One of my teaching partners told me today that she is getting married. We were standing in the elevator of the Science Center, on our way down to remind groups of students to start heading toward the bus....
Something she said struck me. Hard. "I'm just so grateful that God has seen fit to give us a second chance." And she means that for each of them, this is a second marriage, and having been through difficult ones the first time around they are tickled to have found each other. One was even a guest at the other's first wedding, though was only a teenager at the time. Funny how life works, isn't it?
I am thrilled for them. They love each other deeply and will learn to love each other completely. Tis a very sweet thing.
But I got to thinking about the "second chance" part. Not only because I sometimes find myself wondering if God's plan includes that for me as part of the journey, but mostly because God IS a God of second chances, and third, and fourth...you get the point.
He is a God who desires relationship. With us. Bless His heart. He could do so much better.... yet, He literally longs for us to allow Him to know us and be known by us. regardless of where we have allowed the journey to take us.
We sang yesterday at church: "Amazing love. How can it be, that you my King should die for me? Amazing love, I know it's true. And it's my joy to honour you, in all I do. I honour you." This is where the irony lies. I do not honour Him in all I do. Regardless of my desire or intent, I blow it. A lot. Ask my kids. Ask my students. Ask me... And yet God is a God of second chances. In all things. And I am grateful.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Change
Loose, pocket, chump. However you word it, that's not the kind of change I mean. I mean the other kind. The verb which functions as a noun. Someone at school asked me the other day if I was staying to teach 5th grade next year. My response: "As far as I know." Sometimes that doesn't seem to be very far, though. Why can't I tell her, "Absolutely." or "Of course."? Maybe part of me doesn't like the box that requires. Actually, I'm very sure I don't like the box.
While my plan is to stay put while my son finishes 8th grade at the school where I teach and my daughter starts high school at a new school(and yippee for her!), that doesn't mean my plan is God's plan. Jeremiah 29:11-13 are my favorite verses (yes, all scripture is important and valuable, but these speak to the journey of my heart over and over again).
This happens to me though. I am learning I long for change, adventure,if you will. If I analyze it long enough, or too long, I could deduce that maybe it's because I moved every few years growing up and I just get restless.
Or, some may say that I feel "unsettled in my spirit" if I'm not willing to just stay put and be happy. They are also the ones who only laugh at me when I've said I've rearranged the furniture again. I'm not referring to relational change. I'm a lifer in that realm.
The thing is: I am content. That is more about choice than it is circumstance.
And to point out, the word "anal" is in the word analyze.
Perhaps the tricky part is learning to wait for, instead of forcing, change. I don't mean sit back and do nothing because life will unfold as it will; I mean truly wait... rest... be....
Life change is inevitable. My dad knows this well. So do I, for that matter. Pocket change is rare- there is a Starbuck's down the road.
Am I willing to wait for change? As far as I know....
While my plan is to stay put while my son finishes 8th grade at the school where I teach and my daughter starts high school at a new school(and yippee for her!), that doesn't mean my plan is God's plan. Jeremiah 29:11-13 are my favorite verses (yes, all scripture is important and valuable, but these speak to the journey of my heart over and over again).
This happens to me though. I am learning I long for change, adventure,if you will. If I analyze it long enough, or too long, I could deduce that maybe it's because I moved every few years growing up and I just get restless.
Or, some may say that I feel "unsettled in my spirit" if I'm not willing to just stay put and be happy. They are also the ones who only laugh at me when I've said I've rearranged the furniture again. I'm not referring to relational change. I'm a lifer in that realm.
The thing is: I am content. That is more about choice than it is circumstance.
And to point out, the word "anal" is in the word analyze.
Perhaps the tricky part is learning to wait for, instead of forcing, change. I don't mean sit back and do nothing because life will unfold as it will; I mean truly wait... rest... be....
Life change is inevitable. My dad knows this well. So do I, for that matter. Pocket change is rare- there is a Starbuck's down the road.
Am I willing to wait for change? As far as I know....
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
The power of time
One year ago today, a couple with 5 children, 2 years to 6th grade, literally watched 4 of the 5 perish in a fire that consumed their mobile home - the one in which they were staying until their new home was completed (within a month). All 4 children were students at the school where I teach and the 6th grader was a classmate and friend of my son's. While I have always believed in the sovereignty of God, and know that He has a plan, I have to admit on this day last year, I did kind of cross my arms and stomp my foot and get a little pissed. More than a little.
Even though I wasn't a classroom teacher last year, I was on the campus often, and on this particular morning, I chose to walk my son to his room, knowing the news that would be shared by a principal who knows every child by name. I understood deeply the power of one minute when I watched a room full of 12 year olds sit in stunned silence as one by one they began to weep. The memory of watching the teacher struggling to grieve herself and yet allow the collective grief of a group of children literally caused my heart to ache in my chest. And as much as I felt that physically, I cannot even imagine the pain of the parents of these children.
If I felt angry and disappointed with God, I can only begin to wonder what thoughts filled their heads and which emotions nagged at their hearts. I understood the power of one day, when standing at the visitation and seeing two caskets that held 4 children, my son could still barely speak about how he felt. And yet, our grief was nothing compared to the day faced by that family. So, the little man in my world decided to write.
We miss you.
I miss you.
We all care in our hearts.
It is awful.
But, yet, it is joyful.
It brings me hurt
And those close to you.
Oh how we will miss you.
And the power of a few minutes yields the words of a little boy who loved his friend. And the power of those words held the crux of the issue.
My son, having lost his paternal grandpa at the end of January and then his friend in early April, understood the power of time. For him to understand that for these children, this is "joyful" means he knows they were ushered into the presence of the Jesus who has loved them for eternity.
When a very dear "grandpa" type person in my children's lives died suddenly in mid-June last year, I was yet again reminded of the power of time. The time to say goodbye. Not everyone is given it, but to those who are it is a gift that becomes an incredible privilege.
Today, though, I understand the power of time, yet again. It was the day to put on the memorial bracelet and remember. Time to thank the God whose heart I long to know for the gift of my own children and the privilege of watching them grow; time to rejoice with this family who now awaits the arrival of a sibling for their remaining daughter; time for making sure I uncross my arms and step more lightly, knowing that the real power of time is in the perspective it eventually brings.
Even though I wasn't a classroom teacher last year, I was on the campus often, and on this particular morning, I chose to walk my son to his room, knowing the news that would be shared by a principal who knows every child by name. I understood deeply the power of one minute when I watched a room full of 12 year olds sit in stunned silence as one by one they began to weep. The memory of watching the teacher struggling to grieve herself and yet allow the collective grief of a group of children literally caused my heart to ache in my chest. And as much as I felt that physically, I cannot even imagine the pain of the parents of these children.
If I felt angry and disappointed with God, I can only begin to wonder what thoughts filled their heads and which emotions nagged at their hearts. I understood the power of one day, when standing at the visitation and seeing two caskets that held 4 children, my son could still barely speak about how he felt. And yet, our grief was nothing compared to the day faced by that family. So, the little man in my world decided to write.
We miss you.
I miss you.
We all care in our hearts.
It is awful.
But, yet, it is joyful.
It brings me hurt
And those close to you.
Oh how we will miss you.
And the power of a few minutes yields the words of a little boy who loved his friend. And the power of those words held the crux of the issue.
My son, having lost his paternal grandpa at the end of January and then his friend in early April, understood the power of time. For him to understand that for these children, this is "joyful" means he knows they were ushered into the presence of the Jesus who has loved them for eternity.
When a very dear "grandpa" type person in my children's lives died suddenly in mid-June last year, I was yet again reminded of the power of time. The time to say goodbye. Not everyone is given it, but to those who are it is a gift that becomes an incredible privilege.
Today, though, I understand the power of time, yet again. It was the day to put on the memorial bracelet and remember. Time to thank the God whose heart I long to know for the gift of my own children and the privilege of watching them grow; time to rejoice with this family who now awaits the arrival of a sibling for their remaining daughter; time for making sure I uncross my arms and step more lightly, knowing that the real power of time is in the perspective it eventually brings.
Snuggle Bunny
I miss snuggling. I'm certain I'm not alone in this. Snuggling was mentioned in a recent conversation, and it launched a myriad of thoughts: how fun it was to snuggle the kids in my lap when they were little for a good story or two, or ten... (Teenagers don't snuggle so much with their moms. As it should be. They still give great hugs and lots of them, so I can't complain. Besides, my snuggling needs are not their responsibility.) I remember the early married days, 20 years ago -expletive inserted, mostly b/c of the passage of time - and the lazy Sunday afternoon naps sans sex, which were incredibly good for my soul. Those days are long gone, at least by a decade or more, but the longing for a good snuggle is not. I'm thinking that's not a bad thing.
There is a company in Japan which actually makes a snuggling pillow - for women, presumably. It is a pillow with an appendage the shape of a man's arm. The hand is huge and, well, stuffed, not to mention it doesn't do diddly other than just look like it doesn't want to be snuggled with. It's wrong on so many levels. It sells for about 80 bucks and with 80 bucks I can have a lot of chai lattes. Buying a pillow does not a good snuggle ensure.
Maybe I think too much, but it seems to me a truly good snuggle is an issue of trust and time to "be" with someone - just because you enjoy the person. I have learned good snuggling is not present very often, if at all, in a wounded marriage. There is sex sometimes, and there are naps, but there is rarely just snuggling on the couch in front of the tv, in a big chair with a good book being read aloud back and forth (one of my longings, not one of my experiences- ok,yeah, with the kids it was, but it's SO not the same), or watching a fire wrapped in the same blanket. I have also come to the conclusion that snuggling, while it is apparently physical in its expression, is truly emotional in its endeavor (the marriage of Christopher and Dana Reeves comes to mind).
This probably explains why I miss it... In the meantime, there will be no pillow snuggle-worthy enough, chai lattes will do just fine, and I'll look forward to the day when I am a snuggle bunny again.
There is a company in Japan which actually makes a snuggling pillow - for women, presumably. It is a pillow with an appendage the shape of a man's arm. The hand is huge and, well, stuffed, not to mention it doesn't do diddly other than just look like it doesn't want to be snuggled with. It's wrong on so many levels. It sells for about 80 bucks and with 80 bucks I can have a lot of chai lattes. Buying a pillow does not a good snuggle ensure.
Maybe I think too much, but it seems to me a truly good snuggle is an issue of trust and time to "be" with someone - just because you enjoy the person. I have learned good snuggling is not present very often, if at all, in a wounded marriage. There is sex sometimes, and there are naps, but there is rarely just snuggling on the couch in front of the tv, in a big chair with a good book being read aloud back and forth (one of my longings, not one of my experiences- ok,yeah, with the kids it was, but it's SO not the same), or watching a fire wrapped in the same blanket. I have also come to the conclusion that snuggling, while it is apparently physical in its expression, is truly emotional in its endeavor (the marriage of Christopher and Dana Reeves comes to mind).
This probably explains why I miss it... In the meantime, there will be no pillow snuggle-worthy enough, chai lattes will do just fine, and I'll look forward to the day when I am a snuggle bunny again.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Footnotes
Tis a very sweet thing when a mom can not only love her teenagers, but like them too. Mine happen to be passionate souls (wonder where THAT came from...) who express themselves so differently from each other. One is musical and introverted; the other, analytical, a decent illustrator and an extrovert. Let's not even discuss how I keep from having multiple personalities in the midst of such extremes...
The point, and I have one, is that I am blessed. Recently, they both published books through school, as did my own class. For almost 13 and almost 15 year olds, they are decent writers. Here's a sample:
"Butterfly Wings" T., 14.
I am a beautiful butterfly trying to find my wings to fly.
My wings are wet; every time I try to fly, my wings pull me down,
The pollen tastes like bitter chocolate;
I drink the dew of the flower I'm stuck on
I woke up one day sad, waiting for my wings to grow stronger:
I was a year old butterfly trying to fly
One morning I awoke and started to fly
My life tasted like a chocolate covered strawberry
My wings are blasting with color and my life is better.
A., 12 going on 35, said his lyric poetry is too sad...so you get his haiku instead:
Kicking, running, scoring
Boy, I love this game
Called soccer
Running, jumping, hiding
Trying not to be revealed
Hide - n - seek
Mom's footnote: for all they've been through, they are finding a way to grow to adulthood rooted in a relationship with Christ. And growing they are. Miss T shows, even in her poetry, that she longs to be captivating, and Mr. A is doing what all 12 year old boys need to do: he is sorting out what it takes to be a man. God is good to us.
Tis a very sweet thing...
Monday, April 03, 2006
Random thoughts
I seem to have a lot of random thoughts. Periodically they end up connected like some intricate dot pattern, but I'm often the only one who sees the connection. And, so it goes. I've decided to post this pic of Sedona, Arizona. I took it awhile back when I was up there with a friend. I kept watching the light change and simultaneously kept seeing different shapes in the rock dependent on the light. This only mildly amused my friend, but kept me busy for quite some time. There is something about it, though, that is majestic, yet simple at the same time, that continues to remind me that God is incredibly creative. Now, I realize these red rocks aren't just there for me to enjoy (trust me, there was plenty of traffic that day), but oh how I do enjoy the moments of "light" He gives -whether it is in how I view the mountains(which I love), the red rock, my own life, God's grace and patience with my questions, and even the April Fool's jokes cleverly "planted" by my 12 year old son. Yet another example of a dot pattern. And, so it goes...
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