I've had my last days of observing, and next semester I am going to begin my student teaching. Right now I am placed at Central Middle, but one of the English teachers at PV who is friends with my sister has requested me so I am hoping I am able to switch. Either way, come January I am going to have a much bigger part in the classroom than I have had observing. And I am nervous, excited, anxious, but pretty ready. I think the hardest part about observing was just sitting there most of the time. I wanted to help; I wanted to lead a discussion. I would be super nervous to do it, but the best part about student teaching is you have the actual teacher right there to instill confidence in you. And even though I didn't do much in my observation hours, when I was able to get involved the affirmation and confidence that came from Chris and Gina helped a lot. Sometimes you just need that approving nod that says "You got this" "Or you're fine, keep going."
That is one of the many things that I want to keep in mind when teaching my own students. We all need someone we respect to put their confidence in us. It means we can put some confidence in ourselves too.
I am going to remember Chris' ability to automatically think the best of someone, to apologize quickly and sincerely, to show how much she cares. I am going to remember the relationship that Gina and Chris built, one in which they were able to call each other out on things they thought could be improved. It wasn't just Chris telling Gina what to do, but Gina had the courage to talk to Chris about things that she thought needed to change as well.
I am really grateful for my observation experience, and it was by far the best part of the semester. The only part I really looked forward to actually. I am excited to start the program in January. I feel like I am finally taking some steps toward adulthood in something I can be passionate about. So, here it goes.
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
Sunday, December 7, 2014
"This is the profession you are coming into."
I went in for one of my last observation sessions on Friday. I might still go in this week just for fun, but Chris has already signed off on all my hours. But anyway, it was 7th period, and the students were watching the movie Race to Freedom. It's a movie about a few escaped black slaves using the underground railroad to reach Canada. The students came in per usual and as the movie began a girl came in late, clearly upset. She sat down and wasn't able to hold it together, tears silently streaming down her face. Chris went over with a tissue box and asked if she wanted to talk outside. They went out for a few minutes, and Chris came back in leaving her outside a little while longer until she felt like she could come back in. Chris sat down beside me and said, "I have to refer that student to counseling because her dad is a recovering addict and home life has gotten really rough. This is the profession you are coming into." She placed her hand on my knee as she said this and then got up to go to her desk and email one of the counselors.
I'd like to point out that I've worked with high school students in a youth group setting for about four years. I've heard a lot of sad things. But it's different being a youth staff. I expect to hear a lot of hard things. I want them to share and talk through it with me. And honestly, there was only one high school girl who I worked with that I can say had a shockingly hard life that left me confounded and helpless. I have friends who have been youth staff for multiple students like that. But those were just stories to me. Sad, but I was not involved.
For some reason, despite all the things people tell me and all my professors this year tell me, I seemed to think that as a teacher I would be separate from all that. Or I think I knew that all this happened and teachers can be confidants for students, but maybe because I never talked to a teacher like that in high school it was hard for me to imagine.
There have been a couple instances while I've observed that issues like this have been brought to my attention. And I'm annoyed at myself for always being taken back. But like as I mentioned when talking about a student in my last post, if I am affected this way every time teaching is going to be pretty overwhelming. Part of me wants to get a little hardened to be able to handle things. But honestly, that's what I'm afraid of happening. I know as a teacher I am not allowed to talk about God. But I hope that through my actions, through the way I am affected by the sad things my students have to go through, through the way I want to help them, I am able to bring the Kingdom of God to Earth a little bit. Because yes, I want to be a great teacher, but ultimately I want the hope of Christ and his love to be shown.
I'd like to point out that I've worked with high school students in a youth group setting for about four years. I've heard a lot of sad things. But it's different being a youth staff. I expect to hear a lot of hard things. I want them to share and talk through it with me. And honestly, there was only one high school girl who I worked with that I can say had a shockingly hard life that left me confounded and helpless. I have friends who have been youth staff for multiple students like that. But those were just stories to me. Sad, but I was not involved.
For some reason, despite all the things people tell me and all my professors this year tell me, I seemed to think that as a teacher I would be separate from all that. Or I think I knew that all this happened and teachers can be confidants for students, but maybe because I never talked to a teacher like that in high school it was hard for me to imagine.
There have been a couple instances while I've observed that issues like this have been brought to my attention. And I'm annoyed at myself for always being taken back. But like as I mentioned when talking about a student in my last post, if I am affected this way every time teaching is going to be pretty overwhelming. Part of me wants to get a little hardened to be able to handle things. But honestly, that's what I'm afraid of happening. I know as a teacher I am not allowed to talk about God. But I hope that through my actions, through the way I am affected by the sad things my students have to go through, through the way I want to help them, I am able to bring the Kingdom of God to Earth a little bit. Because yes, I want to be a great teacher, but ultimately I want the hope of Christ and his love to be shown.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
A Student's Ability to Self Reflect
I am naturally a reflective person. I think about things; often I think about things too much. But I also think about implications- the implications of my actions, of their living situation, of their actions toward me, etc. This is why I love literature. I love thinking about the characters, their actions, their relationships, how their past effects them. Not only is this now how all people think naturally, but even more so, when it gets personal, it's often painful. And people refuse to think in such a way. I often take for granted that this is not how every one else thinks. And every so often there are moments when I am reminded of this.
For example, I was reminded of this when reading some of the 9th grade regular placement English class self narratives before Thanksgiving break. Before anything else, I think this is a great assignment. Part of a literature class is to teach students how to think reflectively. And teachers learn a lot about a student when the assignment is to talk about a defining moment of their life. It gives the students a little more context; it helps the teachers understand where they're coming from. For me at least, this context gives me more room for compassion toward them. But going back to not wanting to think reflectively, I came across such a case when reading a certain students' narrative. It was hardly a narrative. It was hand written, one page front and back. There was no theme. He told of no defining moment. He told of no lessons learned. It was more of a description of his family situation. He lives with his grandma, and recently his grandfather died. I wanted to go back in time and take him aside and say "There! That can be your moment!" when I read the sentence about his grandfather's death. But he skipped over it, and went on to say that he is still grateful for the people in his life that have been family to him. It was like he started to go into a touchy subject and pulled out of it before he could dwell on it. I showed it to the student teacher, Gina, after class. She glanced and pointed out his title that he had erased, but still showed: "What Family."
I can't get this kid out of my mind. He is awful in class. He lies about finishing assignments, brags to his peers about not doing his reading, and does not stop talking to and distracting the students around him. When they were returning their Frederick Douglas books to the library, I heard him turn to the kid next to him and say "Didn't read a page" in a bragging, cocky voice that only a high school boy can pull off. I have thought to myself, "Wow, he is the type of student I dread having." And then I read his paper: a paper that deserves an F. But it all makes a little more sense. He is a happy kid; and if he stops talking, if he stops to read something sad, if he stops to think about anything serious, he has to think about his own life. The title "What family" comes in his mind, and he quickly erases it. I can almost hear him saying to himself, "Yeah, but I'm fine. I have other people. I'm fine," like he is trying to convince himself of something he does not actually believe. And as I think about this student, I think what am I going to do with students like this? Students who refuse to stop because it's too much. English is subject that requires a lot of reflection. I want my students to learn how to reflect on their own lives as well as the lives of others. I want them to learn how to be compassionate. But I can't force them to do that. Giving him an F isn't going to force him to come to terms with the absence of family that he goes home to. Maybe I'm thinking too deeply into this. Maybe living with his grandma is actually really great, and his is just naturally a punk kid. But I have a harder time accepting that. Like I said, I can't get him out of my mind. So much so that he made it on to my prayer canvas in my room. I don't even know the names 90% of the students in his class, but his name made it specifically in my prayers. There is really nothing else I can do for him. I think I am going to talk to Chris about him this week and ask how she deals with students like him. Because if I take students home with me like this, I'm going to have a really overwhelming teaching experience.
For example, I was reminded of this when reading some of the 9th grade regular placement English class self narratives before Thanksgiving break. Before anything else, I think this is a great assignment. Part of a literature class is to teach students how to think reflectively. And teachers learn a lot about a student when the assignment is to talk about a defining moment of their life. It gives the students a little more context; it helps the teachers understand where they're coming from. For me at least, this context gives me more room for compassion toward them. But going back to not wanting to think reflectively, I came across such a case when reading a certain students' narrative. It was hardly a narrative. It was hand written, one page front and back. There was no theme. He told of no defining moment. He told of no lessons learned. It was more of a description of his family situation. He lives with his grandma, and recently his grandfather died. I wanted to go back in time and take him aside and say "There! That can be your moment!" when I read the sentence about his grandfather's death. But he skipped over it, and went on to say that he is still grateful for the people in his life that have been family to him. It was like he started to go into a touchy subject and pulled out of it before he could dwell on it. I showed it to the student teacher, Gina, after class. She glanced and pointed out his title that he had erased, but still showed: "What Family."
I can't get this kid out of my mind. He is awful in class. He lies about finishing assignments, brags to his peers about not doing his reading, and does not stop talking to and distracting the students around him. When they were returning their Frederick Douglas books to the library, I heard him turn to the kid next to him and say "Didn't read a page" in a bragging, cocky voice that only a high school boy can pull off. I have thought to myself, "Wow, he is the type of student I dread having." And then I read his paper: a paper that deserves an F. But it all makes a little more sense. He is a happy kid; and if he stops talking, if he stops to read something sad, if he stops to think about anything serious, he has to think about his own life. The title "What family" comes in his mind, and he quickly erases it. I can almost hear him saying to himself, "Yeah, but I'm fine. I have other people. I'm fine," like he is trying to convince himself of something he does not actually believe. And as I think about this student, I think what am I going to do with students like this? Students who refuse to stop because it's too much. English is subject that requires a lot of reflection. I want my students to learn how to reflect on their own lives as well as the lives of others. I want them to learn how to be compassionate. But I can't force them to do that. Giving him an F isn't going to force him to come to terms with the absence of family that he goes home to. Maybe I'm thinking too deeply into this. Maybe living with his grandma is actually really great, and his is just naturally a punk kid. But I have a harder time accepting that. Like I said, I can't get him out of my mind. So much so that he made it on to my prayer canvas in my room. I don't even know the names 90% of the students in his class, but his name made it specifically in my prayers. There is really nothing else I can do for him. I think I am going to talk to Chris about him this week and ask how she deals with students like him. Because if I take students home with me like this, I'm going to have a really overwhelming teaching experience.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Taking the Initiative
So there have been a few reoccurring themes happening since I have moved back up to Northern California, and this one relates to teaching the most I think. It's my need to take initiative. I just need to do. If I want to do more in the classroom I observe in, I need to do it. Chris leaves the door wide open for me to be involved and welcomes it when I am. But she can only do so much for me. I need to speak up. I need to get involved. I had to take roll the other day in the film class, and I tried to hand it off to one of the senior boys. He said no, I should do it. His friend said "You're the adult in here. We believe in you." The last comment was funny and nice, but also a weird moment. I worked for the YMCA in their before and after school program down in San Diego, and I just got hired to do the same thing for CARD (Chico area recreation and park district). In that setting, it is obvious that I am the adult. Though I am seeing in this new position with CARD that I need to take more initiative with the kids instead of seeing what the other staff does. But still, again, I am obviously the adult compared to the K-6th graders. In a classroom with senior boys and girls who are all taller than me and half of them look my age, I am still the adult. I know that when I am forced in a situation, I can take initiative. But I think an area that I need to grow is being able to take charge even when there are other people there that are able. I shouldn't always wait for someone else to take control.
This concept of taking initiative, of being bold really, will play out into much more of my life than teaching. But it will definitely make me a better teacher. It will give me the centered aspect that multiple of my books this semester have said a teacher needs to have. I think this new job with CARD and my continued observation hours will give me more opportunities to practice this before I start my student teaching next semester.
This concept of taking initiative, of being bold really, will play out into much more of my life than teaching. But it will definitely make me a better teacher. It will give me the centered aspect that multiple of my books this semester have said a teacher needs to have. I think this new job with CARD and my continued observation hours will give me more opportunities to practice this before I start my student teaching next semester.
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Something to Remember
Last Wednesday was a super fun day to observe. Usually, I just kind of hang out, listening, looking at their assignment, reading through a few essays. But I got to participate in the conversation on Wednesday. Chris is totally open to me participating at any time, but Wednesday, I don't know, I just decided to speak out. The students were working on a paragraph about how slavery changed Mrs. Auld in Frederick Douglass' slave narrative, using quotes and commentary, etc. The student teacher Gina was leading the discussion while Chris was writing down what they said on the computer which was displayed on the board up front.
This is what I noticed: Chris had this certain idea in her head that she wanted the students to get to. She had her ideas about why Mrs. Auld changed, and because she was working so hard to get her thoughts out, she stopped listening to the students. Gina would call on students, they would say their opinion and it was like Chris didn't hear them. She didn't write down what they said, and at times would shut their idea down. It wasn't malicious at all, but I think the students could tell that she had something in her head that she wanted them to get to. And after awhile of not getting it, fewer suggestions and opinions from the students came forth. I didn't say anything profound. In fact, Chris shut my idea down too. But I wanted to help, and I wanted to affirm some of the students. So I chose a girl whom Chris had unintentionally ignored and affirmed her thought and tried to twist it into what I thought Chris might have been getting at. Like I said, I wasn't right in Chris' mind. But I hope that girl felt valued. The paragraph didn't get finished, and Chris had Gina and I finish it for them so they could see an example (as their homework was to write a paragraph like that themselves. We came up with something that satisfied Chris, and that was the end of that.
I don't write this with any negative feelings toward Chris. I could say how that was awful of her, and I will never do that as a teacher. But I can't say that because I totally get it. I have had moments when I am trying to put a thought to words, and people are suggesting ideas or sharing their thoughts and I'm not even listening. I am really glad that I got to see this happen because it's something I never saw becoming a problem. I hope to remember this moment so I can be more self aware when I am teaching. I think what Chris did was a very human thing to do, and I don't blame her. But I want to learn from her mistakes as well as her successes- because that's what observing is about.
This is what I noticed: Chris had this certain idea in her head that she wanted the students to get to. She had her ideas about why Mrs. Auld changed, and because she was working so hard to get her thoughts out, she stopped listening to the students. Gina would call on students, they would say their opinion and it was like Chris didn't hear them. She didn't write down what they said, and at times would shut their idea down. It wasn't malicious at all, but I think the students could tell that she had something in her head that she wanted them to get to. And after awhile of not getting it, fewer suggestions and opinions from the students came forth. I didn't say anything profound. In fact, Chris shut my idea down too. But I wanted to help, and I wanted to affirm some of the students. So I chose a girl whom Chris had unintentionally ignored and affirmed her thought and tried to twist it into what I thought Chris might have been getting at. Like I said, I wasn't right in Chris' mind. But I hope that girl felt valued. The paragraph didn't get finished, and Chris had Gina and I finish it for them so they could see an example (as their homework was to write a paragraph like that themselves. We came up with something that satisfied Chris, and that was the end of that.
I don't write this with any negative feelings toward Chris. I could say how that was awful of her, and I will never do that as a teacher. But I can't say that because I totally get it. I have had moments when I am trying to put a thought to words, and people are suggesting ideas or sharing their thoughts and I'm not even listening. I am really glad that I got to see this happen because it's something I never saw becoming a problem. I hope to remember this moment so I can be more self aware when I am teaching. I think what Chris did was a very human thing to do, and I don't blame her. But I want to learn from her mistakes as well as her successes- because that's what observing is about.
Sunday, October 19, 2014
A Glimpse Into the Future
It has been cool to be able to observe in a classroom with a student teacher. Gina is in the Mascot program, so it will be a little different when I go into the student teaching program. I won't be teaching as much right off the bat, and I'll switch classes and possibly schools at the semester. I'm sure there are more differences, but those are the big ones that I know at least. But it is still really nice to talk to her about her experience so far. She has been reassuring in telling me that though it is a lot of work, she's having a lot of fun. And I can see that in the way she interacts with the students. They ask her if she is going to the football game that week. They try to give her nicknames like "G Spice" (Gina Spadorcio is her name). Not only is it evident that she likes her students, but they also really like her. There is a lot of laughter in the classroom. She helps build that family that Chris talked to me about.
I know that I am not going to have the same experience as Gina. I'm not Gina; I'm not in the Mascot program, and I'm going to have Chris as my master teacher. But it is still nice to observe someone who is just a semester ahead of you on the journey. It's encouraging. And I look forward to becoming more a part of Chris and Gina's classroom as the semester goes on. I can feel myself becoming more comfortable around the students, and I hope that there are more lessons that I am able to help out with in some way.
I know that I am not going to have the same experience as Gina. I'm not Gina; I'm not in the Mascot program, and I'm going to have Chris as my master teacher. But it is still nice to observe someone who is just a semester ahead of you on the journey. It's encouraging. And I look forward to becoming more a part of Chris and Gina's classroom as the semester goes on. I can feel myself becoming more comfortable around the students, and I hope that there are more lessons that I am able to help out with in some way.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
The Unique Creature Known As a "Freshman Boy"
I got the chance to observe one of Chris' regular freshman English classes. Not only was this class not the honors class, but I came for 7th period on a Friday. The difference between the honors class and the regular class was to be expected and though a little nuts, not as frightening to me as I thought it would be.
At the beginning of class they were to write down definitions of words that were going to show up in the book they were about to read: Narrative of the Life of Fredrick Douglas. Chris and her co teacher Gina had to work so hard to get the class, specifically the boys, to quiet down and write their definitions. I thought this was a really good idea though because it would help with their comprehension of a pretty heavy book. Later they began reading the book out loud, and whenever a vocabulary word was read someone would say "ding ding" and point it out. They finally quieted down as Chris read the first part of the narrative out loud, and some even had some interesting questions to ask about slave laws at the time.
All in all I think Chris and Gina did a good job and managing the students, but I think I would have to do something different. It took them a really long time to get started, and too much chaos stresses me out. It also really bothers me if someone makes light of something so serious, and sitting where I was I heard a few inappropriate jokes about whipping and abuse. I plan to make it really clear that my one rule is about respect - respecting others, your surroundings, and yourself. But I also understand that the freshman boy is a unique creature of whom I have little understanding. And I might be lucky to get as far as Chris has gotten in managing them. I find them hilarious, frustrating, and ridiculous all at the same time. Gina told me she has a word document where she writes down the different ridiculous stuff they say. I love that. And as crazy as that 7th period class was, I look forward to getting to interact with students like that. I'm sure there will be many days that I do not look forward to it, but I hope to keep my sense of humor with me and am able to laugh things off and start over the next day.
I also got the chance to do some paper editing, first with the honors class papers and then with a regular class paper. The paper from the student in regular English 9 was pretty bad. I didn't really know where to begin. That is honestly going to be the hardest part of teaching for me I think. I'm going to want to have one on one meetings with every students to go over their papers, and I don't know if I would have enough time for that. But I have time to figure it out. And I'm glad to be observing in a class to see how Chris deals with it.
At the beginning of class they were to write down definitions of words that were going to show up in the book they were about to read: Narrative of the Life of Fredrick Douglas. Chris and her co teacher Gina had to work so hard to get the class, specifically the boys, to quiet down and write their definitions. I thought this was a really good idea though because it would help with their comprehension of a pretty heavy book. Later they began reading the book out loud, and whenever a vocabulary word was read someone would say "ding ding" and point it out. They finally quieted down as Chris read the first part of the narrative out loud, and some even had some interesting questions to ask about slave laws at the time.
All in all I think Chris and Gina did a good job and managing the students, but I think I would have to do something different. It took them a really long time to get started, and too much chaos stresses me out. It also really bothers me if someone makes light of something so serious, and sitting where I was I heard a few inappropriate jokes about whipping and abuse. I plan to make it really clear that my one rule is about respect - respecting others, your surroundings, and yourself. But I also understand that the freshman boy is a unique creature of whom I have little understanding. And I might be lucky to get as far as Chris has gotten in managing them. I find them hilarious, frustrating, and ridiculous all at the same time. Gina told me she has a word document where she writes down the different ridiculous stuff they say. I love that. And as crazy as that 7th period class was, I look forward to getting to interact with students like that. I'm sure there will be many days that I do not look forward to it, but I hope to keep my sense of humor with me and am able to laugh things off and start over the next day.
I also got the chance to do some paper editing, first with the honors class papers and then with a regular class paper. The paper from the student in regular English 9 was pretty bad. I didn't really know where to begin. That is honestly going to be the hardest part of teaching for me I think. I'm going to want to have one on one meetings with every students to go over their papers, and I don't know if I would have enough time for that. But I have time to figure it out. And I'm glad to be observing in a class to see how Chris deals with it.
Saturday, September 27, 2014
Becoming a family.
Chris leaned over to me, "They're bonding- having fun like this. They're becoming a family."
I got to observe for the first time this week in Ms Chris Perrson's classroom at Chico High, and I have been shocked and blessed by what I have been able to see. The emphasis that Chris puts on relationships with her students and the students with each other is beautiful. Every student loves her, trusts her, respects her. Granted, I was only able to observe her Freshman honors English class and her film class (where we watched Pretty in Pink. Love that movie). She informed that if I really want to see a classroom management nightmare to try to come by around 2pm for 7th period. Hopefully one of these days I can fit that in.
All that said, when looking from the outside, Chris' class seems kind of chaotic. She's super kooky; students are eating and super chatty as they walk in. But then they start taking roll with the co teacher, and begin playing this game where they try to call out their names in alphabetical order as fast as they can. They're awful at it. In the midst of laughter and competition with their last recorded time, they attempt three times at their roll call game. This is when Chris leans over to me and whispers, "They're bonding- having fun like this. They're becoming a family." Before this, it was obvious that Chris is a loved teacher, but when she said this it dawned on me that her lax demeanor, the fun she has with her students - it's all for a purpose. She knows exactly what she's doing when she jokes with her students, tells them funny stories about her life, allows them to be a little crazy before they settle down into getting started with class. She is cultivating a family atmosphere- an atmosphere where they can trust their teacher and their peers, where they want to work together to learn, to discuss, to grow.
If I asked one of the students about Chris' class, I don't know if they would be able to articulate why they like the class so much. They would probably answer: "She's funny;" "She let's us eat;" "She's nice." They don't realize how she has orchestrated this family atmosphere for them; they just know she's their favorite teacher.
I'm really looking forward to the things I can learn from Chris and her students this semester. I know that I'm not as kooky as Chris, and it might take me a long time to become such a loved and respected teacher. But I hope to glean some wisdom on how to keep relationships at the forefront, while teaching students MLA format and to think critically about literature and life.
I got to observe for the first time this week in Ms Chris Perrson's classroom at Chico High, and I have been shocked and blessed by what I have been able to see. The emphasis that Chris puts on relationships with her students and the students with each other is beautiful. Every student loves her, trusts her, respects her. Granted, I was only able to observe her Freshman honors English class and her film class (where we watched Pretty in Pink. Love that movie). She informed that if I really want to see a classroom management nightmare to try to come by around 2pm for 7th period. Hopefully one of these days I can fit that in.
All that said, when looking from the outside, Chris' class seems kind of chaotic. She's super kooky; students are eating and super chatty as they walk in. But then they start taking roll with the co teacher, and begin playing this game where they try to call out their names in alphabetical order as fast as they can. They're awful at it. In the midst of laughter and competition with their last recorded time, they attempt three times at their roll call game. This is when Chris leans over to me and whispers, "They're bonding- having fun like this. They're becoming a family." Before this, it was obvious that Chris is a loved teacher, but when she said this it dawned on me that her lax demeanor, the fun she has with her students - it's all for a purpose. She knows exactly what she's doing when she jokes with her students, tells them funny stories about her life, allows them to be a little crazy before they settle down into getting started with class. She is cultivating a family atmosphere- an atmosphere where they can trust their teacher and their peers, where they want to work together to learn, to discuss, to grow.
If I asked one of the students about Chris' class, I don't know if they would be able to articulate why they like the class so much. They would probably answer: "She's funny;" "She let's us eat;" "She's nice." They don't realize how she has orchestrated this family atmosphere for them; they just know she's their favorite teacher.
I'm really looking forward to the things I can learn from Chris and her students this semester. I know that I'm not as kooky as Chris, and it might take me a long time to become such a loved and respected teacher. But I hope to glean some wisdom on how to keep relationships at the forefront, while teaching students MLA format and to think critically about literature and life.
Sunday, September 21, 2014
That Chico Life.
Four weeks into getting my pre reqs done at Chico State while applying to the credential program- I feel as though I've been here forever and like I got here yesterday. It would be a lie to say I didn't miss San Diego in the worst way. But it would also be a lie to say that I have not been welcomed home by not only my family, but my brother in law's family in such a loving way.
I've never been super good with transitions, but who is really? But I've been talking to my friend Adilene, who is in Connecticut going to grad school, a lot and this transition for us has really made us realize how grateful we are for our church family in San Diego. The last year in San Diego was a time of being filled like I never have been before. Sure there were times that I got upset about whatever frustrating thing happened, but I felt a part of the strongest community I think I've ever had. We sing "fill us up, and send us out" so I guess that's what I got. Though I don't think I can say I feel like God "sent" me to Chico. It sounds pretentious to me. I'm not a pastor. I'm going to school here. But I know God filled me up before I came.
Looking for a community like the one I had is hard to find. And replacing the what I found in San Diego First Church of the Nazarene is impossible. But I'm looking for a new community. Not the same one, a new one. Not forgetting the people who loved me so well, and who I love so much. But finding new people to love. And I'm praying that God uses me while I'm here; that I'm sent out in some sort of way.
I'm beginning to observe in a high school English class at Chico High next week, and my professor is asking us to blog about our experiences. So instead of making a new blog, I'm just going to write in this one. Hope that's ok with you, Mom.
A few of my people in SD.
I've never been super good with transitions, but who is really? But I've been talking to my friend Adilene, who is in Connecticut going to grad school, a lot and this transition for us has really made us realize how grateful we are for our church family in San Diego. The last year in San Diego was a time of being filled like I never have been before. Sure there were times that I got upset about whatever frustrating thing happened, but I felt a part of the strongest community I think I've ever had. We sing "fill us up, and send us out" so I guess that's what I got. Though I don't think I can say I feel like God "sent" me to Chico. It sounds pretentious to me. I'm not a pastor. I'm going to school here. But I know God filled me up before I came.
Looking for a community like the one I had is hard to find. And replacing the what I found in San Diego First Church of the Nazarene is impossible. But I'm looking for a new community. Not the same one, a new one. Not forgetting the people who loved me so well, and who I love so much. But finding new people to love. And I'm praying that God uses me while I'm here; that I'm sent out in some sort of way.
I'm beginning to observe in a high school English class at Chico High next week, and my professor is asking us to blog about our experiences. So instead of making a new blog, I'm just going to write in this one. Hope that's ok with you, Mom.
A few of my people in SD.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
Ancipation and Hope: A Year In Review
The lyrics go like this:
Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders.
Let me walk upon the waters,
Wherever You would call me.
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior.
After a year like 2013, I don't know if I want to go deeper than my feet can wander and where my faith will be made stronger because what if that involves another affair? What if my life as I know it comes crashing down again? What if it is something within my own family? I can't do it. I've told God, if something happens to my parents' marriage I will not be able to handle it.
And I know this is crazy because God has shown Himself so incredibly faithful these past 12 months. From people on the camino to people at home and church to Amy's commitment to Christ and her marriage, I have seen God's incredible redeeming power. But the past 12 months have been incredibly painful.
I thought I would be completely healed after the camino. I mean the camino is a metaphor for life, Santiago is heaven - we are healed in heaven. My blisters were healed by the time I arrived to Santiago, why wasn't I?
But Santiago isn't heaven. It was just a glimpse of what is to come. And returning to the wounds of this world may be necessary, but that doesn't mean healing isn't coming. Pastor Dee talked about Haggai in a sermon last month and a couple of his points hit home. He said that we have to "acknowledge what has been so we can look forward to what is to come" and "The hope has not been met, but that doesn't mean the prayers should cease or the work stop." I cannot ignore what has happened, but I have to move on and cling to the hope in what is to come. And just because I don't feel completely healed, that doesn't mean I should stop praying or stop working to bring the Kingdom of God to earth.
My wounds have scabbed over, but I am still afraid of the scab getting torn off too soon and beginning to bleed again.
So as we celebrate the coming and anticipation of the return of Christ tomorrow, my prayer is one that Paul prays for the people of Ephesus in Ephesians 1:17-18
"...that the God of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of glory, may give you a spirit of wisdom and of revelation in the knowledge of him, having the eyes of your hearts enlightened that you may know what is the hope to which he has called you"
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Camino Tales: Reaching Santiago
Originally written on July 11, 2013 at 2am.
The last night before Santiago was one of anticipation. We stopped in at town called Arco that night with about 20km left to Santiago. We planned to wake up at 3:30am and out by 4am to make sure we got to Santiago by 9am. It was Sunday the next day, and mass was at noon. So despite the heat, it being light outside still, and everyone out and about, I tried to go to sleep at 7pm. It didn't work. I estimated I got about two hours of sleep by the time my alarm went off at 3:30. Walking in the dark we walked through Arco and into a Eucalyptus forest. I had the thought of how beautiful it all was conflicting with how stupidly tired I was as I laid my head back on my backpack and tried to sleep walk. I could sense Adilene's urgency as she walked and kept looking behind as if telling me to hurry up. If you know me well at all, you know how much I am not someone who deals well with lack of sleep. I could have punched her in the face every time I felt her looking at me.
But there was about half an hour of awakeness from 4:20 to 4:40 in which I couldn't help but sing to myself as I looked at the stars a worship song that goes "Tonight the starts speak of your infinite love, and it serves to remind me that what I have means nothing at all compared to your glory, oh Lord." And as I look back, I think that is what the Camino has taught me - that what I have means nothing at all because God's infinite love doesn't care. The best part is about me singing this song is that usually the song is a grieving song for me because the chorus reads, "How long until your voice speaks clearly? How long till your arms envelope me? I cry: be my strength when I am weak. Oh Lord, have mercy on me please." But those lyrics didn't fit any more (except for maybe the "have mercy on me" for my angry thoughts every time I saw Adilene look back at me). During the entire Camino, I felt God's arms enveloping me- through all of the crosses we walked by each day, through meeting new friends and laughing about our pain and others' pain or just life, through our French parents, through Jael and Adilene at times, through my actual parents thousands of miles away. I was never alone on the Camino. I was never crying "be my strength," because God was already providing it before I even could think it.
By the time the sun rose fully we were only 4.7km away from Santiago and a small cafe was open. We stopped for 20 minutes and I was able to get a tiny cafe con leche and change my socks. I finally felt awake (meaning I finally walked fast enough to keep Adilene from annoying me). As we saw the first signs of the Cathedral, we past am older Yorkshire couple we had met a couple weeks earlier. We said hello, the husband made s joke we didn't quite catch, and we hurried on by. As we entered the square in front of the cathedral, I felt as if I were dreaming. Thirty three days of wandering around Spain, and now it's over. And then we turned and saw our French mom and dad hugging each other and crying. They had started from Le Puy, France - walking so much farther than us. We waited a little before walking about to her, not wanting to interrupt their moment. But as soon as she saw us, she embraced us calling us her girls/ daughters in French. We took a few pictures with them, and I was able to tell her that my feet were completely healed. After we saw them in Leon, almost two weeks before that, I thought we would never see them again. She had told us then that she would see us beautiful and healed in Santiago. I think we were more sweaty than beautiful, but I was definitely healed.
The last night before Santiago was one of anticipation. We stopped in at town called Arco that night with about 20km left to Santiago. We planned to wake up at 3:30am and out by 4am to make sure we got to Santiago by 9am. It was Sunday the next day, and mass was at noon. So despite the heat, it being light outside still, and everyone out and about, I tried to go to sleep at 7pm. It didn't work. I estimated I got about two hours of sleep by the time my alarm went off at 3:30. Walking in the dark we walked through Arco and into a Eucalyptus forest. I had the thought of how beautiful it all was conflicting with how stupidly tired I was as I laid my head back on my backpack and tried to sleep walk. I could sense Adilene's urgency as she walked and kept looking behind as if telling me to hurry up. If you know me well at all, you know how much I am not someone who deals well with lack of sleep. I could have punched her in the face every time I felt her looking at me.
But there was about half an hour of awakeness from 4:20 to 4:40 in which I couldn't help but sing to myself as I looked at the stars a worship song that goes "Tonight the starts speak of your infinite love, and it serves to remind me that what I have means nothing at all compared to your glory, oh Lord." And as I look back, I think that is what the Camino has taught me - that what I have means nothing at all because God's infinite love doesn't care. The best part is about me singing this song is that usually the song is a grieving song for me because the chorus reads, "How long until your voice speaks clearly? How long till your arms envelope me? I cry: be my strength when I am weak. Oh Lord, have mercy on me please." But those lyrics didn't fit any more (except for maybe the "have mercy on me" for my angry thoughts every time I saw Adilene look back at me). During the entire Camino, I felt God's arms enveloping me- through all of the crosses we walked by each day, through meeting new friends and laughing about our pain and others' pain or just life, through our French parents, through Jael and Adilene at times, through my actual parents thousands of miles away. I was never alone on the Camino. I was never crying "be my strength," because God was already providing it before I even could think it.
By the time the sun rose fully we were only 4.7km away from Santiago and a small cafe was open. We stopped for 20 minutes and I was able to get a tiny cafe con leche and change my socks. I finally felt awake (meaning I finally walked fast enough to keep Adilene from annoying me). As we saw the first signs of the Cathedral, we past am older Yorkshire couple we had met a couple weeks earlier. We said hello, the husband made s joke we didn't quite catch, and we hurried on by. As we entered the square in front of the cathedral, I felt as if I were dreaming. Thirty three days of wandering around Spain, and now it's over. And then we turned and saw our French mom and dad hugging each other and crying. They had started from Le Puy, France - walking so much farther than us. We waited a little before walking about to her, not wanting to interrupt their moment. But as soon as she saw us, she embraced us calling us her girls/ daughters in French. We took a few pictures with them, and I was able to tell her that my feet were completely healed. After we saw them in Leon, almost two weeks before that, I thought we would never see them again. She had told us then that she would see us beautiful and healed in Santiago. I think we were more sweaty than beautiful, but I was definitely healed.
Thursday, August 8, 2013
Camino Tales: The Kindness of Strangers and The Perils of Sweaty Feet
Originally written on June 22nd 2013, day 18 of walking.
I left my last post with the hope that I would regain feeling in my toes. This hope has been greatly undermined by the blisters forming and bursting on my feet, and producing many tears. The "hilly" hike of day 11 resulted in a chance meeting of a French couple to whom I will always be grateful for. After the first 15km of that day, we decided to stop at some picnic tables at the top of the first big hill. I took my shoes and socks off to dry out my feet. There was a French couple at a picnic table nearby, and the woman asked me in French if I had bad feet (two words which were similar enough to two Spanish words that were in my limited Spanish vocabulary). When I replied in the affirmative, she came right over to our table to take a look. The gasps of concern were humorous and really quite touching. With Adilene translating, she asked for my needle and thread and used her own gauze, tape, and betadine to clean up my feet. Blister after blister, with gasps and swears coming from her husband standing behind her, she cleaned my feet, unfazed. The blister underneath my big toenail even squirted out onto her at one point. "She wants to know if you have any more," Adilene kept telling me. Two days later we saw her again in Burgos and she immediately asked to see my feet. Unfortunately for me, some blisters were infected. Marielle, whose name we asked later that day, said that if it were her daughter, she would tell her to go to the hospital to get cleaned up and advice.
The hospital incident was unfortunate to put it lightly, but the kindness of Marielle is something I will never forget. She gave us her information and invited us to visit her in France. And with a big hug we said goodbye. The nurse advised I take one to three rest days - so we stayed one extra day in Burgos.
It's interesting how we can be dealing with something so painful and Christ shows up to comfort us through the love of other human beings. It's easy to miss his presence when we are in such pain. On the way into Burgos, before the hospital, after our first meeting with Marielle, we decided to leave at 5:30 am. We knew Burgos was supposed to be a cool city so we wanted to get there before noon. The first 5km consisted of an extremely rocky terrain - big white rocks sticking out of the ground with no relief in sight. As we climbed a hill of these rocks I kept thinking "Why is it so rocky? This is so painful; God, why is this path so rocky?" At the top of the hill Adilene and Jael stood waiting for me. Seeing my face, Adilene asked if I was ok - I burst into sobs and cried in Adilene's arms for about thirty seconds, barely able to get out that it was the rocky path and my blisters that were causing the tears.
At the top of that hill there was a big cross, and I vaguely thought about the fact that it was not comforting at all as I cried in Adilene's arms. And as I whimpered down the hill and for the next 5km, I barely noticed the beauty of the sun rising and the reflecting lights of Burgos in the distance. C.S. Lewis wrote, "It's hard to see clearly when your eyes are blurred with tears" in his book A Grief Observed. I resented that comment when I first read it. I felt like he was sying that I needed to stop crying or that if I could see the situation clearly, I wouldn't be crying. I still think that it is alright to cry, but I've come to realize that it is the reflection and acknowledgment of Christ's presence that begins to bring healing. If we are only focusing on our pain, we cannot do that. Sometimes there is a huge cross right behind you, representing all the pain and suffering Christ endured, and you're too busy crying about the wounds you've gotten along the way to acknowledge it. But then Marielle shows up again and points you in the right direction, which might be the hospital - sometimes we need a little more direct kind of healing.
I left my last post with the hope that I would regain feeling in my toes. This hope has been greatly undermined by the blisters forming and bursting on my feet, and producing many tears. The "hilly" hike of day 11 resulted in a chance meeting of a French couple to whom I will always be grateful for. After the first 15km of that day, we decided to stop at some picnic tables at the top of the first big hill. I took my shoes and socks off to dry out my feet. There was a French couple at a picnic table nearby, and the woman asked me in French if I had bad feet (two words which were similar enough to two Spanish words that were in my limited Spanish vocabulary). When I replied in the affirmative, she came right over to our table to take a look. The gasps of concern were humorous and really quite touching. With Adilene translating, she asked for my needle and thread and used her own gauze, tape, and betadine to clean up my feet. Blister after blister, with gasps and swears coming from her husband standing behind her, she cleaned my feet, unfazed. The blister underneath my big toenail even squirted out onto her at one point. "She wants to know if you have any more," Adilene kept telling me. Two days later we saw her again in Burgos and she immediately asked to see my feet. Unfortunately for me, some blisters were infected. Marielle, whose name we asked later that day, said that if it were her daughter, she would tell her to go to the hospital to get cleaned up and advice.
It's interesting how we can be dealing with something so painful and Christ shows up to comfort us through the love of other human beings. It's easy to miss his presence when we are in such pain. On the way into Burgos, before the hospital, after our first meeting with Marielle, we decided to leave at 5:30 am. We knew Burgos was supposed to be a cool city so we wanted to get there before noon. The first 5km consisted of an extremely rocky terrain - big white rocks sticking out of the ground with no relief in sight. As we climbed a hill of these rocks I kept thinking "Why is it so rocky? This is so painful; God, why is this path so rocky?" At the top of the hill Adilene and Jael stood waiting for me. Seeing my face, Adilene asked if I was ok - I burst into sobs and cried in Adilene's arms for about thirty seconds, barely able to get out that it was the rocky path and my blisters that were causing the tears.
At the top of that hill there was a big cross, and I vaguely thought about the fact that it was not comforting at all as I cried in Adilene's arms. And as I whimpered down the hill and for the next 5km, I barely noticed the beauty of the sun rising and the reflecting lights of Burgos in the distance. C.S. Lewis wrote, "It's hard to see clearly when your eyes are blurred with tears" in his book A Grief Observed. I resented that comment when I first read it. I felt like he was sying that I needed to stop crying or that if I could see the situation clearly, I wouldn't be crying. I still think that it is alright to cry, but I've come to realize that it is the reflection and acknowledgment of Christ's presence that begins to bring healing. If we are only focusing on our pain, we cannot do that. Sometimes there is a huge cross right behind you, representing all the pain and suffering Christ endured, and you're too busy crying about the wounds you've gotten along the way to acknowledge it. But then Marielle shows up again and points you in the right direction, which might be the hospital - sometimes we need a little more direct kind of healing.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
The Distance Is What You Make It
I've been traveling around Europe since May 10th and have settled in Büsingen, Germany until I meet up with a group from San Diego First Church of the Nazarene to go to a monastery in Taize, France on Sunday.
I wasn't planning to blog my whole trip, but I did want to write about a certain large piece of it. Starting on June 5th, along with two other friends, I started El Camino de Santiago. We started from St. Jean Pied de Port, France and walked 790km to Santiago, Spain. I thought with all that reflection time I would write a lot in my journal and come up with multiple blog posts to write when I finished. It turns out after walking 20 to 30km, you don't always feel like writing down what you thought about or experienced - sometimes because it was almost exactly the same as the day before, sometimes because you were too tired, and sometimes because you would rather go hang out with new friends. After walking the first week, I decided I would write something to post every ten days. I wrote two things meant to be posted; the trip took us 33 days. Nevertheless, here is the first one, and after I post the second one I'll still write more about the walk - it just won't be as in the moment.
A Ten Day Reflection. Friday June 14th, 2013 3:57 pm
After walking for ten days straight I've realized that my nonspecific expectation that the walk was going to be hard has been specified. The first day is said to be the most difficult because we hiked the Pyrenees mountains. And after we finished the first day I agreed, thinking "yeah, that's the hardest thing I've ever done." But it was also new and beautiful and exciting. The second, third and fourth day were painful. The fifth day was looking up, and by the sixth and seventh day I thought we were getting the hang of this thing. Though don't get my wrong, as of right now my blister count is around nine. Honestly, it's impressive how tore up my feet are. Day 8 brought misery. Thirty kilometers - the longest we have had to walk so far - and thirty degrees Celsius - the hottest it has been so far. By 12:30 we had 10km left, making good time, going into the hottest part of the day. And then we took a wrong turn with some Irish girls. To get a sense of how hot it was at this time: a small blister between my toes on my right foot soon became not so small and burst as I was walking. This was a first time experience. We ended up being lost for about two hours - walking at least an extra 6-8km. By the time we got to Najera (the town we were stopping in) it was 6pm. It was this day that my big toes lost most feeling and have yet to regain it.
During the painful, hot or just miserable days I find myself asking "Why am I doing this?" "Why am I getting up every day and walking at least 13 miles?" I tend to forget that I agreed to this in the fall, and blame it on the event(s) that occurred this last January in my home town and church. "You made me do this," I curse my former you pastor. "It's because of you that I need to walk 500 miles and figure out my life." But it's not - really, it's pretty perfect the timing of this trip. Like I said, I agreed to this last fall, before my world and faith were shaken.
Obviously this walk is a metaphor for life's journey. Getting lost in the heat the eighth day felt a lot like getting lost this last semester. I vividly remember a day in late January/early February, after a phone call from a friend from home, keeping me updated on what new information was coming out about the event. I walked into my empty apartment, set my Brothers Karamozov on the kitchen counter and cried. As I cried, I imagined myself slamming the book on the floor in anger. I didn't. I never actually throw things when I'm upset. But it was a similar feeling that came to me as we realized how far we had to back track to get on the right pat to Najera that day. Tears welled up in my eyes and as I heard Adilene tell me it was ok to cry, I saw myself breaking my stick against the hot ground in anger and frustration. But we made it to Najera - thirsty, sunburned, blistered, and sore. But we made it. I don't know if I've made it out of the lost feeling of the last semester yet, but I think I will.
More than the difficulty and pain of walking, it's been the kindness of the people you meet along the way that effects you. In our frustration on Day 2 of not being able to find room in a hostel, we were able to get a phone number of a hostel in the town before. The young woman who ran it drove the 5km to pick us up so we didn't have to walk back. She also happened to be a physical therapist and was able to tell me that my right lower back/hip hurt so badly because I had been unconsciously walking weird to take pressure off my knee after having surgery last August. She gave me a stretch to do multiple times a day and it has helped enormously. Whether it's been a group of people to talk with, eat with, laugh with, share your pain with, or feel encouraged with - all are found along the way. Days 9 and 10 have been shorter days, but day 11 is coming with a 27 km "hilly" hike. With any luck I'll regain some feeling in my big toes, but probably not.
I wasn't planning to blog my whole trip, but I did want to write about a certain large piece of it. Starting on June 5th, along with two other friends, I started El Camino de Santiago. We started from St. Jean Pied de Port, France and walked 790km to Santiago, Spain. I thought with all that reflection time I would write a lot in my journal and come up with multiple blog posts to write when I finished. It turns out after walking 20 to 30km, you don't always feel like writing down what you thought about or experienced - sometimes because it was almost exactly the same as the day before, sometimes because you were too tired, and sometimes because you would rather go hang out with new friends. After walking the first week, I decided I would write something to post every ten days. I wrote two things meant to be posted; the trip took us 33 days. Nevertheless, here is the first one, and after I post the second one I'll still write more about the walk - it just won't be as in the moment.
A Ten Day Reflection. Friday June 14th, 2013 3:57 pm
After walking for ten days straight I've realized that my nonspecific expectation that the walk was going to be hard has been specified. The first day is said to be the most difficult because we hiked the Pyrenees mountains. And after we finished the first day I agreed, thinking "yeah, that's the hardest thing I've ever done." But it was also new and beautiful and exciting. The second, third and fourth day were painful. The fifth day was looking up, and by the sixth and seventh day I thought we were getting the hang of this thing. Though don't get my wrong, as of right now my blister count is around nine. Honestly, it's impressive how tore up my feet are. Day 8 brought misery. Thirty kilometers - the longest we have had to walk so far - and thirty degrees Celsius - the hottest it has been so far. By 12:30 we had 10km left, making good time, going into the hottest part of the day. And then we took a wrong turn with some Irish girls. To get a sense of how hot it was at this time: a small blister between my toes on my right foot soon became not so small and burst as I was walking. This was a first time experience. We ended up being lost for about two hours - walking at least an extra 6-8km. By the time we got to Najera (the town we were stopping in) it was 6pm. It was this day that my big toes lost most feeling and have yet to regain it.
During the painful, hot or just miserable days I find myself asking "Why am I doing this?" "Why am I getting up every day and walking at least 13 miles?" I tend to forget that I agreed to this in the fall, and blame it on the event(s) that occurred this last January in my home town and church. "You made me do this," I curse my former you pastor. "It's because of you that I need to walk 500 miles and figure out my life." But it's not - really, it's pretty perfect the timing of this trip. Like I said, I agreed to this last fall, before my world and faith were shaken.
Obviously this walk is a metaphor for life's journey. Getting lost in the heat the eighth day felt a lot like getting lost this last semester. I vividly remember a day in late January/early February, after a phone call from a friend from home, keeping me updated on what new information was coming out about the event. I walked into my empty apartment, set my Brothers Karamozov on the kitchen counter and cried. As I cried, I imagined myself slamming the book on the floor in anger. I didn't. I never actually throw things when I'm upset. But it was a similar feeling that came to me as we realized how far we had to back track to get on the right pat to Najera that day. Tears welled up in my eyes and as I heard Adilene tell me it was ok to cry, I saw myself breaking my stick against the hot ground in anger and frustration. But we made it to Najera - thirsty, sunburned, blistered, and sore. But we made it. I don't know if I've made it out of the lost feeling of the last semester yet, but I think I will.
More than the difficulty and pain of walking, it's been the kindness of the people you meet along the way that effects you. In our frustration on Day 2 of not being able to find room in a hostel, we were able to get a phone number of a hostel in the town before. The young woman who ran it drove the 5km to pick us up so we didn't have to walk back. She also happened to be a physical therapist and was able to tell me that my right lower back/hip hurt so badly because I had been unconsciously walking weird to take pressure off my knee after having surgery last August. She gave me a stretch to do multiple times a day and it has helped enormously. Whether it's been a group of people to talk with, eat with, laugh with, share your pain with, or feel encouraged with - all are found along the way. Days 9 and 10 have been shorter days, but day 11 is coming with a 27 km "hilly" hike. With any luck I'll regain some feeling in my big toes, but probably not.
Friday, March 29, 2013
THE GREAT ICONOCLAST
I am the Great Iconoclast.
Beware of what you hold dear.
I am the Great Iconoclast.
You have every reason to fear
- me.
What you thought was true,
What you thought was right,
Oh how I'll make you wish
You didn't hold such thing so tight
- ly.
When you least expect it
Truths so embedded you've never questioned
People you held so high-
never thought were destined
- to be
The Great Iconoclast.
Beware wife.
I am the Great Iconoclast.
I'll ruin your life.
Beware of what you hold dear.
I am the Great Iconoclast.
You have every reason to fear
- me.
What you thought was true,
What you thought was right,
Oh how I'll make you wish
You didn't hold such thing so tight
- ly.
When you least expect it
Truths so embedded you've never questioned
People you held so high-
never thought were destined
- to be
The Great Iconoclast.
Beware wife.
I am the Great Iconoclast.
I'll ruin your life.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
The Definition of HOPE
The word hope in the English language has become kind of like the word love: it has the capacity to mean so much more than the way we use it.
Example: I hope the caf has bacon today.
Translation: I really want the caf to have bacon today. I wish the caf would have bacon today. Fingers crossed!
Now, that example is a very real desire of mine every time I eat breakfast in the caf. But as I've been pondering the word hope, I've come to realize that we've been misusing it.
Ron Benefiel, my Life of Holiness (Christian general ed class) professor, speaks of Christian hope as being focused on the end result - the return of Christ. We are not wishing for things to get better in our lives when we say that we have hope. We are focusing on the end result. We are focusing on the belief that one day, whether it be in our lifetime or not, Christ will reign on earth and restore this horrible place to a place of His kingdom.
I claim that one of my favorite verses is Hebrews 11:1 "Faith is being sure of what we hope for and believing in what we cannot see." Taking in the Christian's definition of hope then, this verse is not saying faith is being sure of what we wish for. It is saying faith is being sure of Christ's return and the Kingdom of Heaven coming to earth to restore all things.
And here is where Ivan Karamazov comes in. Currently, I'm reading The Brothers Karamazov in my continental lit class. In the novel Ivan asks his brother Alyosha how he can accept a God that allows the torture and abuse of children. The bad outweighs the good for Ivan, and so he tells God that he respectfully returns his ticket. He believes in God and recognizes that God gives humanity life, but Ivan cannot accept God because of the horrors of humanity.
So I have this hope. The Kingdom of God is at hand. But, as Ivan asks, what about the children? What about the horrors of humanity? What are we to do until then? How can I be so sure that the good outweighs the bad in the end?
Now, I know all the "right" answers to these questions. So please, don't try to answer them for me. I'm just still in the process of accepting those answers. I haven't yet given up my ticket.
Example: I hope the caf has bacon today.
Translation: I really want the caf to have bacon today. I wish the caf would have bacon today. Fingers crossed!
Now, that example is a very real desire of mine every time I eat breakfast in the caf. But as I've been pondering the word hope, I've come to realize that we've been misusing it.
Ron Benefiel, my Life of Holiness (Christian general ed class) professor, speaks of Christian hope as being focused on the end result - the return of Christ. We are not wishing for things to get better in our lives when we say that we have hope. We are focusing on the end result. We are focusing on the belief that one day, whether it be in our lifetime or not, Christ will reign on earth and restore this horrible place to a place of His kingdom.
I claim that one of my favorite verses is Hebrews 11:1 "Faith is being sure of what we hope for and believing in what we cannot see." Taking in the Christian's definition of hope then, this verse is not saying faith is being sure of what we wish for. It is saying faith is being sure of Christ's return and the Kingdom of Heaven coming to earth to restore all things.
And here is where Ivan Karamazov comes in. Currently, I'm reading The Brothers Karamazov in my continental lit class. In the novel Ivan asks his brother Alyosha how he can accept a God that allows the torture and abuse of children. The bad outweighs the good for Ivan, and so he tells God that he respectfully returns his ticket. He believes in God and recognizes that God gives humanity life, but Ivan cannot accept God because of the horrors of humanity.
So I have this hope. The Kingdom of God is at hand. But, as Ivan asks, what about the children? What about the horrors of humanity? What are we to do until then? How can I be so sure that the good outweighs the bad in the end?
Now, I know all the "right" answers to these questions. So please, don't try to answer them for me. I'm just still in the process of accepting those answers. I haven't yet given up my ticket.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Who Has Time For Blogs These Dayzzzz
I've been obsessed with identity these days. It's the theme I find in all the books I'm reading because if I'm searching for my identity then the characters I'm reading about are too. Obviously.
Coming into senior I said, I don't want to graduate. ever. Now I'm saying I'm so tired. I just want to be done. But I can't. I want to say DGAF like most other seniors around me, but here's the problem: I do give a F****.
My favorite professor told me the other day that I can write B+ papers in my sleep, but I need to push myself to write an A paper. I need to write something significant.
My favorite professor, in the nicest way possible, told me what I write is insignificant. Of course he was saying that I have the potential to do better, that he knows I'm busy, but he also knows I can get As. It's a good push and I'm grateful for him and for that. But at the same time, it poked a hole in my academic self esteem. So much so that when my least favorite professor gave me my like fifth straight B on a paper, I had a minor breakdown in my friend, Ian's, office. Luckily he made it out in time before the water works came.
If I'm not good at academics, what am I?
I was at a party the other weekend and a friend offered me a cigarette. When I said no, he joked and said that he wouldn't offer it to anyone else, just me. He wouldn't offer it to Erin, she's too pure. He wouldn't want to ruin her pureness. But not me, he would offer it to me.
If I'm not pure, what am I?
I have come to realize that when things that I hold true about myself begin to be questioned, I can't handle it. In this search for what the hell I'm going to do with my life when I get out of this place, a small shake in what I thought was sound, is a bigger deal than it should be.
But in all of this, I'm lucky to have people around me who love God. I meet with a woman named, Wendy Kessler, every week and she has been talking about how in situations where we can't see hope or can't see how things are going to work out, she asks God to give her a glimpse of how He is working. I'm not that good at seeing the glimpses yet, but luckily for me as I share my life with Wendy, she is able to point them out to me.
May we be a people that look for and live off glimpses of God in the world around us.
Coming into senior I said, I don't want to graduate. ever. Now I'm saying I'm so tired. I just want to be done. But I can't. I want to say DGAF like most other seniors around me, but here's the problem: I do give a F****.
My favorite professor told me the other day that I can write B+ papers in my sleep, but I need to push myself to write an A paper. I need to write something significant.
My favorite professor, in the nicest way possible, told me what I write is insignificant. Of course he was saying that I have the potential to do better, that he knows I'm busy, but he also knows I can get As. It's a good push and I'm grateful for him and for that. But at the same time, it poked a hole in my academic self esteem. So much so that when my least favorite professor gave me my like fifth straight B on a paper, I had a minor breakdown in my friend, Ian's, office. Luckily he made it out in time before the water works came.
If I'm not good at academics, what am I?
I was at a party the other weekend and a friend offered me a cigarette. When I said no, he joked and said that he wouldn't offer it to anyone else, just me. He wouldn't offer it to Erin, she's too pure. He wouldn't want to ruin her pureness. But not me, he would offer it to me.
If I'm not pure, what am I?
I have come to realize that when things that I hold true about myself begin to be questioned, I can't handle it. In this search for what the hell I'm going to do with my life when I get out of this place, a small shake in what I thought was sound, is a bigger deal than it should be.
But in all of this, I'm lucky to have people around me who love God. I meet with a woman named, Wendy Kessler, every week and she has been talking about how in situations where we can't see hope or can't see how things are going to work out, she asks God to give her a glimpse of how He is working. I'm not that good at seeing the glimpses yet, but luckily for me as I share my life with Wendy, she is able to point them out to me.
May we be a people that look for and live off glimpses of God in the world around us.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Explanatory story.
Last week we had to write a story in which a character has a thing that they are good at and we have to explain with out telling, how they became good at said thing. I got my story back today from my professor and he loved it. It was supposed to be around 250 words. I'm so happy that I have to post it. It's a pretty sad story, but I'm excited to explore this character further.
Here it is. There's no title. Forgive any offensive language. This is rated PG 13.
“Doesn’t your dad work there?”
“No.”
Thirty six thousand six hundred and eighty two. I keep track of my lies. Otherwise, I ‘d start believing them myself. The surest way to get caught in a lie is to start mixing your story with your reality. My father taught me that.
He called my mother “Stephanie” when they were fucking. Her name is Catherine.
“How do you feel about your father’s infidelity, Julie?”
“It’s a bit cliché.”
One. I would now argue that that’s true, but I didn’t know what cliché meant back then. I had heard my aunt say it to my mother in a bitter tone and I thought it sounded clever.
“Cliché? You may be the first eleven year old I’ve heard use that word.”
“I’m also the first eleven year old with a cheating father that is not going to have daddy issues.”
Two. I head heard my mother tell my aunt that was the one thing she wasn’t going to be able to handle: “Julie having daddy issues.” I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what that meant at eleven either, but I made a decision right then and there that if it were to happen, my mother would never be able to tell.
And she hasn’t. No one has. I am a straight A student, involved in student government, and the star of my JV volleyball team. I am the perfect sixteen year old daughter.
The only person that could know is my coach Mr. Aldridge. But he’s too busy molesting me in the locker room.
“How do you feel about being sexually involved with your volleyball coach, Julie?”
“It’s a bit cliché.”
Here it is. There's no title. Forgive any offensive language. This is rated PG 13.
“Doesn’t your dad work there?”
“No.”
Thirty six thousand six hundred and eighty two. I keep track of my lies. Otherwise, I ‘d start believing them myself. The surest way to get caught in a lie is to start mixing your story with your reality. My father taught me that.
He called my mother “Stephanie” when they were fucking. Her name is Catherine.
“How do you feel about your father’s infidelity, Julie?”
“It’s a bit cliché.”
One. I would now argue that that’s true, but I didn’t know what cliché meant back then. I had heard my aunt say it to my mother in a bitter tone and I thought it sounded clever.
“Cliché? You may be the first eleven year old I’ve heard use that word.”
“I’m also the first eleven year old with a cheating father that is not going to have daddy issues.”
Two. I head heard my mother tell my aunt that was the one thing she wasn’t going to be able to handle: “Julie having daddy issues.” I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what that meant at eleven either, but I made a decision right then and there that if it were to happen, my mother would never be able to tell.
And she hasn’t. No one has. I am a straight A student, involved in student government, and the star of my JV volleyball team. I am the perfect sixteen year old daughter.
The only person that could know is my coach Mr. Aldridge. But he’s too busy molesting me in the locker room.
“How do you feel about being sexually involved with your volleyball coach, Julie?”
“It’s a bit cliché.”
Stories.
I'm in a creative writing fiction class this semester. So far, I love it. I have written some good things and some dumb things. I have decided to share the things that I'm proud of. Last week my friend published my double nickle story in the school paper. I felt pretty honored. A double nickle is a story that is 55 words. No more no less. Quite a challenge, and it definitely took me a few tries to get one that I really liked. So here it is:
One hundred dollars for groceries, for a family of four, for one month. My daughter reaches for the Lunchables. "Dad please?" But when we get to the check out, we're five dollars over. It's the Lunchables or the cigarettes. I look at my wife. She distracts our daughter while I ditch the Lunchables.
This was part of two other double nickles all of which I titled and turned in "People of Walmart." The others weren't that good. But I will post more stuff as time goes on - length and style depending on the assignment.
Hope you enjoy.
One hundred dollars for groceries, for a family of four, for one month. My daughter reaches for the Lunchables. "Dad please?" But when we get to the check out, we're five dollars over. It's the Lunchables or the cigarettes. I look at my wife. She distracts our daughter while I ditch the Lunchables.
This was part of two other double nickles all of which I titled and turned in "People of Walmart." The others weren't that good. But I will post more stuff as time goes on - length and style depending on the assignment.
Hope you enjoy.
Monday, January 2, 2012
So this is the new year...
2012. Twenty Twelve (just in case you said "two thousand and twelve" in your head). I decided that next New Years Eve I want to have some kind of "Suck it Mayans" party or maybe just Mayan themed? Or we can just all yell "suck it" instead of Happy New Year...or "we hate you Nicholas Cage"..wasn't he in that 2012 movie? I never saw it, but it looked dumb - a sure sign Nicholas Cage was in it.
Anyways,last semester was insanely busy and though 2011 had some great moments, it's time to move on. Saturday, the youth pastor from my home church, Kurt, had a bunch of the college kids come over for pancakes and coffee and we had our 2nd annual resolve breakfast. It gave us time to reflect on the hopes and expectations we had for 2011, where we are now, and where we want to be in the next year.
I didn't remember exactly what I said last year, but I made a few guesses. I assume I was worried about my Loveworks team/ trip - that hope was surpassed for sure. I think I said I wanted to get a mentor down in SD - another hope greatly met and surpassed; I started meeting with Wendy Kessler in February of last year. And then I assumed I wrote the cliché every year request: grow in my relationship with God.(clarification: cliché for a church kid born and raised)
And that's the one that got me. Be careful what you wish for is the saying. Well, I think I have grown in my faith, but it has been painful. Spring semester last year was one of searching and clinging to what little understanding and faith I had. (I have multiple posts from that time if you want a refresher). I haven't written a lot this semester because as I said, it's been crazy busy. But it's been tough. It seems as though the list of hurting people around me just keeps getting longer.
It started with Amy this summer.
Then a few weeks into school, my roommate's mom died.
The list goes on, but as I'm not sure who ends up reading this I'm going to refrain from sharing.
I really like strengths quest and if you don't know what it is, you should really look into it. My number one strength is restorative, meaning I want to fix things. It looks different for different people, but for me it's people and their problems. I want to help so badly, but everything that has come up this semester are things that I can't seem to touch. I can do nothing for my roommate. It's a long story, but we barely knew each other before we roomed together. And I know her better now, but when her mom passed, we had had about one good conversation. And I know that even if we were closer sooner I still couldn't relieve her of that pain, but it doesn't mean I didn't/ don't want to.
And there are more examples of surrounding pain, but I guess the point is that part of me didn't want to put "grow in my relationship with God" on my resolution list this year. Because it effing hurts. But I also know that I'm not done growing and the fact that it still hurts so bad is because I'm working through stuff right now. I need to look at the bigger picture of how God is working and can work in others lives and how God can use me in that, but not become so overwhelmed and discouraged with it.
In a quick plug for having a mentor: I would not have seen any proof of God's work in my life had Wendy not pointed it out. I asked Wendy and others to pray that I would know how to act/ what to do/ what not to do when Tori's mom died. Wendy asked me how Tori was doing and how our relationship was before I left for Christmas. I told her that I feel like we have gotten closer and that I'm glad I can be a person outside her regular group of friends that she can talk to when she needs to. As I told her that Wendy pointed out that that's an answered prayer. I didn't know what to be to Tori and now we have a pretty good friend/roommate relationship.
I know that's pretty little, but after feeling like nothing good is happening, nothing is getting better and I can do nothing about it; realizing how God is faithful in even the small things, is a pretty big deal.
And that's where I'm at. The end of 2011 and that's where I'm picking up. I am working on trusting God and noticing the small amazing ways he shows me his faithfulness and praising him in the midst of all of this. There's my resolution for 2012. That and to figure out some sort of plan for my future, but that's another thing to work through for another time.
So this is the new year...and I feel pretty different.
Anyways,last semester was insanely busy and though 2011 had some great moments, it's time to move on. Saturday, the youth pastor from my home church, Kurt, had a bunch of the college kids come over for pancakes and coffee and we had our 2nd annual resolve breakfast. It gave us time to reflect on the hopes and expectations we had for 2011, where we are now, and where we want to be in the next year.
I didn't remember exactly what I said last year, but I made a few guesses. I assume I was worried about my Loveworks team/ trip - that hope was surpassed for sure. I think I said I wanted to get a mentor down in SD - another hope greatly met and surpassed; I started meeting with Wendy Kessler in February of last year. And then I assumed I wrote the cliché every year request: grow in my relationship with God.(clarification: cliché for a church kid born and raised)
And that's the one that got me. Be careful what you wish for is the saying. Well, I think I have grown in my faith, but it has been painful. Spring semester last year was one of searching and clinging to what little understanding and faith I had. (I have multiple posts from that time if you want a refresher). I haven't written a lot this semester because as I said, it's been crazy busy. But it's been tough. It seems as though the list of hurting people around me just keeps getting longer.
It started with Amy this summer.
Then a few weeks into school, my roommate's mom died.
The list goes on, but as I'm not sure who ends up reading this I'm going to refrain from sharing.
I really like strengths quest and if you don't know what it is, you should really look into it. My number one strength is restorative, meaning I want to fix things. It looks different for different people, but for me it's people and their problems. I want to help so badly, but everything that has come up this semester are things that I can't seem to touch. I can do nothing for my roommate. It's a long story, but we barely knew each other before we roomed together. And I know her better now, but when her mom passed, we had had about one good conversation. And I know that even if we were closer sooner I still couldn't relieve her of that pain, but it doesn't mean I didn't/ don't want to.
And there are more examples of surrounding pain, but I guess the point is that part of me didn't want to put "grow in my relationship with God" on my resolution list this year. Because it effing hurts. But I also know that I'm not done growing and the fact that it still hurts so bad is because I'm working through stuff right now. I need to look at the bigger picture of how God is working and can work in others lives and how God can use me in that, but not become so overwhelmed and discouraged with it.
In a quick plug for having a mentor: I would not have seen any proof of God's work in my life had Wendy not pointed it out. I asked Wendy and others to pray that I would know how to act/ what to do/ what not to do when Tori's mom died. Wendy asked me how Tori was doing and how our relationship was before I left for Christmas. I told her that I feel like we have gotten closer and that I'm glad I can be a person outside her regular group of friends that she can talk to when she needs to. As I told her that Wendy pointed out that that's an answered prayer. I didn't know what to be to Tori and now we have a pretty good friend/roommate relationship.
I know that's pretty little, but after feeling like nothing good is happening, nothing is getting better and I can do nothing about it; realizing how God is faithful in even the small things, is a pretty big deal.
And that's where I'm at. The end of 2011 and that's where I'm picking up. I am working on trusting God and noticing the small amazing ways he shows me his faithfulness and praising him in the midst of all of this. There's my resolution for 2012. That and to figure out some sort of plan for my future, but that's another thing to work through for another time.
So this is the new year...and I feel pretty different.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
The Age of Innocence
The Age of Innocence-
To Newland, Love May
I ignore the unpleasant,
I act in all the appropriate ways,
I am a woman of 1877.
I follow the social etiquette.
I am from a rich and powerful family.
And I seem to be hardly aware of my limitations.
I am what you want.
I am innocent.
But you are naive.
I may ignore the unpleasant,
But I still see it.
I may act appropriately,
But I can see the look in your eyes-
The spark that lights when you see her.
But I know my limitations and their advantages.
It's you that is innocent, Newland.
Innocent to think I am not aware.
I gave you the chance to leave
and now it's too late.
Part of ignoring the unpleasant is destroying it.
Thank you for cooperating.
It's for the good of our family.
Sentiments must be preserved.
And I am a woman of 1877.
And Old New York is gone.
And the facade of the new has been put on.
It's called The Age of Innocence.
To Newland, Love May
I ignore the unpleasant,
I act in all the appropriate ways,
I am a woman of 1877.
I follow the social etiquette.
I am from a rich and powerful family.
And I seem to be hardly aware of my limitations.
I am what you want.
I am innocent.
But you are naive.
I may ignore the unpleasant,
But I still see it.
I may act appropriately,
But I can see the look in your eyes-
The spark that lights when you see her.
But I know my limitations and their advantages.
It's you that is innocent, Newland.
Innocent to think I am not aware.
I gave you the chance to leave
and now it's too late.
Part of ignoring the unpleasant is destroying it.
Thank you for cooperating.
It's for the good of our family.
Sentiments must be preserved.
And I am a woman of 1877.
And Old New York is gone.
And the facade of the new has been put on.
It's called The Age of Innocence.
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