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Lost in Thought

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Profoundly Affected

Virginia Tech. Or as one of my favorite bumper stickers has it, Vajenya Tek.

I'm surprised at how I feel concerning yesterday's events. Of course, I am shocked, saddened, and dismayed. Columbine brought the same emotions. As did the Beltway Sniper(s). 9/11 brought them, too, but with even more shock along with anger added to the mix.

VT has produced in me profound grief. I mourn. It's the same I felt when I lost my brother and then my step-father.

I'm surprised I feel this so deeply because ... well ... I'm not an alumnus. Sure, I have friends who are and my brother-in-law also is, but I've never even been on the campus. I did apply to attend college there, but somehow they didn't get all my high school info (I think my counselor dropped the ball); since I wanted to go to GMU anyway, I didn't pursue it any further.

So is it really possible I feel this way because of my rather loose affiliations? Or is it because my three youngest kids are college age? Or is it because I am part of the educational establishment myself? Or maybe I feel this because I am — from the outer most surface of my "personal bubble" to the very core of my soul — a Virginian, and this took place in my "home"? (Do I hear a faint ringing of the truth bell on that last one?)

I don't know.

I just want to go to some quiet, solitary place — and cry.

The Dark Side

Hate, hate, hate. Loathe, despise, and HATE.

That's really what I wanted to say on my Xanga.

But that just seemed like too public a forum. I mean, there are people that actually read it. Far fewer here.

So, what prompts this paroxysm of contempt? Two words: middle school. Not the age; not the students. The "concept." I honestly don't mind working with this age group of kids — though I believe 6th graders should not be included in the middle school age; they should still be considered elementary school. Though not my preference, I have worked with them for 6 years in a more "junior high" setting, and it's really not bad. They can actually be kind of fun. And it's amazing what they can do with extra-curricular full-length popular plays (not the crap that's written for that age). But my point here isn't to pontificate about my educational philosophy. Suffice it to say, the middle school concept and I do NOT fit.

No, what I want to talk about is how much I was hating how my life was going. I quite literally don't know the words to describe the utter and complete despair I felt when I thought of teaching middle school again next year. That loathing despondency weighed me down and saturated my every waking (and some sleeping) moment. I frankly wondered if I would sink into real clinical depression if I had to teach in middle school again. And I hated myself for feeling this way. I mean, God is sovereign and it would have been the best for me. Yet I could not even bring myself to pray that He would change my heart so that I could embrace what He deemed best. I wanted nothing of it. Period.

I've tried to extricate myself from teaching, but God seems intent on keeping me doing it. Not that I mind, in a sense. I mean, I really do love teaching; I love thinking of myself as a teacher (lowly as that is); I love teaching theatre; I love the directing/play production end of it enormously; I love working with and getting to know the students (and maybe influencing them for the gospel in some small way). I love it too much. It consumes me. Completely. In just about every conscious moment my mind is on this or that aspect of teaching or theatre. I try as hard as I can to not let it interfere with my family life and my church life. I fail miserably. But as I've said before, this is what I do best and when I do it well, like Eric Liddell and his running, I feel the pleasure of God. He's shut all other doors, it seems, and boxed me in. At this point, I can't NOT teach theatre.

So, I am happy — and humbled — that God brought along the job at Lassiter HS. I don't deserve it considering the attitude I've had. Yet, this seems to make it fairly clear to me what He wants me to do. And there is truly no other school that I know of where I'd rather teach. Come September, the bloom may fall off the rose like lead through the vacuum of space, but right now it looks like the most unwarranted mercy and favor of God. It seems appropriate to plagiarize myself and end this with the last paragraph of the Xanga post mentioned above:

I am most grateful to God for bringing this my way. I certainly don't feel I deserve it, but I'll take it anyway. "God loves me, and He gave me something wonderful!" — Norman Cornell

Humble Orthodoxy

I wanna go ...

In the First Light

To continue the riff ... The whole gospel story is here. Birth of the Son of God yet man. His earthly ministry. His suffering and death on the cross. The resurrection. His present and future reign.

And again a father's — and now grandfather's :-) — perspective: "That her baby, not yet speaking, was the word of God to man." I remember holding my children as infants and, more recently, my grandson while thinking of this concept and trying to imagine that the Word of God was once such as this. Oh, the depths He went to, to show His love for us. I can scarce take it in.

In the First Light

In the first light of a new day no one knew he had arrived
Things continued as they had been while a newborn softly cried
But the heavens wrapped in wonder knew the meaning of his birth
In the weakness of a baby they knew God had come to earth

As his mother held him closely it was hard to understand
That her baby, not yet speaking, was the word of God to man
He would tell them of his kingdom but their hearts would not believe
They would hate him and in anger they would nail him to a tree

But the sadness would be broken as the song of life arose
And the firstborn of creation would ascend and take his throne
He had left it to redeem us but before his life began
He knew he'd come back, not as a baby, but as the Lord of every man

Hear the angels as they're singing on the morning of his birth
But how much greater will our song be when he comes again to earth
Hear the angels as they're singing on the morning of his birth
But how much greater will our song be when he comes to rule the earth!

One Quiet Moment

I'm going to riff off of Hendri X for this post and the next one ...

I feel very much like he does about O, Holy Night. Yet moving Christmas songs don't have to be 150 years old. (Not that he said they do.) Two of my absolute favorite of all time Christmas songs are "contemporary" compositions penned by my friend, Bob Kauflin, and recorded by a group called Glad. These two songs are In the First Light and One Quiet Moment. Just about every time I hear either one of these songs — or even think of their lyrics like I am now — I weep with wonder and joy. I'd love to post links to MP3's of these songs, but that would be like a major copyright violation, so read the lyrics, listen to the snippets from the links above and imagine.

There are so many things in this song that conjure up vivid pictures and feelings. But I think the one line that always, ALWAYS, puts a lump in my throat is — speaking of Jesus walking with his parents as a young child — "And some days the fingers that had fashioned the stars, Would reach out to hold them when the walk was too far." Wow. I don't now, maybe being a father has something to do with it, but the joy and love there is when your little 4 year-old grabs your hand when walking cannot be measured. Couple that idea with that little hand being the one that created the stars and sent them into their celestial dance, and you get a glimpse of how far Jesus humbled Himself to become man, yet the distance of that great step down shows equally His love for us.

Oh, God. Your ways are too wonderful for me. I cannot comprehend your unfathomable riches. But what joy it is to search out your ways and your truth.

One Quiet Moment

One quiet moment, on a star–clustered night,
Two weary travelers knew an end was in sight;
So the soon-to-be mother, grasped her husband’s strong hand,
And paused to remember where the journey began.

Nine months of yearning filled with joy and with pain;
He almost had left her, but then chose to remain
Close by the woman he had not even kissed,
Who would bear him a son that would never be his.

And in one quiet moment, a woman and man
Accepted the part they would have in God’s plan;
To give up His glory, and be born as a man.
In one quiet moment.

They dreamed of the times they would spend with their son,
Taking trips through the hillsides and watching Him run.
And some days the fingers that had fashioned the stars,
Would reach out to hold them when the walk was too far.

They wrestled with knowing that His life would bring change;
Their friends would grow distant, and shun them as strange.
Though they tried not to think it, in their hearts they were sure,
That their baby was destined to die for the world.

And in one quiet moment, a woman and man
Accepted the part they would have in God’s plan;
To give up His glory, and be born as a man.
In one quiet moment, one quiet moment.

One quiet moment they could suddenly hear
Thousands of angels singing so clear;
“Glory to God, His Salvation is near!”
In this one quiet moment
In this one quiet moment
One quiet moment.

Old Time Radio Hour

Love is all, love is you

Cross-posted with my Xanga ...

 

 

The Beatles.

Love.

I like it.

I want it.

Mucho.

 

 

Hear it yourself: http://www.thebeatles.com/hearlove.

 

New Job; Old Baggage

"How do you like your new job?"

Or some reasonable facsimile thereof.

I keep running into people I haven't seen in a while and that, more or less, is what they ask me. I am thankful I have a job. I am thankful it pays pretty well. I am thankful it is something I know how to do and don't really have to "get up to speed."

But.

It's in a public school. Which I swore I'd never teach in again. It is with middle schoolers. Which I swore I'd never teach again. With sixth graders none-the-less! Which I swore I'd never teach in the first place. I teach SIX classes a day. I've never taught six classes a day. Back in good ol' FCPS, the union made sure that five was the limit. On average, it's a 45+ minute commute one-way. My teaching day doesn't end until 4-frickin'-30. If I have just a 90-minute after school rehearsal (a relatively short rehearsal time), I don't get home before 7:15, usually later.

A further quick note about teaching six classes a day. That's 170 kids that flow through my classroom every day. Trying to remember names, keep order, and advance some sort of learning is like dancing on marbles.

I'm exhausted. I come home, eat a bite of dinner. And vege for the evening. I have plenty I could do, but my brain is so fried, I honestly can't recall any of those things that could be attended to.

Always in the past, the thing that made teaching rewarding was the students. I got to know them after spending months with them. And there were always at least a few each year who were just a pleasure to teach and to know. I don't get that with this situation. Because of the "middle school concept", the kids cycle through drama, and other exploration-type classes, every nine weeks. So, just as I'm beginning to really get to know the kids, they're gone and a new crop comes in. So, I really can't get to know them well enough to have any real feelings of care for them. Heck, I can't even get all of their names memorized before the nine weeks is up. They end up being just a nameless (though not faceless) mob.

I know I've written a lot more negatives than positives, but in terms of "how I like my job", the positives and negatives are pretty balanced. Most of the time. So I don't really know how to answer people. They want to hear good news. But even my best attempts at just highlighting the positives in answer still come out sounding like damning with faint praise.

I hope people stop asking soon.

I've long battled contentment "issues" in regard with my various jobs over the years. It truly breaks my heart that I apparently have learned little.

God, save me from myself.

First Post

Hmmm ... Will I follow Hendri X and leave Xanga? We'll see.