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.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
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.
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.
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.
Friday, August 9, 2013
Things that might have been . . .
I find myself under a cloud of melancholy on this last day of summer break. And it's not one of those pretty, fluffy, find-the-puppy-face clouds.
From the personality/psychological analysis point of view, I am primarily a ChlorMel: someone who is "industrious, competitive, forceful, and capable, combining verbal aggressiveness with care for detail." However, at times, the "mel" part, the part that is "focused on assessment of positives and negatives" wins out, and I get stuck. And sometimes that stuck place is very ugly. Source quoted: http://www.nativeremedies.com/articles/choleric-melancholy-personality-types.html
I grieve today not just because starting Monday I will have to resume the way-too-early-alarm-setting, list-making, frantic mom-taxi-driving, constant-paper-grading pace of the school year. (As those who know me best know . . . I actually thrive in that chaos. I don't always keep my cool, but I do survive and usually do a competent job completing the tasks set before me). Not because I only got about half of my summer around-the-house task list completed (I let myself off the hook on those lists years ago - but I still make them . . . a girl has to dream, right?!). And not because I will miss the afternoons of reading, listening to my kids play (and even listening to them complain about chores or fight . . .), or the evenings of late-night TV watching and board-game playing. . . although I will miss those things, and more.
Honestly, I cannot put my finger on the source of my grief exactly. But I'm pretty sure it has something to do with unmet expectations. Those lurking, manipulative, dishonest wishes for domestic and social and career harmony and perfection are so quick to rear their ugly head when I have too much time to think about them. Which is one of the ironies of summer.
Things I didn't accomplish this summer loom overhead in those foreboding clouds.
. . . and I could go on.
So, how can I tie my feeble words together and make some Pollyanna-esque narrative emerge amidst my jaded perspective, one that is supposed to be tinged - undergirded, even - by Romans 8:28 and Psalm 37:4? One that should focus on the grace and peace that only Jesus can bring and strengthened by His love? One that should include counting my blessings and standing on the promises?
I have no idea.
I grieve this lack of knowledge and yet at the same time I celebrate it. To realize that I am not going to be able to come up with a plan, a list, a strategy that will miraculously make today a day of celebration or Monday's alarm less painful is somehow comforting. The dichotomy that comes when a somewhat capable person realizes that she is no longer capable is God's gift to the list-makers and boot-strap-pullers of the world.
As cynical and sarcastic - and downright mean, sometimes - as I can be, I still am thankful for this truth, even though I do not embrace it on a daily basis. I let my expectations for myself and others permeate my thoughts way too often. For example, here are some thoughts that flit through my mind - and, unfortunately, sometimes out of my mouth - in reaction to friends, family members, casual acquaintances, or fellow Walmart shoppers:
From the personality/psychological analysis point of view, I am primarily a ChlorMel: someone who is "industrious, competitive, forceful, and capable, combining verbal aggressiveness with care for detail." However, at times, the "mel" part, the part that is "focused on assessment of positives and negatives" wins out, and I get stuck. And sometimes that stuck place is very ugly. Source quoted: http://www.nativeremedies.com/articles/choleric-melancholy-personality-types.html
I grieve today not just because starting Monday I will have to resume the way-too-early-alarm-setting, list-making, frantic mom-taxi-driving, constant-paper-grading pace of the school year. (As those who know me best know . . . I actually thrive in that chaos. I don't always keep my cool, but I do survive and usually do a competent job completing the tasks set before me). Not because I only got about half of my summer around-the-house task list completed (I let myself off the hook on those lists years ago - but I still make them . . . a girl has to dream, right?!). And not because I will miss the afternoons of reading, listening to my kids play (and even listening to them complain about chores or fight . . .), or the evenings of late-night TV watching and board-game playing. . . although I will miss those things, and more.
Honestly, I cannot put my finger on the source of my grief exactly. But I'm pretty sure it has something to do with unmet expectations. Those lurking, manipulative, dishonest wishes for domestic and social and career harmony and perfection are so quick to rear their ugly head when I have too much time to think about them. Which is one of the ironies of summer.
Things I didn't accomplish this summer loom overhead in those foreboding clouds.
- I didn't lose 20 pounds (again).
- I didn't clean out every closet in the house (I did tackle two) or organize the garage (yeah, that one was really on the list to make my husband feel guilty).
- I didn't read The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich (yes, I really want to).
- I didn't get up every morning (okay, any morning) at 6 AM and have "coffee and Jesus" on my front porch. A few 9 AM rendezvous were lovely, though.
- I didn't update this blog. Since November, actually, as you can plainly see. I apologize in advance for the length of this post. Thanks for reading. :)
- I didn't start working on the book I fully intend to write before I'm 50. I just can't decide what to write about...
- I didn't update my children's photo albums. By the time I start Harley's, I am sure I will have forgotten every detail of her babyhood. Sorry, sweet girl.
- I didn't fill the freezer with nutritious casseroles so my family can have a good hot dinner every night. I did freeze some diced chicken breast pieces and browned ground beef. Now, if I can just remember where they are buried amidst the Bagel Bites and frozen peas.
- I didn't raise an organic garden and can or freeze the produce (I did try. I have no idea what happened to those squash and tomato plants. I'm blaming it on the supermoon.)
- I didn't have long, meaningful conversations with my children about life, love, and faith. Or very many short ones.
. . . and I could go on.
So, how can I tie my feeble words together and make some Pollyanna-esque narrative emerge amidst my jaded perspective, one that is supposed to be tinged - undergirded, even - by Romans 8:28 and Psalm 37:4? One that should focus on the grace and peace that only Jesus can bring and strengthened by His love? One that should include counting my blessings and standing on the promises?
I have no idea.
I grieve this lack of knowledge and yet at the same time I celebrate it. To realize that I am not going to be able to come up with a plan, a list, a strategy that will miraculously make today a day of celebration or Monday's alarm less painful is somehow comforting. The dichotomy that comes when a somewhat capable person realizes that she is no longer capable is God's gift to the list-makers and boot-strap-pullers of the world.
As cynical and sarcastic - and downright mean, sometimes - as I can be, I still am thankful for this truth, even though I do not embrace it on a daily basis. I let my expectations for myself and others permeate my thoughts way too often. For example, here are some thoughts that flit through my mind - and, unfortunately, sometimes out of my mouth - in reaction to friends, family members, casual acquaintances, or fellow Walmart shoppers:
- Toward parents that are less strict than we are: "You are going to let your kids do WHAT?"
- Toward parents who are more strict than we are: "You are NOT going to let your kids do that?"
- To fellow moms who know how to say "No" better than I do: "You can't find time to help. Really?" "If I can find time for this, anyone can."
- To fellow teachers: "You are going to show a movie in class? A whole movie?" "You don't want to try that new cooperative learning strategy? Why not? It's SO wonderful." "You don't spend 2 hours a night grading/planning engaging lessons? Slacker..."
- Toward my children: "Get up. Just get up. I'm tired, too, but I get up when the alarm goes off." "Please stop making your little sister say 'purple Barbie in a Ferrari' and laughing because she can't say her 'r's' . . . "
- Toward my husband: "Please stop hitting the snooze button." After getting up an hour and 6-7 snooze-alarms later: "You are ridiculous. Set the alarm for the time you want to get up . . . and just get up."
. . . and I could go on.
But if I go on in that, I am miserable. Our church is in the middle of studying Romans, and I've been blessed to hear thoughtful exegesis of this amazing book for the last several months. I am no Bible scholar, but I do appreciate a good rhetorical analysis . . . and boy, have we gotten that! - and more. I am sure that my own study and reflection is only scratching the surface of all God has for me to learn about Him through Paul's words to the Romans, but right now, I am clinging to the hope that those whose only hope is in Christ MUST not go on in this manner. We are compelled toward obedience, no matter what our personality, circumstances, or relationships are made of. We go kicking and screaming and sobbing sometimes, but we are compelled nonetheless.
I do not get that. I want 1 + 1 to always equal 2. I want my thriftiness and obedience in giving to equal prosperity and a debt-free life. I want my faithfulness to study and hear God's Word to equal an undivided mind and heart. I want my commitment to my marriage to equal eternal romantic bliss (or at least a fun date night every month). I want my unflagging loyalty to Christ and his church to equal blessings and intimate friendships and back-slapping holy fellowship that affirms ME.
But instead I get moments like this. Moments where tears are streaming down my face because of not only the lost moments . . . but also the beautiful, unexplainable, unexpectedly FOUND ones. Not only because of the items NOT crossed off the list, but because I have the freedom and blessing to even HAVE a list (yes, I know that one is a bit martyr-like, but I really do mean it!). Tears not only of frustration but of wonder that God loves me enough not to leave me in my sin. He loves ME. Overweight, task-oriented, self-righteous, pity-party loving ME. How truly amazing is that?!
I cannot look back at the summer of 2013 for too long. Yes, I will remember both the good and the bad - as we remember all the phases of our life. But I cannot GO back and cannot live in condemnation. God will redeem the moments that the "locusts have eaten" for His glory and my sanctification. He promised he would complete the good work He started in me, a work that included a moment in time in June 1980 when I trusted Jesus' work on the cross to save me from my sin. He didn't promise this based on my ability to complete a summer to-do list or a read-the-Bible-in-a-year plan, or even - blessedly - on my ability to "hold my tongue" or maintain a "gentle and quiet spirit." Yes, all these things (in some form or fashion) should be a part of my sanctifying walk of obedience, but His love for me is not dependent up on them. I obey because I've been saved, not in order TO be saved.
I must surrender all. "Worldly pleasures all foresaking." The line of that great hymn pierced my spirit last month when singing it in worship. "Worldly pleasures" do not just refer to diamonds and purses and houses and vacations. Worldly pleasures are also the idealistic pieces of the world we create in relation to our spouses, our children, our friendships, our entertainment or hobbies, our career satisfaction. Yep, even those can become our counterfeit savior. Ha - counterfeit! We had our first experience with someone giving us counterfeit money this summer. How frustrating that was. But how easy it was to believe the lie. Yet the piece of paper was meaningless, no matter how much we didn't want to believe it was.
So today, I still feel the weight of this cloud. I'm sad to move away from the mostly carefree days of summer. Just like our southern summer thunderstorms, though, the power and drama is short-lived and will be replaced by a clarity in the air, the sunshine poking through the layers of black and purple and gray, the promise of cooler temperatures to come. I choose to believe this. And I think I see Elvis in one of those clouds...
Saturday, November 3, 2012
It's just a number, right?!?!
I told my students on Monday that they'd need to tiptoe around me all week because I'm a bit sensitive about my birthday (which was on Friday). As I reflect on those words, I can't really tell you why I told them that . . . I am not someone who dreads getting older or who thinks that a number (even if that number is "over the hill" plus three) defines me. And that's a good thing, because some of the OTHER numbers in my life are downright depressing.
Take that number staring out at me from the digital monster on the bathroom floor. Sigh. Too many biscuits, Coca-Colas, bowls of macaroni and cheese, and Twix bars and not near enough sustained aerobic exercise. Yep, I completely own that number and all it means even though I cannot dwell on it for long for fear of losing all hope of ever fitting into my "skinny" (VERY relative term) jeans or tucking in a shirt ever again.
Then, there are the number of hours I work: about 55 during an average week. At least 45 hours AT school and usually around 10 at home. I love teaching and am thankful to have a great job at a good school. I feel at peace when I'm standing in front of my class and even when I'm planning lessons at 10 PM for the next day. But working with teenagers takes so much out of you sometimes and the salary definitely doesn't feel like it's compensatory for my time and effort. So, I try not to dwell on that part of my job and instead think about the smiles, the "light bulb" moments in the classrooms, and the students (and parents) who come back and say "thanks."
Next, there is the number that represents the unsecured debt that we've procured over the years. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Even though we've steadily been making our way out of the pit for about 5 years now (thanks, Dave), the progress is slow (because we didn't do things like sell everything and start sewing our own clothes) and that number could still bring about some fairly significant moments of defeat, blame, and covetousness.
Another number that is suspiciously depressing is the number of Facebook friends I have versus the number of people I have had a serious conversation with in the last year. I do not want to pontificate on the evils of social media (I'll leave that for my acquaintances who eschew any involvement) because I love the connection with friends both far away and down the street. However, there is a philosophical "hmmm" that pops into my mind when I compare the two realities. I love a deep, controversial conversation with a friend who I admire, and unfortunately (mostly because of that third number I mentioned) I just do not have (or make) time for meaningful connections.
So . . . happy birthday to me! Why get upset about a number that I CAN'T change when there is so much more reason to be down in the dumps about the numbers that I CAN change, but don't make much effort to. The whole issue gets discombobulated by thoughts of my own mortality, my desire to enjoy good food, my determination that in order to be a good teacher, 50-60 hours of work ARE required, my habits of buying convenience and restaurant food coupled with my (sometimes prideful) desire for my kids to be "involved" in activities they love, and my introverted tendency to spend any "found" free moments with a book rather than with a friend.
The good news? I am more than a number. The commercials were right.
As important as health, financial stability, and friendship are, I still have to understand my own limitations and live in the grace of each moment as it comes. I do not know what my 44th year will bring me, but I am going to try to remember some numbers that are a bit more uplifting.
15, 694 - days God has given me on this earth. He creates and He sustains!
33 - years since trusting in the saving work of Jesus on the cross. He started a good work in me and will be faithful to complete it. Also the number of years He walked this earth - breathing and crying and laughing and loving perfectly.
27 - Elvis albums I own. No, they are not in mint condition.
23 - years since meeting Anthony. He's my rock, truly.
18 - years I've been a mom. My children are the best gifts ever, even though only one of them was "planned" (by us!).
14 - times I've read Little Women.
7 - years left until I can retire from teaching (lots of "ifs" in that one - IF we stay in Alabama and IF we move to Madison so Harley can finish school there), but still, it's fun to think about!
5 - driving trips I've made to Washington state - taking a different route every time and seeing most of this amazing country. Well, the last drive was in a a Ryder moving truck and it was the ONLY time we stopped along the way. Crazy, stupid, twenty-somethings! Fun times.
3 - amazing sisters: friends, co-commiserators, motivators, and all around wonderful women of whom I'm immensely proud!
2 - decades of marriage that have taught me so much about grace, forgiveness, and God's sovereignty.
1 - more birthday in the books!!
Take that number staring out at me from the digital monster on the bathroom floor. Sigh. Too many biscuits, Coca-Colas, bowls of macaroni and cheese, and Twix bars and not near enough sustained aerobic exercise. Yep, I completely own that number and all it means even though I cannot dwell on it for long for fear of losing all hope of ever fitting into my "skinny" (VERY relative term) jeans or tucking in a shirt ever again.
Then, there are the number of hours I work: about 55 during an average week. At least 45 hours AT school and usually around 10 at home. I love teaching and am thankful to have a great job at a good school. I feel at peace when I'm standing in front of my class and even when I'm planning lessons at 10 PM for the next day. But working with teenagers takes so much out of you sometimes and the salary definitely doesn't feel like it's compensatory for my time and effort. So, I try not to dwell on that part of my job and instead think about the smiles, the "light bulb" moments in the classrooms, and the students (and parents) who come back and say "thanks."
Next, there is the number that represents the unsecured debt that we've procured over the years. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Even though we've steadily been making our way out of the pit for about 5 years now (thanks, Dave), the progress is slow (because we didn't do things like sell everything and start sewing our own clothes) and that number could still bring about some fairly significant moments of defeat, blame, and covetousness.
Another number that is suspiciously depressing is the number of Facebook friends I have versus the number of people I have had a serious conversation with in the last year. I do not want to pontificate on the evils of social media (I'll leave that for my acquaintances who eschew any involvement) because I love the connection with friends both far away and down the street. However, there is a philosophical "hmmm" that pops into my mind when I compare the two realities. I love a deep, controversial conversation with a friend who I admire, and unfortunately (mostly because of that third number I mentioned) I just do not have (or make) time for meaningful connections.
So . . . happy birthday to me! Why get upset about a number that I CAN'T change when there is so much more reason to be down in the dumps about the numbers that I CAN change, but don't make much effort to. The whole issue gets discombobulated by thoughts of my own mortality, my desire to enjoy good food, my determination that in order to be a good teacher, 50-60 hours of work ARE required, my habits of buying convenience and restaurant food coupled with my (sometimes prideful) desire for my kids to be "involved" in activities they love, and my introverted tendency to spend any "found" free moments with a book rather than with a friend.
The good news? I am more than a number. The commercials were right.
As important as health, financial stability, and friendship are, I still have to understand my own limitations and live in the grace of each moment as it comes. I do not know what my 44th year will bring me, but I am going to try to remember some numbers that are a bit more uplifting.
15, 694 - days God has given me on this earth. He creates and He sustains!
33 - years since trusting in the saving work of Jesus on the cross. He started a good work in me and will be faithful to complete it. Also the number of years He walked this earth - breathing and crying and laughing and loving perfectly.
27 - Elvis albums I own. No, they are not in mint condition.
23 - years since meeting Anthony. He's my rock, truly.
18 - years I've been a mom. My children are the best gifts ever, even though only one of them was "planned" (by us!).
14 - times I've read Little Women.
7 - years left until I can retire from teaching (lots of "ifs" in that one - IF we stay in Alabama and IF we move to Madison so Harley can finish school there), but still, it's fun to think about!
5 - driving trips I've made to Washington state - taking a different route every time and seeing most of this amazing country. Well, the last drive was in a a Ryder moving truck and it was the ONLY time we stopped along the way. Crazy, stupid, twenty-somethings! Fun times.
3 - amazing sisters: friends, co-commiserators, motivators, and all around wonderful women of whom I'm immensely proud!
2 - decades of marriage that have taught me so much about grace, forgiveness, and God's sovereignty.
1 - more birthday in the books!!
Monday, September 3, 2012
Biting Blue Apples
"So, what's the deal with blue apples?"
This is one of the most commonly asked questions I get when students peruse the decor of my classroom, where I have several blue apple tributes. One of those, by the way, includes a 15-year old painted blue apple given to me as an end-of-the-year teacher gift by Bobby Higginbotham, who was in my very first 5th grade class in 1995 - it's made out of resin and filled with sand, and is now plugged on both ends with globs of hot glue because at some point when it was being used as my hall pass, some students had a bit too much fun playing with it and, if I'm not mistaken, the poke-a-pencil-in-the-blue-apple game got out of control...! But I still cherish it and prominently display it on a shelf behind my desk.
What is a blue apple? I'm so glad you asked! Basically, a blue apple is a metaphor. You knew it was coming. I'm an English teacher, so of course figurative language MUST factor into the discussion! The exact metaphorical reference, though, is hard to pin down. It's a combination of risk-taking and the lack of comfort; a weird mixture of venturing into the unknown and committing to persevere even when circumstances are mundane. Basically, when we bite blue apples in life, we move into a time/place/relationship/circumstance for which we have no guarantee of success nor do we know what the situation will feel or be like. I first heard the story of the blue apple during June 1986, when I walked into a huge gymnasium full of strangers at the opening session of the Mississippi Governor's School at MUW and heard the analogy in the director, Dr. Guy Rose's, welcome speech. I was honored to have been chosen as one of 150 Mississippi high schoolers to attend Governor's School, and even though it meant giving up cheerleading my senior year of high school, that decision was a HUGE blue apple for me and it was one that changed my life dramatically, in many ways.
When I introduce the concept to students, I ask them to imagine themselves walking among trees, looking up and all of a sudden noticing a bright, shiny blue apple in the midst of ordinary (green, red, yellow) ones. The question that they must then answer is: WILL YOU TAKE A BITE OF THAT BLUE APPLE?!?! Now, it's very interesting to me to see - without giving them a third option - which students choose to take a bite without hesitation and which say they would just walk away and pretend like they never saw it. After I allow them to verbalize some options for a third choice there are, of course, many suggestions for studying/testing the blue apple before actually taking a bite. The discussion is a nice ice-breaker for the first week of class and reveals some important insights about my students. But perhaps more importantly, the story illustrates a point that I want students to absorb and contemplate time and time again in my class: thinking about decisions and planning for the future is important, but there are sometimes moments that transcend logic and pro/con lists. Personal comfort and guaranteed success should not be our only decision-making parameters! For some students, taking an Honors or AP class is a blue apple . . . for another student, breaking off a bad relationship might be his or her blue apple moment . . . for yet another, auditioning for the school musical or trying out for (or dropping off!) an athletic team might be huge blue apples.
After 17 years, through both my classroom and DI experiences, I've witnessed some amazing blue apple-biting!! How amazing it is to see middle school and high school students break out of their "molds" and try something new, even if they have no idea what the new experience will be like. These students inspire me and boost my spirits in a way that is hard to describe. Even after they are not "my students" anymore, these young people (my oldest former students are 30-31 years old . . . so they are still young to me!) are still inspiring me via facebook (mostly, although I do get to see some in person on occasion)!!
Monday, August 20, 2012
First day of school!
Yep, story of my life . . . I'm running late! I did wake up before my alarm this morning, but I've piddled around (and am moving slow), so I'm about half an hour later than I wanted to be sitting down to write this "first day" post. So it's gonna be short, because I've got kids to wake up and wrangle.
Last week - full of professional development workshops, meetings, and workdays - I found myself succumbing to a fierce level of discouragment, negativity, and selfishness. I didn't want to be at school; I was griping and complaining about little things (really, THAT'S the best parking place I get after 17 years?!?); and although it was great to see my teacher friends, I could not even find a peace about celebrating where I was and who I was with. Over the weekend, I had an all-day board meeting for Destination Imagination which meant I missed all three of the soccer games played by my three younger children (including watching them score a total of five goals!), then a birthday party for my youngest, church, and a 6-hour stint of working in my classroom yesterday to finish getting things ready. So, no down time; no "me" time.
Whew. If I had time, I'd be getting really stressed out - ha! Seriously, I am not going to lie and say that all of a sudden, I had an overnight transformation to Pollyanna and now I am SO happy to be up before 6 AM getting ready for school and facing another school year. I am excited and a little nervous, but honestly I'm still battling some discouragement. I feel like my hard work for 17 years is not recognized or appreciated. I am already tired thinking about 60-hour work weeks. Like one of my new (although I've taught with her before, this is her first year at Bob Jones) colleagues said last week when she introduced herself and listed all the jobs she had prior to teaching, "Teaching is the most family un-friendly job I've ever had." And it's true. If you give your students what they need and keep up with the tasks the administration expects you to, there is no way you can work just a 40-hour week. Summers are wonderful, and having these last weeks off is truly the only way I could have made it 17 years!
So, I'm praying hard this morning, looking to the Word for strength, and trying to look up and around rather than inside. Sometimes it's not just "one day at a time," it's one minute, one hour at a time. I barely have my syllabus written, much less lesson plans. I'm teaching a new, challenging AP class that I'm honestly terrified about, even though I know I will love it. Basically, I'm at the end of me even here at the beginning, and I'm thankful because that is a good place to be. Now, it's off to school . . . !!
Last week - full of professional development workshops, meetings, and workdays - I found myself succumbing to a fierce level of discouragment, negativity, and selfishness. I didn't want to be at school; I was griping and complaining about little things (really, THAT'S the best parking place I get after 17 years?!?); and although it was great to see my teacher friends, I could not even find a peace about celebrating where I was and who I was with. Over the weekend, I had an all-day board meeting for Destination Imagination which meant I missed all three of the soccer games played by my three younger children (including watching them score a total of five goals!), then a birthday party for my youngest, church, and a 6-hour stint of working in my classroom yesterday to finish getting things ready. So, no down time; no "me" time.
Whew. If I had time, I'd be getting really stressed out - ha! Seriously, I am not going to lie and say that all of a sudden, I had an overnight transformation to Pollyanna and now I am SO happy to be up before 6 AM getting ready for school and facing another school year. I am excited and a little nervous, but honestly I'm still battling some discouragement. I feel like my hard work for 17 years is not recognized or appreciated. I am already tired thinking about 60-hour work weeks. Like one of my new (although I've taught with her before, this is her first year at Bob Jones) colleagues said last week when she introduced herself and listed all the jobs she had prior to teaching, "Teaching is the most family un-friendly job I've ever had." And it's true. If you give your students what they need and keep up with the tasks the administration expects you to, there is no way you can work just a 40-hour week. Summers are wonderful, and having these last weeks off is truly the only way I could have made it 17 years!
So, I'm praying hard this morning, looking to the Word for strength, and trying to look up and around rather than inside. Sometimes it's not just "one day at a time," it's one minute, one hour at a time. I barely have my syllabus written, much less lesson plans. I'm teaching a new, challenging AP class that I'm honestly terrified about, even though I know I will love it. Basically, I'm at the end of me even here at the beginning, and I'm thankful because that is a good place to be. Now, it's off to school . . . !!
Monday, August 13, 2012
Eagle's Wings
My favorite scripture passage for many years (since college) has been Isaiah 40:27-31. I like The Message's paraphrase of verse 41: "But those who wait upon
God get fresh strength. They spread their wings and soar like eagles,
they run and don't get tired, they walk and don't lag behind." The passage probably reaches out and grabs me because I'm such a "do-er"; I often struggle with fatigue (my husband tells me there is a cure for that and it starts with N-O...). I am a permanent member of the "20% of the people in an organization do 80% of the work" club. When something needs to be done, I just do it.
Now, let me be clear. I am not going to tie this post to the Nike slogan. I am NOT a runner . . . ! There were a few years in my late teens/early twenties during which I attempted to run a few miles here and there. Key words: "attempted," "here and there." However, I am definitely always on the go - both physically and mentally. Mr. Lorenzo, a wonderful custodian at my previous school and a precious friend, would see me power-walking down the school hallway and smile his sweet smile and say "Ms. Dauma, slow down now! You'll get there just as fast by going slow." Now, this of course did not make a bit of sense to me. Of course I'd get to my destination faster by walking faster! And I probably did. But I was tired. And I still am much of the time. So, what's the cure for chronic tiredness? Sleep? Walking slowly down the hallways? Good vitamins? Saying "no" to those who ask things of me? Probably a little bit of all of these should be a part of all of our lives, but how then does a "doer" manage his or her tendency to constantly be "doing"? God gives us innate personalities, energy levels, interests, and passions . . . and life stages certainly require at least some degree of busy-ness. So what's the solution? How do we soar like eagles and not lag behind?
I wish I knew the answer to this on a "make a list and check it off" kind of level. However, I do know that the times that I've felt my wings spreading have been when I've felt the most inadequate to fly. The times when the strength to grade five more essays as the clock approaches midnight seems to float down upon my shoulders. The times when the last thing I want to do is stop at Kroger at 5:30 PM traffic, but I know we need milk (or cereal, or eggs . . . hmmm, I should probably grab some paper and make a grocery list for tomorrow...) and - amazingly! - the self-checkout line is open with no waiting and the kids actually made it through the store without screaming. I cannot explain that kind of strength, that kind of soaring. I have a bit of a fear of heights, so I do not have any desire to take part in anything like skydiving or parasailing. But those who have done it say that the feeling of soaring through the air is indescribable. And in a metaphorical sense, I understand what they mean.
Today was the first day of school for the 2012-2013 school year. Thankfully, it was a teacher workday, so we got to ease back into the routine by having a day to set up and organize our classrooms. But nonetheless, this day is always hard. Being away from my family for 9.5 hours after being with them so much during the summer, eating lunch at my desk, walking down the hall to use a utilitarian school restroom . . . none of those things are fun, exciting, or comfortable. However, as I was unpacking boxes and listening to a little Elvis (of course), the first words of "Lead Me, Guide Me," reminded me of my position: "I am tired and I need Thy strength and power." Thy. Such an archaic word that holds so much meaning. Not me, my, mine. THY. His strength. The strength that hung the planets in space and holds them there. The strength that breathed life into man (and woman). The strength that endured the cruelest of undeserved deaths. A strength I cannot even begin to comprehend is dispersed to me, someone who finds it hard to relax and say "no" to anyone. Someone who has made some stupid financial decisions that have led to too much debt. Someone who loves the approval of others, loves to win, and loves to feel important and needed. Yep, that's me! And all those things plus four children = tired mom/wife/daughter/sister/teacher. The only way it even begins to work is through Jesus and the truth of God's provision in my life. His strength is enough. His grace is enough. Even when I lag behind and parents are emailing to complain that I've taken too long to grade assignments. Even when my kids eat ramen noodles three nights in a row. Even when I get too little sleep or "down time." Especially then.
I could wax eloquently (or semi-eloquently) here about the majesty of eagles. My mom can do a better job of that than I can - she loves her some eagles! However, I really feel that I am not an eagle at all. The simile hinges on that little word "like." English teacher moment: a simile is a comparison of two UNLIKE things. I really cannot become an eagle (thank goodness, because they are waaayyy up there...!). I really should not try to become an eagle. God can, however, give me strength LIKE the eagle's and for that I am - at the end of my eighteenth first-day-of-school-as-a-teacher - so grateful.
Now, let me be clear. I am not going to tie this post to the Nike slogan. I am NOT a runner . . . ! There were a few years in my late teens/early twenties during which I attempted to run a few miles here and there. Key words: "attempted," "here and there." However, I am definitely always on the go - both physically and mentally. Mr. Lorenzo, a wonderful custodian at my previous school and a precious friend, would see me power-walking down the school hallway and smile his sweet smile and say "Ms. Dauma, slow down now! You'll get there just as fast by going slow." Now, this of course did not make a bit of sense to me. Of course I'd get to my destination faster by walking faster! And I probably did. But I was tired. And I still am much of the time. So, what's the cure for chronic tiredness? Sleep? Walking slowly down the hallways? Good vitamins? Saying "no" to those who ask things of me? Probably a little bit of all of these should be a part of all of our lives, but how then does a "doer" manage his or her tendency to constantly be "doing"? God gives us innate personalities, energy levels, interests, and passions . . . and life stages certainly require at least some degree of busy-ness. So what's the solution? How do we soar like eagles and not lag behind?
I wish I knew the answer to this on a "make a list and check it off" kind of level. However, I do know that the times that I've felt my wings spreading have been when I've felt the most inadequate to fly. The times when the strength to grade five more essays as the clock approaches midnight seems to float down upon my shoulders. The times when the last thing I want to do is stop at Kroger at 5:30 PM traffic, but I know we need milk (or cereal, or eggs . . . hmmm, I should probably grab some paper and make a grocery list for tomorrow...) and - amazingly! - the self-checkout line is open with no waiting and the kids actually made it through the store without screaming. I cannot explain that kind of strength, that kind of soaring. I have a bit of a fear of heights, so I do not have any desire to take part in anything like skydiving or parasailing. But those who have done it say that the feeling of soaring through the air is indescribable. And in a metaphorical sense, I understand what they mean.
Today was the first day of school for the 2012-2013 school year. Thankfully, it was a teacher workday, so we got to ease back into the routine by having a day to set up and organize our classrooms. But nonetheless, this day is always hard. Being away from my family for 9.5 hours after being with them so much during the summer, eating lunch at my desk, walking down the hall to use a utilitarian school restroom . . . none of those things are fun, exciting, or comfortable. However, as I was unpacking boxes and listening to a little Elvis (of course), the first words of "Lead Me, Guide Me," reminded me of my position: "I am tired and I need Thy strength and power." Thy. Such an archaic word that holds so much meaning. Not me, my, mine. THY. His strength. The strength that hung the planets in space and holds them there. The strength that breathed life into man (and woman). The strength that endured the cruelest of undeserved deaths. A strength I cannot even begin to comprehend is dispersed to me, someone who finds it hard to relax and say "no" to anyone. Someone who has made some stupid financial decisions that have led to too much debt. Someone who loves the approval of others, loves to win, and loves to feel important and needed. Yep, that's me! And all those things plus four children = tired mom/wife/daughter/sister/teacher. The only way it even begins to work is through Jesus and the truth of God's provision in my life. His strength is enough. His grace is enough. Even when I lag behind and parents are emailing to complain that I've taken too long to grade assignments. Even when my kids eat ramen noodles three nights in a row. Even when I get too little sleep or "down time." Especially then.
I could wax eloquently (or semi-eloquently) here about the majesty of eagles. My mom can do a better job of that than I can - she loves her some eagles! However, I really feel that I am not an eagle at all. The simile hinges on that little word "like." English teacher moment: a simile is a comparison of two UNLIKE things. I really cannot become an eagle (thank goodness, because they are waaayyy up there...!). I really should not try to become an eagle. God can, however, give me strength LIKE the eagle's and for that I am - at the end of my eighteenth first-day-of-school-as-a-teacher - so grateful.
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