bridegroom has returned
And has carried His bride away in the night
America, what will we miss while we are sleeping
Will Jesus come again
And leave us slumbering where we lay
America, will we go down in history
As a nation with no room for its King
Will we be sleeping
Will we be sleeping
The verses about America are haunting. What will happen while we "are sleeping" or simply not paying attention? Will we allow ourselves to be lulled by the media and become numb to the struggles around us? Or will we take a different approach and open our hearts to those around us? Will we make room in our busy lives for our King?
Oh little town of Bethlehem
Looks like another silent night
Above your deep and dreamless sleep
A giant star lights up the sky
And while you're lying in the dark
There shines an everlasting light
For the King has left His throne
And is sleeping in a manger tonight
Oh Bethlehem, what you have missed while you were sleeping
For God became a man
And stepped into your world today
Oh Bethlehem, you will go down in history
As a city with no room for its King
While you were sleeping
While you were sleeping
Oh little town of Jerusalem
Looks like another silent night
The Father gave His only Son
The Way, the Truth, the Life had came
But there was no room for Him in the world He came to save
Jerusalem, what you have missed while you were sleeping
The Savior of the world is dying on your cross today
Jerusalem, you will go down in history
As a city with no room for its King
While you were sleeping
While you were sleeping
United States of America
Looks like another silent night
As we're sung to sleep by philosophies
That save the trees and kill the children
And while we're lying in the dark
There's a shout heard 'cross the eastern sky
For the Bridegroom has returned
And has carried His bride away in the night
America, what will we miss while we are sleeping
Will Jesus come again
And leave us slumbering where we lay
America, will we go down in history
As a nation with no room for its King
Will we be sleeping
Will we be sleeping
The verses about America are haunting. What will happen while we "are sleeping" or simply not paying attention? Will we allow ourselves to be lulled by the media and become numb to the struggles around us? Or will we take a different approach and open our hearts to those around us? Will we make room in our busy lives for our King?
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Technical Difficulties
I'm sorry to report that I had to leave my computer in the "kiss and cry" zone at Best Buy last Monday after the monitor started malfunctioning on Sunday. I'm hoping it will be returned soon with a new mother board and no problems, but I'm not holding my breath. I've already missed posting a handful of posts and regret that. I'll try to be up and running again soon. So stay tuned . . . .
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Celebrations
A friend once wrote about how life had changed from attending weddings every weekend to going to funerals. The celebrations in our lives change along with the seasons of our lives.
In my current season of life, birth announcements have far outnumbered wedding invitations in my mail box. So it was unusual to have a wedding to attend this weekend.
The bride has been a member of my community group for the past couple of years and has a huge heart for kids. In addition to loving on kids during the day while she teaches middle school, she uses her summer vacation to go to Africa to love on orphans. Her enthusiasm is infectious. So much so that she encouraged her husband Mac to go with her, not once but twice.
Here's the lovely couple:
At times, I've dreaded weddings because they aren't a lot of fun for singles. The whole bouquet toss makes me want to hide. But God has surrounded me with some great single ladies to encourage me as we walk this path together.
So after the Christmas cards come in, I'll have to see what the next round of celebrations looks like.
In my current season of life, birth announcements have far outnumbered wedding invitations in my mail box. So it was unusual to have a wedding to attend this weekend.
The bride has been a member of my community group for the past couple of years and has a huge heart for kids. In addition to loving on kids during the day while she teaches middle school, she uses her summer vacation to go to Africa to love on orphans. Her enthusiasm is infectious. So much so that she encouraged her husband Mac to go with her, not once but twice.
Here's the lovely couple:
At times, I've dreaded weddings because they aren't a lot of fun for singles. The whole bouquet toss makes me want to hide. But God has surrounded me with some great single ladies to encourage me as we walk this path together.
So after the Christmas cards come in, I'll have to see what the next round of celebrations looks like.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Real Friends
I joined Facebook on Sunday in order to view a friend's baby's pictures. I had no idea when I joined that I'd soon find myself rushing home in the evenings to see who had "friended" me and written on "my wall." I've immersed myself in this online subculture and have been trying to figure out how it all works.
Besides the sheer volume of people on Facebook, I'm shocked by how easily people "friend" one another. Shortly after I joined, I received several friend invitations from people I consider acquaintances or friends of friends. I didn't know exactly what to do. These aren't people I would look to if I needed help but would probably speak to or wave at if I encountered them on the street. Yet, as far as I can tell, there's no "acquaintance" subgroup to put these people in. Similarly, I haven't found a subheading for those true blue friends who have seen me through some tough times and celebrated with me on the other side. Instead, each person's friend total is listed in one grouping: You have 62 Friends.
So to all of you who are addicted to Facebook like me, has it loosened your definition of what a "friend" is? If so, is that a bad thing? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this.
Besides the sheer volume of people on Facebook, I'm shocked by how easily people "friend" one another. Shortly after I joined, I received several friend invitations from people I consider acquaintances or friends of friends. I didn't know exactly what to do. These aren't people I would look to if I needed help but would probably speak to or wave at if I encountered them on the street. Yet, as far as I can tell, there's no "acquaintance" subgroup to put these people in. Similarly, I haven't found a subheading for those true blue friends who have seen me through some tough times and celebrated with me on the other side. Instead, each person's friend total is listed in one grouping: You have 62 Friends.
So to all of you who are addicted to Facebook like me, has it loosened your definition of what a "friend" is? If so, is that a bad thing? I'd love to hear your thoughts on this.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Let Them Eat Fruitcake
When I want a quick read to break up my nonfiction reading, I often turn to chick lit. So I was excited when my friend Tina offered me the chance to participate in a blog tour for Melody Carlson's new chick lit book entitled Let Them Eat Fruitcake.
I love reading books during the same time of the year when the story is set. So I think it's no coincidence that this blog tour is taking place near the same time as the book is set. The opening scene takes place on Thanksgiving Day and follows the four unlikely roommates of 86 Bloomberg Place as they try to navigate single life together and prepare to throw a Christmas Eve party.
There's Lilani, who is working at Nordstrom after mysteriously dropping out of medical school. She's dating Gil, whose sister is fellow roommate Anna.
Anna is working at a publishing company and struggling with whether she has feelings for a co-worker or her ex-boyfriend who broke her heart but has found his way back into her life.
Megan works for an interior designer akin to The Devil Wears Prada and is dating a guy who doesn't share all of her beliefs.
And Kendall, who owns the house that the four girls share, is unemployed and hasn't yet learned that debt and guilt don't have to be her constant companions.
Let’s face it, relationships can be hard work--whether they’re with family and friends, coworkers and customers, or boyfriends and girlfriends. And when you’ve got your first place to live, a real job, and grown-up responsibilities, relationships are loaded with confusion, emotion, and secrets you can’t tell anyone but God. Thank goodness He’s always around to listen!
With such an encouraging message, Let Them Eat Fruitcake is a delightful, quick read. So before your holidays get hectic, go over to amazon.com and pick up a copy of Let Them Eat Fruitcake for yourself or to give as a gift. To learn more about author Melody Carlson, check out her website here.
And if you leave a comment on this post by 5 p.m. CST on Novemer 21, your name will be entered into a drawing for a $25 gift certificate to the Collin Street Bakery. The Collin Street Bakery is world-famous for its - you guessed it - fruitcake and will deliver baked goods almost anywhere in the world. You can enter multiple times by commenting on more than one post (but only one comment per post will be counted). You are also eligible to enter by commenting on other posts in the tour; see the list of participating blogs below. [Disclosure: I received this book for free as part of the blog tour.]
A Little Bit of Sunshine
A Peek at My Bookshelf
Artistic Blogger
Behind the Mountain
Blog Tour Spot
Book Nook Club
Camy’s Loft
Christy’s Book Blog
Fictionary
Gatorskunz and Mudcats
His Reading List
i don’t believe in grammar
Kells Creative Musings
Leap of Faith
Lighthouse Academy
Lone Star Latte and Libre
Mystery, Suspense, and God, Oh My!
Net’s Notes
Real Women Scrap
Refresh My Soul
So Many Books… So Little Time
The Friendly Book Nook
The Writing Road
wandering, wonderings of a whacked-out woman
Write by Faith
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Freedom in Completion
Thirteen classes taught.
Twenty-two oral arguments listened to and critiqued.
On August 18, the night before classes began, I couldn't imagine getting to this night. A night of freedom. The hardest parts of my job are behind me. All that remains is to grade the briefs, two of which are done.
In many ways, this time has flown by, or at least the latter part did. To think that Michael Phelps was on television winning gold medals when I started teaching helps put this in perspective. That seems like eons ago.
But I didn't get to this point on my own. Many prayers were answered. Prayers for health, protection, wisdom, words, and stamina. And I learned more than I could have imagined. Not just about teaching but about myself. Things that I'm sure I wouldn't have learned unless I went through this ordeal.
I appreciate all the encouragement you have given me and all the prayers that have been offered on my behalf. They supported me and carried me.
And now, I place my "professor" title on a shelf to collect dust, and I relax in the freedom that comes from fulfilled requirements and a job that's done.
Twenty-two oral arguments listened to and critiqued.
On August 18, the night before classes began, I couldn't imagine getting to this night. A night of freedom. The hardest parts of my job are behind me. All that remains is to grade the briefs, two of which are done.
In many ways, this time has flown by, or at least the latter part did. To think that Michael Phelps was on television winning gold medals when I started teaching helps put this in perspective. That seems like eons ago.
But I didn't get to this point on my own. Many prayers were answered. Prayers for health, protection, wisdom, words, and stamina. And I learned more than I could have imagined. Not just about teaching but about myself. Things that I'm sure I wouldn't have learned unless I went through this ordeal.
I appreciate all the encouragement you have given me and all the prayers that have been offered on my behalf. They supported me and carried me.
And now, I place my "professor" title on a shelf to collect dust, and I relax in the freedom that comes from fulfilled requirements and a job that's done.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Out of the Rut
If left to my own devices, I'd indulge my "homebody" nature every weekend, and all of my weekends would look alike. But this weekend, I managed to break out of the rut.
Last night, I attended The Great Debate. In the wake of the movie Expelled, a local church brought together four speakers representing various perspectives on intelligent design. Two of the speakers had been featured in the movie, so it was interesting to see them in person and to watch them debate each other, which they did not have the opportunity to do in the film. I'm not sure I took away any new insights, but that's probably because my views are well-settled on the issue.
I spent today helping my friend Clarissa get her nursery ready for her second child. Her love language is acts of service, and I often have trouble figuring out how to serve her because she seems to have it all together. When she spoke of her need to get the nursery organized, I jumped on the chance to help her and to spend time chatting with her, knowing that come Friday, she'll have her hands full with a newborn and a three-year-old daughter.
Afterwards, I went back to my normal routine of watching Saturday night college football and praying for losses to enable the Longhorns to move back up in the rankings. Old habits die hard.
Last night, I attended The Great Debate. In the wake of the movie Expelled, a local church brought together four speakers representing various perspectives on intelligent design. Two of the speakers had been featured in the movie, so it was interesting to see them in person and to watch them debate each other, which they did not have the opportunity to do in the film. I'm not sure I took away any new insights, but that's probably because my views are well-settled on the issue.
I spent today helping my friend Clarissa get her nursery ready for her second child. Her love language is acts of service, and I often have trouble figuring out how to serve her because she seems to have it all together. When she spoke of her need to get the nursery organized, I jumped on the chance to help her and to spend time chatting with her, knowing that come Friday, she'll have her hands full with a newborn and a three-year-old daughter.
Afterwards, I went back to my normal routine of watching Saturday night college football and praying for losses to enable the Longhorns to move back up in the rankings. Old habits die hard.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Don't Postpone Joy
I read the above statement on a note card at the Christmas in Cowtown event a few weeks back. It has lingered on my mind because I seem to think that I have to wait for joy.
Until the house is clean.
Until the errands are run.
Until the work is done.
Until the Longhorns return to #1 in the BCS rankings.
Until the semester is over.
Until the New Year.
Until I'm married.
Until the next presidential election.
Until I have a family.
Until . . . .
It's not as if I don't have things in my life to be joyful about. I have many. But I often find myself in numb mode, living life by simply going through the motions. Trying to achieve a certain accomplishment or status to get my joy.
But this little statement--Don't postpone joy--along with Paul's words to
"[b]e joyful always" (1 Thes. 5:16) are great reminders that we can choose to live joyfully every day instead of postponing joy as a future reward that must be earned.
What will you choose to be joyful about today?
Until the house is clean.
Until the errands are run.
Until the work is done.
Until the Longhorns return to #1 in the BCS rankings.
Until the semester is over.
Until the New Year.
Until I'm married.
Until the next presidential election.
Until I have a family.
Until . . . .
It's not as if I don't have things in my life to be joyful about. I have many. But I often find myself in numb mode, living life by simply going through the motions. Trying to achieve a certain accomplishment or status to get my joy.
But this little statement--Don't postpone joy--along with Paul's words to
"[b]e joyful always" (1 Thes. 5:16) are great reminders that we can choose to live joyfully every day instead of postponing joy as a future reward that must be earned.
What will you choose to be joyful about today?
Monday, November 3, 2008
Reminders of Truth
On this election eve, I need some reminders of Truth to lean on as the fears and questions about the outcome of the election swirl in my head. Amidst this uncertainty, here are some Psalms that focus on God's sovereignty:
But my eyes are fixed on you, O Sovereign LORD; in you I take refuge. (Psalm 141:8)
For you have been my hope, O Sovereign LORD, my confidence since my youth. (Psalm 71:5)
Our God is a God who saves; from the Sovereign LORD comes escape from death. (Psalm 68:20)
Father God, I pray for Your grace to cover this election and for You to be glorified in the outcome. Help me to remember to pray often for those in positions of leadership. Amen.
But my eyes are fixed on you, O Sovereign LORD; in you I take refuge. (Psalm 141:8)
For you have been my hope, O Sovereign LORD, my confidence since my youth. (Psalm 71:5)
Our God is a God who saves; from the Sovereign LORD comes escape from death. (Psalm 68:20)
Father God, I pray for Your grace to cover this election and for You to be glorified in the outcome. Help me to remember to pray often for those in positions of leadership. Amen.
Sunday, November 2, 2008
August Evening
After reading a good book or watching a great movie, I often struggle to find appropriate adjectives to capture the essence of what I experienced. I'm in the midst of that struggle tonight after having watched the beautiful film August Evening, which I previewed twenty minutes of back in December. It was well worth the wait to see the full-length, critically acclaimed film.
August Evening, which was filmed in my hometown and in San Antonio, felt like a trip home to see family and friends. I realized while watching the film that I've often failed to see the beauty in my hometown and have instead focused on how rundown parts of it are becoming. But writer, director, editor, and Gonzales County native Chris Eska captured the beauty of familiar downtown buildings as well as picturesque countryside vistas.
But even more than the beauty of the town, he captured the beauty of relationships that exist among different generations. The film follows a migrant worker's family as its members deal with life's disappointments and the love that exists in spite of such disappointments.
Unlike Hollywood movies with multimillion dollar budgets that often leave you and your pocketbook feeling a bit empty, this Texas film's authenticity is a rare find. So check out the screening information on the film's website and take the opportunity to watch a film that is deserving and worthy of the "Best Film" designation it has been winning at film festivals across the country.
August Evening, which was filmed in my hometown and in San Antonio, felt like a trip home to see family and friends. I realized while watching the film that I've often failed to see the beauty in my hometown and have instead focused on how rundown parts of it are becoming. But writer, director, editor, and Gonzales County native Chris Eska captured the beauty of familiar downtown buildings as well as picturesque countryside vistas.
But even more than the beauty of the town, he captured the beauty of relationships that exist among different generations. The film follows a migrant worker's family as its members deal with life's disappointments and the love that exists in spite of such disappointments.
Unlike Hollywood movies with multimillion dollar budgets that often leave you and your pocketbook feeling a bit empty, this Texas film's authenticity is a rare find. So check out the screening information on the film's website and take the opportunity to watch a film that is deserving and worthy of the "Best Film" designation it has been winning at film festivals across the country.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Hearty Pansies
I love how the seasons of the year mirror what God can do in our hearts. As I mentioned in the previous post, I recently pulled out the vinca flowers in my miniature garden and sent them off to recycling. I replaced them with pansies, which can weather the late October heat as well as the bitterness of an unexpected January freeze.As I pondered the diverse conditions that pansies can withstand, the first thought that I had was that it would be a good idea to have the same resillience as these pansies. However, the more I reflected, it struck me that it would be unauthentic to show no weakness, and it is a bit disturbing that they don't change into something better after being tried by fire and ice. Instead, the pansy above that I planted will simply multiply over the coming months.
So, I think I'll stick with the heart that God gave me that often bends and breaks but seems to have a bit more character after enduring the storms of life.
Friday, October 31, 2008
Exterior Changes
Five years ago, I bought a house. (It's a bit clearer in real life; this is a picture of a picture.)
Some of its features bothered me. For one, the broken gas lantern screamed, "Juveniles, here's a place to play with fire." The landscape was lopsided. The gray door needed some color. And so the work began.
After the initial changes were complete, new ones made it on to my radar screen. Like the screen door that blocked out the bright red door. And the vinca that grew out of control. So a few more changes commenced.
Though these changes have attempted to improve the curb appeal of my house, they would never convince someone to buy my house if the inside of my house is in disrepair.
If this sounds like a similar post, it's because it probably is. I seem to need to repeat some lessons, and the amazing God that we serve finds unique ways of getting my attention. This time by using the analogy of my house to enlighten me that there is a similar pattern in my life.
I always have a list of personal changes that I'd like to make. I gravitate toward the quick changes. I get a new haircut, a makeover, or a new outfit to improve my outward appearance. But the internal changes that take a bit longer to make remain on the list. And because I keep putting them off, I receive these not-so-subtle reminders.
Does this ring true for you?
Some of its features bothered me. For one, the broken gas lantern screamed, "Juveniles, here's a place to play with fire." The landscape was lopsided. The gray door needed some color. And so the work began.
After the initial changes were complete, new ones made it on to my radar screen. Like the screen door that blocked out the bright red door. And the vinca that grew out of control. So a few more changes commenced.
Though these changes have attempted to improve the curb appeal of my house, they would never convince someone to buy my house if the inside of my house is in disrepair.If this sounds like a similar post, it's because it probably is. I seem to need to repeat some lessons, and the amazing God that we serve finds unique ways of getting my attention. This time by using the analogy of my house to enlighten me that there is a similar pattern in my life.
I always have a list of personal changes that I'd like to make. I gravitate toward the quick changes. I get a new haircut, a makeover, or a new outfit to improve my outward appearance. But the internal changes that take a bit longer to make remain on the list. And because I keep putting them off, I receive these not-so-subtle reminders.
Does this ring true for you?
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
The Provider
"How was yesterday's class?" you ask.
"Great."
"Really?"
"That's what I heard."
My lunch didn't agree with me yesterday. About an hour before class, I began to doubt my capability to carry out my planned lesson. I went to one of my co-workers and asked if he'd cover for me. At first, he declined, but then he realized that one of the teams he coaches would be presenting a demonstration and jumped at the chance to see them perform.
Thankfully, this wasn't a two-hour lecture class. My plan was to pass back their last assignment and show them clips from two arguments so that they could get a feel for what they will need to do.
But the fact that there wasn't a lengthy lecture planned didn't make what God did any less magnificent. I was in awe that God provided someone who was willing to step in at the last minute and who was more capable than me of presenting the materials. Because my co-worker coaches a team, he knows what the students should be aiming for in their own arguments. He was able to add in his own commentary for the clips and point out good and bad things that each of the speakers did.
So for class 11, the script played out a little differently and a lot better than I had planned. All because I let Someone else take charge.
If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen. (1 Peter 4:10)
"Great."
"Really?"
"That's what I heard."
My lunch didn't agree with me yesterday. About an hour before class, I began to doubt my capability to carry out my planned lesson. I went to one of my co-workers and asked if he'd cover for me. At first, he declined, but then he realized that one of the teams he coaches would be presenting a demonstration and jumped at the chance to see them perform.
Thankfully, this wasn't a two-hour lecture class. My plan was to pass back their last assignment and show them clips from two arguments so that they could get a feel for what they will need to do.
But the fact that there wasn't a lengthy lecture planned didn't make what God did any less magnificent. I was in awe that God provided someone who was willing to step in at the last minute and who was more capable than me of presenting the materials. Because my co-worker coaches a team, he knows what the students should be aiming for in their own arguments. He was able to add in his own commentary for the clips and point out good and bad things that each of the speakers did.
So for class 11, the script played out a little differently and a lot better than I had planned. All because I let Someone else take charge.
If anyone serves, he should do it with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power for ever and ever. Amen. (1 Peter 4:10)
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Still Learning, Part 3a - Students' Assumptions
Had I sat down to write this on Tuesday evening, therapy writing would have poured forth. Many people with whom I came into contact that night got to hear the live version of my frustration. But thankfully, the time gap has produced some prospective.
Towards the end of Tuesday's class, something that I have been saying almost every week since class 4 finally got through to the students, probably because their major paper is due in a little over two weeks. When I reinformed them that they would have to support their arguments with citations, they reacted by informing me that they didn't write that way last year and were forbidden from such a practice. Their nonverbal reactions proclaimed, "Professor, you don't know what you are talking about."
I have only two classes left to attempt to overcome the unspoken moron label I've now "earned." I think that begins by urging them to put aside their assumptions--that this class would be a continuation of their last two writing classes. My job is to teach them to write something they've never been instructed on how to write before, and yet they are convinced that they should be able to use the same format that they used last year. Even though some have admitted that this "new way" sounds more logical and makes more sense to them, they still think I'm off base because I'm asking them to go against what they learned in the past.
Jesus faced similar attacks as He taught. I've always wondered how the people in Jesus's day could fail to believe the gospel when they had God in-the-flesh standing in front of them. But I think I've failed to account for how hard the law was drilled into them. Everything they did was guided by the law, and this grace that Jesus preached was a foreign concept. Sure, it sounded good, but it wasn't what they were used to. So they resisted.
In other words, this battle I'm facing is nothing new. Resistance is a normal response when asking people to change their ways. I just didn't expect the students to assume that old rules applied to a new type of writing assignment. But, I'm hopeful that the lure of a good grade will convince many students to put aside their old ways of writing and adopt the new ones.
Towards the end of Tuesday's class, something that I have been saying almost every week since class 4 finally got through to the students, probably because their major paper is due in a little over two weeks. When I reinformed them that they would have to support their arguments with citations, they reacted by informing me that they didn't write that way last year and were forbidden from such a practice. Their nonverbal reactions proclaimed, "Professor, you don't know what you are talking about."
I have only two classes left to attempt to overcome the unspoken moron label I've now "earned." I think that begins by urging them to put aside their assumptions--that this class would be a continuation of their last two writing classes. My job is to teach them to write something they've never been instructed on how to write before, and yet they are convinced that they should be able to use the same format that they used last year. Even though some have admitted that this "new way" sounds more logical and makes more sense to them, they still think I'm off base because I'm asking them to go against what they learned in the past.
Jesus faced similar attacks as He taught. I've always wondered how the people in Jesus's day could fail to believe the gospel when they had God in-the-flesh standing in front of them. But I think I've failed to account for how hard the law was drilled into them. Everything they did was guided by the law, and this grace that Jesus preached was a foreign concept. Sure, it sounded good, but it wasn't what they were used to. So they resisted.
In other words, this battle I'm facing is nothing new. Resistance is a normal response when asking people to change their ways. I just didn't expect the students to assume that old rules applied to a new type of writing assignment. But, I'm hopeful that the lure of a good grade will convince many students to put aside their old ways of writing and adopt the new ones.
Friday, October 17, 2008
The Diamond in Dallas
Last night, as a continuation of the birthday celebration, I boarded the train and headed east.
A concert for the generations was on tap. I left my rule-following tendencies behind in the west and captured these shots as the legendary lyrics from this man got the crowd on its feet.
A concert for the generations was on tap. I left my rule-following tendencies behind in the west and captured these shots as the legendary lyrics from this man got the crowd on its feet.
"Forever in Blue Jeans" and "Sweet Caroline" were by far the biggest crowd pleasers. Sadly, the crowd didn't respond as much to the newer hits, including "Pretty Amazing Grace," whose lyrics run deep and strike a chord with me.
Neil put on quite a show, but so did the crowd. The audience included young girls about five years old to those in wheelchairs with oxygen tanks beside them (no joke, three of them rode over on the train with us). Some of the audience members probably should have gotten a check-up from their doctors before coming to the concert because one lady (who was completely sober) almost fell while attempting to stand up to dance, and one man sat with his hand on his heart throughout the performance. And you'd have thought that Neil was as good-looking as Patrick Dempsey by the way the middle-aged, married women were swooning and fanning themselves. It was a sight to behold!
I can now cross Neil off my "Must See Before He Dies" list and move on to others, like Josh Groban, who are on my "Must See Before I Die" list.
Neil put on quite a show, but so did the crowd. The audience included young girls about five years old to those in wheelchairs with oxygen tanks beside them (no joke, three of them rode over on the train with us). Some of the audience members probably should have gotten a check-up from their doctors before coming to the concert because one lady (who was completely sober) almost fell while attempting to stand up to dance, and one man sat with his hand on his heart throughout the performance. And you'd have thought that Neil was as good-looking as Patrick Dempsey by the way the middle-aged, married women were swooning and fanning themselves. It was a sight to behold!
I can now cross Neil off my "Must See Before He Dies" list and move on to others, like Josh Groban, who are on my "Must See Before I Die" list.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Queen for a Day
Everyone should have the chance to feel as celebrated as I've felt today. I wish I had pictures to capture all the wonderful things my family and friends did for me today from birthday wishes sent via text, email, and regular mail to packages that arrived overflowing with love and thoughtfulness to meals composed of all of my favorite dishes. Who wouldn't feel loved with all this?
But I feel loved day in and day out because God has surrounded me with an amazing group of people who love Him and let His love overflow through them. I am blessed beyond measure. So thank you for loving me well and making my birthday so special.
(The yummy red velvet cake from Bluebonnet Bakery that I took to work today. But even this tasty treat could not compare with my friend Lee Ann's homemade cooked banana pudding with meringue, which was served warm right after a meal of chicken spaghetti, beef stroganoff, and salad prepared by Lee Ann, Sandi, and Susie. And the fifty-degree temperature outside made this warm food taste even better. I must be livin' right, as my friend Susie would say.)
*Note: I confess that I am also the queen of delayed postings. I started this post, along with the two others below it, earlier in the week but did not post them until Oct. 17.
But I feel loved day in and day out because God has surrounded me with an amazing group of people who love Him and let His love overflow through them. I am blessed beyond measure. So thank you for loving me well and making my birthday so special.
(The yummy red velvet cake from Bluebonnet Bakery that I took to work today. But even this tasty treat could not compare with my friend Lee Ann's homemade cooked banana pudding with meringue, which was served warm right after a meal of chicken spaghetti, beef stroganoff, and salad prepared by Lee Ann, Sandi, and Susie. And the fifty-degree temperature outside made this warm food taste even better. I must be livin' right, as my friend Susie would say.)*Note: I confess that I am also the queen of delayed postings. I started this post, along with the two others below it, earlier in the week but did not post them until Oct. 17.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
Class Notes
22 = the number of students in my class
19 = the number of papers I wanted to shred this past weekend as I graded assignments that revealed my directions had not been followed
9 = the number of classes I have taught
4 = the number of classes that still remain
3 = the number of weeks until the students' big paper is due
2 = the number of substantive classes left to prep for
1 = the number of days until my birthday
19 = the number of papers I wanted to shred this past weekend as I graded assignments that revealed my directions had not been followed
9 = the number of classes I have taught
4 = the number of classes that still remain
3 = the number of weeks until the students' big paper is due
2 = the number of substantive classes left to prep for
1 = the number of days until my birthday
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Still Learning, Part 3 (Updated)
A few classes back, one of my students laughed and played on the internet without trying to hide it for the entire two-hour class. Even though I knew that I couldn't force this student to learn and that it was this student's choice to ignore me, I was frustrated, to put it mildly.
I thought I had this student all figured out. I presumed the student was bored or simply chose to chat online instead of take notes.
Even though I know better than to assume, I did so anyway. I labeled this student in a negative way in my mind. And braced myself for what would unfold in the next class. Only the student no-showed.
Fast forward to today.
I walked into my classroom a bit early, and the only person waiting in the room was the laughing, internet-obsessed student from a few weeks ago. The student approached me and explained that life was not going well. This was a particularly difficult time: it was the one-year anniversary of a younger sibling's death. A death that the family didn't grieve well. And as a result, they were struggling individually and as a family. Those earlier harsh thoughts dashed out of my head as I choked back tears, encouraged this student to take some time to grieve, and offered my condolences.
This student's personal struggles in the midst of a tough semester made me grateful that I didn't have any family tragedies while I was in grad school. It also reminded me that everyone has a story. Every student has a life outside of class. One filled with other responsibilities and relationships that produce joy, sorrows, anxiety, and any number of other emotions. And each day when I step into the classroom, I'm competing not only with the distraction of their wireless internet computers but also with all the life baggage that they bring into the classroom. If I remember that, hopefully I'll be a little more compassionate the next time a student seems disinterested in my lectures.
Brandon Heath's song "Give Me Your Eyes" echoes the tune that has been playing in my heart ever since this encounter:
Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me your love for humanity
Give me your arms for the broken hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me your heart for the once forgotten
yeah
yeah
yeah
yeah
I've been there a million times
A couple of million eyes
just move and pass me by
I swear I never thought that I was wrong
Well I want a second glance
So give me a second chance
To see the way you see the people all alone
I thought I had this student all figured out. I presumed the student was bored or simply chose to chat online instead of take notes.
Even though I know better than to assume, I did so anyway. I labeled this student in a negative way in my mind. And braced myself for what would unfold in the next class. Only the student no-showed.
Fast forward to today.
I walked into my classroom a bit early, and the only person waiting in the room was the laughing, internet-obsessed student from a few weeks ago. The student approached me and explained that life was not going well. This was a particularly difficult time: it was the one-year anniversary of a younger sibling's death. A death that the family didn't grieve well. And as a result, they were struggling individually and as a family. Those earlier harsh thoughts dashed out of my head as I choked back tears, encouraged this student to take some time to grieve, and offered my condolences.
This student's personal struggles in the midst of a tough semester made me grateful that I didn't have any family tragedies while I was in grad school. It also reminded me that everyone has a story. Every student has a life outside of class. One filled with other responsibilities and relationships that produce joy, sorrows, anxiety, and any number of other emotions. And each day when I step into the classroom, I'm competing not only with the distraction of their wireless internet computers but also with all the life baggage that they bring into the classroom. If I remember that, hopefully I'll be a little more compassionate the next time a student seems disinterested in my lectures.
Brandon Heath's song "Give Me Your Eyes" echoes the tune that has been playing in my heart ever since this encounter:
Give me your eyes for just one second
Give me your eyes so I can see
Everything that I keep missing
Give me your love for humanity
Give me your arms for the broken hearted
The ones that are far beyond my reach
Give me your heart for the once forgotten
yeah
yeah
yeah
yeah
I've been there a million times
A couple of million eyes
just move and pass me by
I swear I never thought that I was wrong
Well I want a second glance
So give me a second chance
To see the way you see the people all alone
Monday, October 6, 2008
Morning Coffee with Jesus
My friend Renae recently asked some of her friends to guest post on her blog. She's walking her readers through the life of Jesus, and she asked me to cover Jesus's encounter with Levi. You can read what I wrote here. Just be sure to grab some coffee to go with your morning reading!
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Consistent
This word rambles about inside my head. In some ways it defines me--I consistently read my friends' blogs, pay bills on time, get health check-ups, and more often than not, sleep at least eight hours a night. In other ways, this idea of being consistent seems elusive because I'm not consistent in all areas in my life, though I long to be
Consistent with exercising.
Consistent with eating healthy foods.
Consistent with writing well and writing on a regular basis.
Consistent with keeping in touch with friends.
Consistent with staying in the Word.
Consistent with growing in my relationship with God.
Consistent with loving others who seem difficult to love.
Consistent with turning a deaf ear to gossip.
On a daily basis, I make choices that frustrate my attempt to be consistent in these areas of my life. I simply walk off the path that I need to be on, failing to recognize my wandering choices until after the fact. Remarkably, I usually get back on the right path within a short time. But I seem to beat myself up for all the little slip-ups along the way that result in my being inconsistent. At that point, I want to toss out the concept of being consistent and just do as I please. But I don't.
Maybe because God's Word says,
So we're not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There's far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can't see now will last forever. (2 Corinthians 4:16, The Message)
There's no requirement that I be perfect. Instead, it's incumbent upon me to not give up. To press on, allowing God to change me in and through the process. And when I have cause to doubt, I need only look at the truly consistent things in this life: God's unconditional love for me and how He has allowed me to experience that love through my family.
Consistent with exercising.
Consistent with eating healthy foods.
Consistent with writing well and writing on a regular basis.
Consistent with keeping in touch with friends.
Consistent with staying in the Word.
Consistent with growing in my relationship with God.
Consistent with loving others who seem difficult to love.
Consistent with turning a deaf ear to gossip.
On a daily basis, I make choices that frustrate my attempt to be consistent in these areas of my life. I simply walk off the path that I need to be on, failing to recognize my wandering choices until after the fact. Remarkably, I usually get back on the right path within a short time. But I seem to beat myself up for all the little slip-ups along the way that result in my being inconsistent. At that point, I want to toss out the concept of being consistent and just do as I please. But I don't.
Maybe because God's Word says,
So we're not giving up. How could we! Even though on the outside it often looks like things are falling apart on us, on the inside, where God is making new life, not a day goes by without his unfolding grace. These hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times, the lavish celebration prepared for us. There's far more here than meets the eye. The things we see now are here today, gone tomorrow. But the things we can't see now will last forever. (2 Corinthians 4:16, The Message)
There's no requirement that I be perfect. Instead, it's incumbent upon me to not give up. To press on, allowing God to change me in and through the process. And when I have cause to doubt, I need only look at the truly consistent things in this life: God's unconditional love for me and how He has allowed me to experience that love through my family.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Change What Can Be Changed
This post serves as a double update for class last week and this week since I failed to blog last week.
In preparation for last Tuesday, I decided to change the things I could change. So, I scrapped the nine-page reading assignment for the week and revised the syllabus. I felt a lot of relief simply from making those two minor changes. I pulled some examples from another book that I wish was the chosen text and created a grammar and punctuation exercise that opened their eyes more than they had expected. I also gave the students a survey to find out what topics they want more emphasis on and what ways they best learn. And thankfully, we made it the full two hours.
After last week's class, I felt burned out. I wanted a break. None was in sight, so I created one. I didn't begin to work on school work until late Friday night. It made for a bit of a jam-packed prep weekend, but this was the week I was most "excited" about because there seemed to be plenty of material to cover. And though it took a long time to put all the notes and exercises together, it paid off because it was more than enough for this week's class.
So, I'm very grateful to have seven classes under my belt and to have only five more teaching classes left for which to plan. Then, I'm done. This is a one-semester gig. So the teaching updates won't go on forever!
The one thing that I still need to change is my attitude. I dread Tuesdays. Not all of Tuesday, just the part until 5:20 p.m. So, I'm working on adjusting my attitude. It's a work in progress.
In preparation for last Tuesday, I decided to change the things I could change. So, I scrapped the nine-page reading assignment for the week and revised the syllabus. I felt a lot of relief simply from making those two minor changes. I pulled some examples from another book that I wish was the chosen text and created a grammar and punctuation exercise that opened their eyes more than they had expected. I also gave the students a survey to find out what topics they want more emphasis on and what ways they best learn. And thankfully, we made it the full two hours.
After last week's class, I felt burned out. I wanted a break. None was in sight, so I created one. I didn't begin to work on school work until late Friday night. It made for a bit of a jam-packed prep weekend, but this was the week I was most "excited" about because there seemed to be plenty of material to cover. And though it took a long time to put all the notes and exercises together, it paid off because it was more than enough for this week's class.
So, I'm very grateful to have seven classes under my belt and to have only five more teaching classes left for which to plan. Then, I'm done. This is a one-semester gig. So the teaching updates won't go on forever!
The one thing that I still need to change is my attitude. I dread Tuesdays. Not all of Tuesday, just the part until 5:20 p.m. So, I'm working on adjusting my attitude. It's a work in progress.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Still Learning, Part 2
In response to my last post, so many of you have sent me words of encouragement. I greatly appreciate each and every comment and e-mail. Because I know that many people have faced times of feeling like a failure, I thought I'd post what one of my friends e-mailed me:
I hope this encourages you as much as it did me.
I totally resonate with what you said about expecting it to be easier b/c God led you there. I have been there/go there often. In fact, he's led me to places where I (in my eyes) fail, even though I was depending on him for strength. An imperfect "performance" or even a failure does not automatically imply that he was not with you or was displeased with you. As always, he is concerned with our process. And unfortunately for me, that sometimes includes less than stellar results. But I am learning to trust him to only give me the success and/or failure that I can handle. This verse comes to mind: "So neither he who plants nor he who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow. The man who plants and the man who waters have one purpose, and each will be rewarded according to his own labor." I Corinthians 3:7-8
In context, this verse is talking about the sharing of the gospel, but I think the principle would also apply to the use of our gifts and abilities. We exercise them; God makes them grow and rewards our faithfulness.
I hope this encourages you as much as it did me.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Still Learning
Throughout last week as I stressed about preparing for this week's hour-and-fifty-minute class, I had a little epiphany. I remembered that all time is in God's hands. He is infinite. The Alpha and Omega. The Beginning and The End. So I realized that it makes little sense for me to stress about whether I can fill the time. It's a good thing I had this little personal lesson engrained in my brain as I went into class tonight with about fifteen pages of notes and four exercises.
At the conclusion of my printed notes, I handwrote, "Let the students work on their assignment for next week if there is extra time." A co-worker gave me that advice a few weeks ago, and he assured me that the students would appreciate that opportunity.
I guess my approval rating should be off the charts because I had thirty minutes left after going through all of my prepared materials. "How could all of that material only have taken an hour and twenty minutes?" you ask. Class participation was at an all-time low. Any of those four exercises could have taken fifteen minutes each had the students been willing to participate. Being the nice professor that I am, I refrained from calling on them by name. I figure that they are upper level students and shouldn't be abused in that way. (But there's always next week to implement that new technique.)
Although I was bothered by the timing issue, I didn't dwell on it. I figure there's not much more I could have done. I covered all of the assigned material for the week and prepared to the best of my ability. But I still feel like I'm battling a dragon week after week.
Simply put, thus far, the task of teaching hasn't been what I imagined it to be. I've written about each class's ups and downs and have tried to put these experiences into perspective. I think that my thinker and feeler got a bit confused: I hoped (maybe even assumed) that because I felt that God led me to this unexpected opportunity, it would be easy. That it wouldn't interfere with MY life and MY plans. Instead, it has been extremely challenging to balance two jobs. To feel forced to say "no" to "yes" events. To feel like I'm not very good at this teaching thing.
That's why I think Cec's keynote address about significance spoke to me. I am wrestling with feelings of insignificance because I don't feel like I'm good at this gig. A gig that I had hoped to do back at my college alma mater in my retirement years. Yet, deep down, I feel like I still might enjoy teaching, maybe just not at this level or for this class length. So I am going to forge ahead in obedience and hope that the students are getting more out of what I'm lecturing on than their class participation has revealed. And I'll be grateful that at the end of each month, I'll still get paid. No matter what.
At the conclusion of my printed notes, I handwrote, "Let the students work on their assignment for next week if there is extra time." A co-worker gave me that advice a few weeks ago, and he assured me that the students would appreciate that opportunity.
I guess my approval rating should be off the charts because I had thirty minutes left after going through all of my prepared materials. "How could all of that material only have taken an hour and twenty minutes?" you ask. Class participation was at an all-time low. Any of those four exercises could have taken fifteen minutes each had the students been willing to participate. Being the nice professor that I am, I refrained from calling on them by name. I figure that they are upper level students and shouldn't be abused in that way. (But there's always next week to implement that new technique.)
Although I was bothered by the timing issue, I didn't dwell on it. I figure there's not much more I could have done. I covered all of the assigned material for the week and prepared to the best of my ability. But I still feel like I'm battling a dragon week after week.
Simply put, thus far, the task of teaching hasn't been what I imagined it to be. I've written about each class's ups and downs and have tried to put these experiences into perspective. I think that my thinker and feeler got a bit confused: I hoped (maybe even assumed) that because I felt that God led me to this unexpected opportunity, it would be easy. That it wouldn't interfere with MY life and MY plans. Instead, it has been extremely challenging to balance two jobs. To feel forced to say "no" to "yes" events. To feel like I'm not very good at this teaching thing.
That's why I think Cec's keynote address about significance spoke to me. I am wrestling with feelings of insignificance because I don't feel like I'm good at this gig. A gig that I had hoped to do back at my college alma mater in my retirement years. Yet, deep down, I feel like I still might enjoy teaching, maybe just not at this level or for this class length. So I am going to forge ahead in obedience and hope that the students are getting more out of what I'm lecturing on than their class participation has revealed. And I'll be grateful that at the end of each month, I'll still get paid. No matter what.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Meeting Mr. Murphey
On The Christian Writers' View 2, he signs his posts as "The Curmudgeon." But to those who know him well, he's known as "Cec." He's Cecil Murphey, "the man behind the words." The one who has helped tell the stories of Dr. Ben Carson in Gifted Hands and Don Piper in 90 Minutes in Heaven. And I had the opportunity to meet him on Friday at the North Texas Christian Writers' Conference.Cec kicked off the conference with a keynote address that spoke directly to my heart. He talked about how people struggle with significance and how some people write to become significant. He reminded us that our names may never be remembered, but our stories might. He told stories about the people with whom he has worked and gave illustrations from his own life. He spoke of the Sunday school teacher who took him by the shoulders at age eleven and told him that God had a plan for his life. He left that Sunday school class, partly because of how often his teacher kept repeating those words to him, and eventually accepted Christ in his twenties. After a few years in the ministry, he went back to see his Sunday school teacher, and she told him that not only did she remember him but also that she had prayed for him every day.
Every day.
Those words speak of such commitment, a commitment that Cec has demonstrated to the One who called him all those years ago and to his craft. He comes across as authentic, often to a fault. He's not afraid to speak truth into a writer's manuscript. And he's also not willing to give up on those who work hard at the craft. To sit under his tutelage on Friday was a blessing. To spar with him at his table at lunch was priceless.
Some of my favorite quotes from Cec include the following:
On being transparent - "I'd rather be disliked for who I am than admired for who I'm not."
On praying while writing - "God, help me do the best I can today with the ability you've given me."
On when to stop work on a piece - "This is the best I can do at this stage of my development."
I hope I have the opportunity to attend one of his mentoring clinics or one-day intensives at some point in my writing career because he brings out the best in his students by challenging them. (I accused him of having taught law school due to some of his lecturing techniques.)
Like last year, TJ joined me on this adventure, and we convinced Tina to come with us as well. We reconnected with Renae and met a new friend named Ashley. The saddest part was that I didn't feel I could prepare for Tuesday's lecture if I went to both days of the conference, so I skipped the Saturday sessions. That loss whets my appetite for next year's conference.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Unexpected Blessings
Today, class (or dive) #4 went about the same as last week. My throat was hurting beforehand, but it didn't cause me any trouble. My material covered the allotted time. I caught myself saying "um" about a dozen times, but other than that nothing negative to report.
The best part about today was that when I returned their papers, which I had laboriously poured over, they actually thanked me. I don't think I've once thanked a teacher, professor, or my boss for marking up my work. Have I looked at the markings? Absolutely. I study them to see how I can improve. But for two students to come up and thank me after class for my comments on their papers, I was speechless. Unexpected blessing #1 from teaching = being thanked for marking up their hard work.
Rewind to Sunday evening.
I caught myself staring at the green-eyed monster a/k/a envy. I had just scanned the devotional that our church put together for our study of Romans. Many of my friends wrote the devotionals that appear in the spiral-bound daily devotional study guide. I had the opportunity to submit a devotional but had to turn it down due to class prep. That same night, the deadline passed for me to submit a devotional or article for the writing contest being held in conjunction with the North Texas Christian Writers' Conference that I'm headed to this weekend. Again, class prep made me forego that opportunity. As I pondered why I felt the way I did, I realized that I don't like the fact that teaching has limited the time I have available to write. Sure, I could try to forego sleep in order to write, but that wouldn't last very long in this sleep-powered body. So unexpected blessing #2 = figuring out how much I enjoy writing and how much I can't wait to get back to it when class is over.
The best part about today was that when I returned their papers, which I had laboriously poured over, they actually thanked me. I don't think I've once thanked a teacher, professor, or my boss for marking up my work. Have I looked at the markings? Absolutely. I study them to see how I can improve. But for two students to come up and thank me after class for my comments on their papers, I was speechless. Unexpected blessing #1 from teaching = being thanked for marking up their hard work.
Rewind to Sunday evening.
I caught myself staring at the green-eyed monster a/k/a envy. I had just scanned the devotional that our church put together for our study of Romans. Many of my friends wrote the devotionals that appear in the spiral-bound daily devotional study guide. I had the opportunity to submit a devotional but had to turn it down due to class prep. That same night, the deadline passed for me to submit a devotional or article for the writing contest being held in conjunction with the North Texas Christian Writers' Conference that I'm headed to this weekend. Again, class prep made me forego that opportunity. As I pondered why I felt the way I did, I realized that I don't like the fact that teaching has limited the time I have available to write. Sure, I could try to forego sleep in order to write, but that wouldn't last very long in this sleep-powered body. So unexpected blessing #2 = figuring out how much I enjoy writing and how much I can't wait to get back to it when class is over.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Can Great Writing Be Taught?
I wish I had some deep insight to share about life, but about the only thing on my mind lately has been this one question: Can great writing be taught?
At my request, my students turned in copies of the papers that they wrote last year so that I could see where I need to focus my lectures. Over the past two weeks, I've struggled through reading their papers and have averaged almost an hour on each paper. The results have been disheartening. Only one student "gets it." The others have major grammar, sequencing, and citation problems. I don't expect their analyses to be stellar (yet), but not having the facts in a logical order is not acceptable. Elementary students are asked to put sentences in the proper order to make a logical paragraph, and they can do it. So, I can't expect less of my students who are much older.
After marking one problem after another in their assignments, I began to wonder if good writing is truly a gift. A talent that can be developed, rather than taught. For instance, I took piano lessons for eight years and learned how to play the instrument. After all those years of lessons can I play the piano well? Unfortunately, no. Playing the piano did not come natural to me, and I had to practice quite a bit to learn how to play the songs at a competitive level. But no matter how much I practiced, I was never going to be a contestant in the Van Cliburn competition.
Good writing seems like it might fit in that same category. These students have been taught the basics for many years now. But there's still something missing in their writing. I'm not sure whether it is a lack of practice because they spend their time preparing for their other classes or whether they don't "get it." Either way, I've got my work cut out for me over the next few months. I want their writing to improve tremendously.
So, all you fellow writers, can great writing be taught or is it a gift? If you believe it can be taught, what pointers do you have for teaching it?
At my request, my students turned in copies of the papers that they wrote last year so that I could see where I need to focus my lectures. Over the past two weeks, I've struggled through reading their papers and have averaged almost an hour on each paper. The results have been disheartening. Only one student "gets it." The others have major grammar, sequencing, and citation problems. I don't expect their analyses to be stellar (yet), but not having the facts in a logical order is not acceptable. Elementary students are asked to put sentences in the proper order to make a logical paragraph, and they can do it. So, I can't expect less of my students who are much older.
After marking one problem after another in their assignments, I began to wonder if good writing is truly a gift. A talent that can be developed, rather than taught. For instance, I took piano lessons for eight years and learned how to play the instrument. After all those years of lessons can I play the piano well? Unfortunately, no. Playing the piano did not come natural to me, and I had to practice quite a bit to learn how to play the songs at a competitive level. But no matter how much I practiced, I was never going to be a contestant in the Van Cliburn competition.
Good writing seems like it might fit in that same category. These students have been taught the basics for many years now. But there's still something missing in their writing. I'm not sure whether it is a lack of practice because they spend their time preparing for their other classes or whether they don't "get it." Either way, I've got my work cut out for me over the next few months. I want their writing to improve tremendously.
So, all you fellow writers, can great writing be taught or is it a gift? If you believe it can be taught, what pointers do you have for teaching it?
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Diving
All my time spent watching the Olympics in August has paid off. I now have a metaphor to convey what teaching has been like. It's a lot like the diving competition.
Each round or class has its own degree of difficulty. And, I walk to the platform, wearing my designated suit (that thankfully does not start with an "S" and end with an "O"), and attempt to complete the dive in spite of the degree of difficulty.
In round 1, the degree of difficulty was enhanced by numerous factors. For one, the 21 pages from the text had to be spread over almost two hours or fillers had to be found for the remaining time. Additionally, it was the first class, which came with all sorts of unknowns, including whether my voice would last. So, I'd rate this a 9.8 on a 10-point scale. I survived; I did not, however, add much stylistic finesse to the text. So I'm quite sure that the judges would have deducted numerous points for the latter.
In round 2, the degree of difficulty dropped tremendously (possibly as low as a 4 or a 5) because there were 21 pages of text for a fifty-minute class. Problems arose during the execution as nerves from the wait preceding the class and a malfunctioning memory caused me to trip up during the lecture. Not a pretty score.
In round 3, the degree of difficulty started to increase (possibly to a 6 or a 7) because although there were over 70 pages of text for the students to read, not much was left to discuss due to all the margin notes printed in their version of the text, which pointed out the positive and negative things about each of the writings. Thankfully, I found some points to make and filled the remaining class time by going over a persuasive exercise that they wrote during the first class. And though it probably could have been a bit more stylistic, the form felt good and hopefully came off without much splash.
The third time must be a charm because this week I felt more at ease than I have the past two weeks. I realized after last week that I didn't pray very much, and the results reflected that lack of dependence and flawed assumption that I could do the "easy" class on my own. Bad idea.
That's when I began to recognize that each class will hold its own set of challenges (a/k/a degree of difficulty), whether they be timing issues, communication issues, health issues, or any number of things that I can't control. So if I continue to teach in my own power, the results are going to continue to reflect the poor execution exhibited in round 2. I don't want that for me or my students. So I chose to go back to what worked in round 1--a total recognition that I am very incapable of doing this on my own and very dependent on God to help me.
Round 4 promises to look a bit like round 1 with 11 pages of text for a fifty-minute class, and Round 5 will return to the hour and fifty minute class length and will have a shortened prep time. I'm hoping that looking ahead a little at a time will allow me to see these differing degrees of difficulty and will keep me on the dependent path.
Each round or class has its own degree of difficulty. And, I walk to the platform, wearing my designated suit (that thankfully does not start with an "S" and end with an "O"), and attempt to complete the dive in spite of the degree of difficulty.
In round 1, the degree of difficulty was enhanced by numerous factors. For one, the 21 pages from the text had to be spread over almost two hours or fillers had to be found for the remaining time. Additionally, it was the first class, which came with all sorts of unknowns, including whether my voice would last. So, I'd rate this a 9.8 on a 10-point scale. I survived; I did not, however, add much stylistic finesse to the text. So I'm quite sure that the judges would have deducted numerous points for the latter.
In round 2, the degree of difficulty dropped tremendously (possibly as low as a 4 or a 5) because there were 21 pages of text for a fifty-minute class. Problems arose during the execution as nerves from the wait preceding the class and a malfunctioning memory caused me to trip up during the lecture. Not a pretty score.
In round 3, the degree of difficulty started to increase (possibly to a 6 or a 7) because although there were over 70 pages of text for the students to read, not much was left to discuss due to all the margin notes printed in their version of the text, which pointed out the positive and negative things about each of the writings. Thankfully, I found some points to make and filled the remaining class time by going over a persuasive exercise that they wrote during the first class. And though it probably could have been a bit more stylistic, the form felt good and hopefully came off without much splash.
The third time must be a charm because this week I felt more at ease than I have the past two weeks. I realized after last week that I didn't pray very much, and the results reflected that lack of dependence and flawed assumption that I could do the "easy" class on my own. Bad idea.
That's when I began to recognize that each class will hold its own set of challenges (a/k/a degree of difficulty), whether they be timing issues, communication issues, health issues, or any number of things that I can't control. So if I continue to teach in my own power, the results are going to continue to reflect the poor execution exhibited in round 2. I don't want that for me or my students. So I chose to go back to what worked in round 1--a total recognition that I am very incapable of doing this on my own and very dependent on God to help me.
Round 4 promises to look a bit like round 1 with 11 pages of text for a fifty-minute class, and Round 5 will return to the hour and fifty minute class length and will have a shortened prep time. I'm hoping that looking ahead a little at a time will allow me to see these differing degrees of difficulty and will keep me on the dependent path.
Monday, September 1, 2008
Bringing Order to Chaos
It's interesting to me how some things tend to get worse before they get better.
Canker sores.
Sunburns.
Messes.
I had hoped to blog more over the past week while I've been off. Instead, I've been creating new messes in my attempts to bring order to chaos. I now have 2 bags of shredding and 2 bags of things to donate to the women's shelter, and I'm not even halfway through.
Every project I started seemed to spawn at least two, if not three, sub-projects. I had anticipated this. Just not the time it takes to complete them.
In spite of the disposable clutter I've grouped together, I feel like my time off was both productive and restorative. Enough so that I'm actually feeling ready to go back to work tomorrow to start the new fiscal year and greet the new employees. Oh, and teach a little, too. Tune in tomorrow evening to see how class 3 goes.
Canker sores.
Sunburns.
Messes.
I had hoped to blog more over the past week while I've been off. Instead, I've been creating new messes in my attempts to bring order to chaos. I now have 2 bags of shredding and 2 bags of things to donate to the women's shelter, and I'm not even halfway through.
Every project I started seemed to spawn at least two, if not three, sub-projects. I had anticipated this. Just not the time it takes to complete them.
In spite of the disposable clutter I've grouped together, I feel like my time off was both productive and restorative. Enough so that I'm actually feeling ready to go back to work tomorrow to start the new fiscal year and greet the new employees. Oh, and teach a little, too. Tune in tomorrow evening to see how class 3 goes.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Exposure
Hypothesis: Repeatedly exposing one's self to the source of fear reduces the effect of the fear.* I have lived this out and know it to be true.
For instance, when I started my job about five years ago, I was afraid of the elevators. Their reputation preceded them as I had been warned of their tendency to get stuck for lengthy periods while loaded with numerous occupants. I gritted my teeth and listened to my heart race each morning, vowing to ride only to the first stop or two and then to take the stairs. The problems with this tactic were multi-fold: (1) I was usually wearing heels, which weren't conducive to stair climbing; (2) the stairwells aren't air conditioned and often smell like cigarette smoke; and (3) their isolated use gives them a creepy factor almost commensurate with the elevators. So, I looked fear in the face and took the elevators every day. Most days I did it scared, and eventually the fear subsided.
I had the same experience with visiting emergency rooms. I had only been once as a child to accompany my sister to have her stomach pumped after eating a day-old sandwich that had been made with mayonnaise. So, when I started having abdominal pain in the summer of 2003, my first trip to the ER by myself was a bit scary. But after repeated visits and a diagnosis of gall stones, that fear of ERs went by the wayside.
I'm hoping that this tactic of reducing fear by repeated exposure will work for teaching as well. Going in this afternoon, I wasn't as nervous as last week. But then I had to wait almost two hours after arriving at the school to give my lecture. I had prepared more than last week because I had the day off, but my tongue and mind didn't quite keep up with each other when I began my lecture. Moreover, it was humbling to be corrected by students when the group exercises didn't go exactly as planned. (As a side note, none of the students dropped after last week, which made my heart sing.)
So, I'll be watching to see how this plays out over the course of the semester. I probably won't post a teaching update every week, but I'll let you know if there are any highlights.
*This isn't meant in the context of abusive relationships or criminal acts.
For instance, when I started my job about five years ago, I was afraid of the elevators. Their reputation preceded them as I had been warned of their tendency to get stuck for lengthy periods while loaded with numerous occupants. I gritted my teeth and listened to my heart race each morning, vowing to ride only to the first stop or two and then to take the stairs. The problems with this tactic were multi-fold: (1) I was usually wearing heels, which weren't conducive to stair climbing; (2) the stairwells aren't air conditioned and often smell like cigarette smoke; and (3) their isolated use gives them a creepy factor almost commensurate with the elevators. So, I looked fear in the face and took the elevators every day. Most days I did it scared, and eventually the fear subsided.
I had the same experience with visiting emergency rooms. I had only been once as a child to accompany my sister to have her stomach pumped after eating a day-old sandwich that had been made with mayonnaise. So, when I started having abdominal pain in the summer of 2003, my first trip to the ER by myself was a bit scary. But after repeated visits and a diagnosis of gall stones, that fear of ERs went by the wayside.
I'm hoping that this tactic of reducing fear by repeated exposure will work for teaching as well. Going in this afternoon, I wasn't as nervous as last week. But then I had to wait almost two hours after arriving at the school to give my lecture. I had prepared more than last week because I had the day off, but my tongue and mind didn't quite keep up with each other when I began my lecture. Moreover, it was humbling to be corrected by students when the group exercises didn't go exactly as planned. (As a side note, none of the students dropped after last week, which made my heart sing.)
So, I'll be watching to see how this plays out over the course of the semester. I probably won't post a teaching update every week, but I'll let you know if there are any highlights.
*This isn't meant in the context of abusive relationships or criminal acts.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Practicing Sabbath Rest
The concept of Sabbath rest has been on my mind a lot lately ever since reading The Rest of God by Mark Buchanan. Additionally, we've been studying about pursuing God over the past eight weeks at church and have been learning about different spiritual disciplines, including rest. The following is a short article that I wrote on this topic and that was included on p. 10 of our church's fall news magazine:
If asked to describe myself, “list maker” and “rule follower” would appear in my answer. Both of these traits, which have often come in handy, have caused me trouble when it comes to pursuing rest in God.
My list maker tendencies urge me to be in full-time productive mode and to gauge my weekend as “good” only if all tasks on my list are completed. And when my list maker tendency combines with my rule follower nature, they whisper that I should make a list of the spiritual disciplines and do one each day so that I can “be right with God.” If left to my own devices, most weekends would rate a dismal “okay” on my rating scale.
Several weeks before Ted preached on “Pursing Rest in God,” I finished reading a book entitled The Rest of God by Mark Buchanan. The introduction grabbed my attention:
I knew I had been using the wrong measuring stick. But I didn’t realize what I had been missing. That in the midst of my self-described productivity, I was missing out on God.
On seeing the things that He wanted to show me. On hearing the words and the wisdom that He wanted to impart to me. On feeling the love that He wanted to wrap around me. On connecting with Him through His creation. On knowing Him more intimately.
The realization of all that I’d lost was devastating. Devastating enough to cause me to set aside one day a week for Sabbath rest so that I could attempt to recover what I’d lost and had been missing for a long time.
Just like Buchanan, I also “learned to keep Sabbath in the crucible of breaking it.” I have discovered what a gift it is to let go of my lists and rules for one day each week and to rest in God. And because I’ve let go of the rules, what this looks like for me varies from Sabbath to Sabbath. I try to let God lead. Sometimes Sabbath rest involves connecting with friends over lunch. Sometimes Sabbath rest includes journaling or writing. Sometimes Sabbath rest means physical rest in the form of a nap. And when it’s not 107 degrees outside, Sabbath rest may include taking a walk to enjoy His creation.
I haven’t been practicing this discipline very long, but I’ve already noticed that I haven’t needed to check off everything on my list in order to have a great weekend. So maybe someday I’ll be able to do away with “list maker” and “rule follower” and be able to describe myself as “Sabbath keeper.”
I'd love to know your thoughts on this concept. Do you try to incorporate a "stop day" into your week? If so, how has it changed your perspective?
If asked to describe myself, “list maker” and “rule follower” would appear in my answer. Both of these traits, which have often come in handy, have caused me trouble when it comes to pursuing rest in God.
My list maker tendencies urge me to be in full-time productive mode and to gauge my weekend as “good” only if all tasks on my list are completed. And when my list maker tendency combines with my rule follower nature, they whisper that I should make a list of the spiritual disciplines and do one each day so that I can “be right with God.” If left to my own devices, most weekends would rate a dismal “okay” on my rating scale.
Several weeks before Ted preached on “Pursing Rest in God,” I finished reading a book entitled The Rest of God by Mark Buchanan. The introduction grabbed my attention:
In a culture where busyness is a fetish and stillness is laziness, rest is sloth. But without rest, we miss the rest of God: the rest he invites us to enter more fully so that we might know him more deeply. “Be still, and know that I am God.” Some knowing is never pursued, only received. And for that, you need to be still. (p.3)
I knew I had been using the wrong measuring stick. But I didn’t realize what I had been missing. That in the midst of my self-described productivity, I was missing out on God.
On seeing the things that He wanted to show me. On hearing the words and the wisdom that He wanted to impart to me. On feeling the love that He wanted to wrap around me. On connecting with Him through His creation. On knowing Him more intimately.
The realization of all that I’d lost was devastating. Devastating enough to cause me to set aside one day a week for Sabbath rest so that I could attempt to recover what I’d lost and had been missing for a long time.
Just like Buchanan, I also “learned to keep Sabbath in the crucible of breaking it.” I have discovered what a gift it is to let go of my lists and rules for one day each week and to rest in God. And because I’ve let go of the rules, what this looks like for me varies from Sabbath to Sabbath. I try to let God lead. Sometimes Sabbath rest involves connecting with friends over lunch. Sometimes Sabbath rest includes journaling or writing. Sometimes Sabbath rest means physical rest in the form of a nap. And when it’s not 107 degrees outside, Sabbath rest may include taking a walk to enjoy His creation.
I haven’t been practicing this discipline very long, but I’ve already noticed that I haven’t needed to check off everything on my list in order to have a great weekend. So maybe someday I’ll be able to do away with “list maker” and “rule follower” and be able to describe myself as “Sabbath keeper.”
I'd love to know your thoughts on this concept. Do you try to incorporate a "stop day" into your week? If so, how has it changed your perspective?
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Being Carried
"If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up!" (Ecclesiastes 4:10)
Remember the feeling of being piggy-backed by a friend or parent? They did all the hard work of lifting and carrying, and you merely climbed up and hung on?
That's the closest way that I can described what I experienced today. My friends and family did the heavy lifting, carrying me along. I received emails and phone calls encouraging me, a wonderful dinner last night to ease my stress, and a ton of prayers. It humbles me that people interceded on my behalf and prayed me through today. And because of their efforts, I survived!
I have no recollection of what I said the first ten minutes of class. Words flew out of my mouth before I turned the floor over to the students to hear why they have chosen this career path. My voice survived the rest of the class by alternating between speaking and giving writing assignments; the writing assignments allowed my faltering vocal chords to recharge. And before I knew it, the dismissal time of 5:20 had arrived.
In the coming weeks, hopefully my vocal chords will gain their strength, and my ability to teach writing and speaking skills will increase as well. At least now the big first class is behind me. I rest in that tonight.
Father God, thank You for surrounding me with praying friends and family who encourage me and take time to pray for me in the midst of their busy lives.
Monday, August 18, 2008
And the Oscar Goes to . . .
Obviously not me because I am not a good actress. I'm a decent prepared speaker, but I cannot ad lib or give impromptu presentations. Yet, I was persuaded to try acting once during a New Year's Eve party. It was all caught on tape. One that I, and I alone, used to possess. I think it has been destroyed because it was so painful to watch as I struggled to portray the designated scene I drew from the hat. Something along the lines of role playing people at a nursing home, using swimming noodles as canes.
But it's times like these when I wish I could rely on natural acting talent. To act like I'm not nervous. To come across as thoroughly prepared.
I'm not, and that frustrates me. I don't want to come off as the newbie professor. Mostly because I can't recall a single professor or teacher I had who appeared nervous or anxious on the first day of class. All of their lectures seem perfectly timed to cover the exact amount of material that was assigned. Something I took for granted until now.
But I cannot be other than who I am: The new adjunct professor who has no idea if she can speak for an hour and fifty minutes.
I'm debating how much of this struggle to reveal up front. Because the tiny percent of me that isn't nervous says that I ought to simply be real. To lay out my fears and ask for the students to help me along with questions. Because there's no way of getting around the school's requirements that we must meet for the allotted time EVERY week, with no early releases. That already puts several strikes against me, but hopefully all of the professors are on an equal playing field when it comes to this requirement.
And so I plan a little more. And pray a lot. Hoping that tomorrow goes smoothly. I'll try to post the "results" tomorrow. Until then, I hope there's not any drama worthy of an oscar.
But it's times like these when I wish I could rely on natural acting talent. To act like I'm not nervous. To come across as thoroughly prepared.
I'm not, and that frustrates me. I don't want to come off as the newbie professor. Mostly because I can't recall a single professor or teacher I had who appeared nervous or anxious on the first day of class. All of their lectures seem perfectly timed to cover the exact amount of material that was assigned. Something I took for granted until now.
But I cannot be other than who I am: The new adjunct professor who has no idea if she can speak for an hour and fifty minutes.
I'm debating how much of this struggle to reveal up front. Because the tiny percent of me that isn't nervous says that I ought to simply be real. To lay out my fears and ask for the students to help me along with questions. Because there's no way of getting around the school's requirements that we must meet for the allotted time EVERY week, with no early releases. That already puts several strikes against me, but hopefully all of the professors are on an equal playing field when it comes to this requirement.
And so I plan a little more. And pray a lot. Hoping that tomorrow goes smoothly. I'll try to post the "results" tomorrow. Until then, I hope there's not any drama worthy of an oscar.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Addicted
My name is Alyssa, and I'm addicted to the Olympics.
I got a new TV over the weekend, just in time to see the Olympics in all their glory. Or more precisely, to see the swimmers in all their glory.
I've convinced myself that Michael Phelps will not win if I'm not watching him. And so I stay up late every night to watch him compete. Tonight will be no exception.
As with any addiction, this one is taking a toll on my body. I'm exhausted. My body requires sleep, even more so than food. I begin to feel sick without it. And even though I know this about myself, I push myself to stay up later and watch more of the action. After all, the summer Olympics come but once every four years.
It's not as if I have nothing to do. I begin teaching on Tuesday. Somehow, I feel like I can work in my prep time around some of the less enticing events, like men's indoor volleyball. But instead, I'm blogging about my addiction and counting the minutes until the USA swimmers compete in their races and hopefully add a lot more medals to the total medal count.
So what do you like or dislike about the Olympics? And if you have pointers for overcoming the addiction, post those as well. I have the feeling that there will be a big letdown come Sunday when the swimming is over.
I got a new TV over the weekend, just in time to see the Olympics in all their glory. Or more precisely, to see the swimmers in all their glory.
I've convinced myself that Michael Phelps will not win if I'm not watching him. And so I stay up late every night to watch him compete. Tonight will be no exception.
As with any addiction, this one is taking a toll on my body. I'm exhausted. My body requires sleep, even more so than food. I begin to feel sick without it. And even though I know this about myself, I push myself to stay up later and watch more of the action. After all, the summer Olympics come but once every four years.
It's not as if I have nothing to do. I begin teaching on Tuesday. Somehow, I feel like I can work in my prep time around some of the less enticing events, like men's indoor volleyball. But instead, I'm blogging about my addiction and counting the minutes until the USA swimmers compete in their races and hopefully add a lot more medals to the total medal count.
So what do you like or dislike about the Olympics? And if you have pointers for overcoming the addiction, post those as well. I have the feeling that there will be a big letdown come Sunday when the swimming is over.
Friday, August 8, 2008
A Little Weekend Humor
This week has been a bit of a tough one at times, so I thought it would be nice to end it on a lighter note.
One of my co-workers gave me this to put on my itchy arm where I had received my allergy shot.
One of my co-workers gave me this to put on my itchy arm where I had received my allergy shot.
My Spider Man bandaid reminded me of the super powers I felt I had while wearing R2D2 Underoos as a child. So go get some fun bandaids and put them on. I bet you'll catch yourself smiling.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
A New View
On Friday afternoon, I made the move. Packing up my belongings one load at a time, I started the trek. All the way down the winding hall to the other side of the office. And there I unloaded my armfuls of books, papers, and decorations.
I now have a new office.
Same building. Same floor. Same job.
Just a different office. One that's a little smaller and doesn't have a window. And this wasn't a demotion.
I chose to move to be closer to my pod, the people I work with most closely on a daily basis.
Before I made the move, I decided it was time to go through all the stuff I brought with me to this job. All the things that I thought would be important and that I couldn't live without. I quickly realized that much of the stuff I had brought with me hadn't been looked at since my last move five years ago. Many of the papers and books were outdated. They made their way to the recycle bin and lessened the burden of the move.
This cleaning-before-the-move has some life application as well. It's prompted me to undertake the same cleaning process in my daily life. To figure out what I'm holding onto that is no longer useful or helpful and to let go of it so that I can move about my life without so much baggage. Not just physical baggage but emotional and mental as well.
I'm not sure that this process will be as fun or as fast as the office cleaning. But I think the end result will be even more enjoyable and freeing than working in my new office.
I now have a new office.
Same building. Same floor. Same job.
Just a different office. One that's a little smaller and doesn't have a window. And this wasn't a demotion.
I chose to move to be closer to my pod, the people I work with most closely on a daily basis.
Before I made the move, I decided it was time to go through all the stuff I brought with me to this job. All the things that I thought would be important and that I couldn't live without. I quickly realized that much of the stuff I had brought with me hadn't been looked at since my last move five years ago. Many of the papers and books were outdated. They made their way to the recycle bin and lessened the burden of the move.
This cleaning-before-the-move has some life application as well. It's prompted me to undertake the same cleaning process in my daily life. To figure out what I'm holding onto that is no longer useful or helpful and to let go of it so that I can move about my life without so much baggage. Not just physical baggage but emotional and mental as well.
I'm not sure that this process will be as fun or as fast as the office cleaning. But I think the end result will be even more enjoyable and freeing than working in my new office.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Granny's Pearls
I wore my Granny's pearls today in honor of what would have been her 96th birthday. It wasn't the first time that I've worn them. But today, they grabbed my attention when I felt their slight weight around my neck.
Actually, I'm not sure it's technically correct to call them "Granny's pearls." I don't recall ever having seen them around her neck. My cousins found them buried in a drawer when we cleaned out her house and asked if I wanted them.
I'm not sure why I said I'd take them. Maybe it was because the few pieces that held memories for me had already been snatched up by other relatives. And the remainder of her belongings consisted of garage sale purchases or things that had severely deteriorated such that I no longer wanted them. But all of her "things," even the strand of pearls shown above, pale in comparison to the real pearls that Granny gave me. Pearls of time.
It's hard to say how far back the real memories go. Many of the times that I spent as a child with she and my Pa-Pa before starting daycare have been recounted to me. Everyone, including myself, likes to blame Granny for the fact that I don't like vegetables. The story goes that Granny used to start talking up dessert before we'd taken the first bite of a meal and that she had a soft spot for allowing me to eat dessert without having eaten my helping of vegetables.
String on the first pearl.
Once I started school, I asked to spend Friday nights at Granny's house. She gladly obliged. If it was football season, we'd turn on the radio to the local radio station and listen to the live broadcast of the high school football games. While we listened to the game, Granny would file my nails and push back my cuticles, making sure that the pink "moons" showed. Many times, we'd turn off the radio before the game was over so that we could watch Dallas and Fantasy Island--two shows that I did not get to watch at home. The next morning, Granny would make the best cinnamon toast in her toaster oven and before I had finished would start questioning me about what I wanted for lunch. She wanted to be prepared before we left to go to garage sales, which was her favorite Saturday outing. She went religiously week after week, taking "off" only on her ninetieth birthday.
Add a couple more pearls.
Granny and Pa-Pa had retired by the time I was born, and so they lived on a fixed income. They made do with what they had but they often tried to earn some extra "spending money." Pa-Pa liked to trap 'coons and pick up aluminum cans, and they both liked to pick pecans. So about once a year, they would invite me to go pick pecans with them and let me sell my bag of pecans. Granny would pack a lunch for us, and we'd stay out in the pecan bottom all day. It was hard work, but I looked forward to it every year.
Add another pearl.
The best times I spent with Granny were during the summers. I somehow managed to talk my way into getting to stay at Granny and Pa-Pa's house instead of at a babysitter's. Every day, we'd go to the Senior Citizens' Center where Pa-Pa would play dominoes, and Granny would work in the craft room, usually making magnetic decorations for people to buy to put on their refrigerators. I joined Granny in the craft room and did my cross-stitch. Once a week, she would leave me alone for a while so that she could "take exercises" in the main room at the center.
After lunch, we'd head back to their house to take naps. Pa-Pa usually took his sitting in a chair outside, but Granny and I would lie in her bed and make up stories about the painting that hung on the wall. Sometimes, she'd read the paper out loud. (I'm not sure if she didn't know how to read to herself or if she read out loud because Pa-Pa couldn't read, but she read every article, card, and piece of mail out loud.) We might nap for only a little bit, depending on how long she read, because we had to be up by 2:00 in time for General Hospital, which she never missed an episode of.
Add another couple of pearls.
Granny and Pa-Pa had two gardens and would grow peas every year, which she allowed me to shell. I loved that almost as much as picking pecans because I would race to see if I could beat Granny and Pa-Pa at shelling a tub at a time. The only downside came when Granny went to can the peas; I hated the way her house smelled then.
Add another pearl.
But the worst memories I have of spending time at Granny's are getting bitten by mosquitoes or ants. The insect bites weren't nearly as painful as the treatment that Granny rendered. You had one of two choices: campophenique or methylaid (a/k/a monkey blood). Both stung like all get out. I later learned that she kept green rubbing alcohol in the bathroom and that it didn't sting nearly as badly, so I'd self-medicate my bites with that.
Add another pearl.
The funniest memory of Granny occurred in her living room. We were sitting there one day when a lizard appeared. Granny jumped three feet straight up in the air and landed on a hassock. I'm pretty sure that is the only thing that ever scared her.
Add another pearl.
Anyone who tried to prank call Granny received a rude awakening. Granny kept a wooden whistle by her telephone for the sole purpose of punishing anyone who called and just sat on the line without talking. She had zero tolerance for such antics.
Add another pearl.
Though I've briefly mentioned Granny's delicious cooking, I'd be remiss if I left off her chocolate meringue pies. I think she enjoyed making those more than cakes or brownies because her unlevel oven had less of a chance to make an unlevel pie than it did a 9 X 12 cake. Every time she made brownies, one end of the pan had 2" brownies while the other end held 1/2" brownies. They all tasted delicious despite their height.
Add another pearl.
One of the neat things about all of those memories is that they were made in an unairconditioned house that didn't contain expensive toys. As a matter of fact, the only toys at Granny's house were plastic cowboys and Indians that my older boy cousins had left there. There was such a simplicity and unfussiness about her life.
Add a beautiful pearl.
Even before Granny suffered some mini-strokes, her childlikeness reappeared. She revealed to my sister one day during the Christmas holidays that she had opened all the presents under her Christmas tree and rewrapped them. And because she had learned how to gift wrap at a local department store, her gift-wrapping talent could have hidden her secret forever.
Add another pearl.
Once I moved away from home, Granny began writing letters to me. She painstakingly handwrote each one and often sent cookies with them. One such letter prior to my gallbladder surgery in 2003 was as follows:
Dear Alyssa,
Sure was glard to hear
from you. Sorry about
your gal blatter problim
hope you are better. and
get well. and don't hafto
have sergery, we have
been praying for
you at church. Read
Acts 19 chapter verse 11-12.
where the Lord healed
the sick. And He still heales
to-day and time. God bless
you. I hope you find a
nice good house. to buy
Well I am keeping out
of the weather. I dont go
out in the afternoon I
cant take heat. I do my
out side work in the
morning mowing grass and
trimming tree limbs. Hope
you are doeing ok.
Love you
Granny
Add a pearl for each letter.
In light of her fixed income, the last thing that I wanted was for her to have to spend her precious money on stamps or stationery. So I purchased both for her for Christmas one year. The stamps had pictures of Impressionist paintings on them. When she opened them, she kept staring at them. I asked her if she liked them, and she said yes. Then, she continued to look at them some more. I finally told her, "Granny, those are stamps so that you can continue to write me." To which she responded, "Well, they don't say 32 cents on them anywhere." She never wrote me again. I laughed at the implication of having my own grandma accuse me of giving her "counterfeit" postage stamps.
Add another pearl.
It was around that Christmas that we noticed that Granny wasn't really herself. She would show up at odd times and forget what we had told her. My dad had passed away in August of that year and we gradually made the connection that his death had taken away more from her than just her son. It took away her reason for living because she no longer had anyone to care for. For so many years, she had mailed my dad a box of goodies each month. But without that monthly task to give her life meaning, her ninety-plus year-old mind began to fade quickly.
The recent things were the first to go. No longer did she spit out an entire recipe after being complimented on a dish she made nor did she recite what was on 2-for-1 sale at the grocery store. She didn't know where she lived, what year it was, or how much things cost. Only the things from long ago could she remember and talk about easily. But thankfully, she always recognized my sister and me. Even if she couldn't come up with our names, she could always place us.
Granny passed away two years ago at the age of 94. Yet there's so many things that remind me of her. Every time I see a calendar that shows the phases of the moon, I remember how she didn't want to get her hair cut when the moon was waxing or else she said that it would grow too fast. When I see an old Chevy Impala, I think of her old one and that she drove it until she was 91 (at which point she did not give up driving but instead bought another car). When I'm tempted to be lazy, I think about her mowing her yard at age 91. And when I am tempted to doubt God, I think about her faith.
Though the strand of pearls was completed years ago, it's as if I find a new one each time I journey down memory lane. God and Grannys are good like that.
Father God, thank You for choosing such a sweet lady to be my Granny and for giving her so much time to pour into my life. She loved me well and loved You above all else.
"That red blouse sure takes good pictures." (Granny wearing said red blouse on Christmas Eve 2005)
After her passing, four of my co-workers purchased a gift card to Ann Taylor for me and penned the following poem:
In memory of Granny and her fiery red blouse,
we figured you didn't need another plant about the house.
So here's to Granny, her spunk and her fire.
We know she'll be pleased with your new attire.
To precious memories of a life well-lived!
Monday, July 21, 2008
Catching the "I" in Pride
I caught myself saying, "I pulled off a surprise party for my boss's birthday today."
The fact of the matter is that all I did was send an email to invite people. I know better than to think that I have control over nine people's schedules, as was obvious by the fact that this was almost called off on Friday and then one person almost had to back out at the last minute today.
I actually had the gall to steal God's glory and take credit for this event after lifting up a feeble prayer last week that this event wouldn't have to be canceled. Maybe deep down I wanted this gathering to take place so that I would get the credit, though I don't recall putting those words to the panic-like feeling I encountered at the thought of having to cancel the lunch. I guess that's just another example of how feelings can be so deceiving.
To say I'm embarrassed is an understatement. I can't believe that I serve such a wonderful God. One who allowed nine people, who have probably never been in the same room before, to enjoy lunch together. One who answers my prayers, knowing that I'll steal His glory. One who forgives me when I recognize the error of my ways and ask for forgiveness.
Father God, thank You for Your mercy and forgiveness. Forgive me for failing to give You the glory. Today's events were ordained by You long before I was even born. Thank You for the joy You provided and for letting me be a part of such a wonderful celebration. Amen.
The fact of the matter is that all I did was send an email to invite people. I know better than to think that I have control over nine people's schedules, as was obvious by the fact that this was almost called off on Friday and then one person almost had to back out at the last minute today.
I actually had the gall to steal God's glory and take credit for this event after lifting up a feeble prayer last week that this event wouldn't have to be canceled. Maybe deep down I wanted this gathering to take place so that I would get the credit, though I don't recall putting those words to the panic-like feeling I encountered at the thought of having to cancel the lunch. I guess that's just another example of how feelings can be so deceiving.
To say I'm embarrassed is an understatement. I can't believe that I serve such a wonderful God. One who allowed nine people, who have probably never been in the same room before, to enjoy lunch together. One who answers my prayers, knowing that I'll steal His glory. One who forgives me when I recognize the error of my ways and ask for forgiveness.
Father God, thank You for Your mercy and forgiveness. Forgive me for failing to give You the glory. Today's events were ordained by You long before I was even born. Thank You for the joy You provided and for letting me be a part of such a wonderful celebration. Amen.
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