Goodnight, Dear Lily

Note: I wrote this from a point of sheer emotional and physical exhaustion.  It is what it is. 

So after a wonderfully relaxing spring break with my mom, I walked into my house, ready for the week to come, ready to end this year on a strong note.  I was ready to be an adult again.

My respite came to a jarring halt as soon as I walked upstairs to check on my dog, Lily.  My roommate had been watching her this week, so I was not alarmed when silence greeted me as I opened my bedroom door.  She was sleeping.  I quietly peered over the baby gate, watching her sleep peacefully under my vanity.  I knew calling her would be pointless- she had lost her hearing long ago. So I slowly climbed over the gate and bent down to her. Still, she did not move.  I put my hand on her head, and instead of startling her to her feet which was my usual greeting, she slowly, groggily lifted her head. She saw me, and almost anti-climatically, put her head back down.

To save you the graphic details, I have spent the entire day laying in my bed holding her. Where there was once a spark of life, now there is only a vacant stare.  Her eyes tell all- she is leaving me. She is tired.  She is ready.

This little dog has been a constant in my life for the past 15 years.  She has been exactly who I needed her to be when I needed it.  She was the one who listened to all of my middle school secrets- the drama, the boys, the teachers who "hated me."  She was the one who cuddled with me as I cried at the news of my mom's upcoming marriage and move to Indiana.  She was the one who licked my hand and nuzzled close when I experienced my first heartbreak.  She was there when I slept alone in my house for the first time.  Even though her small stature and measly four pounds would barely startle an intruder much less protect me, her mere presence brought me peace that first night.  She has been there for me through it all.

And now it seems I'll have to do this part alone. For her. Because she has done so much for me.

Sweet Dreams, Little One.

March 30, 2012

A Quiet Break from It All

"Life is rough.  It's also beautiful, but if we can't get some respite from its cruelty, we will never have the healthy vision to savor its tender beauty." (Beth Moore)


My restful reprieve after a very turbulent week and arguably an exhausting few months, came in the form of an afternoon wrapped in my grandmother's knitted blanket, listening to the harmonic blend of instrumental music, children laughing in a neighboring backyard, and lawn mowers and weed trimmers.  Yes, this simplistic day has renewed my spirit.  It was the "respite from [life's] cruelty" that Beth Moore describes. 


My life over the past few months can be characterized by a lack of sleep, an endless series of commitments and obligations, and a feeling of utter exhaustion.  All of this culminated with me sitting in my classroom on a Friday afternoon before break, crying.  I was crying for the hurting kids I am blessed to know and do life with.  I was crying at my own feelings of futility at not being able to do more for them.  I was crying because I am unreservedly sensitive, a tender-heart who struggles with the pain of others.  In fact, I blogged about it all on Friday afternoon, but for the purpose of self-preservation, I have decided not to post it. 


Life was getting me down.  


So my peaceful corner in this world- the enclosed porch of my parents' house on our lake in Indiana, was God's gift of peace and respite.  Psalm 29:11 states, "The Lord gives strength to His people; the Lord blesses His people with peace." I am thankful for a God who loves me enough to gift me with a day like today.  He knew how I desperately I needed it. 


The calm of a good book and a cup of coffee have rejuvenated my spirit.  It is in this time of quiet that I feel most connected to God.  It is so easy to get wrapped up in the appointments, the to-do lists of the day-to-day, that sometimes, God inadvertently takes a backseat.  As much as I try to keep Him centered in everything I do, if I were to be honest, when I get overwhelmed with my schedule, He becomes another thing to check off of my "master list." Guilt-ridden from missing the boat yet again, I fervently try even harder to make Him my ultimate priority.  I do well for a day or so, but life eventually gets busier, and my quiet time with God becomes sporadic.  I end up feeling even more disappointed in myself.


But, this day has been a simple reminder that God loves me.  My earnest and childish attempts to "do better" make Him laugh.  He loves me so completely, so entirely, that while I know He loves spending time with me on these quiet afternoons, He also loves me on my busy, stress-filled days, the days when a simple, "I need You," is all I can mutter.  He is walking with me through it all.  Days like today should be cherished and remembered because I know that my life will inevitably get crazy again. Life will get rough.  But God is there, loving me through it all. 


So Lord, thank you for this break from the hurting, the exhaustion, and the tears.  It is with new vision that I am savoring the beauty of this life. 

A Blog Post about a Race...creative, right?

I have heard, "Chase after Jesus" or "Set your sights on Jesus," more times than I can count.  These bumper sticker slogans are tossed around so often in the Christian community, that to be honest, I've never really thought much about them.  I mean obviously, if we claim to be Christ's followers, we should be chasing after him.  It's a given.  Done.  Moving on.

But a string of events this weekend has made me think twice about these cliche phrases.  Life is a marathon race.  Ok, I admit it, this is not a profound analogy. It's not original, and I'd even venture to say, it's just as trite as the previously mentioned slogans.  In fact, you're probably sitting there thinking...Great, another blog about how someone has "figured" out life.  Haha, nope. I have not figured out anything.  But this weekend has left me so emotionally drained, and I need to process.  So I blog.  Feel free, of course, to stop reading this and switch to a blog with creative recipes that use olive oil and ricotta cheese instead of butter (it's possible...Google it). 

Anyhow, my late night rant presses on.

I believe that God is good and His promises are true.  I also know that He has me on an incredible journey that will be undoubtedly hard and relentlessly frustrating, but the reward at the end is going to make all the tears and sweat worth it. 

And here's where my ridiculously cliche analogy stems from:

Tonight, one of my dearest and closest friends, who I should mention started running my race with me over 15 years ago, told me some incredible, life-changing news.  My heart leaped out of my chest for her.  I have been running life with her for so long that her celebrations are my celebrations, and equally, her failures and disappointments are my own.  I have seen her fall.  I have seen her quit.  I have seen her literally sit down, pouting that she wouldn't take one more step forward.  But I have also seen her press on, fully living in a peace and joy only explained by God's grace and love for her.  So her news is something that I feel blessed to get to share with her.

But it also struck a painful chord in me, a chord I didn't know I had.  Tonight, I realized that she is at a different mile marker than I am.  Her road blocks and speed bumps are no longer ones I will be able to relate to.  She is so far ahead of me that our struggles are not comparable anymore.  I realized tonight that a friend I had started running with so long ago had paced herself very differently than I had, and as a result, our races are no longer the same.

So, confused by my sudden change in emotional state, I called another dear friend of mine.  She and I have only been running side by side for a little less than a year, but her friendship is no less important to me.  She told me that when running a marathon, "Someone will always show up at mile 24 to encourage you to keep going."  She is my mile 24 pep talk.  Her words made me laugh.  They made me feel normal again.  She told me I wasn't crazy and that it was possible, expected even, to feel such juxtaposing emotions.  I stopped crying. Win. 

But here's what I really learned.  God is using my running buddies for His purpose.  He is using my old friend to show me where I ultimately want to go in my life, that if I keep running after Jesus the way she has, then eventually, I'll be on the same path as her again (*fingers crossed).  And He's also using my mile 24 friend (who I confidently know will not be a small blip on my "life radar." She is stuck with me. Sorry, Friend), to show me I'm not alone. There are people running right beside me, encouraging me not to quit, not to stop hoping.

I believe God has a great road ahead of me.  And with Jesus as my coach, I know I'll reach the end.  I might just have a ridiculously slower pace than everyone else.

There Are Some Decent Ones Left...

There are some days in a teacher's career where when the final bell rings and students scurry home, or in my case, to the local park to engage in delinquent behavior (Aurora- enough said), that a teacher will question the very reason she entered this profession.  These days leave us exhausted, frustrated, bitter, or worse yet, indifferent.  Unfortunately, I admit that this profession has left me a little jaded.  


Apathetic and broken students, who are just trying to survive life, much less, learn standard English conventions, break my heart.  I know the future that awaits them if they continue on their path. It's pretty bleak. 


Coworkers, who seemingly hate kids, break students' confidence, love for learning, and willingness to work on their issues.  They negate any strides I could have made with the students mentioned above.  


Then, there are parents- parents who have done nothing for their child, except set them up for imminent failure.  Unexcused absences, no accountability, selfishness- whatever the reason, they single-handedly shatter their child's self-esteem and ability to succeed.  It is these parents that make my heart hurt.  These people are supposed to be their child's advocate.  Instead of cheering their child on, I am seeing more and more parents who are simply failing them.  


But today is a day of celebration, not frustration.


Today restored my faith in parents, specifically fathers.  I have a student, we'll call him John*, who moved here from another state.  He was living with his mother in a severely unstable home.  His wrap sheet from his previous school was a mile long, and truthfully, my first thought when I saw my "New Student Email" was pure terror.  This kid is going to be tough.  As a last ditch effort to help John, the courts sent him to live with his father here in Aurora.  He had not seen his father in about 10 years.  Nervously willing, Bill* agreed to take custody of his troubled son.  


It's been tough.  Real tough. On all of us.  


But today, as John, his teachers, his principal, and his father sat conferencing about his recent infraction, tears began to well inside.  As I watched Bill sternly talk to his son, I realized This father was a real man.  Yes, he's been absent from John's life for 10 years.  Yes, he should have been there all along.  And yes, he carries some of the responsibility in John being the way he is, but man, has this father stepped up to the plate now.  He is leading his son in the right direction.  He is not backing down when John challenges him.  He is loving his son, despite his temper and aggression.  He is single-handedly giving his son a chance to make-it.  I do what I can, and I'm not belittling what I or any other teacher do, but he, this father, recognized his own legacy on his son and as a result, is changing the course of history.  Now, with utmost confidence and conviction, I know John is going to make-it.   


Today, I am proud to be a teacher and get to work alongside fathers, and mothers, and any other adult who steps up and advocates for a child.  They are challenging my jadedness with this profession.  


As Bill walked out of the principal's office, his son in tote, I said a silent prayer.  


God- Give him and every other parent who is doing it the right way, the strength and wisdom to lead their kids.  Bless them, Father.