January Slump

My old friend,

          is a new teacher.

We haven't actually talked in a good 25 years, but I see her occasional posts online.

I've enjoyed following her excitement of mid-life graduation, nerve churning interviews, and the giddy anticipation of a new job, a new year, a classroom all her own.

It's been a couple of years now, maybe a little more.  My own life has spiraled along in its own round of classes and names and challenges, and it's hard to remember exactly how long ago she started.

Long enough, anyway, to move beyond the newbie confidence at the end of a long week of:
"I'll figure it out and get it right next time,"

to the winter slump of:
"Am I really cut out for this?"

It's January.

Nobody's cut out for this.

It's the time when we sit around at lunch counting the years to retirement.
When we struggle to remember those first long ago classes that we're sure never acted like this.
When we gaze in despair at lackluster papers and wonder if we've taught a thing all year.

It's cold,

it's dark,

it's endlessly gloomy.

The occasional tease of a lovely day, makes it almost worse when it all crashes back again.

So, are you cut out for this?

Yes, of course you are.

The question alone is the cry of how much you care.

The sun will come back,

The days will warm,

The children will shock you with a sudden insight, that proves they were listening all along.

You'll know that this is your life,

when you can't believe you get paid to do this in September...

and nobody could pay you enough to do it in January...
                               
but you do it anyway

Because these are your kids.
                       

Heavenly Rewards

Do not be afraid, Abram,

I am your shield;

your reward will be very great.

Genesis 15:1

What visions would dance in the minds of someone given that offer today?  A very great reward.  A bank account over flowing with cash?  A shiny hot-shot car? Mansions, and yachts, and vacation homes?  

I'm not even sure how any of that would translate into a prehistoric world.  Certainly nothing of the kind seemed to be on Abram's mind.  

In utter confusion, he couldn't even imagine what kind of reward he could receive since he had no child.  

Children, family, a sparkling night sky expanse of descendants; that was the worthy reward.  

A Promised Land

Get up,

and walk around the land,

through its length

and width,

for I will give it to you.

Genesis 13:17

Prying a student from her favorite seat is like tugging at a rubber band.  It's not even really so much that she wants to sit next to her friend, although, of course, that's part of it.  It's just this insatiable tug of habit.  It's natural, it's comfortable, it's where she feels she belongs.  The resistance vibrates within her for days, before she finally settles in.  

Life itself, becomes a luxurious prison.  We surround our selves with what has always been.  We tunnel through habits of space and routine.  It's comfortable, it's where we feel we belong.  We never even look to see what's out there, much less get up and walk around.  

What would it mean to get up, even just once a day?  What would I see if I looked, if I walked around an unfamiliar land and cherished as a gift.  

Prayer Chain

My sister-in-law is learning to crochet.

Loop by loop,

          a baby's blanket,

                              thick and soft and warm,

flows beneath her hook.

A hope,

     A prayer,

          A promise, 

For our tiny new-born nephew,

     And his topsy- turvy heart.

A vision unfurling,

                               of clutching fingers,

                                    of baby giggles,

                                                                 of peaceful nurturing sleep

A tangible expression of rock-solid faith,

     In the One who guides the surgeon's touch,

                    Who gently untangles 

                                    every wayward strand.  

     

Bremerton Ferry

I've decided I need a ferry in my life.

It was all rather a shock when we went to visit our son near Seattle last summer.

I knew he lived on a peninsula.

I knew he had to take a ferry to come and go with any efficiency what so ever.

I even knew we would have to take the ferry to get to his house.

Somehow, though, I had a small ferry in mind.

     A quick trip across the bay ferry.

          A maybe fifteen minutes if we timed it just right ferry.

The conversation when we got off the plane didn't quite go as expected.

"We're here.  We just have to pick up the rental car and we'll be on our way.  If you want to meet us at the dock, we'll go get some dinner."

"You won't be here in time for dinner.  The ferry leaves in fifteen minutes."

"Oh.  Well, I preregistered the car.  Surely it won't take too long."  (Seriously?  You'd think I'd never rented a car before.)

"Aren't you at the airport."

"Yes"

"The airport is a good hour from the terminal."

"Oh.  Well, ok. I guess we'll just catch the next one then."

"That's an hour."

"An hour?"

"And the trip is over an hour."

"An hour???"

Yes, an hour.  And that didn't include sitting in the line waiting to drive onto the ferry, then sitting in the line waiting to drive off.  It seemed interminable on that first ride.

People really do this every day?

I couldn't imagine the planning to meet the schedules, the enforced captivity, the constant tension of lost control.  An hour, each way, for every casual trip into town.  

For that one hour, there was absolutely nothing I could do about time.  I couldn't hurry the captain, I couldn't pass a slow vehicle, I couldn't rush to meet a schedule.  It was all completely out of my control.

Control.

The ultimate fantasy of modern life.  With our phones and messages and voice mails and all day every day contact, just who is really in control?

All through that week, as I floated day by day, twisting through the inlet, back and forth, I relinquished all thoughts of control.

For fifty-five minutes, all I could do was talk to my family, read a good book, take a quick nap, or just stand on the deck and watch the mountains float by.  

What a wonderfully peaceful way to live.   

Perspective

I opened my FB page and found the most horrendously awful picture of myself.  

My eyes are droopy and bagged,

          from the not quite sleep of a night on the ground in a tent,

They're bloodshot and watery,

          from the smokey flames of the campfire surrounded by family-friends,

My hair is a scraggly, tangled mess,

          I packed that hairbrush,

                                  I know I did,

                                                Didn't I?

                                                        Somewhere?

My face is red and chapped,

          from outdoor,
                   all day,
                         hours of biking,
                                       and hiking,
                                                and scrambling through rushing streams.

I'm laughing,

         I'm happy,

                    I'm clutching a bundle
                                          of wriggling,
                                                     bouncing,
                                                             irrepressible, life.

I really love that picture.

Battle Plans

Then he prepared a great feast for them,

and after they ate and drank,

he sent them away and they went to their master.

2 Kings 6:23

It opens like a classic movie finale.  

The embattled hero, Elisha, stands alone with his one trusted friend.  Surrounded, out numbered, out gunned, they wait in the valley, it's always a valley, with heads held high.  

The terrified servant declares it's the end.  The calm and confident Elisha reassures him; God will never let them down.

Suddenly, silently the mountain tops bloom with the multitudes of allies engulfing the conquerors.  

With war cries echoing off the hills, they swoop down into the battle, conquering the enemy, celebrating their victory, and cheering as the hero gets the girl and the credits roll.  

Well, almost like the movie.  

No war cries, no massacre, no girl;  Elisha just quietly leads them into the city as the hosts of heaven watch from the hills. 

He protects them, he feeds them, he lets them rest, then sends them on their way.

A unique battle plan to say the least.  

I wonder what they thought.  

Where they afraid to eat the food?

Did they cringe at every sound, waiting for the swing of the sword?

How far along the path home was it before they really believed they were going to be spared?  

How did they ever explain it to their king?

Whether in gratitude or confusion, or total humiliation, I doubt they ever forgot that day.  

They would live, forever in the shadow, of that one encounter with God.