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. 

My Interest with Pinterest

So I've recently jumped on the Pinterest Bandwagon, partly because I can't avoid pop culture phenomena and partly because I liked the photography pins some of my friends were posting.  Anyhow, I'm amazed at how one of my boards appropriately titled, "Life Needs More Laughter," is creating a pretty expansive following.  Most of the people who watch this board only exist in an online community, and I'll likely never meet them face to face.  Is this the new age of blogging?  Are people not even taking the time to write out their thoughts? Instead, they can easily convey their moods, personality, and interests by clicking the Pin It button below their toolbar. You can learn a lot about someone based on their Pinterest boards.

For example, one of my friends has a Wedding Board and a Baby Board.  Interestingly enough, she's been married for over a year now, long before she got on board with Pinterest, and as far as I know, a little baby Schumann is not in the works yet.  But, she is the do-er, the Type-A person, who loves event planning.  She loves decorating, crafts, creating ambiance with correct lighting and candles.  Of course she would have two boards like that. I'd expect nothing less from her.

A culinary enthusiast friend pins recipes she'd like to try, cakes so beautiful and intricate that they couldn't possibly be edible, and exercise ideas, obviously to help curb any additional poundage from her aforementioned two boards.  Food is her life.

So what do my boards say about me?  I'd say a couple of things.  First, I have a "Beauty in the Ordinary" board where I pin simplistically beautiful photos.  I do this in an effort to remind myself that even in the most common and small places, there is beauty.  Whether it be the design made in the foam of a cappuccino, or an auburn leaf grasping to hold onto its branch for a moment longer, or two young people unabashedly loving one another.  All beautiful. All simple.  Maybe we'd all be a little bit happier if we searched for beauty in the ordinary.

Another board I have is "Stylish."  I am by no way claiming I am stylish. Far from it.  I just have high aspirations that one day I'll know which shoes to wear with which jeans, which colors compliment each other so as not to rely too heavily on my black cardigan as my only accessory, and to know that one day, I might actually be able to pull of hats with an outfit.  My "stylish" board could also be appropriately titled, "Not Likely for Nicole."

Last and the inspiration for this blog post, my board, "Life Needs More Laughter."  This board has followers- real people who care to see the things I find humorous.  Yes, I agree life is funny and several of my pins still get me laughing out loud, but I can't help but wonder, why is this one so popular?  I think many of us are so frustrated, exhausted, or beat down with life that a simple card joking about internet stalking makes us laugh.  We are all desperate to find joy in our lives, that sometimes the only uplifting thing we have is a pin it making fun of Neville from Harry Potter.  It's kind of sad, really.  Life shouldn't be doing that to us.

An Exhausted Heart

"There is only one way to happiness and that is to cease worrying about things which are beyond the power of our will." -Epictetus

My heart is heavy.  All around me, I see women, including myself, grappling with feelings of insecurity.  We all desperately want to find value and love in a world that is constantly telling us we are not good enough.  Magazines, television, parents, friends even, demand that we look, dress, and act a certain way.  The ramifications are devastating.

Young girls are becoming ashamed of their bodies, believing that if they were thinner, blonder, bustier, then finally, they would be happy.  They don't see value in self-expression and originality.  Instead, the feel most normal, most secure, when they act and think the way society tells them they should.  These beautiful, young girls are going to drastic measures to fit in.  I'm not sure how much more my heart can endure if I see one more 6th or 7th grade girl beginning to wear baggy sweatshirts to cover the marks on her arms that she has inflicted. How does she not see what I see? Or more importantly, how does she not see what God sees? 

Women my age are not immune to feeling insecure and inadequate. In essence, we are still 12 year old girls yearning to look and act in a way that will allow us to feel truly captivating.  The difference between us now and our 12 year old selves is our scars are no longer visible.  Our scars now cover our hearts.  Failed relationships and destructive decisions regretfully convey how our insecurities have left us feeling dejected and worthless.  I'm not sure how much more my heart can endure if I have to have one more conversation with a friend about how a man shouldn't be allowed to tell us we're beautiful, or about how giving our hearts away recklessly only further hardens them towards love.  How do my friends not see what I see? Or more importantly, how do they not see what God sees?

The more I learn about women, the more I realize we're all the same.  We all want to feel accepted and special.  We all mistakenly look to earthly things to find our worth.  And we all experience the pain when that blows up in our face.

But tonight, I am also feeling hopeful.  I am on a journey to leave Insecurity behind. I know it won't be easy.  I know I'll stumble.  But I also know God's love is the only thing I can find security in, in my mess of a life. I also know there is great freedom in putting my worth in His hands.  It is far easier to please one person who loves me so completely and so truly, than a massive world that doesn't even care to know the real me.   So it is with new resolve that I feel my heart getting a little lighter.

So long, Insecurity. 

Polishing my life...er...my nails

You're a Pisa Work.    Bastille My Heart.     Plugged in Plum.  

No, this post is not about O.P.I. nail colors, although I must admit, they have a brilliant marketing team.  I mean, how can you not smile when you turn over that small bottle and read, "Do You Lilac It?" or "I Pink I Love You"?  Call me an English teacher, but I think these little play on words are just so darn clever. 

Anyhow, I only bring this up, because for the past eight months, I have sported a shade of pink, purple, or red on my fingertips. You see, I'm eternally and regretfully a nail bitter.  I have been ever since I can remember.  In fact, there are several disturbing photos of me as a young child with an entire foot in my mouth, biting. Why my mother decided to capture those moments on film and not chastise me for my unhygienic behavior, I'll never know.  Fortunately, my toe biting days have long gone, and as of recent, I'm proudly a recovering fingernail biter.  I have been "sober" since my life turned upside-down this past April.  Ever since then, I have donned nicely manicured nails.  Here's why.

First, when I look down, I see a colorful reminder that once a nail biter, always a nail biter.  For the first time in my life, my hands don't look like that of an 11 year old boy, and I'd really like to keep it that way.  I feel like it gives me just a little more street cred when talking with parents.  

Secondly, I have probably avoided many more colds this season because my hands, which are immersed daily in middle school germs, have not been in my mouth. Gross, but true. 

But even more importantly, I keep my nails painted to remind myself that I an eight-months strong.  Eight months of not biting.  Eight months of being single.  Eight months of being happy.  

For most of my adult life, I was someone's "girlfriend." It was like a bad habit I couldn't overcome. I was that girl who, despite several conversations with friends about the doubt and red flags I saw in my relationships, stayed.  I just couldn't kick the habit of needing someone.  The fear of being alone trumped the fear of being unhappy and unfulfilled by a wrong relationship.

Not surprisingly, April wasn't my choice. He ended it, and to my dismay, it turned my entire world upside-down.  I felt panicked, confused, hurt, just utterly broken.  I felt like my whole world was spinning rapidly out of control, and there was no pleading or rationalizing that could fix it.  Painting my nails was my tangible way of reclaiming control of my life.  I couldn't fix a broken relationship, or even my broken heart for that matter, but I could fix my nasty nail biting habit.  And I did.  

So as I sit here, looking at the Christmas red on my fingertips, I smile.  I haven't faltered.  I haven't given in to bite that one nail.  Don't get me wrong, the temptation has been there, and I admit, the thought has crossed my mind once or twice, but the nail polish reminds me of how far I've come.  I'm not giving in now. I won't bite.  And, because writers write with metaphors in mind, I haven't given in to being someone's girlfriend either.  Looks like two bad habits have been kicked.  Win.