My teaching year in retrospect...

So, the school year ended about 3 weeks ago and I finally think I’m ready to blog about it.  Actually there were many moments throughout the year that I wanted to just sit down and write, but I opted out mainly because I am always conflicted about the ethics of writing about my students while they are still my students.  Is it moral?  Is it ethical?  Is it safe?  Honestly, I don’t know any of those answers so I just don’t do it.  Sadly, this often means my poor husband hears my stories probably more often that he would like.  He indulges me though.

I just finished my 13^th year of teaching and it has been the most challenging and difficult professional year of my teaching career.  Coincidence on the 13^th year thing?  I’m not really superstitious so I’ll say yes.  Anywho, why was this year so difficult?  Sadly it solely had to do with the terrible home lives these kids had.  I am used to having a couple of kids with hard lives at home each year.  They are the ones who get more of my attention, patience, and prayers and this is normal…however this past year there were just too many.  I had students with both parents and siblings in prison, drugged out moms, suicidal moms, violent moms, and even a couple with thoughts of ending their lives because things seemed too hopeless for them at the young age of 10.  I witnessed the most horrific swollen black eye I have ever seen in my life – including anything I’ve seen in the movies, and I saw the horror in 30 something ten year olds when they too saw the injustice of such violence and had to process how in the world something like that happens.  Several of them already knew.

My heart is heavy just recounting the memories!  Most days I was filled with exhaustion and although I wanted to cry my eyes out, I pulled myself together for the sake whatever learning was to happen that day.  And some days, to my surprise, we learned. 

Through all of this God taught me some valuable lessons. 

Lesson 1: Although the world calls me a teacher, I am really a missionary.  I am a light in a dark place and quite often the only light those little lives see.  Because of this I need to make sure my words are kind and my tone is compassionate.  I have to come in to work fully equipped with all that is in me so that I can be teacher/parent/nurse/psychologist/mentor/encourager/whatever it is I will need to be that day.  I need to show Jesus in my actions and preach a message of hope that says, “You can rise above this!  Whatever life is like at home, that does not have to define who you are or who you will become.”

Lesson 2: I believe in a God who is mighty and powerful and in control of the world around me.  I have seen God do amazing things and have faith that he will continue to do those things.  Because of this, I have faith that He is watching over these kids – He is ultimately in control and I can find comfort in that.  I am not expected to fix every life – but I can plant seeds of hope and offer words of encouragement.  I have to give the rest to Him.

Lesson 3: My work place is my mission field.   I should not feel guilty if I don’t have the energy to help out in other mission fields.  If I can – great; if I can’t, it is okay to say no (Why is it so hard to say “no?”).

So, why am I telling you all of this?  I’m not writing this for you to impart sympathy toward me – in reality, my classroom is one room, in one school, in one city, in one county, in one state, in one very well-off country of the world.  Can you imagine what it must be like in other places?   How many children are suffering in the world?  I’m afraid we cannot begin to imagine.  I am writing this to encourage you to do a couple of things though.  First off, if you know a teacher, pray for him/her.  A lot.  Like every day.  Sometimes our work days are overwhelmed with the ugliness of the world and quite frankly we could use the support.  Second, if you not only know a teacher, but are related to one or close friends, ask him/her for specific students that you can pray for.  Those kids need lots of prayers for lots of different reasons.  Commit to praying for just one student in one classroom in one school in your city.  Maybe that one kid is the one who will change the world. 

An Amazing Moment in Ghana, West Africa

The time: August, 2002

The location: Ghana, West Africa

The mission: Deliver & fit wheelchairs to disabled individuals of the country; equip & train the individuals and their families in manipulating & maneuvering the wheelchairs; share God’s love & hope with those we encounter.

A dear friend encouraged my husband and I (and several others) to go on this trip to Ghana with the organization Wheels for the World, and despite a list of reasons not to go we took a leap of faith and went.  My biggest fear in going?  I asked, “What if one of us gets hurt there?”  The response: “You hope and pray a doctor from the Peace Corp happens to be in the country.”  I’m not gonna lie – I had certain reservations about going.  What would I eat?  Would I get sick?  Where would I sleep?  What would the bathrooms/toilets be like?  Questions we all have, but don’t want to say out loud.

I have funny stories to go with each of those questions that were floating around in my mind back then, but those are not for this writing.  Let’s just say God extended His mercies and grace to me in all sorts of ways during this trip.

This trip was filled with so many amazing experiences.  There is one in particular you need to hear today. 

Let me set the stage for you.  The majority of Ghana functions as a third world country.  The villages are constructed of mud huts and locals sell bananas from baskets they carry on their heads.  In 2002 (Sadly, I have not kept up enough to know if things are different now.) there was no Polio vaccine in the country which meant that many citizens would become infected and lose mobility of one or more limbs.  In addition, the disabled in Ghana are greatly looked down upon.  If you cannot be mobile, you cannot work.  You are considered a second class citizen.  Wheelchairs are almost nonexistent there, unless brought over by some type of humanitarian organization.  So, people crawl, scoot, and are carried places.  The disabled become beggars.  I remember the first drive through Ghana.  There were disabled people everywhere begging for money.  People lying on the ground, crawling on all fours -- it was unbelievable to me.

When a wheelchair distribution happens, the government announces it over the public radio weeks in advance with the time and location.  This is done so that people have enough time to get there.  It sounds unreal, but many crawled for over three weeks to get to the distribution location!  Others had family members that would carry them for miles and miles to get there in hopes of getting a wheelchair.  Having a wheelchair in Ghana immediately changes a person’s social status.  They go from immobile to mobile; unworthy to worthy; shunned to part of society.

So here we are at our second distribution.  Miraculously the previous days work left exactly as many people as wheelchairs.  We were on a spiritual high for sure.  The logistics worked like this: There were roughly a dozen Americans.  Two worked registration.  Two were physical therapists that performed the physical examinations.  Another two to three worked on customizing the chairs to the recipients.  Four trained the family members and recipients in how to move around in the chair – turning, braking, etc.  The remaining played with the kids and visited with others that came out to see commotion.  There were also local preachers there.  Once an individual received an examination, a chair, and training – they were taken to the Reverend.  He prayed over each person and gave them Bibles.

Well, the day went on and we all assumed that again, we would miraculously end up with the same number of people needing chairs as chairs that we had to give.  It was so close to the end of the day that all of us Americans were sitting in the van ready to crash.  Our days consisted of breakfast and dinner only so we were ready to find food and sleep. 

We heard some commotion.  “What are they saying?  What’s going on?” we all asked.  Our driver said, “This man has come and was not given a chair.  There is not chair for him.  Even so, the doctors told him that a chair would bring him too much pain.  He cannot sit in one.”  We were crushed!  How could this be?  This man…was devastated.

The sweet Reverend Newton would not let this man leave.  He beckoned for him to come and talk with him.  (Mind you we are all watching this from the van.)  They prayed together.  The Reverend says – well we don’t know what he says, but the man…GETS UP AND WALKS AWAY!  Can I say that again?  The man.  Got up.  And. WALKED away.

We went crazy!  There were shouts of “NO WAY!” and screams.  We were moving so much the van was rocking non stop.  We might have high fived.  We definitely threw our hands up in the air.  “What just happened?!” we shouted.  Reverend Newton very calmly came over and said, “God told me He would heal this man.  There was no chair for him because he would not need a chair.  I told him that he was healed and that he could get up, and walk home.”

None of us had seen anything like this before!  It was truly amazing.  We had witnessed something right out of the Bible.  It was incredible.  A moment I will never forget.  A moment I look back to whenever my faith wavers.  “Our God is healer, awesome in power.”

Luke 5:17-26

John 5:1-15

Show Me Your Glory

The first time I heard the song "Show Me Your Glory" by Third Day I cried.  The beginning lyrics were so similar to my own experience.  I just love this song.  Listen to it with lyrics here.  Please read my last 2 blog postings if you haven't yet to know what in the world I'm referencing.  And if you haven't checked out Third Day before you should!  You can learn more about them here.  They are awesome.

Rene

The year was 1995.  It was a Saturday night in October.  I was a freshman in college, working nights at the new movie theatre across town.  I was the box office closer which meant late nights counting cash and closing out all the computer systems.  I loved it!

I usually began my trek home around 1:00 a.m.  Normally it was a quiet ride home.  There’s not a lot of traffic at 1:00 a.m. any night of the week – bars don’t close until 2:00, so I had a good hour before late night drivers got on the road.  I would blast whatever new CD I had and sing like a rock star all the way home.  The drive began like any other night.  My route was the cross-town freeway, then through downtown to the Extension.  I made it off of the freeway and was beginning the quick trip through downtown. 

I couldn’t believe I was hitting all the green lights – that never happened.  I saw a small black sports car driving perpendicular to me on one of the cross streets.  I remember thinking, “Whoa, they are driving fast!” …Then I remember thinking, “That car is going to hit me.”  I don’t have any recollection of the next 5 - 7 minutes.  As hard as I try – it’s just…black.  The first thing I remember before coming to was a bright flash of light.  The best I have ever come to putting it in to words is this: Remember Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner?  Well, when the Roadrunner would take off super fast you would see a blur of color/light coming off the back of him.  Sort of like a visual of his speed. 

I saw that streak of light to my left and then I came to.  There was a man at my driver side door.  He was knocking on the window - presumably trying to get me to wake me up.  He opened my driver side door, picked me up, and carried me across the street to a little patch of grass.  He told me to wait there and that everything would be alright.  He asked me about my parents.

My parents received a phone call from this man.  He told my father, that I had been in a car accident, but that I was alive, and okay.  He told him the intersection where I was and that he needed to come and get me.  After the pone call he came back over to me and said, “I have to go now.  Your parents will be here soon.  It’s going to be okay.”  I was in shock.  I was bleeding and shaking and confused.  I thanked him for helping me and asked him his name.  He replied, “Rene” and then…he was gone.

My parents arrived approximately the same time that the police arrived.  My dad worked for the police department, so he knew the officers that were “on scene”.  They asked how he knew I had been in an accident.  He simply said, “One of the witnesses called me.”

Things were chaotic.  The driver of the other car was drunk and stumbling around shouting.  There were police officers everywhere and paramedics surrounding me.  There were a few bystanders and some other cars that had pulled over to offer help.  I was taken to the hospital to check out the damages.

I was lucky, they say.  I suffered burns on my hands and chest, swollen and bruised knees, stomach and neck, and a separated left shoulder – which they had to pop back in to place at the hospital.  It could have been worse though – that’s what they kept saying.

My life went on from there for a few days with no real thought of this “Rene” person.  I had recounted my story to my parents.  We pieced a time line together with the events of the evening.  We were all so thankful that this man had come to my aide.  Being that my dad worked for the police department, we received rather quickly the full reports and witness accounts of the accident.  There were three witnesses.  Each report gave roughly the same account:

“The victim crawled out of the driver’s side window and walked to the southwest corner of the intersection.”  Noted by officer: Driver side door was jammed shut; would not open.

I was speechless.  This was NOT what happened.  No where in the report was “Rene” mentioned.  He was not a witness.  He was not seen by any other individual at the scene.  Each witness claimed that I had, on my own, gotten out of my car and walked (on my own) to the corner.  Most people (my parents included) would probably think that I was in shock and not remembering correctly…except for that phone call.  Who called my parents? 

My dad and I did some investigating, but came up with nothing.  Rene was nowhere to be found.

I believe Rene was an angel, sent by God, to comfort me at a desperate moment in my life with a message of hope:  “It’s going to be okay.”  I had a long road of physical and emotional healing ahead.  I wouldn’t drive again for months.  I frequently woke up terrified in the middle of the night with visions of that black car zooming toward me.  I had months of physical pain and therapy.  But in all of that, I also had hope.  Hope that God must have something more for me to do here.  Hope that in the midst of terrible, there is often awesome.  I was only 18, but this moment would significantly shape my adulthood.

For further reading: Psalm 121

Testimony

Over the past few months I have been pondering the word “testimony”.  What does it really mean?  In court, when you give testimony, you are retelling your side of the story, honestly, and to the best of your ability.  Dictionary.com states that testimony is a declaration of a witness, evidence in support of a statement, or an open declaration as in faith.  When one gives their personal testimony whether in a court of law, in a religious setting, or somewhere else, I suppose s/he could use the sentence frame, “I believe X, and the reasons why are A, B, & C.”

In essence, your testimony is your personal story.  It’s who are now and how you became who you are.  It’s all of the moments in your life that have lead you to today.  On a spiritual level, your testimony is what you believe and why you believe it – the experiences that have lead you to what you believe.

Thinking about my testimony, has lead me to realize that there are many remarkable things that have happened to me throughout my life, and sadly, unless you have known me for a very long time, you probably don’t know much of it.  In fact, most of the people that I spend most of my time with (co-workers, recent/newer friends) know nothing about my story.  And, I’m not saying this is bad – but I feel as though God is prompting me to reveal a bit of myself.

So, New Years resolution #1: Begin the year revealing pieces of my testimony.  And what better avenue to do that in than in cyberspace for all of humanity to critique, right?  I pretty much figure that not many people read my blog (or facebook posts for that matter) so I am entering in to a fairly safe audience.  However, that being stated, let me remind you that revealing oneself to others (especially if you are a rock solid introvert) is pretty terrifying.  I don’t want to get political.  I’m not into arguing theology via the World Wide Web.  And I hate drama. 

I simply want to tell some stories about my life.  Worst case scenario: you will hate them - in which case you can stop reading at any moment.  Best case scenario: you will love them and maybe even find a glimmer of inspiration to tell your own story to someone – or even to me!  I would love that.

I think maybe, we all have remarkable stories to tell, but for whatever reason, we don’t.  We keep them inside of ourselves, like secrets. Why is that?  I’m guessing fear of criticism is a big factor.  So, I’m taking a leap of faith here…be kind…please.

Stay tuned for my 1^st story…

The Earth is Yours…And Singing…

We’ve been singing this beautiful song at church lately (Check out an very cool live version here.  Or the lyrics here.) and this past Sunday a spark resonated deep inside my soul and it's been an amazing few days.  Let me explain: One of the ladies in the praise band quoted the passage in Luke 19 when Jesus says, “If they keep quiet, the stones will cry out.”  She went on to say that if humanity won’t praise God, creation will…and this got me to thinking…

What if…when the trees blow in the wind, what if that movement is their reaction to God’s glorious being?  What if, when the waves crash against the rocks and white froth foams as a result, what if that that movement and reaction against rock is the ocean’s way of praising The Creator of the Universe?  What if thunder is the wind’s inability to contain its gratitude to God Almighty?  What if the babbling of a brook is a sweet song offered up to The One who put the rocks near the water?

And these thoughts led to an amazing conversation with my 5 year old.  I told her about Luke 19 and Jesus saying that if people don’t praise God, then nature will.  And…she…was…amazed.  And this led to a full day of us (+ my other little one) driving around town singing this song at the top of our lungs and her spontaneously holding her hands up toward Heaven.  She has never been in “big church” and to my knowledge has never seen someone do this…it was as if she just couldn’t contain her praise…and that was…AWESOME.

Later in the day she was with my mom and looked out the window and said “Look at those trees blowing in the wind.  Did you know they are praising God?”  And then this evening, as we had the song cranked up and were singing it loudly…it began to rain…in July.  And it was….AWESOME.  We ran outside and danced and twirled in the light sprinkle of rain and she said – well more like gleefully giggled, “Mommy, the clouds…they just have to praise God!”  And it was…AWESOME.

Today was one of the best days of my life.

The Shack - A Review

It’s been quite awhile since I have written a blog, why is that? At any rate, I have recently finished reading the ever controversial book The Shack by Wm. Paul Young. Many of you (implying that there are many of you reading this blog post which in truth is highly unlikely) are probably thinking, “Where has she been? This book was written years ago.” Actually, I believe the book was written the year my first child was born, so where I was, was in a sleep deprived state with no business reading anything but Baby’s First Year books.

To be honest, I read this book for the same reason I read the Twilight series books. There was a lot of hype around it and I wanted to see what it was all about for myself. I had several people “warn” me about it before I began reading it, so I delved into the book very cautiously.

It was a difficult book to get through. The Great Sadness was agonizing. In my opinion, Young paints a worthy picture of the emotions felt by a parent who loses a child in such a despicable manner. You come out the other end of The Great Sadness an emotional basket case. And I must ask myself if this is intentional for what lies ahead. It is what happens after this portion of the book that has so many Christ-followers up in arms. Since reading the novel I have listened to some sermons and read many blogs and book reviews pertaining to the story. I have also asked trusted friends their opinions.

From what I can come up with, this book has served as a great healing tool for those who have experienced a Great Sadness of their own. Through his novel, Young has helped parents who have suffered the loss of a child cope with anger, grief, and other emotions that are difficult to sort through. This is a sadness I hope and pray to never know, and I am glad that this book can be used to help the healing of a parent’s broken heart. This is definitely on the positive swing of the pendulum.

However, there are some doctrinal issues with Young’s writing. I am not a theologian by any means, but several times throughout the novel I found myself thinking, “I don’t think that’s right,” or, “I don’t think the Bible actually says that,” or, “I think the Bible actually says the opposite of that!” Here is a great blog written by Tim Challies that sums up many of the Biblical issues of the novel that I encountered along the literary journey. It’s a long read, but he says it much more eloquently than I ever could.

As a literary analysis, the ending is predictable. I was anticipating the interaction with the Trinity to either have come in a vision or dream and that is essentially what happened. Can God speak to us in visions and dreams? I believe yes. Would He or could He in this particular manner? Hmmm…

In addition to all of the above, my main beef with The Shack lies more with the author, than the novel itself. First and foremost, the forward in the book is fictitious. There is no Mackenzie Allen Phillips. Young eludes the reader into thinking that this story is based off of actual events. It is not. Maybe this is not such a big deal, Dan Brown does this all the time in his novels and I’m blogging about him. Maybe I am being too critical. But, why does Young include the ambiguous foward to his book? Would it have the same affect without the confusing forward? Is he trying to make the reader believe that what he is writing is Truth? I don’t know, but it makes me very suspicious. Another thing that makes me suspicious is that upon further investigation, Young reveals (via his blog and the back of his novel) that although he has not experienced the loss of a child he has experienced a Great Sadness in his life, but he shouldn’t have to reveal to you what that specifically is or it’s impact on who he is or how it has shaped him, it should be enough for you to read his book and accept that he too has suffered. I find this patronizing on so many levels. Please do not go out of your way to relate to those that are suffering only to say that you are unwilling to share your personal story. What is the motivation behind this stance? Again, I will say it makes me suspicious of intent, motivation, and integrity on Young’s part. Another item I find patronizing? The last page of the book includes an ad for something called “The Missy Project.” This again eludes the reader in to thinking that there is some sort of foundation or organization set up in honor of this lost child, but in reality it is some sort of “project” based on a fictitious character. I don’t get it. If this thing is legit, there are so many other names it could have been called. Naming it after a fake girl, in my opinion, is in very poor taste and unsympathetic to those who have actually lost their precious children.

One last critical remark: I do believe Young has a political/religious agenda that is revealed in many parts of the book. He downplays the significance of the Bible, the importance of the church, and up-plays (is that even a word?) many aspects of universalism.

I would like to think that I am an avid reader. I read a lot of books where authors set up their own agendas – be it political, religious, cultural, etc., and although I might disagree with them I can still appreciate the story they are telling. Don’t get me wrong, I can appreciate this story as a story of healing; as one man’s struggle to overcome grief and anger, and come to terms with God and the evils of the world. I may even be liberal enough to think that possibly one could have a dream similar to Mack’s and wake up feeling as though God had spoken to him. The story does have snippets of wisdom. I think what makes many Jesus-followers concerned is that people will take this fictitious account of how the God of the Universe interacts with humanity, and take it as Truth. It’s fiction. And what I am left wondering is did the author intend for you to take it as such? Or did he have a larger agenda in mind?