My Written Truth

The Time I Played God.

2012-01-25T13:11:00.000-08:00

The title isn't really going to give this one away. It's not what you think.

On a beautiful Tuesday in California, I had scheduled time to spend with my two favorite muppets: Sydney and Jack Apel. The agenda? Cashing in on a promise to go to and paint something at Color-Me-Mine. Nothing would be more fun.

When they arrived, I was told that Sydney needed to talk to me about a situation. She climbed up next to me and I realized she's a little too tall now to sit on laps. She leaned in and said, "Coach, I'm grounded." I chuckled to myself, making sure she didn't hear, then asked the obvious question, "Why?" That's when the story came.

A much desired item: milk from the cafeteria.
Sighted: Money from her friend's mom's car.
Decision: Stealing.

"Well, that wasn't a very good idea, was it?"
"No," she sighed. "But I made it worse. I lied to my mom."

There was a tone in her voice I'd never heard before. Deep guilt. The kind that sticks with the force of double sided tape; always wrapping itself around you in ways that make you want to shake it off.
I put my arm around her and kissed her head.
"Bummer. I hope you learn from this decision."

She didn't look up.
And that's when I realized what was really happening. She wasn't just feeling guilty. She was ashamed -- mostly of her actions, but also ashamed of telling me.

I've known Sydney since before she's known words or colors or lying. Her mom is my best friend. For over two years, her family and I shared life beneath the same roof. We celebrate Christmas together. It is a long-standing relationship that has seen ups and downs, but most memories are joyful ones.

Did she think I would be mad? Upset? Disappointed?
She sat there, despondent, and in that moment, I understood what God must so often feel.

All of the times that I have looked away, buried my head in His chest, wept. The many times my voice has quivered with guilt; days I could not make eye contact. Generally speaking, my errors cost more than twenty cents and involved more than a dairy product, but the bottom line was the same: I screwed up and I believed that there would be great disappointment. I believed that God and everyone else thought a little less of me now.

A tarnished record.
Marked. Marred. Imperfect.

I was not disappointed by Sydney's actions. Sad that she made that decision, sure, but not disappointed in her as a person. She made a mistake. We all do this. Every single day.

As she sat there, I could only think of one thing: how much I loved her. This precious child and her hurting heart. She was not tarnished, marked, imperfect. No, to me, she was no different. Her mistake did not make me love her less; instead, her honesty made me love her even more.

My eyes and heart see Sydney the way God sees me. And you.
Precious. His. Forgiven. He has eyes of great grace.

All These Years Later.

2012-01-15T09:58:00.000-08:00

Fifteen years ago, my Young Life leaders showed up at my high school softball games. Sometimes, they were my only supporters.

It was the first time I’d seen Christ in the flesh – these people showing up to say “good job” or “better luck next time,” were really stating something I needed to hear much more: “you matter.”

I was not a “good” Young Life kid. Because of my schedule, I couldn’t make club, so I’d meet up with the crew afterward to have ice cream and socialize. I’d miss the songs, the games, the message.

And yet, I got the message loud and clear. These people cared about kids. More importantly, they cared about us. Me.

My Young Life leaders were the most influential people in my life. It had nothing to do with the degrees they held, the years they’d lived, or the amount of money they made. They were influential because they continued to show up and in doing so, say “you matter” enough times for me to believe it. They were influential because they held up a mirror and said, “you were made in the image of God.” They were influential because they were consistent.

It’d make sense that years later I’d become a volunteer leader and eventually end up on student staff. When I resigned from my position due to decisions I’d made, it made sense that I felt I’d disappointed everyone, especially our head leader.

He was like a father to me. Growing up mostly without a dad my high school years, he’d become a man I admired. I trusted his advice. Letting him down was one of the hardest parts of it all. He’d been one of the only consistent men in my life for years.

A few seasons after my resignation, I began pursuing teaching and coaching. It was the most life-giving vocation I’d had since being involved with Young Life. I was made for this.

Coaching reminded me of Young Life in many ways. Unlike teaching, you get to know kids on a whole different level. You see their personalities, you know their strengths and weaknesses, you witness their successes, their failures.

We have very low parent attendance at our games. I noticed this and thought of the few parents who would come to my games in high school.

During this game in particular, I was reminded of all of the times we played for empty stands. I had to swallow the lump in my throat when I saw my Young Life leader standing behind the dugout. All these years later.

This is what Young Life does: it steps into lives and it does not step out. It does not quit, it does not fail, it does not end. Young Life represents the resurrected Christ in our midst, standing beside us, picking us up when we fall, and cheering us on when we can’t take another step. Whether you are fifteen or thirty, Young Life shows up and says, “you matter.” I cannot think of two more important words to say nor hear.

Turning Over Tables.

2012-01-13T14:06:00.000-08:00

This week, I was pointed to a place I did not want to venture. I did anyway. I found myself torn as I listened to the podcast from This American Life featuring a portion of the work of the very talented Mike Daisey. His work? A monologue: THE AGONY AND THE ECSTASY OF STEVE JOBS.

iListened.
iHeard.
iWasShocked.

It wasn't so much that I was shocked by what I heard as I was shocked by my ability to turn a blind eye.

Nets around the building. 16+ hours of labor. Unfair wages. Sleeping quarters that measure 12x12 and hold over a dozen people. School-age children working in factories.

The truth be told, I know this stuff.
I live among a community of people who deeply care about the world -- and not only about the world, but those who fight to change the things that are wrong with the world. We believe that following Jesus looks like making things right.

We also believe that, in order to make things so, sometimes we have to turn over tables.

This week, I've been turning over tables in my classroom. What started as a last minute assignment to read about Human Trafficking on a recent article from CNN.com about college students vowing to end slavery has turned into something much, much larger:

Discussions with other teachers about how we can make this part of curriculum.
Making students read articles about the places in the world in which trafficking is happening; then showing them the recent statistics regarding how frequent this is in California.
Watching the appalled looks on their faces.
Seeing students hang their heads in shame because they, for the first time, realize that they have taken part in something they would fight against.
Listening to the slight pounding of fist by one student who was so outraged, anger seemed to be the only thing that fit.
Noticing the clearing of throats and swallowing of tears that only happens when something has struck your heart in such a way that your body cannot choose its own physical response.

For the first time, my students seem to care. In a room often inhabited by great amounts of apathy, there is instead anger and frustration. While there is a sense of being completely overwhelmed, there is also a sense of injustice, and more importantly a desire to fight against it.

For a year and a half, I have been trying to get my Leadership students to do some type of meaningful community service. Campus-clean up. Volunteering with local charities. Reading to younger kids. Cleaning the teachers' lounge. Walking a 5K for Breast Cancer Awareness.

All of it has seemed so futile.

"Does this count for hours?" became a question I despised. I was trying to teach them to care. That's one hell of a lesson.

What I've discovered is that it is not about teaching them to care; it is about figuring out what they care about and then teaching them how to do something about it.

Recently, I discovered that as a developer, one of the best things I will ever hear are the words "you taught me that." While I can't teach kids to care, I can certainly give them information and usher them into an understanding of the world that makes them figure out what it is they care about.

As I thought about IJM and all of the other organizations that have done this for me, there were very specific visions of the times in which my mindset was shaped. A speaker at a conference. A conversation with a friend. In the living room of that house. With a group of people who were passionate about that cause. After reading that book. After hearing her story.

My mindset is always changed when I am with people. I am reminded of the importance of community.

My mindset is always changed when I pay attention. It is easy to turn a blind eye. It is hard to stare face to face, to be eye to eye with the conflict of our hearts.

My mindset is always changed because of someone's story. We might be on different sides, but we all agree that we want someone to win, and we want the bad guy to be defeated.

My mindset is always changed because someone takes the time to explain something to me that I did not know before.

My mindset is always changed...

"Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God's mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God -- this is your true and proper worship. Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is -- His good, pleasing and perfect will." - Romans 12:1-2

I can no longer turn a blind eye. While I appreciate technology (and espcially Apple products), I need to pay closer attention to what I buy and where it comes from. Beyond that, there is a great need for me (and you) to not only take a stand against the things that are wrong with the world, but to take others with us. Right now, that looks like a hell of a lot of teenagers for me.

Quite honestly, I can't think of a better group to stand with.
I can only hope that years from now they'll return and show me the tables they've flipped over. Maybe they'll even say, "you taught me that."

It Takes A Village

2011-12-17T16:26:00.000-08:00

While driving through the streets where I grew up, I found myself behind an old Ford van. This wasn't a "soccer mom" van, nor a construction van. This was a ten-passenger-drives-lots-of-kids-to-lots-of-places van. Immediately, I thought of the Deuel family. They once owned this very van. Maybe they still do.

My feet had stepped in and out of that van countless times as a child: to and from school, mini-field trips, you name it. My mind traveled to a time when things were simpler, wishes came true, and Christmas was magical.

At thirty, I am realizing more and more how our lives are shaped by things we don't quite recognize. As I thought of the Deuels, I realized that the first time I set foot in a church, it was through their invitation. The first time I heard the name "Jesus" was in their house.

The Deuels have dedicated their lives to caring for children. For over thirty years, they have provided child care for local families. You'd read something like that on their website. What you wouldn't read is that they poured their hearts and souls into these tiny lives.

The garage was turned into a multi-purpose room of sorts; the living room a play area; the backyard had a myriad of things: jungle gym, slide, playhouse, teatherball, and a balance beam that doubled as the time-out station. The kitchen was always full of wonderful aromas -- the kinds that only come from people who are grandparents or professional cooks -- and sunlight shone on that house a little brighter than the other houses in the neighborhood.

It was under the Deuel roof that I learned to play piano. and make peanut butter playdoh. It was under the Deuel roof that I made new best friends, had my own cubby, and felt secure.

In their care, I learned right from wrong. I learned how to forgive. I learned that "joy" did not mean "happy," and that sliding head-first was not a good idea. I learned how to share, how to put others first, and that "family" means much more than people who have the same last name as you.

At the end of each day, the doorbell would ring and our hearts would jump. Would that be my mom? His dad? Her grandma? I remember times when my grandma or grandpa would show up to get me. It was like winning the lottery. Other times, different faces would show up to get you and it wasn't so joyful: "Your mom has been in an accident." "Your uncle died." As we grew up, that doorbell stopped becoming a joyful noise. The harshness of the world slowly began to creep in.

Yet the harshness of the world could not break down those walls. The Deuels fought hard against that. Their home was always filled with love and grace. They dedicated their home to raising children. They made that place a sanctuary. With closer examination, I realize that their house was the first church I ever set foot in.

When I started going to Young Life as a teenager, the phrase I would repeat was that I had "no religious background." While this statement felt true, it wasn't. My family did not go to church. I did not go to church. I couldn't tell you about the trinity, theology, or what made someone a Good Samaritan. What I could tell you was that I had heard the Gospel. Though I wasn't interested in living by it, I knew it full well: the birth, death, and resurrection of Christ.

The foundation of my faith began in that garage. It began with hearing Bible stories and commandments. More than that, the foundation of my faith began with a family: one who transformed their home into a place of joy and wonder; one who placed rules and boundaries where none had been set; one who pointed out what was "good" in places I never would've seen. A family who lived their lives sacrificially; lives that lifted up and pointed to a good God and a risen Christ.

For all of this, I am eternally grateful.

For Win.

2011-11-29T22:56:00.000-08:00

When one passes, we often say "they've gone to be with Jesus," as though their departure from this world is the end. I believe, instead, that Win Apel has begun the longer and most important part of his journey.

I did not know Win well. I do not know where he was born, what he aspired to be as a youngster, where he went to college, nor his favorite color. And yet, I know that he lived a life well-spent. He lived a life of fruitfulness. I can guarantee that when death came to meet him, it was greeted by a light soul; proof of a well-lived, sacrificed life.

I know this to be true, not because I knewWin well but because I have encountered his legacy.

I have met his wife; a woman who wears grace around her neck and who can attest that there was not a day that Win "saved up." She was the one who threw him a tuxedo party when he ran a marathon in Antarctica -- one of over fifty marathons. I am sure that those runs, 26.2 miles after 26.2 miles after 26.2 miles, are a beautiful metaphor of their intertwined lives. Every step inching toward the prize; both of them cheering one another on. Lorrie is a great cheerleader. I have seen her cheer for her husband through the toughest of seasons. We only cheer on those we believe in.

Win was believed in by many.
While I know it is Win who ought to be honored, I find no better way to honor a man than to speak the truth of his children.

I have met all three of Win's sons. Two of them briefly; quick conversations and perhaps sharing a meal when they're in town. They are men of great character.

Trey is one of my dearest friends. He opens his home to many and when you speak to him, is is as though you are the only person in the world who matters. There are fewer and fewer good men out there. Trey is one of the last of a dying breed He is the type of man who makes you want to be better (and smarter).

Win leaves behind a legacy of good men, men of noble character. This is quite a legacy.

I have a fond memory of Win from a summer when he visited California. At a live, outdoor concert, old time rock-n-roll filled the air. Win grabbed the hand of his granddaughter, Sydney, and the two of them danced under a summer sunset. There are few things more sacred than a granddaughter dancing with her grandfather. I'd bet that Win had several moments like this -- moments when time stood still.

After his diagnosis, Win lived and lived. He shared the truth of his Source of Life/ Every day he pointed to the One who allowed him these years, who allowed him to leave a legacy.

Win's life pointed to Christ like a compass needle pointing north: it never changed. When faced with death, Win showed no fear. This was not a foolish move, this was because of the truth he lived under: that Christ has already won the battle, that His feet have trampled death.

Win lived under the truth that he was made by an amazing Creator, that he was saved and called and redeemed. Win lived under the truth that Christ had died for his sins, that He rose again. This is a truth that is unshakable, this is a truth that cannot be kept.

Win's most lasting legacy is that he lived and breathed in and through and for Christ. This is the only legacy worth leaving, the only thing of value to pass on. It makes sense that a man of such great knowledge would choose to do so.

“His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say "I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come." Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places.”
― Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

Dark Days, Great Light.

2011-10-09T23:02:00.000-07:00

My friend once told me that life is a series of a bunch of little days and then some really big ones. “There are days that define your life,” she claimed. I didn’t believe her. I thought that every day held extreme possibility and that they all weighed the same.

I was wrong.

This discovery came to me on many positive occasions: the birth of my brother, my first kiss, my first time leaving the country, and when I celebrated the 72nd wedding anniversary of my great-grandparents. There were lots of days in between, days that were chock-full of excitement and joy and moments I kept track of in my journal. There were days where nothing could get me down; days that were defined with words like full and bountiful. We’ve all had those days (or at least I hope you have) when we feel as though if one more thing goes right, we could actually implode.

Rob Bell writes about this feeling in his book Velvet Elvis. He states it like this: “I assume you have had moments like this when you were caught up in something so much bigger than yourself that you couldn’t even put it in words. What is it about certain things that ignites something within?...Whatever those things are that make you feel fully alive and like the universe is ultimately a good place and you are not alone, I need a faith that doesn’t deny these moments but embraces them. I need a spiritual understanding that celebrates these kids of transcendent moments instead of avoiding them... They are expressions of what it means to live in God’s world.”

While those days have shaped me, there have been other days that have defined me. Most of them were dark days.

The day I found out there was no hidden piggy bank that would help send me to college. The day that my great-grandma passed away. The day, only months later, that her spouse of 73 years, took his last breath. The day when I was informed that my “dad” wasn’t my dad. What weight such a title holds. The walls closed in and my identity shattered into a million pieces.

The darkest day was one of my own doing. It was the hardest day of my life. I hope that no other takes its place.

On that day, I made a phone call to my dearest friend and I wept. I cried tears of confusion and anger. She couldn’t understand my words. I explained to her the situation. I told her what I had done. And when I said it out loud, when I confessed my sin, my heart was as an anchor while my conscience lifted like a feather in the wind.

I spoke to her father, a man who I have grown to love and respect more each time I have a conversation with him.

He said all of the things I had feared he’d say. And then he said more. He told me what I had to do. The words sliced through my heart.

“I’d rather be dead than do that.
I’d rather be dead.”

I won’t go into detail about the "whats" and the "whys." But I will tell you this: in that moment, the rubber hit the road, and I decided to stick it out. It was the first of many dark days that would define me.

That night, I attempted to type letters of resignation through eyes blurred by a myriad of tears. I cried the way one cries when losing a loved one; the type of cry that calls upon the pain that can only come from the depth of loss.

The next day, I stood before two men in my life that I respected and I resigned from my positions of leadership in the ministries they oversaw. I wept. So did they.

For the next several weeks, I didn’t get out of bed. I barely ate. Nothing had a purpose. Especially me. The dark day grew into the dark week, the dark month, the dark...

Over the past seven years, I have lived in the tension of letting this day define me and telling this day to leave me the hell alone. In the process of this fight, I was led, step by step, into light days again. It didn’t happen all at once. It did not take leaps and bounds. Slivers of light crept in. And the thing about light is this: you can’t ignore it -- and, when you’ve been in darkness, the smallest shred of light feels like the brightest ray of sun.

There have been people who have sat with me in silence on the dark days. There have been those who brought their light into my darkness. There have been those who entered in, for a season, and couldn’t sit with me any longer. They have all played their parts. For each of them, I am extremely grateful.

Through it all, there was only one consistent light.

He once claimed He was the Light of the world.

In my life, He has proven this to be true.

We are all broken cisterns. Where I have been shattered, the light shines through. The way I’ve been pieced back together makes me who I am. I am finally embracing this truth rather than running from it, or pretending as though it doesn’t exist. My scars show where I have been, what I have been through, and a God who heals all wounds.

For years, I couldn’t get through this song without crying. It spoke to the depth of my deepest fears: of being identified for the rest of my life as my failures and mistakes. The words resonated with the parts of me that I hated.

I thought I buried you deep; I buried you in my skin  
And when the night’s at its darkest you come back to me again
I thought I’d leave you behind; I turned and I ran away  
But in the silence between my steps your footsteps follow me   

You come back to haunt me.
You come back to make me feel alone  
You come back to haunt me like the fear I can’t let go
  
I tried to gather the shards that you’d left scattered all over me  
They’d broken off underneath the surface

But ghosts I see right through
and I can see through you
So all you’ll ever do is be a shade I see tomorrow through

You haunt me. You come back to make me feel alone  
But you’re only what breaks me so that someday I’ll be whole
You come back to haunt me

© Justin McRoberts 2003 Five Foot Six and a Half Music (ASCAP)

Now, I see it as a song of hope; a song of remembrance and one of joy -- one that points back and says “Yes. I remember that. I was there. You were, too. And now, look how far we’ve come.” I can finally sing that line about wholeness and know it to be true. It is no longer in some far off, distant land. It is here, it is now.

When I was enveloped in darkness, He was light.
When I came undone, He was luminous.
When I finally stepped out of night, His radiance was blinding.
For the willing soul, He will not let a single corner continue to be in darkness.
He is light and He is always making all things new.

Being in the darkness has made me appreciate the light.

My prayer for you is this: May all your dark corners be illuminated;

your brokenness a path to wholeness.

Why Hugs Matter.

2011-09-13T11:52:00.000-07:00

I was once told that the "average person" needed five hugs per day to survive. Or thrive. I can't remember. Either way, hugs were important.

Hugs are my favorite. (They are not my roommate's favorite, so I've decided to stop attempting to hug her every time I leave for work. Awkward for both of us, really.) To me, hugs say "you matter," and "I care about you." I came from a family of huggers. We hug when we greet one another and when we leave. Sometimes we hug just because we are in close proximity. I realize that for some, this is a foreign concept; that hugs are kept only for moments of need. It breaks my heart to think that this is true for many of my students.

My first year of teaching, I was told to not hug students. I am a rule follower, therefore, there was no hugging. A pat on the shoulder or a "good job" matched with a high-five, maybe; but no hugs.

Kids would ask me for hugs. It was incredibly hard to not hug them when it seemed to be such a simple request.

On the last day of school that year, I knew I was pink slipped. I wasn't sure that I'd be returning. I hugged every single kid who wanted a hug. Those who'd asked for one earlier in the year, I hugged twice. These laws that someone had mentioned had no say on that day. Those hugs signified the closing of a harsh year. Hugs can even provide closure. Who knew?

Today, I gave an important hug to someone. Maybe one of the most important hugs I'll ever give.

A student of mine recently had a death in her family. Her mother passed away. I can't imagine a more difficult time in your life: entering your 11th grade year, beginning to consider colleges and future plans, preparing to enter the "real" world. Motherless.

Her mother had committed suicide. The details almost don't matter.

This student had been out for a week. She came in and turned in papers today. She asked if there was anything that she missed and needed to make up. I told her she didn't need to worry about that today. And then I realized that this was about more than me being a teacher and her being a student. This was about the simple fact that we are two human beings occupying the earth. Sometimes our neighbor does not care about boundaries and laws that exist to protect the unprotected. Sometimes, our neighbor just needs a hug.

So, I hugged her. I said "I love you," because no other words seem to fit. "I'm sorry" didn't seem to be quite enough; it never does.

She will never be hugged by her mother again. The arms that held her when she was small and fragile, when she had no other arms in which to be held, will not embrace her when she walks across the stage, when she exchanges vows, nor when she is in deepest need.

In moments such as this, I recognize that we are the hands and feet of Christ. Some days, He asks us to be His arms.

Tattered Quilts.

2011-09-05T22:05:00.000-07:00

I am submitting this to a writing contest, but sharing it because it means more than winning.

Children should outlive their parents. These are the rules.

That’s what I always thought. It’s what they thought, too. He was young, in his 40’s when on a typical day while helping a friend, his heart stopped. My uncle had the biggest heart I’d ever known. At age eight, it made no sense to me that this could be happening; that he would no longer be with us.

In these moments of greatest confusion, answers are not only unfound, they are unnecessary. There is something to be said for silence.

There must’ve been wailing. That’s all I could think as I imagined my great-grandparents finding out that their only son was gone. I imagined my Papa, always so calm and reserved, yelling and saying words he told me not to say – furious at God and the world and injustice. I imagined my great-grandma sobbing hysterically and saying the word “no” until she couldn’t form the combination of those two letters any longer.

There were hard years between then and now. Somewhere in between all of them, love began to make sense.

Both of my great-grandparents passed away this year. Although they are no longer with us, they leave behind a legacy of love. It was in their loving both one another and our family that I have begun to understand a love that is deep and wide.

They met at Sweet’s Ballroom in Oakland, dancing. She approached him when it was the “tag dance.” They were both there with other dates. The next week, they both returned. Stag.

Two years later, they were married.

Seventy two years later, he would sit by her bedside and held her hand. He kissed her for the last time.

My GG, as we called her, endured great loss. One of nine children, she survived the longest. She also survived her son and granddaughter. I believe it was because of this that she loved with a heart of gold. She loved from the place of a mother, which I imagine, must be the best and hardest place from which to love. She devoted her life to her family. We are proof of that. She sacrificed her life for us. She spent her days instilling in us the truths and values that we may not have been taught otherwise. The legacy she left is one of triumph. Despite great loss, she chose joy; the joy of sacrifice.

Her life was a well spent life; a generous one. She was always waiting to win the lottery or for Ed McMahon to show up at her door with a check for a million dollars. She didn’t want to win big for the sake of winning, but only to share her winnings to bless others.

My Papa was a man of great strength. He was strong in character, strong physically, and the strength of our family. In thirty years, he was the only man who had been a consistent part of my life. He was the kind of man who would never wrong someone on purpose; he always tried to do the right thing. He was a man who could answer any question, fix anything broken, and open any jar. He was a man who made you feel like you were the only one who mattered.

Together, the two were quite a pair. Every holiday, they bought each other cards and gifts. (Seventy-two years worth of Hallmark purchases!). They celebrated milestone anniversaries and cupid’s arrow bringing their hearts together with chocolates and watches. They celebrated numerous years with cakes and candles. They celebrated when there were no means by which to celebrate because simply being together was enough.

It may sound strange, but I knew my great-grandparents loved one another because of how much they fought. Whether it was over coupons and tin foil or the TV being too loud, they were the kinds of fights that made me realize they had nothing else to fight about. They were in agreement on most everything else. That’s what happens when you share life for so many years. The two really do become one.

When we’d go to visit them, we would frequently find them napping in their chairs, the TV blasting (some nonsensical show like Judge Judy). They were always so glad to see us – my great grandma never failed to have something for us, whether it was a few dollar bills or a small, insignificant gift. Both said “I was thinking of you.” My great-grandpa would always greet us with a “Hi, kiddo,” no matter how tall we got or how old we grew. It was a term of endearment that said, “You’ll always be ‘kiddo’ to me.”

Other times, we would find them sitting silently in their house. Although they weren’t speaking, their connection was evident. Their well-worn wedding rings uttered in the silence. Words of hardship and joy. Their posture declared, “We have weathered many storms.” Their lives, a quilt of loss and celebration, each thread adding to the color, the beauty of the final product.

Their comfort with one another stated that they had long ago put the word “I” to death and instead adopted the word “we.” It was not that they were in love, it was that they had chosen love for so many years, through so many difficulties, that it was no longer a choice, but a promised decision.

This marriage taught me the meaning of love. It taught me that some words are synonymous with love – words like: victory and triumph. I hope to always love in such a way, weaving threads that endure.

In Love with Summer.

2011-06-15T15:47:00.000-07:00

If summer were to propose to me, I'd say yes.

No question.

No ring required.

My summer was almost stolen from me. I was misdiagnosed with mono and after weeping and wailing and, well, everything short of wearing all black or tearing off my clothes and wiping ash on my forehead, I had given up on summer.

Forced rest would be upon me. Weeks of it. Maybe even months. Goodbye, social life. Goodbye, fun plans and spontaneous trips. Hello, Law and Order Marathon #32. Hello, naps that are less than enjoyable.

Alas, God, in all His infinite goodness and wisdom gave me a big "jk." No Mono. No CMV. Not a virus to be found. Just the typical end of the year cold paired with a heaping amount of exhaustion from running myself rampant all school year. My body finally taking toll; requiring payback.

"Your pace of life is not sustainable," my friend said to me. I didn't want this to be true. I have worked so hard at not being so busy. I hate being called "the busiest person someone knows." Or do I?

Perhaps I feel important being so busy. Perhaps I am still breaking down the "needs to be needed" walls that had surrounded my every move. Perhaps I have said 'no' to things I would've never said no to in the past, but have said yes to things that I was supposed to ignore all together. Perhaps.

But, perhaps there's more than that. Perhaps summer is a time when I rest in a different way. Perhaps summer is more than just a season. It is a period of time to bloom; to stop and do nothing while watching it all. Perhaps summer is about taking long naps and longer walks; about my spirit being renewed and in full bloom; preparing for leaves to change and fall -- knowing harsh winters are ahead. The thought that summer was going to be ripped away from me left me feeling torn and hanging on to just a thread. It was not the feeling I had last summer; the feeling of anticipation -- that great things were to come.

I know that I do too much. It is not going to be fixed overnight. Summer provides me with a time to think about nothing and everything. Summer is a time to reflect on what's working and what's not. Summer reminds me of what needs to be pruned in order to bear more fruit. It is so fitting to make these decisions as we see the fruit of our work. The slowing down that happens to me in summer is beginning to change the rest of my days, my weeks, my years. I mean this in both senses of the word rest: the remaining/other days, as well as the actual resting that occurs on these days. Summer is a season of reflection and reframing.

I'm currently reading Mark Buchannan's Spiritual Rhythm and it is incredible. I highly recommend that you add it to your summer reading list.

Here are a few tidbits from the book that I am reflecting on:
"In the summer of the heart, we get that: abundance isn't for trusting in; it's for enjoying..."

"Nostalgia is expectancy in reverse. It's our instinct for heaven rummaging in the storage closet, hoping that our heart's true desire is in there somewhere, hidden amid a clutter of keepsakes and accumulated debris."

Each summer is a gift. Each summer holds newness and journeys not taken before. I am aware of that and am embracing that this summer is about resting and not doing.

My reading list for summer is long. As is my list of to-dos. The following items repeat themselves daily: make few to zero plans, sip iced coffee, soak up the sun, try something new, nap and enjoy. Rinse. Repeat.

Rhyme Time.

2011-06-08T09:55:00.000-07:00

I wrote this yesterday during my break:

I won't miss the tests,
nor the paper grading,
The countless hours,
their constant berating,
I won't miss the frustration
from their petty fights,
Nor their walking in late
after partying nights.
I won't miss the days
when I wanted to quit
Or the student who acted
like a child throwing a fit
I won't miss the sound
of their horrid vernacular,
but their smiles, oh their smiles -
they're the most spectacular.

I will miss their faces
gap toothed and all;
I'll especially miss
the name that they called
For during the summer
I take a new name;
One still mine,
though with a different claim.
I will miss their jokes,
(the clean ones at least)
And even their slang:
"swag," "twerk," and "beast."
I'll miss the spark
that they ignited each day
A small fire they kindled
Reminding me: "There's always a way."
Each one so unique
different needs to be met
And when I look back
Treasured memories I get
Of moments where life
has been so well spent
Written on my heart --
all these days, an imprint.

Secure in Insecurities

2011-05-10T22:37:00.000-07:00

Offense makes us defensive.

I was thinking of this today when this line came to me and made all too much sense: "sometimes, we wear our insecurities like a scarf: prominently around our necks. Other times, more like socks: trampling on them step by step."

Every day, I see tons of these scarves.

Insecurity. Where does it come from? Why does it stay? I considering all of this as I watched responses among my students today. Why do some of them shout out answers while others fear me calling their name? Why is it that for one student, an embarrassing moment is a great opportunity for fame, while for another it would warrant transferring schools?

How can insecurities cut so deep for some and barely leave a scratch on others?

When I think of my many insecurities, it makes me insecure. Just thinking of them makes me have those funny feelings that I am the only one who feels that way; I'm the only one insecure in these particular regards. Yet, I know that isn't true.

In my many years of living, I have found the following to be true: my insecurities are only my insecurities as long as I allow them to make me feel insecure. There was a point in my life where I wouldn't order a soda from a waitress because I was too shy to talk. When I inform people of this, there is generally roaring laughter as this seems absurd. At some point, I trampled the insecurity of talking to strangers. Or I was just really thirsty.

There are faces I see every single day. Faces that scream and shout. Faces that quietly listen. Faces that don't want to be seen. Each of them with their own vulnerabilities; needing their own validation.

Once I got loud, I thought all of my insecurities were gone. What I found was that, instead, my confidence was simply loud noises covering holes of doubt and uncertainty. Funny how your voice echoes in such space.

Teaching has made me take off my scarf. There's no time to be insecure. There's no room for it. The best thing I can say to a student is, "I don't know." When I say that, it baffles them. It is rather sad to know how few teachers will admit their lack of knowledge about something.

In June, I will be turning 30. Unlike many people I know, I will not be holding on to 29. It was a good year. I'm hoping 30 is even better. In honor of this monumental event (and embracing it), I am throwing a quinceánera times dos. What better way to step into this new season of my life? What better way to be secure in the number of years I've lived than to wear a huge dress and do choreographed dance? I want to honor and guard the years I've lived, not mask them and call them a number they are not. This will be a celebration of years well spent, moments of found security.

What I know about trampling on insecurities I have learned from people who are secure, but who haven't always been -- people who have taken off the scarf and traded it in. Christ is the perfect model of this. The one who had nothing to be insecure about still asked, "who do you say I am?" not for the sake of Himself, but of those who were still struggling through their insecurities. When they wanted to crown Him ask King, raise Him up, his response was to run away. He was too secure for their insecurities. After spending years with a group of men, pouring His life into them and teaching them all He knew, he took a knee and washed their feet. There are fewer things that would make anyone feel so insecure.

And in the end, when it was all said and done and He spoke the words "it is finished," He was able to let go of all of the insecurities of the world. All that we had placed on His shoulders, at His feet, through His hands, on His side. Then, He returned, fully secure.

God is the God of security. May He continue to trample on the things that keep you from Him and His many guarantees.

Death and All His Friends.

2011-04-20T11:05:00.000-07:00

This blog has taken a while to write and even longer to post...

My great-grandma passed away a few weeks ago.

She was 92.

One would think that 92 years is enough. It was a lot of years. Certainly, it must've been well spent.

But what is it about death that makes us cling, so desperately, to life? Even after 92 years of living, we wanted her alive. Death...the absence of life, is detrimental. The look in my great-grandpa's eyes told me that death wasn't part of the original equation. It wasn't supposed to exist.

Death slaps us in the face. It brings us back to reality. It makes us stop complaining about long lines at the store and traffic; it helps us to focus on that which is actually important. Death makes us awaken every morning to new possibilities amidst the seemingly mundane. Death makes us hug those we love a moment longer than is comfortable. Death is darkness. Life is light.

It isn't death that does any of these things at all. It is death that reminds us of the goodness -- the sanctity of life. Death shouts from rooftops and whispers from valleys a still, unmistakeable "don't forget."

One of my favorite books is The Book Thief. Part of what made me love this book was that Death is the narrator and he is likable. Yes, likable. Death almost has feelings. He is on a mission that he cannot control. I wonder how close this fictional character is to the real thing.

I sat with my great-grandpa a few weekends ago at his house. This man who once was 6'3 and stood every inch of it was now hunched over a walker. He spent more of his energy that morning getting dressed up because I was coming over. I told him he looked handsome. I wondered if my great-grandma told him that every day.

It isn't just health and old age that are starting to get to my Papa. It is the lack of companionship that he shared for 73 years. The void is too large to fill.

He napped in his chair as I cleaned the house. As I dusted my great-grandma's dresser, I noticed her perfume. I opened it and her scent was unleashed. I wept.

There is a deep injustice we know about death. It is why we cry and wail and fight it. The injustice is that it isn't the way it was supposed to be. I am reminded of this during this season of Lent as we fix our eyes on the Resurrection. Death conquered. Life made whole again.

Easter was my great-grandma's favorite holiday. Last year, she dyed eggs by herself as we weren't able to come up on Saturday. She had a basket of at least 24 pastel colored eggs with stickers (and maybe glitter) all over them. It was a beautiful sight. She had an affinity for chickens and rabbits. I thought her love of Easter had more to do with the farm life than anything else. But this year, I realize I was wrong.
Her love of Easter stemmed from her love of Christ. Even if it was not spoken of frequently, even if it was not as boldly proclaimed as another's; it was there.

Amidst plastic grass and pastel colored eggs, she knew that death didn't have the final say and she celebrated as such.
May we all be reminded of this truth -- death is indeed, not the end.

iPhones and Jesus Christ.

2011-03-13T22:29:00.000-07:00

A few years ago, a friend of mine (Ryan) very generously gave me his old iPhone 3G. I was reluctant to pay the additional fees for the data plan, and all of the bells and whistles I was sure I didn't need. I didn't want my cell phone to run my life. And it didn't. But that phone sure came in handy when I was placed in a classroom without internet. It helped when I needed to look something up in a dictionary at a school that had no funding (thanks, free apps!). It became a huge resource to me, and I was grateful for it.

Pieces of it didn't work. It began to get very slow. And then the 3Gs came out. Cool features. I coveted. Then, the 4G. My plan was to wait until my contract expired and switch to Verizon. I waited, but didn't make the switch. I saved up and made the decision to get the iPhone 4. I am not a big spender. I don't have fancy things. I don't need to have the latest and greatest. I try to practice the discipline of frugality.
Buying the iPhone 4 was a big deal. I knew I'd take the best care of it and have it for 3+ years if possible.

Spending hours looking up cases that would be the best protection for this new device didn't seem like a waste of time; it seemed necessary. I went with the Incipio case. I suggest you do the same.

This morning, my iPhone took its first (and only) trip through the normal cycle in the washing machine. Oops. After one solitary tear was shed and some vulgar words were spoken, I used resources (the interweb, google talk, skype), sent a text to my friend who works at Apple, and said a prayer over the bowl of rice my iPhone sat in. It was a sad moment. I kept saying "it's just a phone, it's just a phone, it's just a phone." It is just a phone. It's just an object. But this was one of the most expensive objects I've owned outright, plus, it has become something I use so frequently, I knew there was no going back.

My friend responded and said, "Come in. I'll see what I can do." I'd looked up all of the tricks and held my phone under a blow dryer long enough for it to need some frizz control. I prayed over the bowl of rice again.

Upon entering the apple store out of breath (he said come in as soon as you can), I hung my head low as I made eye contact with my friend. I wasn't sure what to expect. Surely, this would be costly. I'd made a bonehead, expensive mistake. Certainly I would have to pay.

He led me to the genius bar. I felt uneasy. "This can't be good," I thought to myself.

"Jes, this is Caleb." An attractive Apple Genius Bar guy shook my hand. I was still in my pajamas. Oops. At least I'd brushed my teeth. "He's going to help you out."

Crap. I don't know Caleb. He doesn't know me. This isn't going to end well for me...nor my bank account. Caleb smiled and said, "I hear you're a teacher." "That's right," I responded, remembering that Caleb is some one's son, some one's best friend, and he's not here just to take my money. He's just a guy with a real life, who happens to be working on a Sunday. "I think teachers are undervalued. I respect what you do. We're gonna take care of you today."

Caleb and I talked for 15 minutes about work and life and travel. He used to live in Colorado. He was home schooled. He has worked for Apple for two years and plans on working there for a long time. He wants to transfer to London in June.

I signed a piece of paper and walked out of the Apple store with a brand new iPhone for free. It took all my energy to not hug Caleb, to not hug my friend, Jeremy, and to not stand on one of those stools and yell this sign of life from the top of my lungs. I was choked up as I walked to my car, reflecting on how God has His hand on everything; how He truly is a good Father. I was humbled. I was overjoyed.

Then, I realized what had just happened. This was the gospel.

We've all thrown our phones in the washer. We've made huge mistakes that have had costly repercussions; things we could never afford to right. It is only in and by His mercy and grace that we are able to experience life to the full; pardoned and free.

I'm not comparing Jesus to an iPhone or an Apple Genius. I am just hopeful that you can see that the grace of God is everywhere, ready and waiting for you to take part and receive. May we always be humbled and overjoyed at the gift that has been given to us in Christ. This is grace.

Why Christmas Is samtsirhc.

2010-12-06T22:09:00.000-08:00

Christmas is backwards. I see this every day of the Advent season. I see this in them. I see this in you. I see this in me.

It all begins with Thanksgiving, really.
We spend a day thinking of all of the things we're thankful for, celebrating the 'things' we have; focusing on what is rather than what is not. We realize that these 'things' aren't really things, but they're moments, memories, experiences...and they all involve people. We eat a turkey, if we're fortunate enough, and take part in annual traditions that have somehow made it through more years than were ever expected (at least, that's what the candied yams said.)

And then it is over. The thankfulness is no longer at the forefront. In fact, instead, the opposite occupies our minds.

Black Friday is one of my least favorite days of the year. On it, I see more greed than most days can contain. Now, hear me out. I am the first one to admit that I'm always trying to get a good deal and save some money. However, dedicating an entire day to consumerism, that's another story. People camp out, lose sleep, get injured...all for a Tickle me Elmo? Our stomachs remember how full we were the day before, but our hearts have so quickly forgotten. We are suddenly discontent.

Shortly after this unfortunate "holiday," comes December 1st. Tree lots are full. Santa's helpers arrive. Red and white stripes no longer designate Waldo, but rather the whole world. We hang up lights and make cookies. Christmas music rings from the heights of the heavens...or at least from the top of the iTunes charts. The smell of pine and cinnamon remind us of a simpler time. Eggnog makes its annual appearance and there is hope yet, for this dark world.

And again, we get it backwards.

I hear people complaining about how they "can't afford" Christmas. Kids have to decide if they'll spend their Christmas with their mom or dad. People are stressed because they have been invited to eight parties all on the same weekend and can't decide which to attend. Singles are reminded of their singleness and feel as though they are most incomplete during this season that they deeply desire to share with another. The voids we avoid all year step forward. Parents feel like failures when they can't get their kid the gift they wanted. Kids feel neglected when they open their gifts and don't receive what they asked for.

None of this is what it is about.

It is not about disappointment, it's about hope.
It is not about fulfilled desires, it's about joy.
It is not about voids and lacks, it's about completion.
It is about an absurd story of a baby born in a manger;
a story of God putting on flesh.
It is about a Savior who came to earth, held our hands, and wears our scars.
A redeemer who healed our sight, pierced our hearts, entered our neighborhoods.
It is about the leveling of the playing field; the righting of wrongs.
A story of Our Creator walking our streets, telling our story, washing our feet.
It is the story of a God of love;
of the God who has it all sacrificing it all on our behalf.
It is not at all about you. It is not at all about me. And yet, that is all that it's about.
It is about you and it is about me. It is about the larger Story that we are part of.
It is backwards and it is absurd.
And it is the only truth that I know that makes life make sense.

Turning of Seasons, My Life In Color.

2010-10-19T15:40:00.000-07:00

It is fall. Officially. Leaves are turning colors, the weather is making up its mind day by day, and pumpkins are making their way to the front porch of everyone and their grandmama.

I recently took a trip to Portland and was able to experience a great weekend seminar on writing the storyline of my life. I was challenged to write a list of "what if's" and to think about what God has done, is doing, and will continue to do in and through my life. It was inspiring, encouraging, and in Portland - home of the world's best beers.

This weekend, I visited the Kansas City area. The weather was incredible (especially in comparison to the extremely harsh weather that I encountered in June). While it rained at home, I was able to go running in the sun with a cool breeze following behind me.

I was reminded of a lot of things this weekend. I had time to rest and reflect, and I've found that when I allow myself the space to do that, I am able to do much more. I am able to dream again.

As of late, my dreams have consisted of the future; something I am usually not thoughtful of as I am a settler and the future usually designates unwanted change. I dream of creating a space for people to be silent, a room that is available at any time to anyone, who needs a nap or a quiet space to simply be. I dream of coaching and teaching; of modeling what it means to be a good leader. I dream of writing a book that sits on someone's shelf. I dream of long summers full of creativity.

Often, I am confused by the line between my dreams and God's plan. Sometimes this line fades in and out, the colors intertwine and create something beautiful. Other times, the colors mash up against one another and create nothing but dreary grey. This color is not appealing. I prefer orange, where red and yellow have met; where they shake hands and eventually hug.

Magenta was my favorite color in 5th grade. There was something magical about my one magenta Crayola crayon. I would've colored the sky magenta if I hadn't been such a rule follower.

My friend Amy prayed once that I would be able to "see my life in color." (Side note: I think this will be a phenomenal book title.) I am beginning to see that much like when I was a kid, my favorite colors are meant to be my favorites for a while; for a season. In the same way that the leaves change, my life, too, will take on new color in each season. In the same way that I appreciate the changing of the colors of the trees, I must learn to appreciate these colors in my life.

Harold and the Purple Crayon is one of my favorite books.

I buy it for the people in my life that I love the most; those who I know have talent unforeseen; those who need to know that they can draw themselves to the moon if they'd just believe it. I bought this book for my brother when he graduated high school. I hope that one day, he is able to find his crayon and draw a path that he is content with. I hope it brings him great joy to do so.

In the book, there's a scene where Harold draws something that he is afraid of. This makes his hand shake, which makes him, in turn, accidentally draw waves. He begins to sink. All because of the sleight of his hand. All because he was scared.

So often, I let my fear get the better of me. I hate change. This is why the sky was always blue and never magenta on my pictures. Color within the lines. Make things make sense.

I was told tonight that the color of my life will need to change. There will be decisions that I will need to make that I won't be happy about. I believe that God has called me to teach. I believe that where He's called me to teach will change. I believe that I have chosen where I want to be and I've marked it with a magenta crayon. It is comfortable. It is familiar. It is home, in season and out.

I write these things to you, whoever is reading, because I know that I will need help remembering this when I want the familiar. I will need you to stand by me and say "you can do this, it will be worth it."

I am reminded of the story of the fishermen who said to Jesus, "Because You say so, we will cast our nets." Not "if," not "when," not "because we saw what happened last time," but simply because. Due to the fact that...

Magenta is not my favorite color anymore. I still enjoy looking at it, but I don't need to carry around with me a crayon with such a pink hue. Turns out, pink really isn't my color. My hope is that I will be able to look back and know that this is true again; that the turning of seasons is much like the changing of favorite colors - all beautiful for different reasons and at different times; all painting a the beautiful pictures of our stories.

Wins and Losses

2010-08-19T23:37:00.000-07:00

Tonight, I watched five-year-olds play soccer. It was one of the most entertaining things I've ever seen, six soccer players running back and forth on the world's tiniest field, unsure of which goal the ball is supposed to go in, or what a goal is at all. They looked so cute in their little jerseys and shin guards of infinitesimal size.

I was there to root on the one and only Sydney Apel. Sydney is the coolest five-year-old I know. I found myself thinking things like, "I remember her first birthday party. Changing her diaper. Crap, is this what it means to be old?" None of it mattered as I sat with her family on the sidelines, cheering her on as if it were her one and only game.

To get to the field, I found myself tip toeing around chairs and blankets and all types of people. They were everywhere. Brothers. Sisters. Mothers. Fathers. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. Neighbors. Friends. The park was full of cheerleaders; supporters from all walks of life.

At the end of the games, the coaches invited everyone to form a tunnel for the kids to run through. Both teams, at the same time. Their opposing colored jerseys melded together like primary colors to make something beautiful. The kids ran with their gluten-free, anti-peanut snacks and they cheered for each other. They celebrated that they had just played a game. No one cared who won or lost. They all got snacks at the end, and that's all that mattered.

At what point does this stop happening? When are kids too cool to run under the arms of their supporters? At what point are supporters too busy to cheerlead for their kids? Is it when teens reach that awful age where they claim to want nothing to do with those who have birthed and raised them? Because let me tell you, that is mostly a lie. From age 12-19, none of us really have a clue what is going on within us. Whatever the breakdown is, it is significant.

It makes me sad to think of the number of empty fields I have shown up to in the past few years. As a teacher, a friend, a youth leader, or simply an advocate, I have found myself sitting alone far too many times at a JV game.

I follow a funny mother on Twitter. (that is a mom who is funny, not to be read in a different manner...) The other day, her son picked up a plastic telephone and said, "Bob, you never texted me that email."

This is what these kids know. Text messages. Emails. IM. Tweet tweet. Blog. "Chat" no longer means sitting down over coffee and discussing something; chat involves keyboards and an internet connection and not looking someone in the eye. It will be interesting to see how all of this plays out in a few years...

In a book I'm reading it mentions that at some point shortly after the 60's when stores started to open on Sundays and the schedule of the average American skyrocketed to astronomical hours, Hallmark actually created a line of cards that had lines like "Sorry I couldn't be there today." I find this to be an extremely sad reflection of the value we place on time and family.

Today, this got me thinking, and this is what I thought:
Without fans, the sport doesn't matter much.

I loved going to this game tonight because it made me remember what it is all about. In taking an online coaching class, I came across the information that the word "compete" comes from the Latin word "competer" meaning: "to seek together, to coincide, to agree." To compete means to join together with others and go up against something; to seek together who is the bigger/better/faster/best. Or does it mean something more? Could it be that to "compete" has less to do with the final outcome and has more to do with sitting on the field after the game and agreeing that the game was, again, worth playing today.

The school year is about to begin and I have turned down the opportunity to make a ton of extra money by teaching an extra class. (I've discovered the truth that my sanity is not worth any dollar amount). Instead, I am considering coaching softball. This is an opportunity that I am excited about. I'd like to teach kids how to compete - how to lose without losing anything at all; how to see the final score as nothing more than numbers at which we nod.

I hope that the stands are full.

Living a Great Story Already (or "How To Not Win A Contest")

2010-08-11T09:13:00.000-07:00

I love Donald Miller. I've been a fan of his for years. I've read what he writes multiple times, pre-order his books, and visit his blog frequently. When he announced that he was doing a writing seminar, based on his latest book A Million Miles In A Thousand Years, being held in Portland, I threw all excuses out the window and registered for it. "I want to be a better writer," I thought. "I want to be able to write the way Don does, making it feel like you've just had a cup of coffee with him once you've finished one of his books." It wouldn't hurt to learn how to tell a better story, too.

Don decided to hold a contest (as all wise people should) inviting folks to blog about how they plan on living a better story. This was intriguing to me, mostly because it meant I could get free stuff, and who doesn't want that? Then I read the specifications and requirements for the entry. "Write a blog...embed the video...be specific about how you want to live a better story."

Here's the thing: I am living a pretty darn good story already.

I work doing a job that I love. I will probably do it for another 20+ years, regardless of budget cuts, state standard changes, pay decreases, and multiple run ins with heartbreak. Teaching is my gift to the world. I live a better story every day that I have the privilege of sharing life and knowledge with students.

I have awesome friends and family. I have friends who live down the street who invite me over for breakfast, let me play with their kids, and recommend music that feeds my soul. I have friends who live in other countries, who are serving the poorest of the poor who keep in touch and ask me about my life; we pretend that there aren't miles of countries between us because friendship is the greatest bridge of all. My great grandparents have been married for seventy-something years. They have modeled what it looks like to live a great story: to stick to what you said you'd do, to survive wars and polio and still be able to smile at the end of it all. They've raised children, suffered loss too great for words, and have consumed a great deal of wine. They are two of the best people I know.

I am part of a community that is living an incredible story. They are a people who are fighting for social justice; people who embrace the broken and include outcasts. I am part of a community of people who understand the broken and who have empathy for the outcasts because most of us used to be them; in many ways, we still are. My community makes me live a better story as we write our own. No one claims to have the answers, but all of us claim to have a lot of hope which pairs well with hands and feet in motion.

I serve a God who is the author of life. He is in process of telling the best story ever told. My "living a better story" is submitting to His plan and going where He says to go. This doesn't mean that my dreams, my desires, my passions don't matter; it does mean that those things are shaped and formed by knowing more and more of this God and understanding who He is, what He stands for, and what His story looks like. Sometimes it unrolls before me like a red carpet, waiting for my arrival. Other times His story feels more like origami, like paper that is beautiful, but too intricately designed to touch or begin to fully understand.

My "better story" is being lived out as I tell the story of Christ with my life. My better story is being fully present wherever I am, "preaching the Gospel and when necessary using words," trying to make things better wherever I go, and laughing each day as often as possible.

To those who are reading all of these blogs and judging them for the contest, I know this one won't win. I haven't spelled out what I'm going to do to change the world or been specific enough in what I'd do with the funding you're granting, but thanks for playing. I love my story just the way it is and I can't wait to see what happens in the next chapter. Until then, I'll see you guys in Portland.

Living a Better Story Seminar from All Things Converge Podcast on Vimeo.

Chasing After the Moon

2010-07-26T08:06:00.000-07:00

The sunset is my friend.

The sunrise is, too, but sometimes he gets up too early and I'm not quite ready for something of such grandness on certain weekdays. My friend Amy loves both the sunrise and the sunset. Her affinity towards the sun and its movement have made me appreciate it all the more. Watching the sun rise and set makes you remember that your days are numbered. The sun isn't nearly as exciting when it is high noon; blaring from the sky like the chorus of an all too familiar song. Yet when it rises, it tells us a new day has begun; when it sets, it makes us reflect on how we've spent our most recent hours.

Last night, the sky told me I had just missed an incredible sunset. Hues of colors filled the air and the horizon looked like a stage; closed curtain, after a beautiful performance. I was sad to know I had missed such a beautiful sight. The thing about the sunset is, no matter how many times you see it, it is never exactly the same and it is always worth watching. Certain things remind us that we are small.

As I pondered just how small I am, I was sad to have missed a glorious sunset. Watching it happen, if only for a moment brings me peace. I felt like I'd been robbed. What was I doing that was so important that I'd missed this epic event? I couldn't quite remember how it had gotten so late so quickly. My mind wandered and I attempted to picture the remarkable sight I'd just missed. I sighed a heavy sigh.

Then, I saw it. The moon. In full fury. A glorious sight. It took my breath away.

I drove and drove and drove and tried to catch it. I drove up streets and across hills trying to find the perfect place to capture it on film (er...iPhone). The more I drove, the more the magic was lost; the further the moon ventured from me. Only when I was on freeways or in areas where I couldn't stop to photograph it was it in plain sight. The moon eluded me. I fought the moon and the moon won. By the time I was able to pull over, have it in sight, and not get a ticket for any illegal car maneuver, it was long gone. Its magnitude was lost. It looked just like the regular full moon I have seen on standard nights in my life. I'm no scientist, I don't understand what happened to it; how it went from the size of an up close planet to the size of a Frisbee. All I knew was that the warm, fuzzy feeling of excitement and awe I had just moments ago was now gone.

It is this way often in life, isn't it? In work, in love, in suffering, in matters of faith, in the newness of things. At some point, the chase is over, and we are stuck wondering what all of the fuss was about in the first place. We find it hard to believe we've been working so hard for something that was so fleeting.

I feel that way a lot. In my work. In my life. The chasing after something that will not last. And yet, there are these few solid things that continue to endure, like the sun rising and setting over us. These things make us realize that the other pieces that are falling apart were never meant to hold together. The moon may lose its magnitude, but it will always be there. Day after day and night after night, I suppose the only thing that changes is my location, my view, my perspective.

This is true of all of us. How we view things changes their proximity, their importance, their value. I would've continued to chase that moon had it stayed so vibrant, so immense. "Peaks and Valleys" we always say. Moments of grandeur and moments of despair. We've experienced both. We prefer the peaks. And yet it is in the valley that the work is done, that the reshaping begins, that the moon takes on a whole new look - not for a moment, but for the rest of our lives.

It is only in the valley that we change.

We are beaten down, we cry out, we cannot take another step. And yet we endure. We press on. Someway, somehow - on a shoulder, being carried; whatever the case, we go in stride. We climb up these challenges and rise to the top, standing at the peak knowing we are not quite the same. We are transformed in between these peaks, they are simply a lookout point to remind us of who we once were and who we have become. From the valley we emerge with a new perspective of importance and value.

I am thankful to know a God who leads through peaks and valleys, who carries through dark places, who stands proud with me on the peaks. My view, my perspective, my location continues to change, but He does not. He continues to endure, to maintain the same magnitude as He holds all things together.

In 50 years, I will have seen a lot of sunrises and sunsets. I will have had opportunity to see the moon over 18,000 times, but I doubt that the intrigue will be gone.

I hope to still have moments where the moon makes me gasp and stare in wonder; I hope to chase after it, fully knowing it isn't going anywhere at all.

Summer 2010!

2010-07-20T16:15:00.001-07:00

It is July. My last blog entry was in May. You do the math. I've been busy...

"Summer 2010!" has been my motto for the past several weeks. It does not mean what it sounds like with that exclamation point so emphatically placed. That punctuation makes it seems like "Summer 2010!" is a beast of a summer filled with foreign lands and travel of great distances and expensive wine and...well, you get the picture. Summer 2010! is a motto of rest. Summer 2010! means I will stop, I will cease, I will rest, rest, rest.

And for the most part, that is what I have been doing, even when it doesn't feel like it. Don't get me wrong. Parts of this summer have been restless. There have been days with alarm clocks, days where naps have been required, new levels of exhaustion have been met in ways I wasn't aware were possible. The summer began with hiking half dome, which was a beast. It was truly the hardest thing I've ever done. (A blog might sometime exist about that. Later.) Shortly after, I went south of the border and worked with friends at Rancho de Sus Ninos. Exhaustingly wonderful. Hours of travel. In a van. There is not very much space in a van, contrary to popular belief...

I returned to Yosemite, coached at volleyball camp, and right now could be boarding a plane to the Philippines to work with Young Life and some incredible people who I wouldn't mind spending 20 hours with on a plane. And yet, that is not what I am doing. And I am thankful.

Wise people speak into our lives and we can trust them and learn from their mistakes, or we can hear them, but not listen nor heed; we can indeed make our own choices and learn from the fullness of our own failures and experiences. I've found that the latter is more time consuming and painful. Recently, I've been choosing to listen to those voices that I trust. And because of that, I am resting.

This summer has been very full. It is beginning to wind down. Although I still feel as though there is much to do, I also know that I have been able to be spontaneous (something I am not very good at.) I get to babysit for people just because. I get to bring ice cream to the person who is having a bad day and ice cream might be the only thing to save it. I get to stay up late in deep conversations with close friends. I get to sit alone under the moonlit porch. It is a beautiful thing. I get to converse and sip coffee and not rush off to the next thing. I (will hopefully) get to read books for pleasure. (So far, I'm failing miserably at this!) I get to sit with small children and enter their world and laugh hysterically with them. I get to watch sunrises and sunsets; see them enter and exit on certain days and I notice that my soul fills as they do.

Spontaneity is not my strong suit. I have been more spontaneous this summer than I have been in the past 28 years of my life. It has been challenging and freeing all at the same time.

I am thankful for friends who understand this season in my life, who see time as something we value, but do not own. I'm thankful for friends who remind me that time does not own us. Nor does productivity. Laying in the grass listening to birds chirp is far more beneficial and productive than filing papers and alphabetizing CDs.

I am grateful that God is in and for this Summer 2010; that He has orchestrated a beautiful summer song for me. It has a great chorus and it has been on repeat over and over again in my head. I am grateful for Sabbath and for how it has shaped me; how He has shaped me in and through and because of it. Sabbath makes me live my life at a different pace - an enjoyable one; a pace that is full in the qualitative sense, not the quantitative one.

Refusing to "count down" the remaining days of summer, I am struck with the reality that there is just over a month left of this wonderful season. My hope is that spontaneity will continue to weave its way into my days, that laughter will prevail on an hourly basis, and that rest will cover me like a swaddling blanket in order to prepare me for this upcoming year. I believe that this time is one of pruning and halting for fruit in the season ahead.

The Countdown.

2010-05-22T22:33:00.000-07:00

There are apparently, somewhere around 19 days left of school. I was unaware of this until a student came in shouting a number followed by the word "days." I assumed she meant until her birthday. Quinceanera. Something. I asked her what was happening in that number of days. "The best day ever, duh!" was her response.

The end of school.

I think I will find myself always a little sad this time of year.

In many ways, I adopt these kids for nine months. For hours, each day, we spend time together. Getting to know each other. What we like about each other; what we don't. We disagree, we laugh, we share food (I share food), we shed tears, we live life. And then, all of a sudden, that ends.

Sure, there are great things to look forward to regarding summer: not having to use the restroom within 6 minutes at exactly 10:22 am. No homework (wa hoo!). No bells ringing. No 'f' word every 9 seconds. No "keep your hands to yourself" (yes, I work with high schoolers). No staff meetings. No raging hormones. No challenging teens.

And then there are the things I will miss: challenging teenagers. Laughing with them. Crying with them. Pointing them in the right direction and helping them make lots of U-turns. Letting them know I'm on their side, even when it doesn't feel like it.

I turned in my BTSA binder today (if you don't know what that is, say a prayer of thanks to the Lord). It was a freeing event. It has been looming over my head since the beginning of the school year and will do the same next year. We are required to do written reflections 2x per year. This is the easiest part of the entire assignment to me. I made this analogy:

In 2008, I ran the Portland marathon. It was 26.2 miles of near-death experiences; I fought with a fight I didn’t know existed within me. When I returned from the marathon, I knew that I would get through my first year of teaching. What I didn’t know was that completing a marathon would change my life. Last year, there were days when I wanted to quit, days I felt inadequate, days I wanted to walk away. I needed to remember why I started this in the first place. I would read notes of encouragement; I would remember that there was training involved. Every time I wanted to quit, I thought of the marathon. I remembered how challenging it was, how painful it was, and how much celebrating there was in the end. This year has been a marathon of its own. There have been moments of despair, moments of aches and pains, times of wanting to throw in the towel. Yet, I have completed it and I now know that I am stronger than even I knew. This position at DA has shown me that I not only can work with the most difficult of students, but that I should work with the most difficult students. Although I kicked and screamed at the start of the year about my new placement, I am aware of the fact that this year has served a great purpose in my teaching experience.

My goal as a professional educator is more than “meeting standards.” What I’ve discovered, in retrospect, is that teaching is much more than getting students to perform at a certain level. Our goal as educators must also be to wear the hats our students need us to wear in order to attempt to allow them a safe space and place to not only learn, but also to think, to grow, and to live. High school can be the most challenging four years of life (or at least feel like it at the time.) Faced with outside circumstances beyond their control, fighting off hormones, attempting to fit in, realizing that they have been left behind…all of these things affect students’ learning. They too are running a marathon. We must ask ourselves not only if we have trained them to get to the finish line, but also whether or not we have been cheering them on loud enough.

I will miss cheering on this group of Bad News Bears.
I will miss their inconsistency. Their doubt. Their lack of faith in humanity. The stories of their heartbreaking lives. Their excuses for being late. Their heavy sighs.

I will miss their happy faces. Their texting under the desk. Their hand-over-the-ear-as-they-listen-to-their-iPod-shenanigans. I will miss the sound of their loud laughs. I will miss the way they'd sometimes be nice to each other.

I will miss these lives I've grown to love.

A Shot At It.

2010-05-14T12:56:00.000-07:00

Fiction is probably not my favorite thing to write... This is my first real shot at what I'm calling semi-fiction: you know, based on a true story, but using few of the real facts. It is dedicated to my friend, Bridget. May she always see the hope she brings to others; may she love without getting tired.

A crying baby is the best form of birth control. For some, the crying baby comes a little too far after the fact. This was the case for Isabel.

As my Young Life kid, Isabel shined like the sun. As a daughter, she was favored. As a student, she did her best. So, when it was announced that she was pregnant, I was at a loss for words. We don't say "don't have sex" at Young Life, but it is definitely implied; modeled; said without words.

What is the harm in having a baby?
How could it ever be bad?
Isn't life something to celebrate; especially a new one? Because of her age, she won't have a baby shower? Because she's not married, the kid lacks a father? These things don't make much sense to me. These things make me lose my words.

There were nights of sleep lost over this girl. There were probably too many phone calls, text messages, and tears shed over this soon to be life. Extreme emotional spending. Can you enter the world already in debt?

I helped fill out paperwork. I drove to county offices. I was an advocate, a healer, a mother, and a father to this girl because she had none. This was all done in the sincerest of ways. With tears. With frustration. In honesty, and therefore, in love. This is not a "Freedom Writer's" situation. This is not "Dangerous Minds." This is real life, creeping in and climbing over places I did not expect it to.

Daily, I'd imagine her at school. Attempting to do work, when I knew she couldn't think of anything past this growing being in her body. Who the hell cared about algebraic functions when you were going to have to learn how to nurse a baby? Who could relate to caring about the latest Revlon fashion kit when you'd spend the next years of your life washing/dressing/caring for a face other than your own? When graduating high school slowly slides down your list of important things, life takes an all new shape.

I think every time a baby enters the world, whether it is greeted with baby showers and pastel walls, or if it is separated from those bearing the same last name, heaven rejoices and the angels toast with beer and fancy champagne.

The day Adrian was born, everything changed. Not just for Isabel, not just for her future, but for me; for those I love as well.

It could've been a day of no celebration - a day of fret and frustration, of lost hopes and dreams shattering to the floor. I would not let it be so. This would be a day of toasting, of cheering, of saying yes to this new life. It would be a day of saying "Your circumstances aren't the best, but they don't designate your life, your future, nor who you are. You are wanted. You are loved." These words would be said in a tone of honesty, shadowed with a tone of concern. I knew, though, that the words spoken would be like light in the darkness. They would cast out fear; prevail.

Asking for help is not my strong suit. Not even when it comes to other people. But I'm the type of person who believes we're in this together. As my friend Mother Teresa said, "If we have no peace, it is because we've forgotten that we belong to each other." I believe in peace.

Peace happened to come in the form of money this time around. Isabel and her family did not have the necessary resources for this new life. Although they would've liked to support their daughter and new grandson more fully, the economy and other circumstances wouldn't allow this to be so. They were doing the best with what they had. This time around, it just wasn't quite enough. They were thankful that the glass was half full, and yet, its half-fulled-ness was exactly what created the problem.

A small church in a medium sized city is where I call home. My church people are family. The week Adrian was born, I stood up in church and I explained the predicament. I asked for support. For prayer. For help. Anything. I'd come to the end of my rope; I'd exhausted all of my own resources and those nearby. And yet, there was still a great need. I asked for used items - cribs, clothing, anything that wasn't currently in use that could be helpful to a new mom. I was overwhelmed with gratitude as I saw my family members nod their heads in solidarity. I heard them all say to me, "we're right here with you, with her, with the baby."

I felt my soul being restored.

My community is small in number, but large in heart. I wept as nearly each one of these hearts walked towards me and put in my hand, in my pocket, in my purse, something. Small. Large. It didn't matter. It added up, and it was more than enough. It was formula and clothing. It was diapers and vaccines. It was the cups of water Jesus referenced.

This changed Isabel's life; Adrian's as well. They had what they needed. I thought of the verse that says "do not worry...look at the sparrows...they are cared for...they are valued; you are worth infinitely more." And then, I saw, somewhere in the corner of a mirror or on the glare of a TV that this was also about me. This was about His provision for me as much as it was about His provision for these two who had been in such desperate need. My need for Him was met when He met their need.

It is good to know that I'm more important than sparrows. That much like Adrian, there are people cheering for me, around me, singing songs over me when I forget the words.

How to Get a Free Trip to Israel

2010-04-24T09:56:00.000-07:00

This will be a chapter in my soon-to-be-written book.

Around two years ago, I was working randomly for my former employer. I was folding fliers for a church trip she was planning. The trip was to Israel. My eyes got teary after reading the first half of Day 1 on their itinerary. How amazing it would be to walk where Jesus walked, see the first church where Paul was, view Capernaum, etc. The trip was costly; I am broke.

My former boss and I had a brief chat about the trip. I said that I would love to go. She said that if I signed up, she'd pay for half. Just like that. Who does these types of things? How could an offer like that be placed before me? More importantly, how could I pass that up? I didn't. I signed up for the trip, my Fairy Godmother next to me. (Fairy Godmother is what I will refer to my former boss as for the remainder of this blog. And, quite possibly, my life.)

For the next 11 months or so, I saved as much money as possible. Sometimes, this resulted in the consumption of top ramen, an item I was all too familiar with as a child. Frequently, top ramen was the equivalent of "chicken" insofar as you can make a hellofalotof things with chicken. Top ramen, contrary to popular belief, also has several uses. Sometimes we'd have "gourmet" top ramen. That's right folks, frozen peas, carrots, and corn added to the delicious soup. Booyah.

Tearing all of those little packets of unknown flavorful chemical induced goodness and putting it in the pot really paid off. I'd saved up just about enough money to pay for the rest of the trip. I didn't consider travel costs, though. You know: food, beverages, taxi rides, tipping your travel guide, etc. I'd never been on a trip like this before; I wasn't aware of the cost of such things. When I got the informational packet about our trip, I realized there was a lot more I'd need to save for.

Teachers only get a certain number of days off (because, well, they do give us the summer off...). As I have the world's weakest immune system, I'd already used up a good portion of my days. Using the remaining balance of my sick days, I decided, was worth this trip. I was two days short and figured I'd be without pay for a couple days of the month. "It will be worth it" became my mantra.

I went, I saw, I wept. Israel was beautiful. At the age of 28, I can honestly say that it was the best trip I will ever take in my life (unless I return with a group of people who I hold nearer and dearer to my heart.)

The trip was too much to blog about. In a nutshell: I went with a group of people I didn't know. The average age of those on the trip: 70. No joke. Most of the people I went with were retired. I met some great people and really connected with a few. I cried every day at something beautiful. I would recommend this trip to ANYONE and would go back in a heartbeat. It was worth every (thus far unspent) penny.

While in Israel, I spent approximately $300 total on food, beverages and small gifts. Those I traveled with took good care of me and often offered to buy my beers.

Upon return, I realized I hadn't paid the remaining balance of my trip. The day I got back, I found out that I got another pink slip from my school district. As of now, no job for me for 2010-2011.

We all know money doesn't grow on trees. This pink slip business makes me a little nervous. Yet, my response this time wasn't kicking and screaming and wailing and asking God, "Why me!?" It was a simple, "OK, so what's in store next?" Perhaps it was the Israel high. Perhaps it was me learning from my mistakes.

No job next year and bills piling up, I felt this mischievousness creeping up over me. "Hmmmm," I thought, "...if I don't email the travel agent, perhaps he will forget about the money I owe him. Then, I won't have to pay anything at all!" The tiny voice whispered this to me every time I thought of Israel. A louder voice swept over me and without speaking a word made me feel the word "guilt" for quite some time.

These thoughts continued to wage wars within me.

Eventually, I came to the point where I was furious with myself for even having such a dishonest thought. What kind of person thinks like this? It is dishonest and wrong. So not WJWD. God kicked my butt after grabbing my face, saying "Pay attention to me!" Then, in a more gentle voice, he said, "Just do what I say, even when you don't want to; even when it makes no sense."

I emailed the travel agent asking how much I owed him. I took a deep breath. I wondered how I was going to pay for stuff, how I was going to eat next month, what I was going to do in August if I didn't have a job by then... (You know, the usual stress case scenario).

I have never met this man, we've had 3 conversations via email all related to the trip.

A few minutes later, I got an email back. Here was his response:

Hi Jes,
Thanks for the offer. No money is due....my pleasure to take care of your balance! I'm glad that you were able to go.
If you need any further travel assistance, please give me a call. Our office is very competitive with cruises and vacation packages. We would greatly appreciate any referrals you can send us!

This kind of stuff doesn't just happen.

I must believe that God, in His infinite wisdom, knew that I needed to learn this lesson today. Maybe it is for me, maybe it is for you.
When we do the right thing, God honors that. Sometimes it will look like a free trip to Israel. Other times it will look like a hug. Often, the honoring doesn't look the way we want it to look. I'm sure in some cases, we will not see the honoring happen in our lifetime. The truth remains that we need to be obedient to Him. That's the bottom line.

Just thought we could all use a happy story in a world that is full of many that are not.

PS if you are traveling, please contact John at http://www.fairfieldtravel.com/

Invitation and Challenge; Believe and Follow.

2010-04-17T00:15:00.002-07:00

Been hearing a lot lately about invitation and challenge; specifically in regards to discipleship. I'm finding, however, that this invitation and challenge bit goes far beyond the Sea of Galilee; beyond 2000 years ago; beyond Christianity. Invitation and challenge are at the heart of who we are as people.

We long to be invited.
We want to meet the challenge.

It is part of our DNA. It is how we are wired. Think about it: if you are personally invited to something, you are more likely to go to it than if you get a random facebook event request or an evite. There is something about personal invitation that intrigues us. We all want to be wanted. We want to be missed when we are not there; we want to be there so that we are not missed, but also to say, "hey, I was invited."

We are all wired differently, and yet, we want these things. We have a deep desire for them.

Now, the challenge - it looks a little different for each person. When I was challenged to run a marathon, I said yes. Not so much because I wanted to do it, but because I wanted to prove that I could. It wasn't my desire that made me cross that line; it was the fact that someone thought I couldn't meet the challenge. At many points during those 26.2 miles, that "someone" was me.

Some of us were told when we were young/small/shorter that we "couldn't" do something. For those of us who fall in that category, we've made every effort to strive to right this wrong. We meet challenges that don't even exist outside of ourselves. For others, those who were encouraged and cheered on and told to hitch their wagon to a star and dream big - you were forced to meet the challenge. Yes, it was freeing and awesome and allowed you to "be you" and wear socks that didn't match; but still, there was a challenge; still, you had a longing to meet that challenge.

All of this is coming from a question that I had tonight at a baby shower while standing over a cheese platter (yes, this is my life.) The question was this: Can you believe in Jesus and not follow Him?

This is a tricky question for me. I can't think of any awesome analogy for comparison. Sometimes, words fail me.

Perhaps the answer is evident. Just as I may believe in the tooth fairy and not follow her...tooth fairydness, I suppose one could believe in God and not follow Him.

But here's the deal: when I really believe in something, someone, a cause; I do follow it. It just makes sense. Without following, it is just belief. Any fool can believe in something. (Spoiler alert: Santa isn't real). Our hands and feet must follow. True belief in something is requires action, does it not?

Easter Sunday

2010-04-16T01:05:00.000-07:00

Yes, this is a tad late.
Nope, I don't care.

On Easter, some friends and I gathered at a ridiculous hour (using the word ungodly just doesn't seem quite right) to watch the sun rise on the day the Son rose. Cheesy? Perhaps. More awesome than cheesy? Fa sho.

My friends and I hiked a local ridge where we'd be able to see the beautiful sun rise. One that would be Lion Kingesque if you will (my friend Kim called it that). One that you would remember for the rest of your life. One you'd reference when talking to your grandkids while drinking lemonade on a warm summer morning. We had great expectations.

We also had no idea how cold it would be. One person, so unprepared for such freezedness, huddled in a snugglie, finally succumbed to the ground; literally. She hugged the ground as though a portable heater had made a home right beneath her. She probably was the warmest of us all. It was the type of cold that doesn't pierce your bones, only your face. The type of cold that makes you thankful for inventions like electricity, specifically electricity in blankets that keep you warm.

Journals open, reading Scripture, we sat there alone yet together; silently. (Freezing). We waited. And waited. And waited.

The sun came up.

It was ugly. Disappointing. Dreary. Boring. Less than mediocre. Below average.

Nothing but empty grey. The sky wore clouds like overalls. No sunrise, and here we were; "bright" and early, waiting.

Yet we knew that the sun had risen. Behind those clouds it was moving in the direction in which it had begun. We could not see it, but that made it no less there. How fitting for an Easter morning. What an incredible analogy of what faith looks like.

For one quick moment, the sun did break through a tiny piece of cloud. We all smiled as we saw the orange and yellow hues waving their hellos. I wanted the sun to break open the clouds; to burst forth with color that had never been seen before.

That did not happen.

Instead, in stillness and silence (and cold), we sat and we watched the gray clouds fill the sky. In many ways, it was far more beautiful than what we had imagined; it was more than we could've hoped for.

Here are a few pieces that we reflected upon:

"And he departed from our sight that we might return to our heart, and there find Him. For He departed, and behold, He is here." -St. Augustine

"The joyful news that He is risen does not change the contemporary world. Still before us lie work, discipline, and sacrifice. But the fact of Easter gives us the spiritual power to do the work, accept the discipline, and make the sacrifice." - Henry Knox Sherrill

Now let the heavens be joyful,
Let earth her song begin:
Let the round world keep triumph,
And all that is therein;

Invisible and visible,
Their notes let all things blend,
For Christ the Lord is risen
Our joy that hath no end.
- John of Damascus

"Do not abandon yourselves to despair. We are the Easter people and hallelujah is our song." - Pope John Paul II

Water, water, water...

2010-03-28T23:04:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year again. Water time. Fastin time.

For the past 3 years or so, my church community has been a part of a water fast for Africa. The way it works: we fast from all beverages other than water for a set amount of time, add up how much we would've spent on beverages, and then donate that money to building wells in Africa. Sounds good, eh?

I love/hate this fast. Having participated in it in years prior, it is something that I both dread and look forward to. It is difficult; it is a challenge.

While I was in Israel (I apologize for the lack of bloggage), my people did this fast. It would've been easy for me to "get out of it" except for this whole concept of having accountability. I was called out on the carpet and I wasn't going to let things be. So, the fast for me started on Saturday.

I'm thankful that people are doing this with me. I've wooed/convinced a few folk to join me on this journey. Without them, I am not 100% sure that I'd be so persistent and excited about this. Let's face it folks, things are just easier when we do them with others. It is how we were created to live.

It is 11pm and all I can think is "how will I get up in the morning?" Coffee is a main reason I get out of bed. The sound of it percolating and preparing itself; the sweet aroma of caffeine in all its richness floating in the air when it is still dark outside. None of that will happen tomorrow.

But, as I deprive myself of this small thing, there will be an African who will have clean water for a year. One year.Because I didn't drink coffee. Insane. Makes me want to give up beverages other than water all together.

But for now, we'll make it through this week and see how it goes. Who knows? Perhaps next year it'll be for all 40 days

From room 457

2010-02-11T14:24:00.000-08:00

(The title of this blog may become a book title one day...)

Today, God showed me that these students are not MY kids... They are, in fact, His. He reminded me that they were created with a purpose. For some of them, that purpose may involve a paper hat and hamburgers; a mop and broom - their jobs are going to be no less important than mine. More importantly, that they, whether they know it or not, will be working for Him.

He has entrusted me with their care.

I am honored by such a gift. (Even on the days it doesn't feel like a gift at all. Even on the days I want to send the gifts back and say I think they showed up at the wrong room. Even when the gifts feel more like a burden than anything else. Even when the gifts would be more like presents if they left my presence...)
My work is not my job; the two words are not synonymous. My work is to care for, encourage, pastor these that He's entrusted to me.

That's pretty kick ass work to do.

It also makes me wonder/think/ponder about education. I'm glad others are thinking about it, too. I'm going to see this film. You're all invited.

write less. blog more.

2010-01-30T23:50:00.000-08:00

This was the instruction given to me this evening by my dear friend, Bridget.
"Write less. Blog more," she stated. (On a napkin we were passing back and forth during a meeting, I might add).

It got me to thinking, again, about why I blog (or, more often, don't blog). I don't know who reads this stuff. It doesn't really matter, though, does it? Life is not about the number of comments left on our blogs or whether or not a certain thing we did or wrote changed anything. It is about the fullness of life; the pointing to the things greater than ourselves; the being a part of something much bigger than we could imagine. I guess blogging can string these things all together. Let's face it, if words weren't important, they wouldn't survive for years. They wouldn't evolve, change, evoke such emotion in us. Words are important. Somehow, a certain combination of words can change lives. "It was when I read..." "Do you know what he said to me, then?" Words shape and form us.

Perhaps this is why I love teaching English. I can't see myself loving math or any other subject, really, the way that I love teaching what I teach. I don't teach the great novels as I have so many students who simply can't read. Simple words. "Easy" words. It doesn't matter. They're not there yet, even if they are in high school. Many of them have long roads ahead of them.

But when they are able to read...When they are able to write...When they are able to enter the great escape which is a wonderful book; when they are able to write about the tragedies they've faced, and more importantly, those they've overcome...When they are able to say in words all of those things which have gone unspoken; when words free them, then it will have all been worth it.

Reading and writing go hand in hand. Peas and carrots. Forrest and Jenny. For one is lost without the other. Why would we write without readers? How could we read without writers?

It has been a rough week. One of those weeks where Friday feels like a heavy coat, sopping wet, stuck to your skin - one that you know should've come off long ago, but simply couldn't. It has been a week of heartbreak. News of former students committing devastating acts. Expulsion should not roll off my tongue as easily as it does. It has been a week of waiting. Finding out whether or not that 9th grade girl is pregnant. Figuring out what to do if she is. A week of disappointment, to be honest. A week of hardships that have nothing to do with me, but have been taxing on my soul.

It is in these weeks that I find I have written in my journal the least. I'd rather not remember these difficult moments, these sad days, when rain seemed to be the only weather; the sun something I once knew, but now so foreign and distant. The silver lining is not visible. It was washed away in the harshness of the storm. What is there to remember during these times? What is there to write about? To say?

And yet this is the time when words matter most. These are the journal entries I will look back on and weep over - not because of the pain that was once involved, but because these will be moments that I will have forgotten. We do not want to remember the hard times, for they make us remember our failures. And yet, these are the things we must remember. We must take the time to look back, to reminisce. To ponder where we are while looking back at the road on which we've been.

Look around you. Look at the picture in the frame closest to you. It is most likely not of someone who is frowning; angry; sad. We capture pictures that are fun, beautiful, lovely. Flowers, trees, laughing children. These are the things we want to remember. Those things that are beautiful; those things worth revisiting. Christmases, friends, good food, cheer, proud moments. These are what should be captured on cameras.

We do the same with words.

I am a fan of card writing. Some might say I have a "card ministry." At least 2-3x per week, I will write a card to someone. There are some recipients who are on "the list." Those who receive one at least 1x per month, one person even once per week. In these cards, I do not express much frustration. I do not say what a crappy day I had or that I stepped in something wet with my sock on and wanted to punch a hole in a wall. Those things should not be conveyed in such masterpieces. Letter writing is becoming a lost art. It is one I think we so desperately need to keep. In an age of technology, blogging, txt msgs, emails, and life in less than 140 characters, we are losing words left and right. I see this in my students - in their inability to communicate, to converse. I write letters because I love it; because I love finding just the right words to say what should be said.

Do someone a favor. Write them a letter. Remind them of a time you spent together. It doesn't need to be significant. It could be the most simple moment; a time they may have forgotten. As they sift through the daily bills and junk mail; as they walk back from their mailbox, I guarantee that there will be a smile on their face from simply seeing a stamped envelope and handwriting.

The smallest gestures can make everything better.

NTB (Different from NkoTB)

2010-01-18T12:36:00.000-08:00

I need to blog.

There are all of these things happening in my life and they are being written of only in a journal.

What's the point of it all if we are not sharing?

I read this recently. It changed my thinking: "Write the things which you have seen, and the things which are, and the things which will take place after this.” – Revelations 1:19

I'm currently reading this and learning how to tell a better story with my life... Part of that is telling the story to those who aren't in it with me daily...

I recently thought of giving up Twitter because really, who cares what I'm doing throughout the day? Sometimes I don't... But, each time I contemplate this, I run into someone that I don't talk to regularly and they say something about how they always read my status updates and how they're encouraged, inspired, etc. I don't say this to toot my own horn, but rather to humble myself and say this writing I am doing is not for myself.

Yes, it is to help me remember.

But it is also to remind others. There's a really pretty quote I'll butcher about how a good friend reminds you to sing the song you once had in your heart when you've forgotten the words... I guess that's my goal in writing. To point out the beautiful things amidst the tragic, to share my thoughts because they are centered around a God who is, indeed, Good.

So, although I don't make resolutions, I do make goals (I'm an achiever) and so, a goal I shall add to the list is to blog more.

It will not always be poetic. It will not always be awesome. It will not always be the best thing you've ever read.

But it will be true, and it will be mine, and hopefully, it will reflect Truth and Beauty. Hopefully, it will remind you of the words you've forgotten. Hopefully, it will remind me of the same.

Be prepared for posts that are reflections on teaching, on things that have happened this year; both the rainy and sunny days, and the rainbows from when those two things collide.

Richmond High

2009-10-28T06:41:00.001-07:00

I sent this email out yesterday to friends and family.

All,

Beware...The contents of this email are not positive. In fact, they are rather dark. My friend Bridget summed it up best when we discussed this yesterday as she quoted a singer who said, "Mankind is dark and without God people do things like that..."

Richmond High School is in the district I work in. It is a few miles away from the school where I teach. This is not "someone else's school" nor "other people's responsibility."

Here is the link that explains what happened for those of you who haven’t heard or read about it yet.

It is truly heartbreaking and unfortunate that these things occur. I'm sending this to you for awareness, for prayer, and for hope. We need our schools to be lifted up in prayer. We need our administrators, staff and students to be encouraged, loved, and cared for.

Thanks for encouraging, loving, and caring for me.

Found an Old Journal...

2009-09-22T21:29:00.000-07:00

And here's what I wrote over three years ago...
Our Anthem:

"A 16 year old girl was asked to sing the national anthem at a sold out basketball game. She stood center court, and the music began to play. She froze.

She had forgotten all of the words.

She stood there, in the middle of it all, completely lost. A coach from one of the teams walked to the court, put his arm around her, and began to sing. His voice was not pleasant, it was not in key. It didn't matter. others started to join and eventually, the entire coliseum and the girl were signing the song. What could've been a dark moment in her life, an embarrassment that she would never live down, instead became a bright moment. A star in history.

This is what Young Life leaders do. They step out of their comfort zones, meet kids at center court, and remind them of the words to the song they have forgotten; the song of life."

That speech was given by a woman at a Young Life banquet. She went on to compare this great moment in history to the greatest moment in history. She explained how God, too, stepped out of His comfort zone in the person of Christ, and how only through Him can we sing the song of life; of hope.

It was one of those speeches that you would've liked to have kept going. I think I wanted it to keep going because I'd been a part of the ministry; because the ministry had been a part of me.

I know it is Jesus who has saved me, but I know that He saved me through the venue of Young Life. I can honestly say that I don't know where I'd be without people like Vicci Goddard and Larry Brassea; people who met me center court, and helped me sing the song. But I must say, that even more than that, it was these same people who walked me to the bench when I took myself out of the game; they sat with me, and reminded me that they'd meet me wherever I decided to go. Their consistency is what I loved most about them. Perhaps it is because it wasn't modeled for me, it was something so greatly lacking in my life. Consistency is a difficult task, and yet such a vital characteristic of God...

Not much has changed. Vicci and I are the closest of friends. I still have coffee with Larry. Young Life is still a ministry I believe in. One I am a part of, one that is a part of me. There are kids that I see daily at school who I know need Young Life. Their lives would change because of it. Even if they didn't go to camp, even if they didn't call Jesus their savior. So many of them just need consistency. They need a place to go. They need safety. They need mentors. They need advocates, people who care more about them than about the politics of education...

Many of my students have forgotten the song. I hope they hear me sing it every day.

2009-08-22T12:42:00.001-07:00

God Kicked My Ass Today

If you have a problem with me using the word ass, you may not want to continue reading this. Just FYI.

I’m in one of those situations where circumstances have unfolded that are out of my control. I have no say in where I will be teaching this upcoming year. To be frank, it sucks. I know what I want. I know it is possible. Ultimately, I have no say in the outcome. I find this rather lame.

As I prayed, I said, “God, Your word says you will give us the desires of our hearts.” God responded with, “So, what is the desire of your heart? Is it what you want? Or is it what I want?”

You see, at the root of all things, what it comes down to is this: God grants us the desires of our hearts if they match with His. This is why His word says “Seek first the kingdom of God…” If we are seeking what He desires; if we are doing what He is doing; if we are wanting what He is wanting, then certainly, He will give us those things. But, if we are concerned only with ourselves; our desires; our wills that are not conformed to the goodness of His…then, it is questionable.

Trying to be a “big picture” person, I realize that God’s plans certainly are bigger than our own. God’s ways better than our ways. God’s thoughts deeper than our thoughts. God’s heart more tender, more loving, more concerned with humanity than our own hearts.

I’ve never felt more submissive than I have with this situation. In it, I am saying, “Yes, God. You are always right. I am not. You are always good. I am not. Your ways are always better than whatever way I can come up with. Ultimately, I want my will to be nothing but Yours.” And with that, I am sure, wherever I am teaching this upcoming year He will use me to bring light to dark places.

The stories I will return with will not be “less than” those I would’ve returned with if I got my way. In fact, they may be much better.

Part of our problem as Christians is that we can be rather whiny if we don’t get our way. I’ve made the decision to follow God into this next phase without complaint. I know that I will do whatever job at whatever school to the best of my ability. That is what integrity is about. And integrity is not about me. Integrity is the reflection of the God who created such a weighty word. Integrity is about bringing glory to God in the biggest and smallest things in our lives. Integrity is working diligently, even when you want to throw in the towel, say the tiny white lie, take the shortcut that makes it easier for you, but harder for someone else.

God builds character in us when things are hardest. God teaches us to trust Him most when things are completely out of our hands. God reassures us, goes before us, walks along side us, and follows behind us when we feel that we are the most alone, walking a path that hasn’t been walked before.

Summa Summa Summa Time...

2009-08-03T00:17:00.000-07:00

Today, we won our league playoff championship. Holler.

This is just the icing on the cake of what has been my summer. My apologies for not keeping you all updated, but more will follow, promise!

Currently, I am placed to work at my former high school teaching Read 180 which is an intervention program. Exciting, but scary all at the same time.

I've traveled a great deal this summer (mostly on I-5, usually within CA, the Pacific Northwest, or slightly south of the border). It has been incredible to have so much freedom in my schedule (even if every second of it generally feels busy).

This upcoming Saturday is the 3rd annual Shelter Kickball Tournament. I'm stoked. So much so that I drank raw eggs. See more here: www.shelteronline.com/kickball

I will write a longer post at some point before the summer ends. :)

it's been a while...

2009-06-13T17:42:00.000-07:00

So, I didn't realize that I hadn't blogged since April. Good thing nothing has happened since then.

I'm kidding.

So, within the last...month I have gone from having my favorite job and car thus far in life, have finished my teaching credential program (for now) and have completed my first year of teaching. About a month before school was out, I had a little chat with our VP (in school talk, that is vice principal, not vice president) and found out that I was not going to have a position at my school next year. It was one of those moments when you realized you are an adult because all you want to do is cry, but you have to instead keep it together, shake someone's hand, and go cry all alone.

It was heartbreaking for a number of reasons:
-I absolutely love teaching. Not so much the "lightbulb" moments when a kid gets it, although those are good...but rather the moments when I see kids treating each other with kindness; the days when I laughed really hard with my students and knew that it was possibly the only time during the day that they would laugh that hard.
-I love highschoolers and middle schoolers. This is the only school in the area that has both schools on the same campus. Although it was rather difficult to teach three different grades and three different content standards, I enjoyed the age and grade level differences of my students. I wouldn't have known that I liked all of these grades had I not had this opportunity.
-I have made friends. I did not have to eat lunch alone. I had support at this school (which was a huge reason in why I chose it in the first place as I had several options). I taught with amazing teachers. I taught with amazing people.
-For months, I was told I would have a job. While others were getting pink slips and being non-reelected, I was in the clear. I was given a pat on the back and told that I was doing a great job. They had plans for my future. Unfortunately, the state of California did not take that into consideration.

About a week ago, I totaled my car. I loved that silly car. It wasn't anything fancy, but it was nice, and in just a few more payments, it was all going to be mine. Long story short, I didn't slow down soon enough, spun out (2.5x) hit the side rail of highway 4, and hit a double axle truck. It is very possible that I could've died. But, I did not. I got right out of my car, made sure everyone else was ok, made sure I was still, in fact, alive and then called the secretary at school to tell her I wouldn't be there for first and second period (yes, she was really the 1st person I called). Yes, this is a REAL picture of my car...

It is only by the grace of God that I am alive and well. I know that.

It is only by the grace of God that I am alive, well, living, enjoying summer, and pondering the wonders of life rather than frantically searching for a job, settling for a position at a school where I don't really want to work, or giving myself an ulcer from stressing out about all of this.

So, here I sit with no job, no car, and the house I live in up for sale. I was feeling fragile, but a few days ago, God gently knocked me upside my head (gently, I said) and reminded me that He indeed is faithful. Although I've had no one really in my life be faithful and no true example of what that looks like and find it difficult to trust, He will continue to do and be that very thing.

How the year ended...

So, the end of my 1st year was rather emotional, as I knew it would be. Due to the scheduling of finals, I thought Tuesday was my last day with my Middle Schoolers. I later found that I would be able to see all of their bright smiling faces again on the last day of school.

I had all of my students fill out a survey that I created that asked them questions about the year: what was the best book you read? What was your favorite or least favorite project and why? What is one thing you learned? How could I have helped you more? How could you have helped yourself? Approximately how many times did you text without getting caught? Their answers were priceless. My favorite was all of the misspelled words in their answers. If I'd ever felt like a failure, that was it.

One student wrote in the additional comments section this:
"I really wish that I could've shown you that I'm really a good student. I made some dumb choices this year and I know you tried to help me, but I didn't listen, it was a hard year. I know that next year I will do much better, I just wish you'd be here to see. I know you are goin through a lot right now, and I think you should read Psalm 42. That helped me through some really hard times. I hope your new school realizes what a great teacher you are. Thanks for all of your help, I will miss you."

Thankfully, I didn't read this until much later...

However, at the end of class, I gave my little "thank you" speech and told these wonderful kids that I would miss them; that they had taught me as much as I had taught them; that their bright, smiling faces often made my day. I passed each of them a card I'd written (with over 150 students, that is a lot of cards!) and we said our goodbyes. One student who struggled all year and finally pulled off a D- for his last semester came up to me and said I was the nicest teacher he'd ever had. He gave me a hug.

Then, they all lined up, one by one and hugged me and wished me luck or said goodbye or said I'd be missed. Tears obviously welling for me as I knew I would have to do this again at least twice on this day.

Next came my little 6th graders. One of them held up his cup of rootbeer during our potluck and said, "I'd like to make a toast. To Ms. Steinberg!" He then proceeded to chug his cup of rootbeer and get another cupcake. It, too, was priceless.

With my 9th graders it was a bit different. Some of them I saw and said goodbye to, others kept showing up in my classroom when they'd finished their finals. On the 2nd day of finals, several students were gathered around one desk in the back of the room. One student kept calling other students by name and telling them to come over. I had no idea what was going on and asked a student if I needed to go check on what was happening. He was not the most reliable student to ask. "Just don't go over there right now. Trust me," he said. I told him I'd give them three minutes. I figured if they were doing anything illegal, I would know about it, and if they weren't, I'd find out about it in three minutes.

The three minutes went by and the girl who had been calling everyone over walked up to my desk with a bag. She had purchased a coffee mug and candy for me. The desk was surrounded because she had asked everyone to sign a card for me. It truly was one of the most meaningful moments of my life. Another student walked up and gave me a note. It was from her mother, thanking me for helping her daughter realize her potential. This student said maybe about 17 words to me the entire year, I had no idea I had helped in such a way.

The last day of school was difficult. Turning in keys, cleaning out classrooms...such a finality to it when it doesn't look like you're coming back. Fortunately, I have hope that even if it doesn't happen this year, it will happen someday. If it doesn't I trust that God, who is faithful, has something else planned; somewhere else where I need to be.

Alarm Clocks and Power Outages

2009-04-26T12:31:00.000-07:00

My alarm clock has said the wrong time for about 4 days now. I was going to change it today, but I am sabbathing. The power went out a few days ago, and then it went out again. It’s not so much that I don’t need to know what time it is or that I am lazy, it was just one thing that reminded me during the week that the Sabbath was coming – the day when time would not matter one bit. So, for today, I’m leaving the alarm clock alone. I’m refusing to see what time it is, to see where I need to be next, or how much longer I have. Isn’t that the point of Sabbath? To throw all of that away and just be?

While reading Keeping Sabbath I was greatly encouraged by the line that reads, “The sabbath teaches us grace because it connects us experientially to the basic truth that nothing we do will earn God’s love…Only in stopping, do we teach our hearts and souls that we are loved apart from what we do.” I’d never really thought about this before. I thought God created the Sabbath because He’s smart and knew we’d get tired. I thought He invented Sabbath so that we’d stop and smell the roses and say, “God, You are good.” It amazes me that in all parts of Sabbath, the simple and the deep, God is consistently rooting us deeper in Him; inviting us to rest in Him and to just be. I don’t have to do anything. I don’t have to be anywhere specific. Nothing is required from me on this day; that is the complete opposite of the rest of my week.

I spend most of my day(s) doing and not being. On the Sabbath, I am compelled to do the latter, and I have found that this one day means much, much more than all of the rest.

Spring Break, Son

2009-04-19T11:55:00.000-07:00

I am completely overwhelmed with joy.

It is obvious to me today that I was made to be a teacher. And by that, I do mean that God created me specifically to do this job. How do I know this you may ask... Two words: SPRING BREAK.

My friend Melanie said to me yesterday, "You're so...energetic." It's not that I'm normally a party pooper (hello, do you know me?)But there is something that work takes away, something that teaching and school and the daily "stuff" of life depletes us of. Where this deficit has been, I have been filled up this week. It is evident to me, it is evident to others. I think everyone needs a Spring Break.

Each break that we have had from school thus far has consisted of me working at my old job, grading too many papers, lesson planning, and maybe resting. A little. Not real, true, centered, renewing rest.

This week, however, I have experienced such rest at the deepest level ever. I feel refreshed, renewed, ready to go back and teach and inspire and all of the things I signed up for in the first place.

This week's numbers:
- papers graded: approximately 22 out of 98. Score.
- TPA 4: NONE OF IT!
- Sprinklers run through: 4. All at the same time. Glorious.
- Dinners cooked at midnight for friends: 1. Breakfast burritos for different friends followed just hours later.
- Naps taken: surprisingly, only 1. I guess when you get more than 5 hrs of sleep you don't actually need to nap quite as often.
- Books read: 1.5 Neither had ANYTHING to do with school. Incredibly freeing.
- Text messages sent: an incredible amount. Thank you unlimited texting.
- Numbers of times I thought about teaching/work: 15. Approximately. That's a really low number, folks.
- Hours spent in bookstores aimlessly walking around just looking at awesome stuff: at least 7.
- Numbers of pages written in my journal/possibly at some point start of a book: at least 14.
- Cups of coffee consumed slowly: approximately 13. Some included icecream.
- Hours spent with close friends, fully present in conversation, overwhelmed with joy to be surrounded by people I love nearly to the point of tears: I lost count.

Some of you know that I've been working on Sabbathing regularly. I'm not going to lie to you: it is life altering. It is not a "don't do laundry, sit around all day" kind of thing, but rather a time of rest and renewal. Sabbath has become a very intimate and practical thing for me. I am getting better at it. There's improvement. And it has nothing to do with me, but rather what God is doing with and in me. I am thankful to be a part of a church community that supports this day of rest; I am supported by a group of people who are trying to figure life out - those who are coming to conclude that without rest, well, we kind of suck at life. We end up not caring about the right things. "One of the seven deadly sins is sloth, which was described not just as laziness, but as busyness with the wrong things." True that.

At the end of a sabbath, I have these sabbath spices that I smell. At first, I thought the idea was strange. It felt foreign. It felt like a task at the end of a day of rest. Now, these spices have become a significant part of my sabbath time. I look forward to smelling their sweet scent as they remind me that another sabbath is only days away, although for now I must part with this specific type of rest and reenter the world. Upon reentry, I am ready. My specific spices smell a little like black licorice, and now, whenever I smell it I get this silly, goofy grin on my face that reminds me of those moments of saying goodbye only to say hello again.

Sometimes lyrics say it best:

Bad Days Better

Great is the way
When You come to mind
I am smiling ear to ear
Sweet thoughts of You
I’m always in the mood
To twirl around with You
While it’s raining
Even if it’s a dream

Great is the way
That I am unafraid
When I see you
All my fear goes away

Bad days are coming
Rainy days are always around
But if I can see You
One glance upon You
The sun comes out

I’m dancing in all the rain
Cause you make bad days better

I'm hoping that it takes a while for this silly grin on my face to go away. I kind of like it.

$1.

2009-03-21T12:38:00.000-07:00

Water is a precious resource. For many of us, it is something we take for granted. We go to our kitchen, turn on the faucet or grab the brita and sip up. We wash our hands as many times a day as we want to; we water plants and wash our cars. And yet, most of the world doesn't have access to this resource.

For the next two weeks, I'm going to drink nothing but water. I will join with my friends in this process (as we do this annually during Lent). We will drink nothing but water (and yes, this means no coffee/tea, no matter how hard you may try to make that work) and we will save the money we would've spent on such items and use it to give water to those in need. It is a time of saying "there's a lot wrong in the world and it is overwhelming. But this, this I can fix."

Still not convinced? A tiny blurb from the website listed above:
Blood:Water Mission is partnering with groups and individuals to empower Africans to build healthier communities through sustainable clean blood and clean water solutions, while developing social responsibility in the U.S. through initiatives that provoke personal engagement and ownership.
Did you know that millions of Africans lack access to clean water?
Did you know that people living with HIV/AIDS are dependent on clean water to survive?
Did you know that $1 provides one year of clean water for an African?

This isn't meant to be a guilt trip type of blog. This isn't meant to convince you to donate money to an organization without looking into it, just because I believe in it. More than that, I am wondering if you are interested in joining me on this journey. I've been there before. It is an amazing and encouraging experience. You may cry when you drive by Peet's. You may cringe when someone offers you a cold beer and you reply with a "no thank you." You may chew on raw coffee beans to try to fight the headache (refrain, it doesn't work). You may begin to hate the taste of water around day 10 (as I did, year 1). But, you may also find that in doing this, you are realizing how blessed you are to be able to walk a few steps to get clean, fresh, water. You may realize that you have some type of responsibility as a human being to help provide that very thing for others we share the world with. You may realize that two weeks really isn't that long and that there are plenty of other things small enough to fix in this very broken world.

Anne Frank: "How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world."

Barack Obama: "Change will not come if we wait for some other person or some other time. We are the ones we've been waiting for. We are the change that we seek."

Henry David Thoreau: "Things do not change, we change."

Pink Slips, Budget Cuts, and Pints.

2009-03-19T19:35:00.000-07:00

I survived.

By the grace of God alone, I did not get a pink slip in my district (one that has been bankrupt since I was in 1st grade). Several of my colleagues did, several people in my department, at my school, in my internship, in my sphere of teacher-friends...I'm honestly not sure why I didn't. I don't think that all of them are doing anything terribly wrong. I am sure that most of them are better teachers than I am. All of them care about their students. It's like a bad game of roulette, this pink slip game. My job at Hercules is not guaranteed, however, they seem to want to keep me there. Another offer has been made to me at a private Christian school (where I coached) that is much more flexible and much more available and secure. It probably seems insane that I'm not just taking it with the current state of our economy and our budget. But here's the thing: I sat in a meeting this week with a girl and her mom and watched this 9th grade girl cry her eyes out. No one was allowed to hug her. We all just had to tell her what her strengths and weaknesses were and how she could stop failing and start passing her classes. She is in the 9th grade.

All I could think was how much this girl needed Young Life. Someone made the comment (to this response) that all she needed was Jesus. I would argue against that and for Young Life for this simple reason: it is obvious that this young girl does not have any type of support within her household. She does not have anywhere to go that is safe, where she can be a kid, or herself or something in between. She wants to be the center of attention because she is not the center of anyone's attention. She talks so much in class because no one ever really listens to what it is she is saying when it matters. And she cried in that meeting because her whole life is crashing down and no one is there to help her pick up the pieces.

The stories that I have heard from the lives changed by Young Life are incredible. I am thankful to be a part of a ministry that I see the need for.

There's been a trend among this week that I wasn't aware of until today. (Btw, I am fighting off an awful cold/flu and can't believe that we can fly to the moon and walk on it, but can't cure this...) There has been an increase of pintage in my life recently. And, studies show that it's a good thing.

If you're ever in Concord, swing by EJ Phair's and order a Shorty's Revenge. It is quite possibly the greatest beer on the earth.

I was there on Sunday, after church, where I saw two of my students with their family. It was odd as we were in a city not really neighboring the city that they live in. I was taken aback upon seeing them. I said hello, met their parents, made small talk. And then, I proceeded to sit with my friends and talk loudly and laugh and share a pitcher. On Monday morning, I walk into my second period class and C.J., my favorite 6th grader says, "Soooo Ms. Steinberg, what were you drinking last night?" It made me blush a little, but more than that it made me smile. Later, in 5th period, I saw his sister. She looked at me halfway through the period and said "I can't believe how loud you were last night." It is funny to me that students see teachers as robotic beings; flawless; holders of all truth.

One of my favorite stories is from my friend Vicci (and I'm probably telling it wrong, but what else is new?) who was with her son in the grocery store when he was in 2nd grade. He saw his teacher and wouldn't say hello. He was too shy. Too nervous. Scared to speak outside of the normal classroom setting he knew with her. When the awkward encounter ended, he said, "Mom! I didn't know she ate!"

I will leave you with that.

Boo Radley and Ms. Stein

2009-01-31T12:04:00.000-08:00

Over the course of the past few months, several people have commented to me about my writing abilities. I'm still not sure of it, but figure blogging might be a decent way to give it a shot, get mostly positive feedback, and boost my ego. If nothing else, it's like online journaling, and even if no one reads it, I can get things out on paper...er, internet?

My 9th graders are reading To Kill a Mockingbird, a book that until last year, I'd never read. Possibly because it was not forced upon me, possibly because it is well written, possibly because I want to grow up to be Atticus Finch, I loved the book. My students, however aren't really on the same page with me. Although, they have taken an extreme liking to the character Boo Radley, or rather, his name. Come on, Boo Radley is a rather kick ass name. My guess is that they like it for several different reasons. #1: his first name is "boo" - as in "you're my boo." Second, Radley is a pretty strong last name. It also rhymes with lots of words. The other day, as I crossed from the middle to the high school side of campus, several students greeted me with a loud yell of "Boo Radley" in an intonation and sound I could only mimic if you were sitting here or we were on the phone. The internet does it no justice. They don't "get" Boo Radley and his significance in this story. They don't even "get" the story. In some ways, it is a beautiful thing. In trying to explain to them the harsh racism and discriminatory laws (Jim Crow, etc), some of them cannot wrap their minds around such a mindset, around such a way of life and belief. I think this is proof that we have come a long way...

Continuing on with my students, several of them have also taken a liking to calling me "Ms. Stein." Not because my name is too long (come on, 'berg' is one more syllable), but I think, rather, it is a nickname for me. Many of them have been showing up in my classroom during lunch, asking me questions about how my day has been going and wondering what we're doing in class. I know for a fact that I'm not teaching them everything that I'm supposed to and that they are not going to leave my class with a love for literature or an understanding of Greek vs. Latin root words. I do know that they just want to be cared about, they just want to belong to something, and that they're searching everywhere to find it. I'm praying that YL will come back to this campus and quickly. As I have only freshmen on the high school side, I see such a need in them for something good, productive, encouraging in their lives. Some of them have already had to see things that no 9th grader ever should. It is a rough world out there and I'm hoping that if nothing else, I'm providing them with a safe place, even if only for 53 minutes per day.

As the "Ms. Stein" trend is increasing, I've decided to respond to it by doing what any mature adult figure should do...I do it back. So, now, my student who has the last name Hamilton is referred to as "Mr. Ham," the student who has the last name Carter is called "Mr. Car" and the like. They seem to get a kick out of it. I'm convinced that they think I'm over fifty years old. They're shocked that I live in the same real world as them, text like them, listen to some of the music they listen to, and understand their slang. I'd do just about anything to go back to my 9th grade English class and even try to remember what it was like.

The school district I work for is not doing so hot.
Budget cuts, deficits, talk of layoffs and nearby school closures make going to work a little scary. I'm not sure if I'll have a job there next year, which is frustrating, but the good news is I'm too consumed by everything else to worry about it. I have a crate full of papers that need correcting, which I should be doing instead of blogging...Many of my friends have been so helpful recently, I can't help but mention how much. Several of my friends have offered to help me with grading papers (which generally ends up in a tear-filled-laugh-fest based on some of my students' writing), have met me at coffee shops, or have offered to cook me dinners on the nights I probably wouldn't eat otherwise. It truly is a blessing to have so many people in my life who are supporting what I'm doing in such tangible ways.
I recently posted "25 Random Things About Me" on Facebook (it ended up being 30, but even that was cutting it short), one of which was "if my life were a TV show, this would be season 4." I'm sticking by that. When we reflect upon our lives and look back and see where we've been, where we are, and where we're going, I'd say that four is a safe number for me. This past year has been a year of new beginnings and change, things that I generally don't do well with, but things that I feel God prepared me for and is still using to refine me. Part of the new beginnings includes a wonderful guy who I've recently started dating. I'm convinced that he's the nicest man on the face of the earth.

Today marks the end of the month of January and I'm reminded of New Years Resolutions and the fact that I only made one (dancing my ass off in '09). So far, so good. I'm thinking that this year might be the year for the Grand Canyon trip, I hope it is the year we road trip to WA, and might even be the year I venture south of the border more than once. The fact that I (might) have the summer off opens up an entirely new world; a world unknown to me that is exciting and overwhelming all at the same time. The reality is, I'd like to take a nap every day of summer, only after sleeping in, and do nothing but read books and have coffee with friends. Let's hope that I can at least fit a week of that in...th

overwhelmed with joy

2009-01-03T17:40:00.000-08:00

This was worth more than a simple twitter status update.

Today, I got up and had coffee. As usual. However, coming to the close of vacation, staying up past midnight, and getting more than five hours of sleep, the coffee tasted richer, sweeter, more like Peets and less like starbucks... I did some needed work, began on school work, read my Bible. I made phone calls, sent text messages and wrote a card or two. Joining friends for a delicious lunch and good conversation made it all the sweeter. On my way home, I was driving and the sun was shining in this cold weather. A teenage kid was biking his ass off uphill and was barely moving. It made me laugh out loud, and it made me remember what it is that life is all about.

We're all in this together. That is what I've been reminded of most this vacation. Spending time with people I've not purposefully neglected, having unprompted dance parties until 1am in my living room, and staying up until all hours of the night in good conversation have helped me to see this clearly.

For a moment today I missed my students. (Any teacher who says they don't have favorites is a liar, by the way). Certain ones I really enjoy having in class. School starts again on Monday and I know my life will go back to hectic chaos until probably June. Yet, I'm thankful for this escape, time of rest, renewal, and fruitful time.

In the beginning...

2009-01-01T13:59:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, blog readers! Hope '09 is a good one for ya.

To start the new year off right, I started reading my "One Year Chronological Bible" today. Now, I'll be honest in saying I am not a fan of the whole "one year Bible ordeal." I've tried it before, and have failed. However, it is my goal (not resolution) to read the Word daily and deeply, and I do beleive that this will help. So, this morning obviously began with Genesis. You know, that beginning part that you frequently skip over and go "yeah, I know that stuff." Well, today was a tad different. Not sure if it is because it is the start of the new year, or if it is just the ideas I'm getting from books I'm reading or what; either way, it spoke to me in a different way.

Thought I'd write about the things I noticed... First off, God is a scrapbooking, knitting, architect, interior designer. He creates. That's how the whole deal starts. He has some stuff, He puts it together, he takes it apart, puts a name on it, and revamps and revises. It is no wonder we all have some type of creative ability, regardless of the medium. We were made to create stuff. The problem is, several of us are "stuck" at our 40 hr a week job and are too drained to even remember what it felt like to color outside of the lines...

The first several paragraphs of Genesis start with "And God said..." Again, no wonder we have such a desire to communicate (whether in conversation, texting, or twitter) - it is all just a reflection of the One who created it all. All of these "And God said..." paragraphs are interrupted by a word that stood out to me like never before. Simple word, no big deal. We use it every day. "Then." Then God said let us make man. If you believe in the Trinity and in God's sovereignty, you know that God, the Triune God, knew the whole story before it would play out; before we would ever even think up the ending. "Then" is very fitting. It is the part of the story that He knew was coming; the crux of it all began here, with the creation of man who would create havoc for himself and need the most rescuing.

"Giving" seems to be the prominent word in the following paragraphs. God gives seed-bearing plants, trees, and the like for food. (Which brings up the question, were we supposed to be vegetarians?)

In the first 20 verses or so, it is an incredible account of how things came into being. Evolutionists: why would you want to believe anything other than this account listed? If nothing else, it is beautiful, poetic, fantastic. God says He made the stars much in the way that we would say we bought a bag of chips. You know, no biggie, one more thing that happened that day. The contrast listed between darkness and light and morning and night are incredible. The fact that the water was "teeming with living creatures" and bird were supposed to "fly above the earth across the expanse of the sky" makes me realize that we truly are not caring for the earth in the ways we should be. Whenever I hear of another endangered species or see a bird that can barely make it from one perch to the next, I will be forced to reflect on these verses and the way things were originally supposed to be.

I'm reading The Shack, and although it has very mixed reviews and although I'm not done and the jury's still out; I will say this: it has encouraged me to take a different perspective regarding God, and specifically the Trinity (pardon that ridiculous run on sentence). I'm not into the idea that God is a large black woman, that the Holy Spirit has some strange name and reminds me of a character from Nintendo. The writing itself is not great, the theology a bit askew; but if I can take off my critical glasses for a moment and see what the author, or what God, is trying to do and convey in this piece of writing, I am reminded of these first verses from Genesis. God is at work, He is at peace, He is resting and enjoying His creation. Nothing has really changed there.

It really is an amazing story that we get to be a part of. If we pay close enough attention, I think we can see that the Creation is still good, as is the God who put it all together.

Vacation. 24/7.

2008-12-10T21:41:00.000-08:00

On my way to lunch with a friend this past weekend, I had a revelation. From now on, I'm treating most everything and most everyone like they're on vacation. Yep, you heard me: vacation.

Let me explain. When I go to visit someone in a different state, (state meaning piece of land, not state of mind...) they do whatever it takes to make my time enjoyable. They take time off work to make sure we can do fun things or do nothing at all, but we do them all together (Beardsleys). They ask if I want to go see sights that perhaps I'll never have the chance to see again, even if they've seen them several times before (to those of us in the bay, we can equate this to Pier 39 and the like). They borrow cars and make up beds in guest rooms. They take backroads and longways because they are more fun.They go out of their way; they do things that they normally wouldn't do. They fit their schedule to match yours simply out of excitement that they will be able to join you for a portion of time.

Really, that's what we have: a set amount of time. So why should I go rushing around off to the next thing when I could sit and linger and have a cup of coffee with a friend who lives down the street that I haven't seen in months? Or, perhaps I've seen them, but we haven't talked. Or, maybe, our conversations are all via email and I can barely remember the sound of their voice, or the look of a smile on their face. Vacations help us refocus and remember those things. They help us to be fully present in conversation instead of texting while talking; to do listing while pretending to be an active listener; or waiting until the end of a sentence only to compare your story to theirs.

Being on vacation should be about stopping more than going. So, as I resolve to make this difference in my life whether it is with the people I see on a daily basis or those of you who live in other states, please do hold me accountable. I believe that God is in conversation, both big and small, and that He is doing a big and a good work if we slow down enough to notice.

The good ol' days.

2008-11-29T15:42:00.000-08:00

I've enjoyed John Legend's music for quite some time. This song is beautiful and nearly brought me to tears...maybe it is the time of the year, and maybe I'm just getting old, but, nonetheless...There's something about remembering our childhood, remembering what Christmas used to feel like, how Thanksgiving was just a marker to begin counting down the days. Although my perspective has changed drastically throughout my life, there are some things I will always hold on to. Grandma's jello concotion; singing our family songs at the end of a meal; the kids sitting at the "kid" table (even into our teens and 20's); family driving for hours to eat dinner together; how my GG would always have candy on the table for us kids; the guys yelling at the TV and whatever team they were rooting for; good times.

(Please excuse his grammatical errors. I have.)

"It Don't Have To Change"

Oh do you remember (ooh)
When the family was everything? (ooh)
Oh do you remember? (ooh)
It was so long ago and so much has changed (ooh)
I wanna go back (go back...ooh)
Wanna go back to those simple days (ooh)
I wanna go back (go back...ooh)
But now we've grown and gone our separate ways

(aah)
Times is hard (times is hard)
And things are a changin'
I pray to God
That we can remain the same
All I'm trying to say is our love don't have to change
No it don't have to change

Do you remember (ooh)
Back at Grannie's house on Christmas Day? (ooh)
Help me sing...
Do you remember (ooh)
How we'd gather 'round and sing all day? (ooh)
I wanna go back (go back...ooh)
To playing basketball and football games
I wanna go back (go back...ooh)
To yesterday but it's not the same

Times is hard (times is hard)
And things are a changin'
I pray to God
That we can remain the same
All I'm trying to say is our love don't have to change
No it don't have to change

Times is hard (times is hard)
And things are a changin'
So I pray to God
That we can remain the same
All I'm trying to say is our love don't have to change
No it don't have to change

First Quarter (and awesome hyperlink usage!)

2008-11-03T21:41:00.000-08:00

As of Friday, I have finished my first quarter of teaching. That seems somewhat insane to me seeing as it often feels like I just started yesterday. Other days, it seems like I've been doing this for way too long, but it feels that way for all of the wrong reasons.

Today we turned in report card grades. I had no idea how hard that would be. I won't go into detail, but I will simply say that they sure don't make 'em like they used to. Kids these days are so apathetic and uninterested. It makes me fearful of the future.

I caught 6 of my students plagiarizing on their first essay. Theoretically, it would be taken to administration and they would be suspended. It would go on their college record...you get the picture. The other option is the "turn your head" teacher who simply acts as though they are not at all shocked that a student who can barely construct a sentence somehow came up with a well proven thesis and is using vocabulary that they have never used before. Shift F7 can only get you so far in life... So, I did what I thought was the most appropriate and right. I called them on their lack of efforts and explained to them the importance of honesty, integrity, and most importantly: not doubting your teacher's intelligence. For all you cheaters out there, all we have to do is google one sentence and BAM! There's the sentence from sparknotes.com or wikipedia (can we be any less original?) It was actually very comforting to have such a conversation with these young men. (And yes, all of them were male!) There was a conversation had about things I most likely won't have the opportunity to talk to them about at any other point in the year. A few of them got offended, defensive, and down right annoying, but there were two who had tears in their eyes and who hung their head in shame because of their actions. In my book, this may have saved them from suffering from things far worse later in life. Two of them were required by their football coach to write an essay about plagiarism which I received today. It was good to know that there are still other people out there with standards.

For the most part, I love all of my kids. Sure, there are some I don't particularly care for, and some I know aren't at school on any given day simply because of the peace on campus...but overall, I love all of my kids. Except for two. There are two who made me feel like I was one of those plastic boxing guys every time they walked into the room. Each day was a power struggle to get them to do anything at all, let alone be quiet and not disruptive. I'm not much of a disciplinarian, but I have a job to do, and they were definitely getting in the way of that. Last week, my friend informed me that one of them would be out of my class as of next week (which meant starting today). The other one transferred to a local school. I can't do cartwheels, but if I could you better believe I would've been doing them all the way home (plus, I would've saved on gas). There has been such a difference that I've seen in my classroom with the two of these students gone.

Tomorrow I make my first journey (as a teacher) on a field trip. The best part is that I get to go and check things out as a chaperone with two awesome teachers. We are going to Zeum which looks like an awesome place.

The big day is tomorrow. There is still so much controversy regarding all of the candidates, all of the propositions and other various issues at hand. Some of the information is discouraging and overwhelming, but I'll be honest, I don't know the last time this many people cared. That, to me, is encouraging, whatever the outcome may be tomorrow. Regarding Prop 8, my friend Justin posted a blog that I think is worth reading.

Do Something.

2008-10-19T15:27:00.000-07:00

Recently, I saw the film call and response. You need to see this movie. A film about slavery still going on in our world today; sex slaves, child labor, and why it is still going on - not your typical happy go lucky Sunday afternoon type of movie, but one that educates. Please see this film. Please do something. The website has a list of ways to respond. We can help if we choose to do so.

"We frail humans are at one time capable of the greatest good and, at the same time, capable of the greatest evil. Change will only come about when each of us takes up the daily struggle ourselves to be more forgiving, compassionate, loving, and above all joyful in the knowledge that, by some miracle of grace, we can change as those around us can change too." - Mairead Maguire

so much to say...

2008-10-19T15:02:00.000-07:00

In the words of Dave Matthews Band, there's "so much to say..." Too much is going on right now. I've fallen off the blogging bandwagon as I find myself having less and less free time and spending more and more time doing things that seem to matter more. Nonetheless, there are still a few of you who read this, and some who may want to know what is going on in mi vida loca... So, here's the rundown.

Started teaching in the Richmond school district. I teach 6,8, and 9th grade English. I'm in an intern program, so I'm still in school as well (hence, no free time). It is kicking my ass, but I know that it is what I am supposed to be doing. There are moments that I love it, and many moments that I question why I quit my old job that was so much easier. Being in charge of 32 kids 5x a day begins to wear on you. Especially when they are all only concerned about themselves. But, my hope is that one day they will look back and think "someone believed in me." I know that it is about so much more than indenting, gerund phrases, and proper spelling - that what is going on in the classroom is much more than English. I just have to hold on to that truth on the days I want to throw in the towel and quit.

I ran a marathon. It also kicked my ass. 2008 is officially the year of ass kickings. It was funny to log back into this gig and see the post where I said "I ran 5.5 miles and didn't die." I ran/walked 26.2 miles, and I didn't die. It often felt like death, but I didn't actually die, which is a good thing. Myself and 4 other brave souls from the original Team Twinkie crew took many steps in Portland to complete the 26.2 mile trek. People keep asking "why" when I tell them that I completed a marathon. Really, I did it because I never thought I could do it, and also because it is the perfect metaphor for life. Right now, I constantly feel like I'm on mile 22 (which was the most difficult one), but I keep telling myself, only 4 more to go...which usually is enough to get me through the day.
It poured rain pretty much the entire time we ran. It was nice at first, but eventually we got pretty done with it being freezing cold and wet. Not exactly the most fun weather conditions for a marathon, yet all the more realistic of metaphor.

A short story I wrote got published in a book. My friend, Amy, kept pressing me to write this story, which I had no time for. So, one night/early morning, I flipped through my journal and rewrote a few of the entries. Low and behold, it was published in an anthology and I must say, it is kind of awesome. People keep telling me that I should quit teaching and become a writer. My response is always, "I like writing, so I don't want to do it for money. I've heard when you do something for money, it changes your love for it." Then, depending on the audience, I add "at least that's what the hookers always say" which makes me laugh every time.

ah, the stories of summa.

2008-07-25T21:46:00.000-07:00

So, i really should be doing homework right now... I haven't blogged in a while, but something just inspired me to do it. It's summer time and it seems as though no one is blogging (not many of the folks i read normally, anyway!), perhaps they are all out of town.

Anyway, for those of you who might be reading, but are unaware, in the past 2 months i have:

passed my CSETS! (wa hooooooooooooooooooo)

moved to Martinez

begun taking courses for my teaching credential

accepted a position at a school in the WCCUSD (I'd write the name, but you know...internet stalkers)

learned enough about creating webpages and html code to make this handy dandy list!

Lots of changes. Lots of new stuff. It feels more like spring than summer. Alas, 'tis summer, and is the time for late nights, smores by the fire, good beer, and hot weather.

Just got done telling my roommate my life story, which is what prompted this blog. Whenever I tell my story, it is as though God reveals one more thing to me about where He's been in it all - all along. When I think of the things I've been through and the challenges I've faced, it is easy to get downtrodden and upset and mad at the world and the people who have made me go through such madness, or at myself for poor decision making and the like. But, when I think again, or rather ponder, I am surprised by the amount of joy I find in my story. Not because of the end result - because the story's not done, folks - but because of God's orchestrating hand in it all. If I didn't have the friends, the family, the support that He's put in my life, this story might be a lot different. A lot more "glass-half-empty-ish". But no. Instead it will be full of laughter and good stories, much like the best summer of your life.

So, all of that is to say: be encouraged, friends.

God is at work, and He indeed is good.

Business Time

2008-05-08T23:53:00.000-07:00

drumroll, please...
i'm in! i got accepted into the program i applied for!!!!!!!! Now all i need to do is pass my 2 remaining CSETs (next Saturday). Please pray for knowledge retention, easy questions, and God's hand in it all.

i also found out today that my boss (the most generous person on the face of the earth) has offered my friend and i airfare to hawaii while some friends of ours will be there. The bad news is, its possible i won't be able to go due to school... aloha.

and yet, i'm still overwhelmed with excitement about this new part of my journey! (maybe i'll go to hawaii for a whole summer, sometime!)

word to your mother (and don't forget her on Sunday).

Victory is ours.

2008-05-05T23:05:00.000-07:00

about 25 of my Twinkified friends and i traversed a 10K on Sunday. Bright and early (around 6am) most of us were up and running (literally) for the first time, for many of us, a real race. It was incredible.
Pictures to prove it:

Running the 10K was ridiculous, incredible, hard, detrimental, exhausting, exhilarating, and phenomenal. I don't remember the last time i felt that successful, inspired, accomplished. If anyone is looking for "that thing" to get them back on track, to make them remember what dreams are made of and how it feels to DO SOMETHING, i suggest a 10K. (And i am the last person who ever thought i'd be saying that!). In a mere 5 months I was able to mildy train and overcome breathlessness, outofshapeness, and laziness and become a 10K runner. You can do it too.

5.5 miles and i didn't die.

2008-04-28T23:17:00.000-07:00

I ran 5.5 miles on Saturday, and I did not die. I often felt as though I was going to, but I did not. Sure, I nearly hopped a fence at an elementary school to get water, and contemplated drinking from a hose, but you know, desperate times call for desperate measures.

The task at hand is before me: I must run this 10K on Sunday.

I must also continue to study for the test I am taking on the 17th. It seems so far away, and yet when I look at my calendar and all that is upcoming, I realize it is here and now. Please pray that I will be able to understand and retain the knowledge required. Not passing this time around = not good.

Thanks to those of you who are still reading this blog, I promise to try to be better about writing more frequently!

its been a long time

2008-04-21T18:16:00.000-07:00

i haven't had the chance to blog much lately. i've got a lot going on...
i had a great revelation that i wanted to write about, but i didn't write it down. and now, i forgot what it was, which is unfortunate (because it was really good).

so since i don't have much to say i will say this:
- if you haven't seen the movie Juno, crawl out from under the rock and rent it. yes, it's already on DVD. it's incredible.
- if you weren't aware, it's baseball season, and i don't know about anyone else but i am definitely going to the battle of the bay game and getting a free tshirt while i'm at it.
- in case you were wondering, i find out about school stuff on May 16thish.
- if you were looking for something to do with $32 a month, i would suggest going to www.compassion.org
- i you aren't reading anything right now, i would encourage you to do so: Time Traveler's Wife, Lies My Teacher Told Me, UnChristian, and anything that challenges your way of thinking are places to start.
- i ran 4.5 miles last week which was record breaking for me.
- the 10K is in just a few weeks and i think i can do it.
- my new favorite quote is: you can't lead the people if you don't love the people; you can't save the people if you don't serve the people. (it's actually from a starbucks cup. who knew!?)

Carrie Underwood, Keith Urban and Jesus

2008-03-16T21:59:00.001-07:00

My friend Jen and i got last minute free tickets to a country concert last week. I am not a huge country fan, but I would go to just about any concert for free. So, after a volleyball game, we hopped in the car and drove to San Jose for this concert. Mind you we were in our volleyball attire (jeans and sweatshirts) and were not at all prepared for such an adventure.
I sometimes have a hard time at concerts at venues that large, simply thinking "if each seat cost an average of $75, Parking another $20, Tshirts $25, there is enough money in this stadium being wasted on entertainment to feed a small country for a reasonable amount of time. It takes a while for me to get over these thoughts, but the tickets were free (for us) and we spend $5 on parking, so it made it a lot easier for me to let that part go this time.
Honestly, the concert was great. She had an incredible voice and he is a ridiculously talented musician. Plus, I didn't even hear the word "tractor" once. I must say, i was impressed with country music that night. Especially her rendition of Bon Jovi's "Paradise City." I knew more words to that song than any other sung that night.
During the concert, i had this strange realization that this is what it must've been like (to some extent) for those who lived during Jesus' time. Here all these people had crowded to hear the best of the best; there is a following. These fans had heard the songs and listened to the music and could recite note by note, but to see them live was something entirely different. The people in the front rows had signs declaring their love to these musicians, and they reached out with all their might to try to touch them. It was really strange to see people be so excited about a person. I wonder how we can waste such excitement on things that don't even compare to the One who is infinitely greater. I wonder if I will ever be able to just go to a concert (of any type) and just enjoy it, without thinking all of these things, without having some huge revelation, but the fact of the matter is, I don't think I would want it any other way.

Why I <3 California, the Volleyball Diaries and a Book Review

2008-02-20T18:28:00.000-08:00

I'm a California native. Never lived anywhere else. This past week I braved a cold winter in Chicago, and I don't care what famous person claims "the coldest winter they ever had was a summer in San Francisco," they are a liar. Illinois is freaking cold.

California is a beautiful and long state. People tend to assume that if you live in California you frequent beaches and Disneyland, which generally isn't true if you don't live in Santa Cruz or Southern California (or unless you're rich, those churros add up). I understand the dynamics of our state and recognize that it would take less time to travel to the next state over than to travel to the top or bottom of CA from where I live.

I enjoy the snow, but not enough to live in, by, and with it. I've come to terms with that since my trip.

[i wrote the above blog in feb and never got around to posting it. my bad.]
For those of you who've been asking: volleyball is going well. I'm learning far more about myself than about coaching. That probably sounds selfish and self absorbed, but the fact of the matter is, I am not at all the coach I thought I would be. It is a hard thing to come to terms with the fact that you are a softie, and that, my friends, is exactly what I am. Part of this comes from wanting to be liked (apparently, for me, it doesn't matter if I'm 12 or 26), but more of it comes from wanting the girls to have fun while playing. Let's face it: they are in junior high. Me yelling at them and making them run miles for conditioning is not going to benefit anyone. The team we played against today had one of those coaches who yelled every moment the ball was in play. The other team had far more talent than ours, but we won because our girls weren't scared to death, shaking nervously the entire game. My point is, there is no point in being good at anything if you don't enjoy it, especially when you are 12.

Confession: I have a library problem. I must get books. All of the time. I have no room left for them in my room. I often only read a few chapters in them. It is becoming a problem.
Finishing a book has been a rare accomplishment for me in the past few years, but I have decided to change all of that. While on my trip i read Water for Elephants which was a great read. It is an interesting story about the life of a man who works for the circus. The most profound part to me was that it was written by a woman, from a man's point of view, and was very well done. It's worth reading, in my opinion.

my day(s)

2008-02-13T22:06:00.000-08:00

yesterday i went running at heather farms park, watched a beautiful sunset, smelled freshly cut grass, and watched kids play the greatest game ever: baseball. i left my headphones at work (or so i thought, they were actually in my trunk) so i ran listening to kids yelling, bats cracking, and the snapping sound of a ball in a well worked glove. there's a small pond i ran around where ducks were swimming, people were gathering, and life was happening. spent the rest of the night hanging out with a great friend, talking, and not being pressed to go or be anywhere else. we won a volleyball game earlier in the day, and i was just truly enjoying my day. all i could think was what did i ever do to deserve this? a part of me always wonders what would've happened if things went as i expected them to, if my life was as i'd planned it. i'd miss out on the small wonders like yesterday.

today has been a bit different. i am faced with the reality of the harshness of life and reminded that although God is good, not all people are. i am reminded of his grace and truth, of his mercy and faithfulness, clinging to Him as He's about the only one who can fix anything.

sometimes i just can't find the words. but, there is always a song:

Red lights are flashing on the highway
I wonder if we're gonna ever get home
I wonder if we're gonna ever get home tonight
Everywhere the waters getting rough
Your best intentions may not be enough
I wonder if we're gonna ever get home tonight

But if you break down
I'll drive out and find you
If you forget my love
I'll try to remind you
And stay by you
when it don't come easy

I don't know nothing except change will come
Year after year what we do is undone
Time keeps moving from a crawl to a run
I wonder if we're gonna ever get home

You're out there walking down a highway
And all of the signs got blown away
Sometimes you wonder if you're walking in the wrong direction

But if you break down
I'll drive out and find you
If you forget my love
I'll try to remind
And stay by you
when it don't come easy

So many things that I had before
That don't matter to me nowT
onight I cry for the love that I've lost
And the love I've never found

When the last bird falls
And the last siren sounds
Someone will say what's been said before
Some love we were looking for

But if you break down
I'll drive out and find you
If you forget my love
I'll try to remind you
And stay by you when it don't come easy

listen here

its a bunch of crap that people try to sell Christianity as something easy, as though you just "accept Jesus into your heart" and it's all good from then on. The Bible never references a "personal relationship with Christ" as the goal in life, or to be the goal of the church. We're so flipping self centered, we even make God about us.

"it don't come easy" is much more like it.

Coaching, Day 1 & Chi Town, Baby

2008-01-28T23:31:00.000-08:00

So, today was the big day. First day of coaching Middle School volleyball. Some people think that is "not" a big day, but for me it was. Partially due to the restoration that God is doing in my life in allowing me to work with youth, but also because this whole "teaching" gig is becoming more and more real.

I think Jr high/Middle Schoolers are the best. I know, it's sick. No one likes 12-14 year old, awkward, smelly bodied, unsure, timid, bratty, polar opposite, mood swingy 6-8th graders, but I do. There is such a difference between some of them, it's ridiculous and amazing all at the same time.

First practice went well, but I've found I really need to work on my coaching skills. Knowing how to do something and teaching someone how to do it are two entirely different things.

I am excited about this season. It ought to be a hoot. (I'm officially old, I just typed 'hoot').

Also in my future is a very long overdue visit to see my friends Kelly and Ryan in Chiacago. It is a long running joke that I will only ever see the states they live in because they are the only states I have in fact ever seen, with the exception of Washington DC/Virginia (but i was in 8th grade), and Oregon, which I drove through to go to WA to visit them many a time... Alas, I am still hoping they find some school in Hawaii so I can finally see the islands...I'm not holding my breath. I'm going from Feb 14-19 and I am so looking forward to it! Of course I have to choose the most ridiculous time of year to go as it will be freezing (we Californians are wusses, I admit it), but I'm sure it will be bearable.

Shortly after returning from Chicago I will be embarking on a trip to Mexico to rancho de sus ninos. Please be praying for us while we are there (Feb 28-Mar 4). More info about this orphanage is available on their website: http://ranchodesusninos.org/

Cat and Dog Theology

2008-01-09T06:02:00.000-08:00

A dog says "you pet me, you feed me, you shelter me, you love me, you must be God."

A cat says, "you pet me , you feed me you shelter me, you love me, I must be God."

The purpose of this book is to describe, in depth, this very statement as it lives in us and in our culture, and what the problems are with these two very different approaches.

This book is recommendable. Despite the below par writing and the cheese residue left on every page and the ridiculous, amount of PUNCTUATION! (there was a hint of sarcasm there), it is a very good look at what i could never quite put my finger on about theology, specifically in America. People think it is all about them. There is proof everywhere you look, specifically in your local Christian bookstore. Think about it: Life Application Bibles, Self-Help sections, The prayer of Jabez keychains, Worship songs that use "I" or "me" in every line. It is pervasive and we are not even aware of it.

The overall writing of the book is not worth recommending, but some of the examples they point out of what is going on in our churches hit close to home. I love my church because we are Dog people (both literally and figuratively...at one point, our pastor was going to have to make a 'no dog speech' due to the number of pets that were brought one Sunday). We pray for other churches and nations. We give a crap about what is going on in the world, and not just in our city. We do not have 1,000 programs and evangelical tools. The flip side is, we don't have any programs for youth, regularly scheduled Bible study, or a church directory for crying out loud. I'm not saying we are the best, but in this respect of cats and dogs, we get it.

Theology is not my deal - there are far too many questions to answer that I simply cannot wrap my mind around when we really get down to it. Biblical context and study is something that fairly recently has become an interest of mine, and if anyone has any recommendation about books that explain these things that are not in the style of "life application" I would appreciate your recommendation. I'm basically looking for a book, or a series of books, that offer complete contextual understanding, possibly a series that goes through all of the books of the Bible, or at least puts it in sections. I'm also looking for a book that compares the context of the old and new testament. I guess I feel like a Bible dummy, but really I'm ok with that.

If anyone has suggestions that are somewhat easy-to-read-don't-have-to-pull-out-the-dictionary-or-buy-a-new-Bible-dictionary, your recommendations are appreciated.

Wearing Off of Newness, The End of Stars Hollow

2008-01-01T21:53:00.001-08:00

I am a member of Team Twinkie. If you are not a part of team twinkie, here's a basic rundown: some cool people that i know got a group of people together to run a 10K. In my book, that's a marathon, for me it is a personal marathon, therefore, i will refer to it as a marathon, even if a real marathon is 26 or 32 or however many ridiculous miles.

We went shoe shopping, of course i had to get the 'mens' shoes seeing as women's shoes in my size are hard to come by... Anyway, i got them out of the box, shiny and new, clean and white, and all i could think was, soon they will be destroyed. Dirty. Not new.

This is true of all of our belongings. Remember that new car smell? Or, in my case, that new to me, but very very used car smell... Or the 1st day of school, the first time you heard a great song or joke. The first time you read your favorite book, the newness of the pages.

Newness wears off all too quickly. All too soon we find ourselves considering what was once so new to be mundane, normal, the same as it's always been.

New Year's Resolutions are a bunch of crap to me. Even if you keep them, what does January 1st have to do with anything, besides a calendar? I'm not one of those people who decides starting on a specific date that i will do something or be something different. I think that's a decision to be made in the moment, not once i've stuffed my face with sees candy and watched 38 hours of television non-stop.

Stepping off my soapbox now...

Laugh at me if you want, but today, I finished the series finale of Gilmore Girls, and I am so sad about it. This show was introduced to me 7 seasons and 12 months ago, and I didn't realize how emotionally attached I was to it. Seriously, i feel as though i have been in mourning all day, and even as i type that it sounds ridiculous. I've come to realize (in my mourning), that it is mostly because of the ties and bonds i felt with the characters. I so want the show to be what my life was like growing up in a single parent home, where your mom would bend over backwards, sideways, and into a pretzel to support whatever educational endeavors i wanted - where my mom would say I have never disappointed her, where I could go to the local diner and order the regular. Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name, and in this case, that place was Stars Hollow. It is a reminder to me of the fact that we're created to be in community, and in relationships that support us, that we need someone to catch us when we fall, someone to sit by us in silence when we cry, someone to laugh at our dumb jokes, and someone we can speak to without the use of words. So, to all of you in my life who have been or will be that person, thank you.

Coach Coaching?

2007-12-10T22:05:00.000-08:00

if you don't know, a portion of people in my life refer to me as "Coach." There's a long, somewhat funny story about how that name came to be, it really has nothing to do with my coaching skills, abilities, or athletic talent. But, it's grown on me quite a bit. Perhaps it is for this reason: i've been asked to coach middle school volleyball for Contra Costa Christian school in Walnut Creek. Friends of mine work there, one is the VP and Athletic Director and he needs a coach. This would be a fantastic opportunity to step into the school role, get my feet wet, and see if coaching is really something i'm wanting to do. It would also require sacrifice as far as my work schedule, social life, and freedom goes. However, it is only for 3 months... I need to see if it can work out w/my hours at work, trips I have planned, etc, but you only live once, right? What's great is that this would be the PERFECT gig for the hours I am required to fulfill for the program I'm applying for, too.
i was going to type "i'll pray about it" but, is it really necessary to pray about something that is seemingly an answer to prayer? i can feel myself getting all deep and theological and it is past my bedtime for tonight, so i'll stop there...
your thoughts, advice, words of wisdom are all appreciated.

Birthdays, Anniversaries, Newspapers and Jello

2007-11-07T16:49:00.000-08:00

My great grandparents are celebrating their 69th wedding anniversary in only days. As a gift, i thought it would be nice to do something out of the ordinary for them. This short clip was published in the Sacramento Bee in their honor. (http://www.sacbee.com/101/story/473844.html)

We're rooting for a reality TV show for them called 68 to life, and for them to beat this Guiness Book record...

* *
Preston Rowe caught his future wife's eye at an Oakland ballroom in 1938. Something about the way he held a gal, Rose Rowe said, told her he was husband material.
And now, nearly seven decades later, he still is.
Next week, the Rowes, of Jackson, will celebrate their 69th anniversary – quite a feat by any standard except, alas, the Guinness Book of World Records, which awards the longest-married status to a Taiwanese couple hitched for a dizzying 86 years.
The Rowes say they'll cross that milestone when they come to it, marveling instead that they've come this far considering Rose, 89, is the self-described custodian of a rotten temper and Preston, 91, has a maddening habit of always being right.
"Like any marriage, it has its ups and then its downs and everything in between," Rose said. "But he says he loves me, and that's the main thing."
Looks like they're both right about that.
* * *

It was my boss' birthday on Monday. Feeling like a 5th grader in need of a science project, i (with help) created the following disaster

Don't try this at home: Kids, blue + red = black when it comes to jello.

Yes, that is the "Worlds Best Boss" mug submerged in jello. If you're interested in one of the many ways to create such a masterpiece, just google "stapler in jello"

Word to the wise: use yellow jello, my mellow fellow

oh D!!!!!!!

2007-10-31T18:25:00.001-07:00

if you are a fan of the office, you get that joke.

if you are a fan of the office, you know that this is in fact the coolest thing you have ever seen:

this is the bobble head dwight that sits on my desk at work (thanks Dana) next to my "word of the day calendar). I took the picture as a joke becuase a guy who works at one of our offices didn't believe it existed. well, it does.

this made me think of a couple different things:

1) why do we have to see it to believe it? why, when, how have we been taught that?

2) i will miss my little desk at my current workplace. not because i will miss the work there, but i will miss the familiarity of it all; the perks, the way i know (almost) how to do what i do, my officemate, the people i have come to know and love there. i know it is far off, but it doesn't seem that far after all.

the nervousness is setting in. i was thinking about this career change recently and how different things will be for me as a teacher. i really enjoy having a life outside of and very separate from work. it is easy for me to joke about "not knowing what i do" whereas with teaching, it seems that everything will be the opposite. i will know what i do. i will have a title (that will not be assistant to the manager). work will consume me and take over rooms and parts of my life that i might not want it to. boundaries will be necessary.

there is this unspoken assumption that teachers are supposed to know everything about their subject. the inferiority i feel regarding my vocabulary and honestly, knowledge of the English language makes me rather uncomfortable when i think about teaching it. and perhaps i will end up teaching PE. (would i really be ok with that?) forgive me, at this point, i think i'm just typing thoughts that i haven't processed.

if you think of it, pray for me. for clarity, for decisions that need to be made, for test taking and grade options, the program i'm applying for, etc.

DCB + RTA = DCT

2007-10-17T00:26:00.000-07:00

Here's what the equation means:

David Crowder Band + Red Tale Ale = Dream Come True.

Yes, folks. David Crowder. Plus beer. Just when you thought the world couldn't be a better place. He played (along w/the Myriad & Phil Wickham) at the Fillmore in SF. 'Twas my 1st time there, and it was, beyond the shadow of a doubt...A-MAZING.

If you know me at all, you know how I am with and about music. It speaks to my soul in ways that regular words cannot; it moves me in ways i would not otherwise move. Music is always deep, always spiritual, if done right. Tonight's message was great. The music was exceptional. And what greater thing is there than to be surrounded by people singing praises to our great King in the least likely place - the fillmore, a historical landmark for Hendrix, Cream, the Stones - was soaked in Truth and Grace; words of praise floating to the ceiling... Accompanied by loud guitars, megaphones (yes, megaphones), keytars, and extraordinarily loud drumming.

Crowder sent out an email (to nerdy folks like me who are on the fanmail list) requesting that everyone bring socks and towels to the gig. These items would be donated to a local shelter. Apparently, that is what they overwhelmingly need most. Hmm. I spent over $100 on the tickets (i purchased 4), bought a beer and previously purchased their most recent CD. And all i brought with me was 1 package of on sale socks from Target. Usually i would feel underwhelmed by my offering, but in this case, it was different. I was reminded how encouraging worship is to me; how encompassing community is in the broader sense of the word; not just in the sense of my neighborhood or church, but this true community of Christ that we are to live in and out of.

A pack of socks is sufficient because it is not all i am doing with my life. Crowder had hand written an entire page of ways to get involved in the SF area with organizations that have needs. (i'll see if i can post it another time). These were handed out while we were in line. The overall theme of their latest CD is also the title of a song "Surely we can change." It is a song that speaks to me in the ways i have previously mentioned. the kind that gives you chills and that is somewhat like a short film as you take in the lyrics.

here they are:

and the problem is this

we were bought with a kiss

but the cheek still turned

even when it wasn't hit

and i don't know

what to do with a love like that

and i don't know

how to be a love like that

when all the love in the world

is right here among us

and hatred too

so we must choose what our hands will do

where there is painlet there be grace

where there is suffering

bring serenity

for those afraid

help them be brave

where there is misery

bring expectancy

and surely we can change

surely we can change

something

and the problem it seems

is with you and me

not the love who came

to repair everything

and i don't know

what to do with a love like that

and i don't know

how to be a love like that

when all the love

in the world

is right here among us

and hatred too

so we must choose what our hands will do

where there is painlet us bring grace

where there is suffering

bring serenity

for those afraid

let us be brave

where there is misery

let us bring them relief

and surely we can change

surely we can change

surely we can change

something

oh the world's about to change

the whole world's about to change

the whole world's about to change

the whole world's about to change

the whole world's about to change

the whole world's about to change

This song reminds me that it has to start somewhere. whether that is with my time or a pack of socks.

Another song they did captivated me in such a way that it was as though i was stopped in time, watching the film of my life and seeing God in the pieces and places where i had never expected to find Him. I was reminded that when things were at their darkest, times were at their worst, faith seemed like nothing more than a word, He was still right there. Being Himself, because there is nothing else for Him to be. Faithful, consistent, forever. (here are the lyrics)

God is good, people. Let's live like we know that.

marriage, musings and math

2007-10-14T14:38:00.000-07:00

i love a good love story. not a cheesy, obviously not real, tv-like love story, but the real ones. said love stories include:

- the people who were great friends, but never romantic. he liked her, feeling wasn't really mutual. she sets him up on a date with a friend and joins them to make it less awkward, and ten minutes into it, realizes she loves him. she spends the rest of the evening trying to sabotage their date. they marry, have two kids, and are still in love.

- the people i live with. they have known each other since birth. they have a picture of the two of them in the bathtub together at the age of...less than 2. they were friends for a very long time and have letters dating back to jr. high asking whether or not they'd been kissed yet, or if they had a boyfriend/girlfriend. it wasn't until their mid twentys that the light bulb above his head finally went on and he realized she was the one. no one else would ever come close. they were married shortly afterward.

i love these two stories because they are real. i love these two stories because these marriages are not perfect, nor do they claim to be. i love these people because they didn't get it, and then they did. there was a moment of clarity when everything made sense. i love these stories because they give me hope that God has a plan for my love life that doesn't necessarily include eharmony.com.

it seems as though there is a shortage of good guys in my part of the world. not that they don't exist, but quite the opposite, they exist and they are all taken or in relationships, or emotionally unavailable. the common reference i hear among young women my age is "the pool is dry." we're not settlers, people in my social sphere. we're pretty hard-headed, ready to live this deal out, ready to walk the walk type of ladies. we're not going to say "ok" to someone mediocre or sub-par. that makes it all the more difficult. i guess all i can do is be patient.

Benign Essential Blepharospasms, etc.

2007-10-10T16:40:00.000-07:00

I am relationally tapped out. I spend much of my time with people, and i love it, really i do - but at some point, the line will need to be drawn. I've been fighting a cold for what feels like a month, not a bad one, but the one that creeps up on you and makes you continually cough, clear your throat, and feel like...poop.

I also have recently been suffering from benign essential blepharospasms. In laments terms, it means that I have a twitch in my eye. Not the normal kind, but the one that persists for 4 days that simply won't stop and you can't remember what it felt like before it started. I looked up a "cure" online just for kicks, and instead i got the title of what an "eye twitch" is called in the medical world. Amazing. The causes of this disease are "stress, lack of sleep, and fatigue." Yes, all of these things are true in me right now. And the problem is I had been working so hard for those things to no longer be a part of my day, my night, my week. After reading The Rest of God, i was set on Sabbathing. I practiced it. It worked. It did good things for my soul, for my emotions, for me physically. But it is so easy for me to try to instead, squeeze something or someone in to my schedule. Part of this is due to my "need to be needed" but much more of it, i think, has to do with my future.

Starting school full time next year, changing careers - all of that sits in what i would like to consider the back burner of my mind, but really it is more like the frontal lobe. I am a planner. I need things to be concrete, set up, on the calendar. I know that this transition will be taking place, and i therefore, am hoarding every single moment that i can with people. I would rather hang out at the softball field drinking beer until 11pm than study. I would rather stay up and chat about politics (which i know nothing about) and faith and literature than go to bed at an appropriate hour. Perhaps it is a social thing, maybe i'm just wired that way. But all of this busyness leads to nothing good. I think we are taught that we have to do in order to gain. I'm not quite sure where this ridiculous idea comes from (thanks public school, mom, and society), but it permeates our lives, our decisions, the way we act, think, do.

We hoard up our good works for the times when we can't resist the temptation. We remind ourselves of the good things we did or what church event we are going to this weekend, which completely justifies whatever act we've just committed.

The reality is, we are missing the point. We are missing the Savior. Perhaps we got the edge of the puzzle together, but we still can't figure out what the picture is in the middle, and there is no box to look at. Charles Spurgeon (and then Derek Webb) said it best: "if your sin is small, then your Savior is small; but if your sin is great, then your Savior also will be great." Webb goes on to say on one of his CD's, if you cannot name one single sin you committed today, then sin is just an idea to you. We have to come to this realization and make it a reality. There is nothing that we can do to save ourselves. It has nothing to do with how much we do. It has to do with rescue and the complete understanding of that, which is what we have such a difficult time digesting. If we all walked around like we were truly saved, we wouldn't feel like we had to do anything - we would simply do it in response to this great God, out of the thankfulness of the rescue.

Prolonging Procrastination

2007-09-12T23:43:00.000-07:00

I've been taught for too long that I can always wait.
I can wait to achieve my dreams, my goals, my pursuits.
There's always tomorrow.
Next time.
Next year.
Maybe, if i can squeeze it in, next week.

I have great grandparents that are 90 and 92. They have been married for 68 years and would make a hell of a reality tv show (appropriately titled, "68 to life"). They no longer procrastinate nor prolong. They have nothing to wait for. Tomorrow is full of more pills, possibly a trip to Walmart, depending on how they feel, reading the newspaper, checking email, and hoping it doesn't get too hot or cold, so they can save money on electricity. They are not busy, overwhelmed, swamped with the things of this world. If their hips worked better they would go for walks and bask in the sun and sit outside and drink iced tea. Alas, they are often found in their living room, each in their own chair, watching one of the 1,000 channels they get, looking at sale ads, or arguing about whether or not they should buy more tin foil (i don't make this stuff up.)

Every month I look at my calendar and think, hmm, maybe that weekend I will be able to go up and visit with them. I see them fairly regularly, at least once a month at family gatherings and such, but to me, they have always looked this old. Now, they just walk funny, they need a bit more help getting up. They are not dying or sick. They are invincible and they will live forever in my mind. So going up there next weekend instead of this weekend, no problem.

What is it in us that makes us feel so invincible? That gives us this same feeling for and about others? Is it part of our original make up? Is it Genesis 3, that we were never supposed to be this way and something in our soul is screaming against every fiber of death as we know it? Is it selfishness, that I would rather do something for myself than go listen to a blaringly loud television and hear fights over tin foil? Is it too hard to see, to watch, to realize that they actually are getting older, that there actually has been a change, but I have been to busy, to preoccupied, caught up in my own life to notice?

Other cultures value and respect their elders. Somehow, there is a great deal of loss of that here where we live. Youth is valued indeed. It often feels like life is so backwards, if you will. When we are young we have no time, we are too busy to enjoy the things we want to enjoy. We're stuck, working for the man, making ends meet. We have little or no time for sunsets, long talks, and the fullness of silence. Then, when we have the time (and the money), we are too old, too sore, too something. We've prolonged procrastinating so long that we either don't know what we wanted in the first place, or it has moved to second place without us even being aware of such a shift.

I live with a two and 2/3 year old who is one of the greatest kids to ever have walked the face of the earth. She's quick and witty and has a smile that will get her all of the chocolate in the world that she could ever want (for the rest of her life). She is funny when she means to be, and even when she doesn't mean to be. She captures attention. Many times I have caught myself going on a pretend trip to San Francisco, reading a book a second time, or playing a silly game with her when there are so many other "important" things that I should be doing. There is fullness of life in such moments. There is no place I would rather be than right there, right then.

But much of life does not feel like that. Much of life feels rigid and ragged, torn at the edges, like chapped lips that just don't quite heal. I've tried and tried to get rid of the to do lists, the schedule and the time frame, the "squeezing in" of people and important relationships. I have tried to get up early so I can have more time sipping coffee and less time rushing around. I have tried praying all day long only to feel like a failure by the end of the day. I have tried to let others capture my attention, but it is a very conscious shift for me to say "this person is more important than the other 392 things going on in my head. This might be the most important conversation I ever have. Right here. Right now."

I want to stop living in the "what if" or "when I" or "next" phase of my life already. I feel like I've been doing it for 26 years. When we are young we want to be older, when we get older, we want to be even older, or have more things, or let life look more like we think it should. I want to get married, maybe have kids or adopt, change the world, fight AIDS, bring justice, bring peace, help the needy, befriend loners, keep my promises, and see the end result in all of these things. The problem is, I'm not interested in the journey nearly as much as I am in the end. I'm one of those people who loves and hates to read the end of a book first, or see the ending to the movie. It is ruined, but at least I know what happens, even if I don't know the story at all.

I'm living in the story right now. And I know the ending. And it is a good one. So, here's to all of the chapters that have happened, the chapters that are to come, the chapters I'm living in, and the words that will write the pages.

PS, I'm going up to visit my great grandparents in two weeks.

Inconvenience of Jesus

2007-09-03T15:22:00.000-07:00

New and improved.

bigger and better.

faster and more compact.

e-z squeeze.

Fridge door fit.

I was reading a ketchup bottle today and was reminded of the culture we live in and what is so wrong with it. We have a tagline for everything. We have a selling point for everything. Nothing is ever good enough, there is always room for improvement. We want it to take up less space, to do more, to exert less effort, and to take less time. We are consumed with better.

E-Z Squeeze fridge door fit. Like the regular ketchup bottle was really creating such havoc in its old spot in the fridge. Like it was paying rent or something. Are our lives now that much better becuase of this fridge door fit? I think not. I also think a good deal of money and fridge door research and measurement and engineering probably went into this ridiculousness. money and time and research that could've gone into say, AIDS research; money that could've gone into say, education for African children who's families cannot afford $10 a term to send them to school; engineering that could've gone into finding a cure to a disease, a way to better use solar energy, or a number of other things. But nope, we must have our fridge door fit and our E-Z Squeeze because our lives are too important; our space is already so limited.

I live in a house where there is a fridge in the garage. It is rather convenient to have extra storage space. It is nice to be able to buy lots of food at Costco and freeze stuff, defrost as needed. I could try to convince myself it is an "in case of emergency deal," but i know it's not true. It's an extra fridge. It holds beer and all of the extra food that won't fit in the fridge in the regular one. Why is it so easy for us to overlook gluttony, in every sense of the word? Not only in the consuming sense, but in the hoarding sense as well? For crying out loud, Costco is gluttony with a membership card.

I am sick of wanting everything bigger better faster. I need to learn to wait. To breathe. To be present in the moment, content with what I have, and content with it being good enough. I am not a "need to have the newest, the brighest, the best" kind of person. I drive a decent car. I buy clothes at Target and Kohls. I wear old socks. But, I buy CDs the day they are released (or pre-released). I enjoy my oh so convenient bluetooth headset. I am typing from my laptop with no wires attached, because along with not having enough space, we do not like wires holding us down.

All of this is to say, Jesus was and is rather inconvenient. He never called someone out and said "Come follow me. When you're not so busy. When you have more time." Or, "Sell all of your possessions. Or at least some of them, you know, the ones you don't really want. Bluetooths are important. Wires are overrated." Or, "By your faith you are healed. But because you have a costco membership, you also get a rebate." In all of the occurrances in His life, Jesus was giving of his time. He lived by the watch of inconvenience. He always had someone unexpected who needed help, time, Him. The woman who was hemmorraging, when He tells her she is healed, He asks her story. Not for her email address or her website so He can read her autobiography. He stops, then and there, takes a knee, and asks her to tell her story. It could've taken 30 minutes. It could've taken all day. He was not inconvenienced.

Part of me is sick of being convicted by such nonsense as a ketchup bottle. Part of me knows that in something so seemingly insignificant, God is doing work in me and calling me to nothing other than Himself. Don't settle for E-Z Squeeze. Even if it's not on sale, buy the big-o-take-up-the-whole-fridge ketchup. Refuse to settle for a convenient Jesus.

woodleaf

2007-08-20T21:48:00.000-07:00

thanks to kim holland and bridget welty i was able to go up to woodleaf one day (to remain nameless) last week. it was a great time with great friends and great people.

God is restoring bits and pieces of my life that i never expected Him to.

Here are some photos in case you wanted to see 'em.

we listened to music the whole way home. there were times when we'd talk, and other moments when there was nothing but silence needed. there were songs we'd sing at the top of our lungs because we knew each word as though it was our very own name, and other songs that we didn't sing because our voices simply couldn't carry the message being conveyed. If you've never heard it, check out the song "i wanna dance" by Derek Webb off of "the house album" as well as the intro to it. i can't wait to dance the way the woman in the song has always wanted to dance.

music is an amazing thing to me. there are songs i've heard a million times that still make me cry when i hear them in a specific context or when i'm in a certain mood or feeling a certain way, or needing to hear a specific line. there is nothing quite like music that holds that kind of power and unity.

28

2007-08-07T21:25:00.001-07:00

So far this is a great book. I suggest checking it out. It is amazing how quickly we turn our eyes from the things that matter in order to "be entertained" or to "take a break" from reality. The reality is, if we owned up to what we are doing, what we are allowing, and why, well, we wouldn't have much of an acceptable answer as to why.The book is 28 stories of real people, real stories, real lives that are being lost to the war against Aids, if we are even still calling it that. It is a harsh, up close look at what is going on right next door to our neighbors, brothers, sisters.This quote best sums it up, "I get the sense that [Americans] feel a dying African is somehow different from a dying Canadian, American, or German - that Africans have lower expectations or place less value on their lives. That to be an orphaned fifteen-year-old thrust into caring for four bewildered siblings, or a teacher thrown out of her house after she tells her husband she is infected - that somehow this would be less terrifying or strange for a person in Zambia or Mozambique than it would be for someone on the US or Britain..."

oh to blog...

2007-06-29T16:56:00.000-07:00

this seems so much more "grown up" than myspace, and let's face it, i'm over 25 which means an official offical adult. i'm more than 1/2 way to 30, which is more than half of 50. i bet my AARP card is in the mail right now...

(subject change)

i've been rather frustrated with my lack of knowledge of scripture lately, and moreso with my lack of desire to know and fully understand it. in conversing with good friends who know the Word, i feel so...unintelligent. it is still all so new to me, even after 6 years of following Jesus, being involved in ministries, and being in studies. in some ways, it is a good thing - God's Word is always new and fresh to me. it doesn't come easy to me. i don't "just get it" like i do so many other things. it's like math - sometimes i just can't piece it all together or remember the "why's." i want to be the kind of person who can reference Scripture in all of the right and helpful ways that it have been shown to me, but why? is it for my own boasting? my Pharisee-ness? to show that i am smarter, better, wiser? to prove i'm a scholar? or is it because my heart wants to have His Word written in and on it? ...unfortunately, i must say it's probably not the latter at this point. and i don't think it will be written on my heart until that is the purpose behind that desire.