on the edge

David has an anatomy and physiology professor that was talking about that--how we're really all on the edge. What a tenuous bundle of precision is required for the sustenance of human life. Blood and vessels, hormones, nerves, electrical impulses, organs and fluids, constantly pumping and valving. It's all a completely foreign language to me and yet more parts that I have even begun to have names for are at work to keep me living, breathing, thinking.

This morning as we prayed I imagined it. The edge--a scary place to be. Gives me the yeeks and I don't like it one bit. I don't want to be here. I want to be certain that things will be okay. Especially big things. I want to know the way and plan what we'll have for dinner tomorrow and what we'll name the baby.

But there is only one guarantee. Jesus says I am the way, the truth and the life. So, if Jesus is the way...oh, do I ever need him. The calendar, our balanced budget, meals in the freezer, my checked list, dear friends, a thriving church, routine, a good report from the doctor, vaccinations--none of those good things provides any actual security. Really.

And yet, the glorious mystery of it all is this: if/when I am aware and trusting Jesus as I live on the edge, I can dance. I can twirl a crazy twirl and do one of those exuberant ballet leaps with my knees all poking out in the wrong directions--right on the very edge and without fear. It won't matter if I mis-step. It doesn't matter one bit because I will be caught in the grace. Caught by Christ.

I would rather have that. Rather live joyfully twirling, even when my vision is blurred by tears--right on the very, very edge of life--than hanging from weeds and dirt clods by my fingernails, trying not to numb myself to the drop looming below. So today I fight to be here. I fight to twirl and trust on this very edge.

we know that--

--everyone who has been born of God does not keep on sinning 

          but he who was born of God protects him

          and the evil one does not touch him.

--we are from God

     and the whole world lies in the power of the evil one.

--the Son of God has come 

          and has given us understanding (so that we may know him who is true)

     and we are in him who is true (in his Son Jesus Christ).

He is the true God and eternal life.

Little children, keep yourselves from idols.

(1 John 5:18-21)

That's all for now. Just some verses, some things I want to understand in the core of my soul. And a pretty picture.

a story of the kingdom

Long ago, 

at many times and in many ways,

God spoke to our fathers by the prophets.

But in these last days he has spoken to us by a Son

(whom he appointed the heir of all things)

(through whom he also created the world).

He is the radiance of the glory of God,

the exact imprint of his being,

holding the universe together by his powerful word.

After he had made purification for sins,

he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high...

from Hebrews 1 (combined ESV, NIV, RSV translations)

Ah ha! This is our story! This is what shapes our today! This is our King, our God! Don't forget it!

pass by me

Our church has been reading and thinking and talking and praying about this section from Mark 6 for the past weeks. It happens just after Jesus and the disciples broke a few loaves of bread and fed 5,000 people.

Immediately he made his disciples get into the boat and go before him to the other side, to Bethsaida, while he dismissed the crowd. And after he had taken leave of them, he went up on the mountain to pray. And when evening came, the boat was out on the sea, and he was alone on the land. And he saw that they were making headway painfully, for the wind was against them. And about the fourth watch of the night he came to them, walking on the sea. He meant to pass by them, but when they saw him walking on the sea they thought it was a ghost, and cried out, for they all saw him and were terrified. But immediately he spoke to them and said, Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid. And he got into the boat with them, and the wind ceased. And they were utterly astounded, for they did not understand about the loaves, but their hearts were hardened.

In the midst of their exhaustion and the raging storm, Jesus meant to pass by. Really? Look at it. It sounds like he meant to walk right past them and meet them on the opposite side. He saw their distress and he didn't care? Like rubberneckers on the freeway after an accident. I'll just look at the trouble and say, "Bummer!" Jesus often confuses me, but this seems so contrary to his character. To see distress, to see his men making headway painfully and to pass by.

But then we were pointed to Moses and to Elijah. God also passed by them--passed by his chosen, stiff-necked, hard-hearted people. The disciples, Moses, Elijah (and often us, too) were/are in places of chaos, fear, separation, darkness. And God, the God who sees, passed by:

The Lord said to Moses, "I will make my goodness pass before you and will proclaim before you my name 'The Lord.' And I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy....Behold, there is a place by me where you shall stand on the rock, and while my glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with my hand until I have passed by."

And Elijah, when he was in great despair, hiding and wishing to die:

Behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper. And when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his cloak and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. And behold, there came a voice to him...

So I think about us. When we are in chaos, fear, separation, darkness.

Oh, God, pass by! Pass by and show us your goodness, let us know your grace, mercy. I want to see your glory. Let us be by you. Cover us. Speak to us with your low whisper.

May we see with our eyes--
        when the man on the water walks toward us,
hear with our ears--
        in the midst of the whipping wind, the earthquake, the fire,
understand with our hearts.

May we turn and be healed.

education and life

I keep asking myself how school and life fit together.


The last few years I've done a range of long-term, temporary and shorter teaching jobs. I've taught Math, Social Studies, English, PE, Spanish, Health. There have been kids labeled as bilingual, autistic, "Talented and Gifted" and ADHD. Kids that go to Paris for the summer and kids that go to Mexico for Christmas. I've taught little people who are wiggling out of their skins and I've taught middle schoolers that are growing into their lanky limbs. I've taught in a school with a parking lot full of Hybrids and dirt-less SUVs, where kids play golf, do archery and climb in their own rock gym for PE. And I've taught in places with few books, where children have bright, snapping brown eyes and timidly test their English words on me as they eat their free breakfast, warming before school.


There is so much to learn about the art of leading a classroom of people. I now know that I don't actually speak Spanish, but that I'm pretty competent at teaching it. I know that to play hangman with my name at the beginning of class can setup a group to be more productive in the remaining forty-five minutes than they could've in an hour without it. I know how to simultaneously give a nasty snap at the chitter-chatters, and delightedly listen to another. I know that standing at the door and looking each kid in the eyes as they come and go (even when they're too cool to see me!), can earn a teacher a few hugs and a lot of respect. I've learned that bodies sprawl in funny positions when people are really reading. I've learned working usually sounds like a low murmur--the whir of the brain. I know that there are things in life that are way, way, way more important than the grammar worksheet. I've learned that often the more softly I speak, the more clearly I'm heard. I've learned to sparingly and sharply deliver a deadly, evil eye and to find true joy in the quirky doodles of the quietly overlooked boy in the corner. I've learned to let go, not worry so much about being "in control of the classroom" as much as to respect and defend the learner-ship of the people in it. And I've recently noticed that not only do I need a lot of help, but that kids like to help out (if they like you). And that they usually like me if I like them.


Gosh. That's just in these first six weeks, not to mention the lessons over the past two years.


This is my third year of substitute teaching. I can't decide if I like it this way. On one hand, because I don't have my own bins of journals to grade and piles of lessons to plan I have space to think and cook and enjoy life with David and family and neighbors; but on the other hand, I'm frustrated by the in-and-out nature of a substitute's relationships with kids. Funny trade-off. I want to know, are the options mutually exclusive?


---------
I'm thinking about these things because this morning I watched a fascinating video about education, creativity and expectations of and on schools and little people. Sir Ken Robinson said, "Most people are getting educated out of creativity." Is there any hope for the re-imagining of education? Are public schools stunting learning? 

So, after all that, I still think it comes back to the teacher and her thirty kids. Is the teacher a learner? Is the teacher a lover? And then, the big question in my mind, how to allow the teacher enough life-room to be a learner and be a lover?