The Fair and the Foul

"Fair is foul, and foul is fair."

These six words from the first scene of Shakespeare's Macbeth are an English teacher's dream, embodying no fewer than four literary devices! Perhaps more important than providing fodder for the perfect test question is the fact that this one line summarizes what could be considered one of the main themes of this disturbing drama:  things are not always what they seem.

As the lazy days of summer come to an end for me as a teacher, this idea has become clear to me lately through some unlikely circumstances.  The concept of dichotomy has shaken me to the core as I've considered things that can be both good and bad.  So much great literature - and so many amazing true stories - are great because of the tragic beauty that is only revealed when the good and bad are juxtaposed.  The hero that wouldn't be quite as heroic if it weren't for the villain.  The wedding wouldn't be as romantic if it weren't for the pre-wedding angst experienced by the bride and groom.  I try to explain this to my students when they want to know why we can't just read "happy stories."  Whatever that means...

So, in keeping with the Bard's theme (one also presented by many other great writers, including the greatest Writer of them all), here are a few of my reflections on things that are both "fair" and "foul."


RAIN 

We've had a rainy summer in Alabama this year.  This definitely has its pros and cons!  I love the feeling of being inside on a rainy afternoon with nowhere to go - the air conditioner running, the air outside displaying a greenish tint, tree branches bowed with water hitting the front porch roof, sodden crepe myrtle blossoms fluttering to the patio.  Those moments mean there is no pressure to take anyone to the pool or park or to work in the yard and a feeling of safety and comfort pervades as the thunder rumbles in the distance.  If the rain continues on through the night, sleep is blissful.

However, being out and getting caught in that same rainstorm is a whole 'nother story (as we say in the south)!  Depending on the age of any accompanying children, possession of rain gear, the severity of the rainstorm and the location at which we are caught unaware, momentary - or even sustained - chaos can definitely accompany the rain, not to mention muddy floors, and in our case (because our basement sometimes leaks during torrential downpours), an evening of wet-vac fun!  On a more global scale, rainstorms can be catastrophic as opposed to just inconvenient, bringing floods and lightning strikes, ruining crops, or causing mudslides.

So we take the good and the bad of the rain.  The ruination and the rainbows.  "[R]ain falls on the just and the unjust"  (Matthew 5:45).  Literally and metaphorically, this truth is displayed. As residents of planet earth, we must have actual rain in order for our lives to be sustained.  But sometimes the rain comes at the most inopportune times (wedding days, photo shoots, outdoor barbecues, beach outings).  We must have it.  Across the globe, it is both prayed for and desperately prayed against.  Similarly, we also need the metaphorical rain in order to most fully enjoy the sunshiny, rainbow moments.


STUFF

Yes, I know my super-informative heading may overwhelm with its philosophical depth (sarcasm font needed here)  . . . but I believe that we can all agree that the "things" of this world can be mixed blessings.  As middle-class Americans, we set our goals and get our diplomas and do our "thing" so we can buy the next "thing."  And some of those things are great.  I sure am thankful for my electric appliances and comfy mattress and cell phone.  In the summer in Alabama, I am especially grateful for air conditioning!  There is absolutely nothing wrong with wanting our child to have nice clothes, a snazzy bike, or an X-box; or for moms to want some lovely-smelling lotion, a stand mixer, or a new pair of earrings.

What trips us up sometimes is the striving for the newer, the better, the faster and the containers to put them in (jewelry armoire, anyone?) and what color we should paint the walls that the containers are pushed up against.  We are so proud of the curtains and bedspreads and tchotchkes and garages and condos and houses that that have more bathrooms than residents and we spend much time decorating, rearranging, and cleaning all of them.  Interestingly, the current "simplify" movement seems to be a backlash against all this stuff, with people purging their homes of hundreds of items so that there is not so much to clean and organize and move from place to place.  I think there is wisdom in this.  Sometimes stuff is comforting, though.  Grandma's china evokes good memories.  Full bookshelves impart knowledge and provide an entertaining escape.  Toys occupy energetic hands and stimulate growing brains.  So much balance is needed on this one because the good and the bad of stuff is almost a daily challenge.  As a die-hard yard sale and thrift store shopper, I have to hold myself to the "one bag out for every bag in" rule or else we'd be overrun!

Stuff that can seem innocuous can become an infestation that destroys and causes us to chase after a substitute comfort that will never truly satisfy.  Without moral boundaries (or with a willingness to ignore them), the innocuous can become horrible.  Lady Macbeth thought that once her husband succumbed to his ambition, all would be well, but of course, it was not.  The ambition fueled selfishness which fueled more horrible deeds, and she herself conceded that "nought's had, all's spent, [...] our desire is got without content." All she and the king had left was overwhelming guilt and regret.  Every time I teach this play, my students discuss the concept of "going after your dreams" and what they are willing to give up to get what they think they want.  That discussion always makes me think about my stuff and the contrast of blessing and curse that it can bring.  And I try to remember those lessons, although I certainly succumb to the striving more often than not.


LOSS

Divorce.  Death.  Adultery.  Broken friendships. The death of a dream.  Debilitating sickness.  Dishonesty.  Unemployment.  Crushing debt.  Rebellion.

Bad, bad, and more bad, right?  On the outset, yes.  In our human eyes and hearts, absolutely.  But the more I experience these or witness others do so, the more I learn that a grace-and-gospel viewpoint concerning loss is the one that I must consider, elusive as it may be.  And I must admit that sometimes this seems humanly impossible and I only see "in a mirror darkly" and always will.

So what's the upside of loss?  Sometimes we can see it.  The loss of one job can eventually lead to a better job.  A rebellious teen can drive parents to their knees and eventually result in a beautiful reconciliation (even years later).  But sometimes we cannot see it.  We just can't.  And that can frustrate and destroy faith and cause bitterness.  I am there more often than I want to admit and it is not a pretty place.

In 1984, my paternal grandfather was killed under horrific circumstances due to his own sin.  My family was devastated.  I was confused and sad and embarrassed and worried that I'd get kicked off the cheerleading squad.  At fourteen, I couldn't see God's hand in this story at all - not in my father's anger or in my grandmother's loss or in my disillusionment.  And at forty-four, I sometimes still find it hard to see.  But his hand is there.  It has helped me eventually understand that grace is not found in a "good family name" or in being a member "in good standing" of a local church.  For a while, because of my grandfather's sin, I felt that God's hand on me meant avoiding a long list of corrupting activities and subsequently judging those who didn't avoid them.  That was the path of holiness he wanted, right?  Perhaps in some circumstances.  But I was on that path for the wrong reasons.

More recently, I have experienced the loss of some precious summer days due to sickness (not debilitating, but definitely inconvenient and frustrating), as well as the death of a couple of dreams I've held onto.  I do not yet see how God is going to redeem these losses, but I must hold tight to his promise that he will.  I have to.  Otherwise all I have to depend on is my own human understanding and that gets me nowhere fast.  God knows this and he loves me anyway.  He watches my striving and my sullenness and my silly complaining and he draws me closer and calls me Daughter and he tells me to be still.

And that is the beauty of loss - all we can gain when strivings cease.  When worldly pleasures - even the American-dream-wrapped ones - are forsaken.  When our finagling stops and our resting in his provision begins.  Grace is greater than we can even imagine.  We only see a tiny corner of it and still declare it amazing.

The fact that grace is needed is a bad thing.  That it exists and is extended to all who believe in Jesus' redemptive work is the best thing.  Grace is the ultimate dichotomy, requiring the ugly to show its infinite beauty.

Just Enough Blueberries...

     Barefoot, I traipsed outside to pick some blueberries in my backyard, hoping for some to put on my whole-grain (translation:  bland, yet good-for-me) cereal.  The grass was wet, the morning air was already heavy with Alabama humidity, and the dew-laden plants in my meager raised bed greeted me just beyond the corner of the garage.  I shifted my plastic basket to my other hand and began moving leaves aside to look for those beautiful blue orbs.  Yes!  Two, then three . . . then a handful were scattered on the bottom of my basket.  But alas, no matter how many times I lifted leaves, the other berries were just not ripe enough, so back I walked into the house to enjoy my breakfast.  (Well, enjoy might be a bit strong of a word, but those berries DID help.)
      Side note/confession:  I'd MUCH rather have had enough blueberries to have made muffins.  And I do have enough blueberries in the freezer, but at that point, I was Hungry (with a capital H) and wasn't waiting around for someone (oh, wait, that would be me) to make some stinking muffins.

     So, I grabbed a magazine off my kitchen table to read while I ate (I was the only one eating at the time; I wasn't being antisocial or setting a bad example; I'd NEVER eat while others are at the table.  Oh wait . . .), and as sometimes happens on rare quiet mornings at my house, I started thinking.  I thought about those blueberries for a minute.  And as so often happens for completely random reasons, I started crying.

    What in the world?
    Lord, why am I crying about blueberries?

    Because there were just enough.
 
    So, in my typical English-teacher manner, the symbolism was NOT lost on me.   Just enough blueberries for my bowl of cereal.  I so often crave for more of so much in life.  So much more than just enough.
 
More money.
Not millions, Lord, but enough to get out of debt and get our kids through college without student  loans and perhaps build a cute little Victorian farmhouse on an acre or so.  And pedicures.
More time.
Not enough to be idle for long, Lord, but enough so that I can catch up on scrapbooking and perhaps have lunch with a friend once a week during the summer without feeling guilty. And get 8 hours of sleep during the school year. And maybe blog a bit more.  Or write a book. Or clean out my craft closet.  (Nah, maybe not that last one).
More accolades.
Not the red-carpet-awards-show-type, Lord, but enough recognition to make me feel as if my hard work is noticed by others.  And that my talents and skills (such as they are) are being used in the best way so that I can feel affirmed that I am doing what I'm supposed to be doing.  
More "moments."
Not YouTube worthy gut-clenchers, Lord, but enough romance and teary-eyed wonder on special days or on regular days to make me feel ALIVE!  And deep conversations. 
More friends.
Not Facebook-quality acquaintances, Lord, but some bff's (both gentle-spirited women and those who might be more Brillo-pad-like so I don't feel so much like a mutant) who "get" me and who call or text or message me wanting to "hang out" or tell me about what's going on in their lives.  And go get pedicures with me.
More self-control.
Not in a neurotic or self-reliant way, Lord, but in a way that honors you.  The ability to walk by a cookie or a book or drive past a Pizza Hut or a thrift store (yes, even thrifters must have self-control...) and not give in to the temptation to indulge.

And there are plenty more of those "more's" where those came from.  And where did they come from?  The pit of hell?  Hmmm, I don't think so.  Well, perhaps the accolades one . . . The rest are not evil in and of themselves, but when I make it my goal in life to arrange or manipulate things to assure that all those things are present, happening, and lovely, then I miss them when they ARE present, happening, and lovely.

But God in his infinite wisdom and as the architect of my life, the one who knows the way planned out for me and who has known it since I was formed in my mother's womb, the one who has given me a "hope and a future," the God of the universe knows that sometimes - most of the time - I do not need more.  I might want more, but I don't need more.  I need just enough.

I've been dealing with some sickness for the last few weeks.  And I don't get sick.  Ever.  Except for, apparently, sometimes I do.  This is not a good place for me.  I do a bit too much navel-gazing rather than bask in the opportunities for sleep, prayer, cuddles with my kids (well, they are mostly too old for cuddles...sigh...), and meditation.  On the other hand, my usual early summer productivity (check things off that list kids, and MAYBE we can go swimming/to the park/on a day trip to a fun and educational site within a 100-mile radius!) has been curbed drastically.  Which is not a good place for my family.  Because I want MORE of them, too.  I secretly think they are hoping that I will stay sick for a week or so longer.  Nothing serious, mind you, but enough to keep me on the "slow" side . . .  But I have such a long list of more, for them as well as for me.  It is not pretty.

I often play the game of promises with God about that elusive "more":
"But God, if I had $100,000, we could pay off our credit cards and be able to help our friends with their adoption fund and buy our kids some NEW jeans for once and . . . and, and, and... And if Anthony was just MORE romantic, think about how unified we'd be in serving you and how much Happier (with a capital H) I'd be.  And if my kids' albums were all caught up and perfectly displayed on the shelf, how special they would feel when they looked through them and saw all the loving, handwritten comments and perfectly matched stickers and whatnot on the pages . . . And if I were thinner, what a great testimony I'd be able to have about how you delivered me from the bondage of cheesy bread . . . And if I had great friends and co-workers who loved me and showered me with affirmation and pedicures, I'd SO give you all the glory, Lord . . . !"

Really??  Really.

And then, Boom, the blueberries of life hit you on the head.  And, as befits that humble berry, their impact is not catastrophic or even painful.  Perhaps a tad bit blue-tinged, but otherwise, pretty much a non-event.  Except for that gentle nudge of that still, small voice.  Reminding you that you need just enough.  That He is just enough.  That you already have just enough.

Every spoonful of my cereal didn't have a berry.  But the ones that did were sweet, indeed.

Gossamer Tightropes

As a moderately conservative (yeah, I know that's probably not a technical political category, but it works for me) public school teacher and mom of four, I am often caught in the middle of various social and educational controversies of various types and intensities.

    Work outside the home or not?  
    Breast or bottle feeding?
    Write the note to opt your child out of school sex ed classes or not? 
    AP classes for the experience or Honors or Regular classes for the higher GPA?
    Teachers' unions - evil or necessary?
    How many extracurricular activities for each child, if any?

And now, one of the latest bugaboos in the public eye: 

Common Core - 
pro or con? 

As a woman and a Christ-follower with a bent to question and doubt, my responses to those controversies are often internally angst-filled and sometimes even wishy-washy, yet externally, my responses are often self-righteous, loud, and borderline obnoxious. Side note: my sweet daddy, in the midst of family discussions about politics, education, or ethics, will just smile and shake his head and say things about me arguing with fenceposts and whatnot.  Love him so much.

"We're women; we have double standards to live up to."  

I'm reminded of these great words from Ally McBeal as I think about these seemingly never-ending debates. This double standard, for me, is not so much about the glass ceiling as it is about the fragile, glasslike tightrope I have to walk as a public-school-teaching mom.  Personally, I have to keep going even when there is no more energy left and when I know the things on my never-ending list are only going to get half-done. I do not have it in me to NOT fulfill an obligation I've made, and although the years - and my oh-so-laid-back husband - have curbed my tendency to say "yes" to every request, the obligations are still overwhelming and they MUST. GET. DONE. With excellence.  Oh crap, that's right, excellence is not going to happen because of the length of the list and the fact that I require sleep at some point . . . so the disappointment settles in as I critique this lesson and that meeting and yet another awkward conversation in the grocery store aisle.  So, I walk the never-ending, diaphanous line.  I want to be involved with the things my kids love and cheer on the sidelines and make nutritious meals and do Pinterest projects and be a teacher who does her work with ethics and excellence and . . . and . . .  there's absolutely no way to "have it all."  I tell my 16 and 17-year old female students this every semester (so far I haven't gotten in trouble for it...).  Yes, girls, you can do anything and be anything in the world you want to be, but if you also want to be a mom, something's (a lot of things) gotta give.

Likewise, professionally, I must buy - and sell - the "party line" of supporting all things public school, while at the same time longing, at times, to be homeschooling my kids and teaching my daughters (and sons!) to sew and cook and plant a garden.  I believe in public education in the most basic and heartfelt ways, yet I do not wear rose-colored glasses when it comes to its downsides.   I am fortunate to teach in a district that holds high standards for students and teachers, yet my children have had some years in school when it was all I could do not to march into the classroom and yell "What in the world are you doing?  Don't you KNOW how to use an apostrophe correctly?  Don't you KNOW that my child knew how to do that two years ago and you should be challenging him/her every moment of the day?"  And of course, I realize that's all ridiculous.    At the end of the day, I believe my children were and are God's before they were and are mine and the grace-filled promise that He has them in His hands, sheltering them in the "cleft of the rock" is much more crucial than where they are sitting or who is at the front of the class while they work algebra problems and write essays.

We all are guilty of both bowing to and enforcing double standards.  We want high standards, but we also want our child to be on the Honor Roll.  And that's probably just not possible unless he or she demonstrates the miraculous trifecta of high ability, self-discipline and passionate interest.  Or unless the work is not challenging enough. Or unless (excepting learning disabled students) parents help him or her with his or her homework or projects on a regular basis, which in my mind, is much more damaging than any curriculum.  Yup, there, I said it.  Just this morning, I read a lengthy comment thread on our local paper's Facebook post asking about the Common Core standards controversy.  In five minutes of reading, I read comments which ran the gamut from "CC is so easy the next generation isn't going to be able to read or add single digit numbers" to "CC is so difficult that my child feels like a failure right now and no child is going to be able to succeed."  So, which one is it?  Is Common Core implementation the pre-dawn darkness of the American educational apocalypse or is it a unifying ray of light helping educators move forward, hands clasped and heads high, as we proudly teach our students critical thinking skills?

Well, I don't really know, to be honest with you.

All I can tell you is that if a parent EVER had a concern about an essay, novel, memoir, poem, or play read in my classroom I would respect his or her viewpoint and we would sit down together to find a way for his or her child to accomplish the same curricular objective with another work that the parent found acceptable.  I also hold to the fact, however, that students can handle more than some parents give them credit for.  Abuse, neglect, psychological struggles, existential doubt, relationship struggles, health crises . . . the real, hard lives that are led by students even in a "good" school system like the one I work in make me simply want to cry some days.  They all KNOW about these things and tragically, some of them are living them.  In the personal essays my students write at the beginning of the semester, I've read about everything from molestation to cancer to bankruptcy to moving 12 times in 10 years.  I cry.  I hold their papers in my hands and pray and cry.  And sometimes I hold students back after class and let them know that I heard them and that I'm sorry and that if they need anything to let me know.  And sometimes they do.

In my opinion, reading Toni Morrison's The Bluest Eye or John Steinbeck's East of Eden (or even Rick Bragg's All Over But the Shoutin'  - yep, that was my sole parent protest this school year!) is not going to taint a high school student's mind or unduly influence his or her worldview or political leanings, especially if a concerned parent were to read along with his or her child and TALK about the content, style, and tangential related issues.  In some cases, I dare say that thought-provoking literature might do more to point students in the right direction than other things they are exposed to, with or without their parents' knowledge.

A student's mind is bent to sin and selfishness - just like mine and yours -  and reading about the devastating results of racism, sexism, incest, death, or moral corruption is yes, perhaps going to disturb students, but along the way, and more importantly, they will also learn to think about and grapple with these issues in a way that's meaningful and transformative.   Disclaimer:  I do not teach The Bluest Eye.  I don't think I can do it justice and honestly, I would be a bit scared to try.  And I'm not scared of much.  However, I do teach Macbeth and not once has a single parent complained about the multiple murders, sinister manipulation, political backstabbing.  Yeah, Shakespeare pretty much already covered all the bases as far as evil plot lines go, yet of course parents want Shakespearean works included in their child's education - and rightly so!  Please note that I am choosing to NOT comment on math standards seeing as how I do not know much about them, but the nebulousness of SOME materials being chosen from CC-related offerings is both good and bad, in this teacher's book.  I also know that there MUST be a learning curve if algebraic concepts are going to be offered in younger grades, so the first few years of implementation might be frustrating.  Explaining answers logically and critically is much harder than carrying out mathematical procedures.  Having a perfect, obvious answer is not possible in most areas of life, now is it?! Hmmm, kind of what this post is all about . . . !  Yes, I know parents have apparently pored over poetry worksheets and don't "get" why the answer is "B" instead of "C" and are raising Cain because of it.  You know what?  The key might have been wrong.  Or there might be room for both "B" and "C" to be correct - GASP!  Or the teacher might need to throw out that worksheet (teachers choosing appropriate curriculum materials is a post for another day...).  But, either way, an incorrect answer on a poetry worksheet is NOT the end of the world and it should NOT (so long as it's up to you . . . and parents, it IS ultimately up to you!) formulate your child's self-worth.  Should you voice your opinion about curriculum?  Absolutely!  If there is never ever another question he or she misses regarding poetry interpretation have you won the battle?  I think not.

When I taught middle school and led the annual 7th grade trip to Washington, D.C., I once had a parent who refused to let her 13-year old daughter go to the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum (why she even signed her up for the trip when the USHMM was clearly listed on the itinerary is yet another mystery...).  The mom finally decided to buy a plane ticket, come to D.C. for the day, and sit with her daughter outside the museum for the three hours we were there for our tour.  Yep.  Indeed.  More money than sense, I say.  She also required the social studies teacher to come up with alternate lessons for her child whenever slavery, genocide, or any mistreatment of a people group was discussed in class... Yep.  When I asked the mom if she was going to ask the same thing of the 9th grade World History teacher when they discussed the French Revolution (you know, the guillotine thing is kind of hard to leave out), she was adamant that because her daughter would "be in high school then," that she'd be able to handle it, no problem.  Sigh.  No, I'm sorry . . . you can be 40 years old and not be able to handle the HUGELY hard things in life if you haven't slowly, with the loving guidance and support of parents and teachers and even friends, made it through the LESSER hard things in life and come out on the other side saying "I made it through" (yes, I'm hearing Barry Manilow's "I Made It Through the Rain" in my head right now . . . that's how my brain works . . . ).  Sorry, back on track now . . .

As I've entered my mid-40s, I've realized that (1) it's too late to go to law school so I can get paid to argue, and (2) I'm probably not going to change the minds of many folks, no matter how masterfully my rhetoric is presented.  So, what's an opinionated and somewhat well-informed woman to do when she also wants to show compassion and follow the lead of the Holy Spirit?  That indeed, my friends, is the question of the day.  And of so many of my days. And as I reflect on all the controversies, and "spit out the butt-ends of my days and ways" (Eliot), I still don't have any clear answers.

Do we need to even be on the tightrope, some might ask?  Shouldn't we just hold hands and sing "Kumbayah" so that the Common Core controversy and mommy wars and picketing parades would just end.  Perhaps singing would help.  It worked in "The Sound of Music" . . . But ultimately, we are selfish and self-centered humans who believe our way, our view, our tightrope is the BEST.  We just KNOW our little darling could make As and feel good about himself if that evil Common Core wasn't a part of our school. Or we just KNOW that those "people" who can't achieve under Common Core instruction just need to get out of the way and let our child shine because "to the victor goes the spoils."  I've been there.  On both ends of that crazy spectrum, neither of which is pretty or fair or Godly.

One thing I can say with confidence after almost 19 years of teaching and 20 years of mothering is that there is so much more to achievement and so-called success than a grade or a ribbon or a degree.  I'd much rather our kids learn how to function with frustration or even failure and "keep on keeping on" than to always be "the best" (whatever that means).  Our 12-year old who is a stellar and self-motivated reader, carried an F (like a 30-40 average) for the first month or two of seventh grade because he "forgot" to take his summer reading project to school to turn in and his teacher wouldn't take it late.  Broke my heart, because he actually did read the book and probably had as good of an understanding of it as any child in his class who got a 100 on the project.  But, he forgot.  And we let it go and just NOW, in February, does he finally have a B in English.  He'll more than likely end the year with a B and you know what, that's okay.  He learned a lesson that I have no doubt will serve him well in the future and he knows without a doubt that he alone is responsible for turning his work in.  Our youngest has had a hard time with CC-based quizzes and worksheets in English this year in second grade.  I'm not sure if it's going to get better or worse, but I do know that I'll keep glancing at her papers (glancing, not obsessing or questioning) and telling her how proud I am of her hard work, ignoring the 74 or the 82 because I know that sometimes there are learning curves when new skills and concepts are introduced.  She loves school, she loves to read, and she is not scared to try new things.

Our oldest son is our most independent, rebellious kid (I have no idea who he got that from...ha!), and honestly, he drives me crazy most days because he doesn't have much concern about making good grades unless he is personally inspired by the subject.  But, last summer, he built a stand and an entire pump and filtration system (from scratch) for his 100-gallon saltwater fish tank with zero guidance from us (and only a minimal bit of power-tool related assistance from his dad).  It was amazing!  But while he reads animal-related blogs for hours, he currently has a "B" in Biology.  Go figure . . .

While we push them to reach their God-given potential and work hard, grades or honor society memberships do not define our kids - nor do they define our parenting.

Praise the good Lord for that.

I have friends on both ends of the Common Core debate who earnestly believe that their viewpoint is not only correct, but morally superior to those on the other side.  Those who believe that too much governmental meddling in local education matters puts us on the slope to a full-fledged Communist state posit themselves opposite those who believe that CC standards are both useful and necessary to move our country into an educationally competitive position on the international stage - and not many on either side are making moves to sit down at the table and talk sensibly.

What are we teaching our children when we act this way?  To engage in civil discourse?
  Or to"bunker down" with our "like kind" and see who can outshoot the other side?  
  Or to aim for fake-smile peace at all costs?
  Or to look for the "bogeyman" behind every tree?

I do believe, as Susan B. Anthony wrote, that "[c]autious, careful people always casting about to preserve their reputation or social standards never can bring about reform." So, in my heart of hearts, I want to defend, to rebuke, to correct wrong or skewed opinions (or at least the ones I perceive as wrong or skewed).

But the way to do that is not so clear and that tightrope is indeed fragile.

Legos and Love and Lutzes

Three things have led to an interesting and thought-provoking and somewhat crushing day.  And that's awesome.  Not awesome like in the movie song "Everything is Awesome" . . . but I'm getting ahead of myself.

First of all, this morning's sermon on Romans 12:9-13 challenged me to love fellow believers selflessly and sincerely, even when they frustrate me or even when I'm inconvenienced.  Ouch.

Secondly, I watched movie with my family about Lego mini-figures who demonstrate the juxtaposition of those who desire disciplined order and those who prefer creative chaos and whose "masters" reconcile in a heart-wrenching -  albeit somewhat formulaic - ending. Funny and interesting.

Finally, I watched an Olympic figure skater who wiped out after a triple lutz 30 seconds into a 4-minute routine, yet went on to skate beautifully, even while knowing that her mistake would ensure that her country's team would not appear on the medal stand.  Tragically inspiring.

So yeah.  I'm very competitive.  For the first decade of our marriage, my husband would not play board games with me at parties or family gatherings.  Flat out refused. Thankfully, I have mellowed a BIT on that front, but there is still something visceral that arises occasionally that just wants to win.   Jeopardy.  Online quizzes.  Scrabble.  Not only do I really like to win games, but I also secretly desire victory in the "martyr-like" competitions that are mostly mental, but embarrassingly, sometimes verbal as well.  Who's the busiest?  Me.  Who's got the most papers to grade with the least time?  Me again.

But ironically, the reason I've been a bit demolished today is because of what I'd consider not my desire to win, but my tendency to make excuses.  And my tendency to wipe out, not at an ice rink (makes my ankles hurt just thinking about ice skating for more than 15 minutes!), but in my interactions with others.  And then to just lie there and crawl off the social and relational ice, licking my wounds and winding up back at the make excuses stage.

    "But they are SO irresponsible."  
    "There have to be consequences for behavior." 
    "Someone has to call them out on that and I am just one of those people who had the nerve to say something when I KNOW everyone else is thinking the same thing."

Oh dear Jesus, forgive me for my lack of love and carry me forward with your grace and mercy.  And because of it.

I know I cannot be the only believer who struggles with this because I read the vitriol-filled comments on blogs.  On Facebook posts.  Among Christians.  Among moms. I hear about the broken friendships and witness the avoidance that characterizes interactions - in cyberspace and at the PTA meeting and at the mall - among those who inflict the wounds (me included) and those who are wounded (me included).  Even at 44 years of age, I cringe at certain social situations because my heart starts pounding and my 13-year old awkward self emerges.  The one who wore pin-curls and off-brand jeans in the age of spiral perms and Guess and possessed (possesses?) an extremely limited ability to carry on conversations about "normal" stuff.  Yep, she starts to scream "No" and prompts me to leave the (literal or metaphorical) room and to never come back.  I just know I will say the wrong thing and feel horrible.  Or I will say the sort of right thing but at the definite wrong time.  Or I'll just stare into space, smiling a vague Mona Lisa smile, and wonder why I am there.

I will never be the Pollyanna-esque character like "Unikitty" in The Lego Movie.  I do not think that just putting on a happy face or drawing on the "power of positive thinking" is enough to transparently connect with other people or to face life's challenges or to truly show compassion to those who are hurting.  I will also never be mega-organized and inflexible like "President Business." However, I just know that somehow there has to be a balance.  And that balance, which more than likely will NOT come from any human source - should lead to that way-past-human-understanding peace.  And it will help us understand how we CAN reconcile the warring factions within our own hearts and within our Bible study groups and at our workplaces and on the soccer sidelines.

Between the candor and the caring.
Between the Mary and the Martha.
Between the comparisons and the compassion.

Between the spirits that are quietly gentle and those that are loudly zealous and those who bounce back and forth between those two extremes on a temper-and-personality-fueled spring.

Between the precious, laid-back soul who really does mean "bless your heart" when she says it and the opinionated loudmouth who doesn't know WHAT words might come out of her mouth the next time she gets behind the person driving 10 miles below the speed limit when she is late (again) to deliver her child to soccer practice/dance class/Rubik's Cube club meeting.  Theoretically, of course.

Blaming our personalities or upbringings or perceived (or real) rejection by peers (either adolescent or adult) is not going to cut it.  Yes, some of us speak too quickly and too boldly sometimes.  Yes, some of us would rather read a book than talk to other grown women.  And some would rather stay in "small talk zone" rather than admit we need help. And some of us feel the constant tension of wanting to speak truth while also being mindful that Christ calls us to show grace-filled agape love, even when we aren't "feeling it." And yes, sometimes it is hard to attempt to find the balance between the resting and the reaching out that God has called His children to.  And to find all the balances between all the things.

Loving the people around us the way Christ loves us is going to cause some sloppy landings.  And some sore ankles. Because people are not Lego figures with instructions.  And the ice is slippery.

Holding out for a hero...

As we say hello to 2014 and Anthony and I anticipate celebrating my 22nd wedding anniversary on Saturday, I am feeling a mix of equal parts optimism, resignation, and romantic wistfulness.  

Last year was a pretty typical year in some ways, with ups and downs and the busy-ness that controls them. However, some unique things happened that have shaken me a bit and although I will not outline all the details publicly, I will admit that I am still processing these events and am praying desperately for God to continue to reveal Himself as the quintessential problem-solver in me kicks and screams all the way to . . . well, I'm not sure where we're going, but I know His plan will be better than mine.  It has to be.

My fellow 80s "kids" may remember the Bonnie Tyler song "Holding Out for a Hero."  The "street-wise Hercules" and "white knight upon a fiery steed" imagery were imprinted on my teenage brain via Kevin Bacon and the tractors-playing-chicken scene in "Footloose" and the equally-as-powerful-for-a-loyal-Days-of-Our-Lives-viewer episode when Bo kidnaps Hope from the church (just before she married the horrible Larry Welch) and whisks her off on a stolen motorcycle.  In both, the "hero" was the stereotypical man who takes huge risks in order to impress/rescue/woo the damsel in distress.  As many young women are prone to do, I fell for this scenario hook, line, and sinker.  And subsequently sunk.  Not too far, but far enough. I sunk into the expectation that I - and every woman, really - deserved displays of heroics that were risky, emotion and/or adrenaline based, and that somehow proved the hero's love and devotion.  

Yeah, that's totally bogus.  

And no, this post is really not going to be a mushy-gushy expose about my husband.  As wonderful as he is and as thankful as I am for him and for our life together, he is not my hero.  He can sometimes be heroic and there are definitely those "ahhh" moments that do make my heart flutter . . . And maybe some of you will take offense that I am not calling him my hero.  Please know that my love for him is not to be doubted or minimized.  But it also must be in its proper place, otherwise my projected expectations will melt those Icarus-like wings and he'll drown without even knowing why.

• I lost a co-worker and friend to melanoma in March.  She was only 40 and left behind her husband and three young children.  I do not understand God's purpose in this situation.  I am sad and miss my friend.
• Rather than make forward progress financially, our family experienced a huge setback that still leaves me stewing in self-righteous, indignant anger because it was avoidable.  Because of this, I am giving up my dream to go back to school to get my EdS (and perhaps eventually my PhD) and yes, I'm still sad about this, as well as a bit anxious about budgetary concerns. 
• Several people that I know and love have rejected gospel truth this year and have latched onto things or people or philosophies that will not, cannot satisfy.  Students who should "know better" have gotten involved in things they shouldn't.  Dear friends have chosen to give up on their marriages - for somewhat trivial reasons - rather than honor the covenant they made before God.

Because I want to fix things and am a check-things-off-the-list kind of person (see my August post...), all of these situations have had me shaking my fist at God like a bravado-filled skinny kid in a playground fight.  

Side note:  there is a bit of irony in the "update blog" checkmark only happening about twice a year.  Frustrating.

So how is 2014 going to be any different?  Ummm, it's not.  People are going to disappoint; bills are going to continue to pile up (hopefully just not as quickly...); friends or family members may die or suffer from sickness.

To be honest, I am not sure what the "takeaway" is yet from processing the challenges of 2013.  All I know is that the God of the universe loves me and He is not pacing the hallways of heaven worrying about whether or not this new Dauma family 2014 budget will "take" or which diet plan I should yet again try to follow.  He owns the cattle on a thousand hills and I am confident that He will meet my needs and the needs of my family. And many of the wants...

Jesus was fully divine, yet also fully human, so he wasn't a hero in the mythological sense (with one parent who is a god and one who is a human).  So, is he my hero?  That sounds so silly and trivial and perhaps a tad sacrilegious . . . and I suppose my opinion is that I do not think the concept of hero is one that needs to be fulfilled in order for us to recognize and experience the heroic, the sacrificial, the loyal, the gallant shown by Jesus OR by the humans God has placed in our lives.  The problems arise when the earthbound become all-encompassing.  Whether the "hero" is in the form of our spouse, our boss, a coach, a reality TV star, our favorite blogger, our pastor, Billy Graham, our friend, our child . . . none of these can live up to the expectations that we put on them.  I believe it is essential for human beings to encourage and inspire one another, and to be the recipient of encouragement and inspiration from others.  Especially as a teacher, I couldn't function without that belief!  However, I think the mantras of "do great things" and "make a name for yourself" and the like can be shallow and echo back with disappointment when the great things don't turn out quite like we expected or the name we make might not echo with renown.

Jesus is not going to erase all death, disease, or disappointment.  Nor is He going to always protect our children from harm or guarantee them success, even if we follow every single nutrition guideline or safety seat rule or provide an idyllic childhood environment.  However, He did leave the riches of heaven to lay down His life for me - and for them - and promises abundant life to those who follow Him.  My financial balance sheet, job performance, church attendance record, weight, or _____ (insert any other "get your life together NOW for the new year" topic) are as useless as an umbrella in a sideways rainstorm when it comes to pitiful attempts to substantiate my "I deserve it" status of the ultimate expression of valor in the war for my soul.

So, semantics aside, of course Jesus is the hero of those who have claimed this promise of sacrifice.  But, he's "everything He's promised and so much more.  More than amazing.  More than miraculous. More than wonderful." Another 80s flashbacks for you who know and love Sandi Patty.  

I don't know if I really get this the way He wants me to.  But I so hope and pray for a more sure and true understanding that "somewhere just beyond my reach/There's someone reaching back for me"  (Tyler). 

And his grip is strong and true and eternal.  Heroic, even.