November has come gently. Blue skies most days, sunlight brighter than days this deep in the year usually allow. Golden leaves still hanging on trees until just this week or so. Even now, with bare skeletons of trees the light is just colorful and full- the clouds are still billowy- more voluminous than November and winter usually allow. Even today the sunset was spectacular. Days have been warm- so many 60 degree days, even a few in the 70s. What happened to my grey frigid dark Novembers? If God is giving me a reprieve from my 5 Novembers/winters or trials, He's sure being clear about it- making it look like the safe summers I've always known. But He knows me, He knows I'm too dense to take anything but overt signals that everything will be ok.
And so, gently came November 18th, the last day of the seventieth week. It came up quietly, I did not realize it had come until I walked outside that morning and faced the sun. Something about the light reminded me. I suppose you're ready for some answers now, huh?
I prayed for 70 weeks about what God wanted me to do next, who I should do it with, where he wanted me to go, who he wanted me to be. I was looking for definitive answers, some clear cut logistical, obvious answers. The who, what, when, where, why or at least one of those.
But this was a journey rather than a destination so there's more to say than just a simple resolution. Upon arriving at November 18th there was nothing eventful, no specific revelation on that day- it has been continually evolving. And so I find myself at the end of quite the trip, but when faced with the end we find ourselves
means going back to the beginning. In fact, we find that where we began has completely defined where we have landed. Let's not forget that these 70 weeks began with 70 days of focusing on loving God properly- beginning here makes all the difference in the world and now I see so clearly why I've come to the answer I've come to.
In re-reading all my old posts I now clearly see the line between everything I was learning these 70 days/weeks and the conclusion I reached. The answer has been here all along. In fact, it's amazing that it took 70 weeks to get here when I had already stumbled upon this simple notion in week FIVE. Like I said, I'm dense.
I began these 70 weeks of prayer with less than open and completely God centered ideas. While I had open ended prayers on where God wanted me, who he wanted me to be, I had a very specific selfish question related to where I should go that I wanted answered. I had planned to deal with it at the end of my 70 weeks, so in these past few days, if God had given me the answer I wanted.
Heh.
Here's the thing about God- He almost never gives you the answer you wanted because you were too blind to know that it wasn't really want you wanted in the first place. God will give you the desires of your heart if you ask but often, God knows the desires of your heart better than you do.
Throughout the course of my 70 weeks I found myself completely leaving behind the idea that backed my original selfish twist on my overall "where am I going/who should I be/what should I do" prayer. My faith was tested, I went through some of the hardest things I have ever had to deal with emotionally, I had to kill idols and work to rebuild holes in my heart, and realized that 70 days wasn't enough to love God properly and, looking back, the entirety of my 70 weeks was learning about loving God properly. And of course, I still don't- but my relationship with God has changed drastically from where I started in July of 2010- in fact, while learning about agape in bible study last week we analyzed if our love for God was agape love. I was surprised to see that if it wasn't there, it was pretty close. I take so much more joy in God now that I did 70 weeks ago. More daily, momentary joy. I talk to Him so much more, I feel His peace so much more, He is with me all the time and I am much more aware of it than I used to be. Our relationship is less one sided and more, well, relationship-y.
Last year, the primary idol that kept me from loving God in this way was in its death throes as I heard the song, "I want you to be my love" by Over the Rhine. This is one of their lyrically simpler songs and I think people like it because it's a seemingly sweet and simple ode to a human love. I remember this song breaking my heart because I couldn't feel it- I couldn't say it to someone rightfully.
I think you need a reference point as this is the crux of the point that I'm making:
I want you to be my love
I want you to be my love
'Neath the moon and the stars above
I want you to be my love
I want you to know me now
I want you to know me now
Break a promise make a vow
I know you want me now
Like I want you
I want you to be my love
I want you to be my love
'Neath the moon and the stars above
I want you to be my love
'Cause I want you
I know all you--
All you've been through
Recently, I took a long drive through New England autumn and put on the album that contained that song- an album that once was very hard for me to listen to. And this time, when I heard "I want you to be my love" instead of thinking of trying to be able to feel and sing the words to someone, I heard them the way I think they are best expressed- in perhaps Over the Rhine meant them- as God singing to me, saying all of those words to me. And there it was.
70 weeks of prayer asking Where I should go, What I should do, Who I should be and God said, "I want you to be my love."
I want to laugh and cry and scream in relief and frustration and love all at the same time. I know this is God's answer and I know it's from God because, well, it's SO like God to do something like that.
Here I come to him asking for all these human-like answers- logistical answers, specific answers. I want to know what I need to DO to please Him and do his will? And does he give me anything particular, no. He just tells me to be His. This is particularly big for a person like me whose relationship with God is so based on doing/action fulfilling His will for me (almost in a prideful sense, thinking God has given me gifts for the purpose of using them for His glory- which is true- but to the point that I think He needs me, which He certainly does not)that for Him to answer a prayer like this in a way the involves me doing nothing but being with Him, has nothing to do with teaching, my calling, work, etc. is huge. I've said before that I'm more of a Martha than a Mary. I also talked in that post about my working on loving God properly in my 70 weeks because 70 days hadn't been sufficient. And here was God telling me, "Audrey, more than all the work you could do with all the gifts I've given you, with all the ways you've been growing in me, more than all the ways I'd like you to show my glory, I just want you to be my love." What is more beautiful and amazing than that? Sure, God has plans for me, sure God wants me to do things, but more than all of that- He just wants to be with me- even with "all (I've) been through"-only He can truly know all that- and yet loves me anyway.
Not only is this answer amazing for that reason, it's amazing because it builds off of what my 70 weeks turned out to really be about and how it started- loving God properly. All God really wants for me in my next phase of life- in my entire life, here and in eternity, is to have a relationship with Him and love Him with all my heart, my soul, my might.
Not only that, it builds on what I've felt especially convicted about recently: "do not worry about tomorrow for today has enough worries of its own." I heard the idea in bible study that if we knew exactly what was going to happen we wouldn't check with God all the time- we wouldn't be in as close a relationship with Him.
God is telling me right now that I don't need to worry about the specifics- He is the important part, the rest will come.
From a logistical stand point, I'm going to apply everywhere- IL/WI within 3 hour radius of Chicago and that dream school in Seattle. God has given me some clearer answers throughout my 70 weeks on just enough of the logistical things. He's basically saying that Chicago/IL/WI area is where I need to end up, although I don't know if it's for right now or later. All I know is it's in the future sometime and that New England is done after this year no matter how much I love and will miss my life here in a way I can't express. It's like God's singing that Sonic Youth song, "closing time"- "you don't have to go Home, but you can't stay here." Sorry New England, I don't mean to compare you to a seedy bar. So there's the most specificity I can give you, in case you really needed some of it after reading my blabbering blogs for so long.
But even if I don't know where I'll be in 9 months, in the next phase of my life, I know, better than I did when I began (and that's all I can ask for, really), who I will be in this next phase and forever- His beloved. And every day is filled with moments- love letters God is writing to me, reminding me over and over again,
I want you to be my love
'Neath the moon and the stars above
I want you to be my love
'Cause I want you
I know all you--
All you've been through.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Week 69: All Things Bright and Beautiful
Sometimes I feel like I'm fighting a war. Sometimes, the darkness that just wants to overtake everything perfect and everyone beautiful just overwhelms. Sometimes, I feel like love and loss just ebb and flow like the tide as does the surge of beauty and the pulling away as darkness sets in. I am eternally the shore at the mercy of the waves- but at least they're a thing to behold, an amazing thing to feel against you.
Lately, I've been closing my eyes and just listening to the sounds around me, opening my ears to the beauty whizzing by. Sometimes, if I just shut out all the distractions to my eyes, I can hear beauty so much better: laughter, the fluttering of papers, the rustling of the trees, the wind through the window, all the teachers and students voices all around the house, music coming from somewhere. Everything tinkles and rattles and rumbles around into some harmonic cacophony crafted by an eccentric yet wise Composer.
Today, all the sensations around me seemed to hold still so I could just see- true still lifes. I sat in church in groggy peace, so glad to sit through an entire worship service despite exhaustion/lack of sleep that I sleepily reveled in just being in God's presence. I got up to go to the bathroom and found a door open to our church backyard. No cold November air came in, I could feel no difference with the door being open. Only the sound of the church choir drifted into my consciousness- otherwise it was just me and this still, sharp colorful scene- a line of pine trees, so green, their bark so red and brown, the ground a rich earthy color, the sky somehow sharply grey. Everything was so clear- I felt as though I could just see. Then while driving home I stopped at a stop light and spotted a field of tall grass, their cottony tops waving in the breeze amongst grey skeletons of long dead and bare trees. Behind them was a backdrop of a pale blue sky- the color you only get when the light changes to winter light. It looked like some beautiful, barren blue wasteland. Yet so sharp, crisp and clear- everything contrasting and standing out against itself. The Painter truly has good composition.
I spend so much time looking at the future, I forget to take in all the moments that are right here right now- the good and the bad, silence and noise, brightness, clarity, color, blackness. Camaraderie as I watch grown women play a game with a monitor, crawling on stairs in weird positions so it doesn't go off. Friendship as I sleep over at a friend's and together we laugh about her trip to hell and back. Darkness as it turns a happy person into one who cannot function anymore. Curiosity across faces that long for God. Peace that comes in soft afternoon sunlight. Joy across teacher's faces at student progress. Relief at laughter that follows the screaming, normalcy that follows the madness. Meaning in conversations full of connection between people across generations, across cultures.
Sometimes it's not about where you'd going, it's about being present in where you are.
I walked through the grocery store parking lot like I was walking through the scene of some epic war movie. Orange dry oak leaves tumbled all around me epically in the wind and I heard cans rattle on the pavement, echoing inside their tin shells. All this week it feels like we've been walking in darkness, learning how much we need redemption- but all this darkness awakens me to open my ears, focus my eyes, sharpen my soul and truly experience all things bright and beautiful even when the night seems so long.
\
Lately, I've been closing my eyes and just listening to the sounds around me, opening my ears to the beauty whizzing by. Sometimes, if I just shut out all the distractions to my eyes, I can hear beauty so much better: laughter, the fluttering of papers, the rustling of the trees, the wind through the window, all the teachers and students voices all around the house, music coming from somewhere. Everything tinkles and rattles and rumbles around into some harmonic cacophony crafted by an eccentric yet wise Composer.
Today, all the sensations around me seemed to hold still so I could just see- true still lifes. I sat in church in groggy peace, so glad to sit through an entire worship service despite exhaustion/lack of sleep that I sleepily reveled in just being in God's presence. I got up to go to the bathroom and found a door open to our church backyard. No cold November air came in, I could feel no difference with the door being open. Only the sound of the church choir drifted into my consciousness- otherwise it was just me and this still, sharp colorful scene- a line of pine trees, so green, their bark so red and brown, the ground a rich earthy color, the sky somehow sharply grey. Everything was so clear- I felt as though I could just see. Then while driving home I stopped at a stop light and spotted a field of tall grass, their cottony tops waving in the breeze amongst grey skeletons of long dead and bare trees. Behind them was a backdrop of a pale blue sky- the color you only get when the light changes to winter light. It looked like some beautiful, barren blue wasteland. Yet so sharp, crisp and clear- everything contrasting and standing out against itself. The Painter truly has good composition.
I spend so much time looking at the future, I forget to take in all the moments that are right here right now- the good and the bad, silence and noise, brightness, clarity, color, blackness. Camaraderie as I watch grown women play a game with a monitor, crawling on stairs in weird positions so it doesn't go off. Friendship as I sleep over at a friend's and together we laugh about her trip to hell and back. Darkness as it turns a happy person into one who cannot function anymore. Curiosity across faces that long for God. Peace that comes in soft afternoon sunlight. Joy across teacher's faces at student progress. Relief at laughter that follows the screaming, normalcy that follows the madness. Meaning in conversations full of connection between people across generations, across cultures.
Sometimes it's not about where you'd going, it's about being present in where you are.
I walked through the grocery store parking lot like I was walking through the scene of some epic war movie. Orange dry oak leaves tumbled all around me epically in the wind and I heard cans rattle on the pavement, echoing inside their tin shells. All this week it feels like we've been walking in darkness, learning how much we need redemption- but all this darkness awakens me to open my ears, focus my eyes, sharpen my soul and truly experience all things bright and beautiful even when the night seems so long.
\
Weeks 65 & 66: The Direction is West.
Apologies for getting less philosophical and more down to business but as we're approaching the end of these 70 weeks I should update you on the logistical aspects of the options that seem to be appearing for my next phase of life.
As I've said before, I feel called to go back to the Midwest- IL/WI to teach but circumstances changed where I felt that, in the first time in a long time, it didn't have to be now- I could take another year or two somewhere else. Between my mother's somewhat improved health and potential future plans developing for starting a school down the road, I felt led, especially after attending a behavior analysis conference where I saw some amazing research on instructional design, to consider dedicating more years to learning rather than serving. Granted, I'm always serving, but as I've said, these years on the East Coast are focused on learning skills to be a better teacher rather than making a difference in kid's lives. Not that what I'm doing isn't impactual, it's just that the kids I work with are getting pretty much the same level of treatment/instruction whether I'm there or not because they're in a great program while this isn't necessarily the case for kids in the public schools where they don't have access to behavioral technology if there aren't behavior analysts in their district/acting as their teachers.
So, I've learned a lot out here but primarily in dealing with problem behavior and less in terms of instruction- especially how to teach large groups of more typically developing kids. So, there's a school in Seattle- my dream school that I had been in love with long before I even heard about the school where I'm working now- would be a good option because it's focus is on all of the types of instructional methods that I would like to learn more about. My mother loves this idea because she wants me to try out the west coast and honestly, I think I'm a west coast girl in my soul.
Thing is, I know I'm called back to Chicago and I honestly don't want to spend just a year somewhere where I know no one and go a year without much of community because by the time I develop it, it will be time to leave. And how much do I need to go all the way to Seattle to learn these things I feel are lacking? How much do I need another learning year and is it more time to serve students and just jump in with both feet? Something to pray about and I think I will at least apply to the school in Seattle as well as back in the Midwest.
I have a friend who likes to say that the direction he is headed is West even though he's going geographically East because "West" refers to moving toward God.
Well, being on the east coast, regardless of where I decide to move- home or Seattle, at least I know the direction is West- spiritually and geographically.
As I've said before, I feel called to go back to the Midwest- IL/WI to teach but circumstances changed where I felt that, in the first time in a long time, it didn't have to be now- I could take another year or two somewhere else. Between my mother's somewhat improved health and potential future plans developing for starting a school down the road, I felt led, especially after attending a behavior analysis conference where I saw some amazing research on instructional design, to consider dedicating more years to learning rather than serving. Granted, I'm always serving, but as I've said, these years on the East Coast are focused on learning skills to be a better teacher rather than making a difference in kid's lives. Not that what I'm doing isn't impactual, it's just that the kids I work with are getting pretty much the same level of treatment/instruction whether I'm there or not because they're in a great program while this isn't necessarily the case for kids in the public schools where they don't have access to behavioral technology if there aren't behavior analysts in their district/acting as their teachers.
So, I've learned a lot out here but primarily in dealing with problem behavior and less in terms of instruction- especially how to teach large groups of more typically developing kids. So, there's a school in Seattle- my dream school that I had been in love with long before I even heard about the school where I'm working now- would be a good option because it's focus is on all of the types of instructional methods that I would like to learn more about. My mother loves this idea because she wants me to try out the west coast and honestly, I think I'm a west coast girl in my soul.
Thing is, I know I'm called back to Chicago and I honestly don't want to spend just a year somewhere where I know no one and go a year without much of community because by the time I develop it, it will be time to leave. And how much do I need to go all the way to Seattle to learn these things I feel are lacking? How much do I need another learning year and is it more time to serve students and just jump in with both feet? Something to pray about and I think I will at least apply to the school in Seattle as well as back in the Midwest.
I have a friend who likes to say that the direction he is headed is West even though he's going geographically East because "West" refers to moving toward God.
Well, being on the east coast, regardless of where I decide to move- home or Seattle, at least I know the direction is West- spiritually and geographically.
Weeks 55-59 & 63- 64, & 67-68: When do you really get to go home?
Allow me to fill in the gaps of weeks I have missed with this- the explanation of a gap I wish to fill.
I write this to cover all of these weeks because honestly, thoughts on home have been preoccupying my mind many of these 70 weeks- and frequently around the weeks I listed above- if not the entire time. Really, isn't that the question I'm asking with these weeks of prayer when I ask God where he wants me to go next? What I really mean in my selfish heart is, "where is home, God? Where can I go next that can be an earthly home to me and can it be the place that I can really call home, at least in this lifetime?"
I find more and more I have been asking this question: when do we really get to go home?
Alexi Murdoch says first we must go walking on our own. Well, I've done that. He then says, "maybe then we already are home."
Hmm, I suppose in some ways, wherever I am is home to me so in a way he's right. But I want more.
A friend of mine says if we're ever truly satisfied with our earthly home we will never be satisfied with our eternal home. I agree, I'd just like to be more satisfied with my earthly home than I am. I do want a place on earth to call home- a place that just feels right. I feel like I'm always searching for it, always have been, and always will be. Perhaps that feeling is the searching I feel for my eternal home. But there must be some place here where I can be for a while- a place that feels like it's where I'm supposed to be for a while. A place where, after a few years I don't feel the pull, the call to move on again. A place where I feel called to stay a while, establish a community, have ministry I am involved with, and an educational program I am involved with where I can actually make a difference for students.
Besides that, home is not just a place- home is a group of people- a family. Here is one of my biggest gaps- a thing I have always longed for and yet I only am realizing this now. All my life I have longed for community and attempted to create it everywhere I went. I joined clubs and groups in school and tried to create "families" and camaraderie within them. In college I made a particular organization my family, out here, my co-workers and students are my family and I am known as the one who is always planning bonding events, trying to make us more of a community. I find, while I generally find/create close communities, others involved in them treat them as secondary. Their families come first or perhaps a special group of friends. Since I feel that I never really had a family- only my mom- and always wanted a bigger one- I think I try to create one for myself everywhere I go.
One Christmas eve my mother and I drove around by ourselves looking at Christmas lights. We drove by best friend's house and saw her whole huge Italian family laughing and gathered around the tree. We felt like little frozen children or puppies or something sad in some Christmas movie peeking in a window longingly because it felt alone on Christmas. I've always wanted more of a family and I see now all the manifestations of that desire. Now I realize that something I want in the next phase of my life is a family and honestly, my desire for it scares me. I don't want to seek a relationship simply because I want a family out of someone- I don't want to be that girl. I want to meet someone who makes me want to get married and have a family. Just something to pray about, I suppose.
So the question becomes, what is home? At least on earth? A place? A group of people? A group of people in a place? Another one of my friends and I talk extensively about finding home- and how we have it while still keeping the wings we desire, the freedom to travel, the adventure. I find, while I want those things, what I want more is community and I'd give them up and stay in one place to get it. In the end- I think community is a key part of home (and our eternal home, as well, in a way) and thus, to me at least, it's a group of people. In a way then, I've had many homes, everywhere I've roamed. That sounds much more satisfying- we can't disregard every meaningful community and group of people we have in our life simply because we are looking for some place to call home. Everywhere is home. I just want an everywhere that can be home for a long time-longer than anywhere else, so all the other "homes" I've known pale in comparison. I want a long time community- a family. A place that feels right wouldn't hurt either.
And still, I realize, even as I write this- that while it may satisfy this specific desire- even if I find something I would call a prominent earth home- no matter where I go, no matter what job I find, no matter who I could find to marry or what children I could have, no matter who I could meet or befriend- none of this will ever truly satisfy the place in my heart reserved for Home and, until all these things that I imagine and desire pass away, I won't really get to go there.
I write this to cover all of these weeks because honestly, thoughts on home have been preoccupying my mind many of these 70 weeks- and frequently around the weeks I listed above- if not the entire time. Really, isn't that the question I'm asking with these weeks of prayer when I ask God where he wants me to go next? What I really mean in my selfish heart is, "where is home, God? Where can I go next that can be an earthly home to me and can it be the place that I can really call home, at least in this lifetime?"
I find more and more I have been asking this question: when do we really get to go home?
Alexi Murdoch says first we must go walking on our own. Well, I've done that. He then says, "maybe then we already are home."
Hmm, I suppose in some ways, wherever I am is home to me so in a way he's right. But I want more.
A friend of mine says if we're ever truly satisfied with our earthly home we will never be satisfied with our eternal home. I agree, I'd just like to be more satisfied with my earthly home than I am. I do want a place on earth to call home- a place that just feels right. I feel like I'm always searching for it, always have been, and always will be. Perhaps that feeling is the searching I feel for my eternal home. But there must be some place here where I can be for a while- a place that feels like it's where I'm supposed to be for a while. A place where, after a few years I don't feel the pull, the call to move on again. A place where I feel called to stay a while, establish a community, have ministry I am involved with, and an educational program I am involved with where I can actually make a difference for students.
Besides that, home is not just a place- home is a group of people- a family. Here is one of my biggest gaps- a thing I have always longed for and yet I only am realizing this now. All my life I have longed for community and attempted to create it everywhere I went. I joined clubs and groups in school and tried to create "families" and camaraderie within them. In college I made a particular organization my family, out here, my co-workers and students are my family and I am known as the one who is always planning bonding events, trying to make us more of a community. I find, while I generally find/create close communities, others involved in them treat them as secondary. Their families come first or perhaps a special group of friends. Since I feel that I never really had a family- only my mom- and always wanted a bigger one- I think I try to create one for myself everywhere I go.
One Christmas eve my mother and I drove around by ourselves looking at Christmas lights. We drove by best friend's house and saw her whole huge Italian family laughing and gathered around the tree. We felt like little frozen children or puppies or something sad in some Christmas movie peeking in a window longingly because it felt alone on Christmas. I've always wanted more of a family and I see now all the manifestations of that desire. Now I realize that something I want in the next phase of my life is a family and honestly, my desire for it scares me. I don't want to seek a relationship simply because I want a family out of someone- I don't want to be that girl. I want to meet someone who makes me want to get married and have a family. Just something to pray about, I suppose.
So the question becomes, what is home? At least on earth? A place? A group of people? A group of people in a place? Another one of my friends and I talk extensively about finding home- and how we have it while still keeping the wings we desire, the freedom to travel, the adventure. I find, while I want those things, what I want more is community and I'd give them up and stay in one place to get it. In the end- I think community is a key part of home (and our eternal home, as well, in a way) and thus, to me at least, it's a group of people. In a way then, I've had many homes, everywhere I've roamed. That sounds much more satisfying- we can't disregard every meaningful community and group of people we have in our life simply because we are looking for some place to call home. Everywhere is home. I just want an everywhere that can be home for a long time-longer than anywhere else, so all the other "homes" I've known pale in comparison. I want a long time community- a family. A place that feels right wouldn't hurt either.
And still, I realize, even as I write this- that while it may satisfy this specific desire- even if I find something I would call a prominent earth home- no matter where I go, no matter what job I find, no matter who I could find to marry or what children I could have, no matter who I could meet or befriend- none of this will ever truly satisfy the place in my heart reserved for Home and, until all these things that I imagine and desire pass away, I won't really get to go there.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Week 62: A Dream Deferred
What happens to a dream deferred?
Langston Hughes asked me in my high school English class. I knew that I could perhaps not truly feel his pain of being prevented from his dream by prejudice for I was born into very fortunate circumstances. But, his question still hit home for me, being a dreamer myself. I could only imagine how painful it would be if the dream I had held for so long- the calling I had felt since childhood to teach and make a difference in the lives of special needs children- had been deferred.
But hasn't it? In a way? I have been questioning more and more lately where I should go from here- if really teaching in a typical setting is how I should proceed next. It was what I always visualized, perhaps really what I dreamed of- teaching special needs children in a classroom in a public school (or something modeled like it). Now I wonder if I shouldn't consult, work in a therapeutic setting, teach teachers, teach in another special school, or go into ministry. Maybe I should quit the whole thing and apply for some fellowship, travel the world, write, volunteer in Guatemala. People always tell me I can do "more" than teach. I think they mean something more prestigious, more adventurous, more interesting by societal standards- but really, there is nothing more you can do than make a difference in a child's life- then teach someone the key skills to a satisfying and successful life. But in my weaker moments, I sometimes think I might agree with society and this week was one of them. This week I found myself in an existential crisis questioning what to do when I've always felt the call to teach. And then I thought of Langston's words.
Has not my dream been deferred? First I, like everyone waited through college, working toward my dream, but never quite there. Then, unlike everyone, I felt unready to pursue teaching in a regular setting where I was behaviorally and educationally responsible for all my students- their only line of defense, if you will, in circumstances with few resources (very unlike where I teach now). So, I deferred my dream for the sake of it itself- to learn more to be a better teacher to be more prepared to serve my students. And while I'm teaching now, it's a different kind of teaching- I'm not a classroom teacher. I miss legitimately teaching children a concept, presenting it, and working with the same student on the same objective day after day and seeing them make progress- not just on paper like I do now- but right before my eyes. I miss the personal contact of direct, continuous instruction and the joy that comes when you teach a child to do something. I have not truly taught in the way that I dreamed of teaching for sometime- and not really as I truly dreamed of teaching (more effectively- I was not as effective as I would have liked as a student teacher in college).
My dream has been deferred.
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Does it just go away? No, not this one- other things came in perhaps to try to replace it, but it remains
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Perhaps this is more the case. I festers, it eventually grows into something inside me that begins to yearn to break free. It festered when I first came to this job- wanting to do more education/curricular work- I was prideful and angry at times. And then pushes to break free and run- making me ache sometimes.
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
But often I forget, forget the ache and the yearning. It crusts over syrupy sweet- the raw truth of my calling has been sugared over so I get caught up in all the work I do and can gently, unconsciously, forget it.
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
No maybe about this one
Or does it explode?
Explodes into questions- and eventually a beast uncontainable that you must live out no matter the cost or explodes into unrecognizable pieces of its original form and leaves you to make something, perhaps a new dream, out of what's left. I hope for the former before the latter because honestly, I don't want a new dream, I don't want pieces of a dream- I want this dream.
This week, as I watched my student giggle happily, free from limitations allowing her to attend an event like typical students I realized there is nothing "more" that I could want than this- nothing "more" I could do than to live out the dream of doing the kind of work that allows students to live lives with moments like that one.
And honestly, we're nearing the end- it won't be long now before, if God continues to lead me in the way I've been led this week, this dream is no longer deferred
Langston Hughes asked me in my high school English class. I knew that I could perhaps not truly feel his pain of being prevented from his dream by prejudice for I was born into very fortunate circumstances. But, his question still hit home for me, being a dreamer myself. I could only imagine how painful it would be if the dream I had held for so long- the calling I had felt since childhood to teach and make a difference in the lives of special needs children- had been deferred.
But hasn't it? In a way? I have been questioning more and more lately where I should go from here- if really teaching in a typical setting is how I should proceed next. It was what I always visualized, perhaps really what I dreamed of- teaching special needs children in a classroom in a public school (or something modeled like it). Now I wonder if I shouldn't consult, work in a therapeutic setting, teach teachers, teach in another special school, or go into ministry. Maybe I should quit the whole thing and apply for some fellowship, travel the world, write, volunteer in Guatemala. People always tell me I can do "more" than teach. I think they mean something more prestigious, more adventurous, more interesting by societal standards- but really, there is nothing more you can do than make a difference in a child's life- then teach someone the key skills to a satisfying and successful life. But in my weaker moments, I sometimes think I might agree with society and this week was one of them. This week I found myself in an existential crisis questioning what to do when I've always felt the call to teach. And then I thought of Langston's words.
Has not my dream been deferred? First I, like everyone waited through college, working toward my dream, but never quite there. Then, unlike everyone, I felt unready to pursue teaching in a regular setting where I was behaviorally and educationally responsible for all my students- their only line of defense, if you will, in circumstances with few resources (very unlike where I teach now). So, I deferred my dream for the sake of it itself- to learn more to be a better teacher to be more prepared to serve my students. And while I'm teaching now, it's a different kind of teaching- I'm not a classroom teacher. I miss legitimately teaching children a concept, presenting it, and working with the same student on the same objective day after day and seeing them make progress- not just on paper like I do now- but right before my eyes. I miss the personal contact of direct, continuous instruction and the joy that comes when you teach a child to do something. I have not truly taught in the way that I dreamed of teaching for sometime- and not really as I truly dreamed of teaching (more effectively- I was not as effective as I would have liked as a student teacher in college).
My dream has been deferred.
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Does it just go away? No, not this one- other things came in perhaps to try to replace it, but it remains
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Perhaps this is more the case. I festers, it eventually grows into something inside me that begins to yearn to break free. It festered when I first came to this job- wanting to do more education/curricular work- I was prideful and angry at times. And then pushes to break free and run- making me ache sometimes.
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
But often I forget, forget the ache and the yearning. It crusts over syrupy sweet- the raw truth of my calling has been sugared over so I get caught up in all the work I do and can gently, unconsciously, forget it.
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
No maybe about this one
Or does it explode?
Explodes into questions- and eventually a beast uncontainable that you must live out no matter the cost or explodes into unrecognizable pieces of its original form and leaves you to make something, perhaps a new dream, out of what's left. I hope for the former before the latter because honestly, I don't want a new dream, I don't want pieces of a dream- I want this dream.
This week, as I watched my student giggle happily, free from limitations allowing her to attend an event like typical students I realized there is nothing "more" that I could want than this- nothing "more" I could do than to live out the dream of doing the kind of work that allows students to live lives with moments like that one.
And honestly, we're nearing the end- it won't be long now before, if God continues to lead me in the way I've been led this week, this dream is no longer deferred
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Week 61: Ten Years
I'm not going to say much about the tragic events of September 11th because enough has been said today and in far better words than I could say it. I will say that I did appreciate the Ground Zero ceremony's choice of words because they included two of my favorite writers: God (via some awesome messengers) and Paul Simon (can we talk about that version of sound of silence? Well, not here, I will get way too far off track, but let's talk sometime, ok?). The best part was that they did not spin the words in a way that made our country some kind of an idol, either, as I half expected. In fact, their word choice even made America and all that we know seem fleeting and that God is really all there is. Which I completely agree with, I just didn't expect to hear it on a nationally televised broadcast that incorporated a lot of politicians.
But that's enough about that. What I am going to say is how September 11th, like all major events in history that make you remember where you were at the moment they occurred/you found out, made me think about my growth through time and what that means to my "next phase in life." Basically, this post is a pretty self-centered take on 9/11.
10 years ago around 8:30 in the morning I awoke for the first ever "late arrival day" at my high school in one of my first weeks at that very high-school as I was a freshman. I was so young that I was at the stage where I woke up, got some cereal, turned on the TV, heard "a plane has been hijacked" and thought, "boring" so I changed the channel to my usual pokemon. That's right. I ate cereal and watched Pokemon when I was a little freshmen. Heck, I'd probably do that now if I weren't addicted to facebook and spent all my cereal time on that every day. Also, I'd have to find a channel with classic pokemon which could prove difficult. Again, I'm off track.
10 years ago I sat outside on a beautiful and clear Tuesday morning in size 1 incredibly faded jeans with a belt covered in silver glitter and an extra small juniors baby blue tank top (after watching pokemon, too. I was a freshman, don't judge me) waiting for the bus, thinking about life. At that point, my concerns revolved around getting into the latest play and getting good grades for some far off dream of college and eventually teaching special ed. I knew naught the details. I probably meditated on the latest note my best friend, Brittany had written me, thinking only of my small circle of friends I had known since elementary/middle school. I lived a world with fewer restrictions. A world that didn't require me to know what anthrax or bio-terrorism was. I lived in an America without the Patriot Act, without a department of homeland security. I went to a high school where, when people considered joining the military, they didn't have to consider that they could be immediately entering into an ongoing and active war.
Imagine if that me had awoken in my body this morning. It would have found itself in a strange apartment in Millbury, Massachusetts. In fact, it would have found itself on the floor of said apartment on an air mattress sleeping next to three people who would have been strangers (rather than close friends who I was incredibly glad to finally get together with). That version of myself would find itself wearing a sweatshirt from a college I had not heard of or considered, but had since graduated from. It would have found itself on eastern time instead of central, revisiting the events of 9/11 on TV right in time with when they occurred. It would have considered New York City a strange and frightening place and would be shocked to learn it had already been there... thrice, and was expecting to travel there again tomorrow. That me would have no idea what Applied Behavior Analysis was, let alone believe that, in only ten years had not only graduated from highschool, chosen a college and graduated from it, but would have also nearly achieved a master's degree in a field it had never heard of.
That me would be shocked to see all the scars on my body and wonder where they came from, as well wonder how I was wearing pants 4 sizes bigger and bras with a cup size 5 sizes bigger. That me had never really been interested in a boy aside from socially "crushing" to be cool. That me would know nothing of the kind of work I do. That me couldn't have told you really Jesus was, why I needed Him, or really explain why He was my savior. That me couldn't name a favorite bible passage. And, get ready for this: that me would wonder why in the hell there are 20 Bob Dylan albums in my car. That's right, 10 years ago, I thought Bob Dylan was lame. And THAT, my friends, is how much changes in 10 years. Especially 10 years of adolescence. Granted, the next ten will probably be a bit calmer but I think I will still find that when I wake up for the 20th reunion of September 11th, I will be waking up in a completely different place- professionally, personally, spiritually, geographically.
I worry so much about my next phase in life- worry that I have to get somewhere, become something. And of course, I must pray and focus my efforts but I shouldn't worry so much because time changes things to a ridiculous degree. I have no doubt that 10 years from now, I will wake up with just as many blessings as these ten years have brought me, if not more, and wonder (no matter how much I focus and pray and write and however many weeks I dedicate) how I got there.
But that's enough about that. What I am going to say is how September 11th, like all major events in history that make you remember where you were at the moment they occurred/you found out, made me think about my growth through time and what that means to my "next phase in life." Basically, this post is a pretty self-centered take on 9/11.
10 years ago around 8:30 in the morning I awoke for the first ever "late arrival day" at my high school in one of my first weeks at that very high-school as I was a freshman. I was so young that I was at the stage where I woke up, got some cereal, turned on the TV, heard "a plane has been hijacked" and thought, "boring" so I changed the channel to my usual pokemon. That's right. I ate cereal and watched Pokemon when I was a little freshmen. Heck, I'd probably do that now if I weren't addicted to facebook and spent all my cereal time on that every day. Also, I'd have to find a channel with classic pokemon which could prove difficult. Again, I'm off track.
10 years ago I sat outside on a beautiful and clear Tuesday morning in size 1 incredibly faded jeans with a belt covered in silver glitter and an extra small juniors baby blue tank top (after watching pokemon, too. I was a freshman, don't judge me) waiting for the bus, thinking about life. At that point, my concerns revolved around getting into the latest play and getting good grades for some far off dream of college and eventually teaching special ed. I knew naught the details. I probably meditated on the latest note my best friend, Brittany had written me, thinking only of my small circle of friends I had known since elementary/middle school. I lived a world with fewer restrictions. A world that didn't require me to know what anthrax or bio-terrorism was. I lived in an America without the Patriot Act, without a department of homeland security. I went to a high school where, when people considered joining the military, they didn't have to consider that they could be immediately entering into an ongoing and active war.
Imagine if that me had awoken in my body this morning. It would have found itself in a strange apartment in Millbury, Massachusetts. In fact, it would have found itself on the floor of said apartment on an air mattress sleeping next to three people who would have been strangers (rather than close friends who I was incredibly glad to finally get together with). That version of myself would find itself wearing a sweatshirt from a college I had not heard of or considered, but had since graduated from. It would have found itself on eastern time instead of central, revisiting the events of 9/11 on TV right in time with when they occurred. It would have considered New York City a strange and frightening place and would be shocked to learn it had already been there... thrice, and was expecting to travel there again tomorrow. That me would have no idea what Applied Behavior Analysis was, let alone believe that, in only ten years had not only graduated from highschool, chosen a college and graduated from it, but would have also nearly achieved a master's degree in a field it had never heard of.
That me would be shocked to see all the scars on my body and wonder where they came from, as well wonder how I was wearing pants 4 sizes bigger and bras with a cup size 5 sizes bigger. That me had never really been interested in a boy aside from socially "crushing" to be cool. That me would know nothing of the kind of work I do. That me couldn't have told you really Jesus was, why I needed Him, or really explain why He was my savior. That me couldn't name a favorite bible passage. And, get ready for this: that me would wonder why in the hell there are 20 Bob Dylan albums in my car. That's right, 10 years ago, I thought Bob Dylan was lame. And THAT, my friends, is how much changes in 10 years. Especially 10 years of adolescence. Granted, the next ten will probably be a bit calmer but I think I will still find that when I wake up for the 20th reunion of September 11th, I will be waking up in a completely different place- professionally, personally, spiritually, geographically.
I worry so much about my next phase in life- worry that I have to get somewhere, become something. And of course, I must pray and focus my efforts but I shouldn't worry so much because time changes things to a ridiculous degree. I have no doubt that 10 years from now, I will wake up with just as many blessings as these ten years have brought me, if not more, and wonder (no matter how much I focus and pray and write and however many weeks I dedicate) how I got there.
Weeks 53-55: You're really not done yet
Hey, remember this post? Well, you don't really have to because I posted it a while ago and the events of it occurred oh, 4+ months ago. But, I'm catching up because what I'm about to tell you happened only 2 months ago. I also posted some happenings from more recent weeks already so apologies for going out of order.
Well, in case you don't remember (and since I don't expect you to) here is a re-cap: I was mentally and professionally ready to leave the team where I work at my current job and hoping to transfer to work with younger students in a different setting at my same school. I expected this transfer but was anticipating it too much and not appreciating the time I had left. I came to realize that I was "not done yet" and that I had more to do with my students with the time I had left. Little did I know. Due to staffing, it was revealed to me about 2 months ago that I would stay with my same students for this next year. This was a bit unexpected. Now, not only was I "not done yet," I was really not done yet- not for another year.
I had expected this coming year, my final year, to be another learning year. My three years out on the East Coast have not been so much about giving in terms of education. They have been more about learning so I will be better equipped to give back when I leave. But because I work in such a rich setting with so many resources my presence is not especially vital. Students would be getting relatively the same quality of education whether I am there or not. Whereas, kids in a public school back in the midwest might go through their entire school career without being taught any form of communication would they could be completely capable of using some kind of picture communication system if they didn't have teachers with ABA experience.
Between this distinction and prayer, I have always felt that this was more of a learning time. But, when I found out my third year would be the same as the last two I thought that perhaps this would be more of a giving year- what else could I learn?
Well, working in the program I work in is something that people have difficulty making it through a year of (let alone 3) especially as a teacher on the floor with students. It's a little different if you move up to different positions/have better hours (although that is still an incredibly hard an thankless job that you couldn't pay me to do and I respect all my supervisors for doing it). So one year is hard enough for some, two years in my placement is tough- people almost never make it through three full years in the placement where I work as a direct care teacher, let alone sign up for it.
Don't get me wrong, I have the best job in the world but that saying you've heard of for teaching jobs applies more than ever at my job: "it's the toughest job you'll ever love." The sad part is that because of the tough aspect, you can only do what you love for so long. And I do need to realize that my time doing this amazing work is fleeting and given the ministry call I keep feeling, my time working with the best kind of people on the planet (special needs children) may be limited, even if I don't really want it to be (I'm still not sure on this, so don't hold me to it, but let me tell you- these 70 weeks of prayer have seen some Ca-razy changes). Given all that, I need to appreciate this while I have it.
But I digress. Let's get back to the story: when I had thought I might leave my placement for a new one I felt like a quitter. I had grown exhausted of trying to love people and persevere in love and tolerance and to fight to improve the things that frustrated me without being hurtful or harmful. So to just leave (even if it also was for professional reasons) felt like I was letting the darkness win. I couldn't love properly, I couldn't work for what was right, I couldn't be the person I wanted to be at work, so I should just leave? And besides, my students are the world to me- one random year working in a different area would feel like a fluke. So, in some ways, when I heard the news that I was staying, it felt right. Still incredibly daunting, but right. And then I realized, while this was a giving year, it was most definitely a learning year. Maybe less growing professionally and more spiritually. This year would be a lesson in endurance and perseverance in love and all the actions that it entails. When I had prayed about what to do this year professionally and when it came down to asking God about my next placement I had asked him to put me where I would grow most into the person I needed to be to do His work, especially when I left here. I had thought that meant doing early intervention work with younger students but God obviously has other plans. And I can only believe that my staying in this placement was an answer to my prayer, especially considering what I will be returning to when I go back home. Leaving here I will face trying to love my mother in her rough medical state, trying to love people who will hate the kind of work I will do, and will be trying to persevere to be effective for my students in an environment with limited resources. Did I think God was just going to toss me into that unprepared?
Well, I must have thought that if I thought He was going to let me get away with running away from trying to persevere and endure in love and just drop things when they got hard. But, He didn't. And as I begin to work into this year, with some added changes to make my life a little more sane and to allow myself to actually have time to teach and spend quality time with my students again, I begin to fall in step. I remember again why I do this and I begin to feel the beginning of love for people I could not have loved before. But, I am gaining the wisdom to recognize none of that is because of me- it is simply by Grace that I can even begin to endure in love. Although, I must work every day to accept it and to live it out.
So now, months after grappling with this news, I get up and go to work daily and feel like a new woman. My co-workers say it's because my schedule changed and because I have less responsibility. Well, that accounts for the lightness I feel, but the feeling like a "new woman?" There's only One who can do something as dynamic and amazing as that.
Well, in case you don't remember (and since I don't expect you to) here is a re-cap: I was mentally and professionally ready to leave the team where I work at my current job and hoping to transfer to work with younger students in a different setting at my same school. I expected this transfer but was anticipating it too much and not appreciating the time I had left. I came to realize that I was "not done yet" and that I had more to do with my students with the time I had left. Little did I know. Due to staffing, it was revealed to me about 2 months ago that I would stay with my same students for this next year. This was a bit unexpected. Now, not only was I "not done yet," I was really not done yet- not for another year.
I had expected this coming year, my final year, to be another learning year. My three years out on the East Coast have not been so much about giving in terms of education. They have been more about learning so I will be better equipped to give back when I leave. But because I work in such a rich setting with so many resources my presence is not especially vital. Students would be getting relatively the same quality of education whether I am there or not. Whereas, kids in a public school back in the midwest might go through their entire school career without being taught any form of communication would they could be completely capable of using some kind of picture communication system if they didn't have teachers with ABA experience.
Between this distinction and prayer, I have always felt that this was more of a learning time. But, when I found out my third year would be the same as the last two I thought that perhaps this would be more of a giving year- what else could I learn?
Well, working in the program I work in is something that people have difficulty making it through a year of (let alone 3) especially as a teacher on the floor with students. It's a little different if you move up to different positions/have better hours (although that is still an incredibly hard an thankless job that you couldn't pay me to do and I respect all my supervisors for doing it). So one year is hard enough for some, two years in my placement is tough- people almost never make it through three full years in the placement where I work as a direct care teacher, let alone sign up for it.
Don't get me wrong, I have the best job in the world but that saying you've heard of for teaching jobs applies more than ever at my job: "it's the toughest job you'll ever love." The sad part is that because of the tough aspect, you can only do what you love for so long. And I do need to realize that my time doing this amazing work is fleeting and given the ministry call I keep feeling, my time working with the best kind of people on the planet (special needs children) may be limited, even if I don't really want it to be (I'm still not sure on this, so don't hold me to it, but let me tell you- these 70 weeks of prayer have seen some Ca-razy changes). Given all that, I need to appreciate this while I have it.
But I digress. Let's get back to the story: when I had thought I might leave my placement for a new one I felt like a quitter. I had grown exhausted of trying to love people and persevere in love and tolerance and to fight to improve the things that frustrated me without being hurtful or harmful. So to just leave (even if it also was for professional reasons) felt like I was letting the darkness win. I couldn't love properly, I couldn't work for what was right, I couldn't be the person I wanted to be at work, so I should just leave? And besides, my students are the world to me- one random year working in a different area would feel like a fluke. So, in some ways, when I heard the news that I was staying, it felt right. Still incredibly daunting, but right. And then I realized, while this was a giving year, it was most definitely a learning year. Maybe less growing professionally and more spiritually. This year would be a lesson in endurance and perseverance in love and all the actions that it entails. When I had prayed about what to do this year professionally and when it came down to asking God about my next placement I had asked him to put me where I would grow most into the person I needed to be to do His work, especially when I left here. I had thought that meant doing early intervention work with younger students but God obviously has other plans. And I can only believe that my staying in this placement was an answer to my prayer, especially considering what I will be returning to when I go back home. Leaving here I will face trying to love my mother in her rough medical state, trying to love people who will hate the kind of work I will do, and will be trying to persevere to be effective for my students in an environment with limited resources. Did I think God was just going to toss me into that unprepared?
Well, I must have thought that if I thought He was going to let me get away with running away from trying to persevere and endure in love and just drop things when they got hard. But, He didn't. And as I begin to work into this year, with some added changes to make my life a little more sane and to allow myself to actually have time to teach and spend quality time with my students again, I begin to fall in step. I remember again why I do this and I begin to feel the beginning of love for people I could not have loved before. But, I am gaining the wisdom to recognize none of that is because of me- it is simply by Grace that I can even begin to endure in love. Although, I must work every day to accept it and to live it out.
So now, months after grappling with this news, I get up and go to work daily and feel like a new woman. My co-workers say it's because my schedule changed and because I have less responsibility. Well, that accounts for the lightness I feel, but the feeling like a "new woman?" There's only One who can do something as dynamic and amazing as that.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Weeks 59-60: The demons of exercise
The beginning of a new contract/school year, a new schedule, a lack of actual classes, and the beginning of the end of my time here. I felt like I needed to re-vamp my life in some ways so I could be refreshed and ready to do a third year of very rewarding but intense and stressful work. I want to get the most out of this year and become who God really wants me to be. Of course, when seeking these things, the answer is to turn to God and seek the spirit in order to renew and prepare your spirit. And while I am doing those things, I also turned to other things- lifestyle changes like exercising regularly. So I joined a gym and began taking fitness classes about 4 times per week so I actually work out. Sounds pretty good in theory, right? Nothing wrong with exercise.
Well, if you're thinking that, you're forgetting who you're dealing with here. If there's anyone who can turn something like taking fitness classes and turn it into the catalyst for an existential crisis, it's this girl. Who else goes to a fitness class and thinks about the theology behind what the instructor is saying?
Nonetheless, let's explore this. Let's take a theological trip through the many fitness classes of my gym. First, I went to Zumba, one of my favorites and something I had done before. It's a really fun workout that you don't realize is a work-out. Lots of modified salsa/latin (and a touch of hip hop) dance. And while I love it, a lot of the moves are pretty sexual and in a way, it's not exactly biblical as if you did these moves in front of anyone (and didn't suck at it, like I do) you might be "leading your brother to sin." A large focus of the moves is looking sexy and cool. Zumba's motives are fun and fitness with a hint of lust and vanity.
Next you have spin which is really not that terrible except that you spend an hour spinning in circles not going anywhere, listening to angry music to push through the pain with no forward movement. And besides, you get just as much of a work out from riding a horse for an hour and it's much more fun (albeit more expensive). If there's anything good about spin it's that there are old ladies in those classes who can kick your butt. At least it humbles your pride.
I have gone to a number of yoga classes at my gym- some very different from what I'm used to. I have been going to yoga on and off for years and found myself enjoying a class that was less of a boot-camp/pushy work out and more of the spiritual side of yoga. But then it hit me, and after talking to my friend, really began to bother me that yoga in many ways was idolatry. First off, it is used as a religious practice in some ways and yoga in hinduism is not comparable to communion in Christianity, imagine how Christians would feel if some new age-y craze swept India and people began having communion but altering it to suit their needs- maybe turning it into some kind of party (pass the wine!) or simply partaking in all the traditions without truly believing it. In Yoga in America we use the same phrases, we bow, we speak of things like the "third eye," but we practice them without believing them. Aside from all this, as it is religious practice, in a way there is idolatry in that aspect if you are going along with really any of the spiritual aspects of yoga. Additionally, simply the phrases and beginning/ending of yoga practices have a self-focus. Yoga asks us to turn into the self, give ourselves gratitude, bow to ourselves and one another- in a way, it is self worship. In many ways in yoga, you make yourself an idol. Then there are the salutations to God's creation- but in many ways, if we are not careful, we find ourselves worshiping the created and not the creator. Of course, the creator is given much credit in Yoga- but there is too much credit ALSO given to the created (including ourselves).
All of these thoughts really bothered me. I love yoga and loved attending but found myself torn at a few yoga classes. There is nothing wrong with yoga as simply an exercise but the problem comes when it is misused- primarily when people do not see the danger. Typical yoga classes simply include phrases (like, "give yourselves gratitude," "bow to yourself")that are not scriptural and are bad theology so when we here them or think it is ok to adopt them, things can get very sticky. I found that I was ok with yoga as long as I turned my thoughts out to God and skipped the bowing to myself/using phrases that implied theological statements I would not agree with. But for a while, I began to have a yoga crisis. Ridiculous, I know.
So, there you have it- Yoga bring idolatry in the form of self and nature/creation worship.
Finally, I tried a Body Combat (Les Mills) class. Body Combat was incredibly fun and a great workout but I could not get over the ideas behind it. Part of my issues go with my job related instincts to defend, hold, and contain rather than attack, punch, and knock down. But at the same time, these instincts are healthier and of he spirit, I think. In Body Combat the instructor would yell things like, "take that person down! These are not aerobics knees, these are cracking-someone's-head-on-your-knee knees!" Or, "I don't know what this person did but they deserve it- elbow them in the face!" "Look at that person and punch them! Knock them out!" The aggression, the anger behind the movements was bothersome. Most of all, the concept of retribution and justice that we take it upon ourselves to enact rather than forgiveness or rehabilitation. So, here you have not doing unto others as you would have them do unto you, aggression and rage.
I punched and kicked through Body Combat class, enacting some twisted justice on an invisible opponent and wondering if all the theology behind so many forms of exercise was rooted in some sin/some terrible theology. But here's the thing about group fitness rooms: They have mirrors. The instructor then said, "take a look in front of you at your opponent," and there I saw myself. All this sin that I pointed fingers at in all of these exercise classes was just a product of the self- and in my case, MYself. My only opponent in exercise, in life- the only opponent I am taking down in body combat is my (intentional space) self. Hopefully this year I can do a little bit better with killing my self off and replacing it with the Spirit.
Well, if you're thinking that, you're forgetting who you're dealing with here. If there's anyone who can turn something like taking fitness classes and turn it into the catalyst for an existential crisis, it's this girl. Who else goes to a fitness class and thinks about the theology behind what the instructor is saying?
Nonetheless, let's explore this. Let's take a theological trip through the many fitness classes of my gym. First, I went to Zumba, one of my favorites and something I had done before. It's a really fun workout that you don't realize is a work-out. Lots of modified salsa/latin (and a touch of hip hop) dance. And while I love it, a lot of the moves are pretty sexual and in a way, it's not exactly biblical as if you did these moves in front of anyone (and didn't suck at it, like I do) you might be "leading your brother to sin." A large focus of the moves is looking sexy and cool. Zumba's motives are fun and fitness with a hint of lust and vanity.
Next you have spin which is really not that terrible except that you spend an hour spinning in circles not going anywhere, listening to angry music to push through the pain with no forward movement. And besides, you get just as much of a work out from riding a horse for an hour and it's much more fun (albeit more expensive). If there's anything good about spin it's that there are old ladies in those classes who can kick your butt. At least it humbles your pride.
I have gone to a number of yoga classes at my gym- some very different from what I'm used to. I have been going to yoga on and off for years and found myself enjoying a class that was less of a boot-camp/pushy work out and more of the spiritual side of yoga. But then it hit me, and after talking to my friend, really began to bother me that yoga in many ways was idolatry. First off, it is used as a religious practice in some ways and yoga in hinduism is not comparable to communion in Christianity, imagine how Christians would feel if some new age-y craze swept India and people began having communion but altering it to suit their needs- maybe turning it into some kind of party (pass the wine!) or simply partaking in all the traditions without truly believing it. In Yoga in America we use the same phrases, we bow, we speak of things like the "third eye," but we practice them without believing them. Aside from all this, as it is religious practice, in a way there is idolatry in that aspect if you are going along with really any of the spiritual aspects of yoga. Additionally, simply the phrases and beginning/ending of yoga practices have a self-focus. Yoga asks us to turn into the self, give ourselves gratitude, bow to ourselves and one another- in a way, it is self worship. In many ways in yoga, you make yourself an idol. Then there are the salutations to God's creation- but in many ways, if we are not careful, we find ourselves worshiping the created and not the creator. Of course, the creator is given much credit in Yoga- but there is too much credit ALSO given to the created (including ourselves).
All of these thoughts really bothered me. I love yoga and loved attending but found myself torn at a few yoga classes. There is nothing wrong with yoga as simply an exercise but the problem comes when it is misused- primarily when people do not see the danger. Typical yoga classes simply include phrases (like, "give yourselves gratitude," "bow to yourself")that are not scriptural and are bad theology so when we here them or think it is ok to adopt them, things can get very sticky. I found that I was ok with yoga as long as I turned my thoughts out to God and skipped the bowing to myself/using phrases that implied theological statements I would not agree with. But for a while, I began to have a yoga crisis. Ridiculous, I know.
So, there you have it- Yoga bring idolatry in the form of self and nature/creation worship.
Finally, I tried a Body Combat (Les Mills) class. Body Combat was incredibly fun and a great workout but I could not get over the ideas behind it. Part of my issues go with my job related instincts to defend, hold, and contain rather than attack, punch, and knock down. But at the same time, these instincts are healthier and of he spirit, I think. In Body Combat the instructor would yell things like, "take that person down! These are not aerobics knees, these are cracking-someone's-head-on-your-knee knees!" Or, "I don't know what this person did but they deserve it- elbow them in the face!" "Look at that person and punch them! Knock them out!" The aggression, the anger behind the movements was bothersome. Most of all, the concept of retribution and justice that we take it upon ourselves to enact rather than forgiveness or rehabilitation. So, here you have not doing unto others as you would have them do unto you, aggression and rage.
I punched and kicked through Body Combat class, enacting some twisted justice on an invisible opponent and wondering if all the theology behind so many forms of exercise was rooted in some sin/some terrible theology. But here's the thing about group fitness rooms: They have mirrors. The instructor then said, "take a look in front of you at your opponent," and there I saw myself. All this sin that I pointed fingers at in all of these exercise classes was just a product of the self- and in my case, MYself. My only opponent in exercise, in life- the only opponent I am taking down in body combat is my (intentional space) self. Hopefully this year I can do a little bit better with killing my self off and replacing it with the Spirit.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Weeks 45-52: Here I am, Lord
I don’t know if I’ve ever told you, but this is my favorite hymn ever and it brings me to tears every time.
You’ll notice I’m summing up 7 weeks- over a month and a half- in one post. Part of this is because I have been so busy but the other part is that I just didn’t want to face any of this, especially by recording it, let alone publishing it publicly because I didn’t even want to be held accountable to God in these past few weeks, let alone any of my friends who happen to be crazy enough to read this blog.
But, these past few weeks led to the beginnings of some conclusions that were the exact purpose of this project of 70 weeks of prayer. I just didn’t expect them. Or want them. Be careful what you pray for- I asked for guidance in my future- and I got it… or at least the beginnings.
Ever feel like something is constantly tugging at you, nagging at you, almost eating you up until you do it or at least agree to comply? Well, this is what God had been doing to me these weeks with a number of things.
First, there was a sudden, off the wall call to ministry different from the usual call I feel to serve children as a teacher and even through youth ministry at my church. It was not a call related to the one I have felt to help children- the one I have felt since I was very young. This was a call to explicit ministry of God's people in general, although I can give you no other details than that. Various events all lined up leading me in this direction: a spiritual gifts inventory (that indicated faith, pastoring, and shepherding as my greatest gifts), suddenly being in a position to mentor older youth in much more serious capacities regarding their faith (through confirmation class and suddenly leading a youth group), conversations with my pastor/experiences at church nearly every week that left me feeling with some aching that there was some purpose I needed to fulfill, talk of seminary (which sounds crazy- I am not at all where I would need to be in a lot of places for that), and last but not least, episodes of feeling a "pull" to strangers- feeling sudden compassion and feelings that were not my own- feelings about their relationship with God/things God wanted for them and the urgent need to explain this to them.
This aching began in Colorado in May as I drove through the mountains on a bus, listening to the band Waterdeep, feeling an urgent call from God that was completely new to me. This pull continued- I felt as if I was not doing something God wanted me to do but yet He had yet to tell me what I should be doing. All I knew is I felt a call to ministry- but I didn't know what kind of ministry or what I was supposed to do. I felt I was supposed to take action without really knowing what action I was to take.
The aching continued as God suddenly gave me feelings toward strangers- the guy making my burrito bowl at chipotle, the girl bagging my groceries, a random woman in a parking lot. I can't even describe the feeling to you- but it is one of urgency, almost agony- like there is a message inside me ready to burst out only I have to force myself to open my mouth. I was so afraid- perhaps of what these strangers would think (which normally, is not an issue for me) that I could not bring myself to talk to these people when called to do it. But the feeling kept coming and I began to feel terrible for being so disobedient to God. These flashes of feeling/calls became burdensome to the point that when one would come upon me, I would find myself saying to God, "not now, please, not now" and would seek forgiveness for disobeying him- but I simply could not bring myself to do what he asked. I began to pray for courage- for him to build me up to doing the task he asked of me.
The sudden flashes of feeling towards strangers let up a bit for a while but the urgent feeling that God wanted me to do something persisted- harassed me, confused me, left me leaving church every Sunday so frustrated with His nagging that I would find myself yelling at God, "WHAT do you WANT from me?!"
In the middle of this my mother fell while at home (where she lives alone although she probably should not due to her deteriorated medical condition) and was in the hospital and then rehabilitation facility to get more physical therapist. After living in the rehabilitation facility for under a week (this place also doubles as a senior home that we looked into for my grandmother years ago when she was still alive) my mother called me and very uncharacteristically asked that I never put her in a place like that, saying she thought she would die there due to how they handled her medicine and expressing frustration at the poor quality of life (and this is one of the nicer senior facilities). She began talking seriously about me coming home, moving in with her to help her pay the mortgage due to financial issues w/ medical bills and figuring out a way for her to live with me later on. Normally my mother would never ask anything of me for herself- she would tell me to put her in a senior citizen home and live my own life. Her medical condition and this experience had definitely gotten to her.
But, of course, leaving my seemingly ideal life out here to come home, teach where what I do is less acceptable, where resources of few, and then moving back in with my mother and caring for her sounded terrible. Basically, it would be giving up my life to take care of her and serve students back home. Talking to strangers about Jesus, answering whatever God was calling me to do instead of what I am comfortable with would be giving up my life in a social manner, sacrificing what people thought of me.
It all came together: God was asking me to give up my life. And I refused. I whined that I couldn't- because of my weakness, my pride, my fear, my lack of trust in God, my selfishness.
I prayed for 50+ weeks for God to tell me what he wants of me in my next phase of life- He gave me a ministry related call that I feel is aimed more at the future (I think He's preparing me so I am less shocked- although some of what I am to do is more eminent) and He began to shape where I should live/what I should do in terms of my situation with my mother. God answered my prayer, and I wanted nothing to do with it.
During this time I had been reading Samuel 1 and 2 and we began doing a bible study on David at church. My pastor began talking about Samuel when he responded to God' call, saying, "here I am, Lord." I marveled at this. God, had in fact, been calling my name. I would hear him simply saying my name and I would plug my internal ears to him and sing "lalalalala" because I did not want to hear what other things he would ask me to do. It was too much.
One day, I ran across that verse in Matthew (and a few other places): "those who wish to save their life will loose it and those who wish to loose it for my sake will save it" and as I mentally rebelled God said to me, "Audrey, stop trying to save your own life, because you can't"
A short while later, I was at the open mic I go to every Friday and a girl who did not know me, but who I had heard of for some time now (from her mother, who regularly attends and has been worried about her daughter's spiritual/life decisions) showed up and performed with her boyfriend. As I listened to her sing I realized everything had come together. Never had she come to open mic before, I had not been to it for many months due to class, I had just been thinking about her on my way to open mic, and God had opened my heart to the idea of talking to strangers about him through the encouragement of my friends and his recent words to me about not saving my own life. The feeling came over me but not with the painful urgency that I could not handle. This was right- this was not a complete stranger, this was a situation I could handle. This was God meeting me where I was. I felt His call, and this time I said, "Here I am, Lord," walked over, and said, "excuse me, this is going to sound strange and I never do this but I just feel called to tell you that God loves you.."
And just like that, I gave up trying to save my life and gave it to Jesus to take care of, because, well, He's the only one who can
You’ll notice I’m summing up 7 weeks- over a month and a half- in one post. Part of this is because I have been so busy but the other part is that I just didn’t want to face any of this, especially by recording it, let alone publishing it publicly because I didn’t even want to be held accountable to God in these past few weeks, let alone any of my friends who happen to be crazy enough to read this blog.
But, these past few weeks led to the beginnings of some conclusions that were the exact purpose of this project of 70 weeks of prayer. I just didn’t expect them. Or want them. Be careful what you pray for- I asked for guidance in my future- and I got it… or at least the beginnings.
Ever feel like something is constantly tugging at you, nagging at you, almost eating you up until you do it or at least agree to comply? Well, this is what God had been doing to me these weeks with a number of things.
First, there was a sudden, off the wall call to ministry different from the usual call I feel to serve children as a teacher and even through youth ministry at my church. It was not a call related to the one I have felt to help children- the one I have felt since I was very young. This was a call to explicit ministry of God's people in general, although I can give you no other details than that. Various events all lined up leading me in this direction: a spiritual gifts inventory (that indicated faith, pastoring, and shepherding as my greatest gifts), suddenly being in a position to mentor older youth in much more serious capacities regarding their faith (through confirmation class and suddenly leading a youth group), conversations with my pastor/experiences at church nearly every week that left me feeling with some aching that there was some purpose I needed to fulfill, talk of seminary (which sounds crazy- I am not at all where I would need to be in a lot of places for that), and last but not least, episodes of feeling a "pull" to strangers- feeling sudden compassion and feelings that were not my own- feelings about their relationship with God/things God wanted for them and the urgent need to explain this to them.
This aching began in Colorado in May as I drove through the mountains on a bus, listening to the band Waterdeep, feeling an urgent call from God that was completely new to me. This pull continued- I felt as if I was not doing something God wanted me to do but yet He had yet to tell me what I should be doing. All I knew is I felt a call to ministry- but I didn't know what kind of ministry or what I was supposed to do. I felt I was supposed to take action without really knowing what action I was to take.
The aching continued as God suddenly gave me feelings toward strangers- the guy making my burrito bowl at chipotle, the girl bagging my groceries, a random woman in a parking lot. I can't even describe the feeling to you- but it is one of urgency, almost agony- like there is a message inside me ready to burst out only I have to force myself to open my mouth. I was so afraid- perhaps of what these strangers would think (which normally, is not an issue for me) that I could not bring myself to talk to these people when called to do it. But the feeling kept coming and I began to feel terrible for being so disobedient to God. These flashes of feeling/calls became burdensome to the point that when one would come upon me, I would find myself saying to God, "not now, please, not now" and would seek forgiveness for disobeying him- but I simply could not bring myself to do what he asked. I began to pray for courage- for him to build me up to doing the task he asked of me.
The sudden flashes of feeling towards strangers let up a bit for a while but the urgent feeling that God wanted me to do something persisted- harassed me, confused me, left me leaving church every Sunday so frustrated with His nagging that I would find myself yelling at God, "WHAT do you WANT from me?!"
In the middle of this my mother fell while at home (where she lives alone although she probably should not due to her deteriorated medical condition) and was in the hospital and then rehabilitation facility to get more physical therapist. After living in the rehabilitation facility for under a week (this place also doubles as a senior home that we looked into for my grandmother years ago when she was still alive) my mother called me and very uncharacteristically asked that I never put her in a place like that, saying she thought she would die there due to how they handled her medicine and expressing frustration at the poor quality of life (and this is one of the nicer senior facilities). She began talking seriously about me coming home, moving in with her to help her pay the mortgage due to financial issues w/ medical bills and figuring out a way for her to live with me later on. Normally my mother would never ask anything of me for herself- she would tell me to put her in a senior citizen home and live my own life. Her medical condition and this experience had definitely gotten to her.
But, of course, leaving my seemingly ideal life out here to come home, teach where what I do is less acceptable, where resources of few, and then moving back in with my mother and caring for her sounded terrible. Basically, it would be giving up my life to take care of her and serve students back home. Talking to strangers about Jesus, answering whatever God was calling me to do instead of what I am comfortable with would be giving up my life in a social manner, sacrificing what people thought of me.
It all came together: God was asking me to give up my life. And I refused. I whined that I couldn't- because of my weakness, my pride, my fear, my lack of trust in God, my selfishness.
I prayed for 50+ weeks for God to tell me what he wants of me in my next phase of life- He gave me a ministry related call that I feel is aimed more at the future (I think He's preparing me so I am less shocked- although some of what I am to do is more eminent) and He began to shape where I should live/what I should do in terms of my situation with my mother. God answered my prayer, and I wanted nothing to do with it.
During this time I had been reading Samuel 1 and 2 and we began doing a bible study on David at church. My pastor began talking about Samuel when he responded to God' call, saying, "here I am, Lord." I marveled at this. God, had in fact, been calling my name. I would hear him simply saying my name and I would plug my internal ears to him and sing "lalalalala" because I did not want to hear what other things he would ask me to do. It was too much.
One day, I ran across that verse in Matthew (and a few other places): "those who wish to save their life will loose it and those who wish to loose it for my sake will save it" and as I mentally rebelled God said to me, "Audrey, stop trying to save your own life, because you can't"
A short while later, I was at the open mic I go to every Friday and a girl who did not know me, but who I had heard of for some time now (from her mother, who regularly attends and has been worried about her daughter's spiritual/life decisions) showed up and performed with her boyfriend. As I listened to her sing I realized everything had come together. Never had she come to open mic before, I had not been to it for many months due to class, I had just been thinking about her on my way to open mic, and God had opened my heart to the idea of talking to strangers about him through the encouragement of my friends and his recent words to me about not saving my own life. The feeling came over me but not with the painful urgency that I could not handle. This was right- this was not a complete stranger, this was a situation I could handle. This was God meeting me where I was. I felt His call, and this time I said, "Here I am, Lord," walked over, and said, "excuse me, this is going to sound strange and I never do this but I just feel called to tell you that God loves you.."
And just like that, I gave up trying to save my life and gave it to Jesus to take care of, because, well, He's the only one who can
Monday, August 15, 2011
Weeks 43 and 44: You're not done yet
When I began writing this post over 3 months ago I had felt I the logistics related to the end of my 70 weeks had been worked out a bit more. I had applied for a switch to another area of work at my school, moving me (hopefully) to a younger team with different students and experiences. I wanted this because I felt I needed more experience teaching different kinds of skills and with different types of behavioral programming to build me up for where I will go next year after I am done working where I am now. I felt this would prepare me more for public school and make me a better teacher for the students I would be working with. In addition, at this point I was burnt out from the bureaucracy and even some of the stressful situations of my position with my students. I found myself counting down the months until I could leave, thinking often about what life would be like next year, how it would be different, and honestly thinking about how, when I saw things that needed to be done that someone else would have to deal with them.
My negativity related to my burn out I supposed focused me on leaving my team rather than on appreciating my time with them.
Then one night I stood outside with a student, watching her paint the May twilight with bubbles. They floated up into the light, catching all the colors of the dying sunset. She would ask me to pop them but the lucky ones escaped my reach, floating up, up, showing the sun that from down below, appeared to have already gone down.
Appreciating the beauty of my situation for what it was, my students for who they are and for what they teach me about life every day I realized this time was precious and not something to throw away or count down the days until it ended. A voice said to me, "you're not done yet." Little did I know then how very much "not done" I was. But more on that later.
My negativity related to my burn out I supposed focused me on leaving my team rather than on appreciating my time with them.
Then one night I stood outside with a student, watching her paint the May twilight with bubbles. They floated up into the light, catching all the colors of the dying sunset. She would ask me to pop them but the lucky ones escaped my reach, floating up, up, showing the sun that from down below, appeared to have already gone down.
Appreciating the beauty of my situation for what it was, my students for who they are and for what they teach me about life every day I realized this time was precious and not something to throw away or count down the days until it ended. A voice said to me, "you're not done yet." Little did I know then how very much "not done" I was. But more on that later.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
Weeks 41 and 42: "Hello Hurricane, You're not enough"
Over two and a half months ago (I am very very behind on this blog and thus am having to sum up multiple weeks within a few posts. A lot has been happening that I did not want to relive by retelling it to you and I apologize. But now I will catch up and will be better about posting), I lay in bed, cuddled up in my covers crying, holding onto a stone that said "pray" between my clasped hands- desperately needing to feel God.
A number of things had occurred and weighed on my spirit to bring me to this point, some of which I had already chronicled: being fragile in spirit after a period of exhaustion and burn out and some questioning about major spiritual matters.
Additionally, I was continually undergoing the stress and sadness of my mother's continuing illness and it just seemed as though the storms just kept coming, waves just kept surging, pounding over me before I could get my head above water and gasp for breath.
I had also been in a theoretical foundations (the foundations of behavior analysis) class for grad school that for some reason, shook me up. We spent the first few classes discussing Christianity vs. science as behavior analysis' basic principles are often in conflict with major christian ideas (phenomenology, assumption of first-cause theory, evolution, etc). While many of the arguments brought up by my atheist professor were ones I could easily counter, the general ideas brought up threw me off. I began trying to view the world in an atheistic, phenomenological way, just to see if I could do it- trying to understand how my professor, my colleagues view it. I'd try to look at the trees moving in the wind just as they were, seeing no driving force behind any of it but a series of cause and effects.
Here's the thing about being an atheist:I'm bad at it. Trying to view the world this way depressed me terribly. I felt like I was grieving a loss of a loved one- and in a way, I was. For more on this see Week 39
All of this nudged me to question things and on top of that, I just went through a period of a questioning nature- doubting the legitimacy of some scripture, and more than the legitimacy, doubting what it was truly intended for. I began to question so many basic assumptions Christians base so much off of as potential culturally influenced phenomena. The idea of taking so much scripture literally (in addition to figuratively) for example became an issue. I began to look at the potential sources of texts and wondered how we could see Genesis as some kind of actual account. To me, it seemed to be some written account of a folk tale, and oral tradition (of course this ignores God's power over what goes into His Holy, living, word, but I ignored a lot of things during this period). Perhaps the most dangerous and frightening thing I questioned was God's love for me. I wanted proof. So much of faith and religion is skewed by our cultural view of things. We reiterate over and over that "God is Love" as a mantra. Why not just echo, "God is a Jealous God?" Because it's not as suitable for us? It doesn't comfort us as much even if it's equally as true. I found we focused so much on Love in our society that perhaps we had skewed God's personality more in one direction to suit our needs (and I still think I'm onto something there, although now I do believe He loves me). On top of this, I wanted scriptural proof. "WHERE DOES GOD SAY HE LOVES ME, TELL ME WHERE?!" I demanded of my friend, so angry that I was swearing like a truck driver, throwing the F-word in between most of the words in caps above. I don't think I've ever sworn that much at God or in reference to God in my life (perhaps the proof to my doubt that he loves me was in that lightning didn't strike me then and there).
I was dismayed that I even found myself asking this question, and even more to my dismay, my friend did not have an answer for me. Well, she did- she could mention lots of scripture that alluded to actions that showed God loved me or that he loved people. But God never said right out that he loved me and when he came out and expressed love for a people, it was his Chosen people of Israel, etc. It was never for someone like me.
At least in my mind at this point, it wasn't. I didn't want action, I didn't want some (seemingly) round-about way of showing His love. I wanted the very human, earth-bound, potentially meaningless, word love. As if that stood as proof of His love for me far more than Jesus' dying for my sins.
Nonetheless, I found that I had questions buzzing around my head that I could not turn off. I'm too philosophical to just stop thinking things because they're unpleasant. I have to reason and think my way out of them. Thus, I found myself lying in bed crying one night, realizing I was at some kind of potential "final precipice." I was questioning the foundations of my faith- whether God loves me, the legitimacy of the scripture that I relied on as truth, and so many other fundamental issues relating to those two primary ones. I could not manage to think my way out of some of these issues- at least at some level- at least at the level I want to think my way out of them (on a human, selfish, very naive mortal level).
So there I lay, realizing how dangerous this was and feeling as if I was losing God. It was the kind of feeling you have when you're in the process of/on the verge of breaking up with someone and you feel as though you're desperately clinging to something that you can't figure out how to work out. The feeling that this thing you are trying to save is, despite your attempts, still slipping from your grip.
And really, in my mind, this is what I was doing. I had fought with and sworn at God and now I was breaking up with him. Only, I didn't want to. I just didn't see how I couldn't. I felt as though my mind were divorcing (perhaps this is the better word than breaking up given the nature of our relationship) God, my spirit did not want to. And of course, God was not at all divorcing me- it was as if my human self was working against my will to pull me away from Him. And yet, there was a part of me that could not fully- that knew something my brain didn't. So there I lay, in some hellish limbo that threatened the loss of everything.
In desperation that night I bought some Christian music I had not listened to since I listened to KLOVE, a radio station that plays all over- but that I cannot get in MA. I used to listen to it to and from student teaching in WI and it was a big part of my spiritual growth during that time. So, I found some familiar tunes and bought the Switchfoot Album, "Hello, Hurricane." A song I had never heard, "yet" began to play, a song that seemed to have been custom-written for this exact moment in my life. It discussed losing ground, heading toward the final precipice, losing sight of God, on the verge of moving far from him, and then it says, "but you haven't lost me yet."
I curled up in my blankets and let the truth of this song wash over me, let it be my sad anthem. Let myself wallow in it. I felt my heart breaking, I was losing the love of my Life.
And then came the line- wrenched out of the lead singer's gut, "If it doesn't break, if it doesn't break, if it doesn't break your heart then it's not love, naww, if it doesn't break your heart it's not enough. It's when it's really breakin' down with your insides coming out that you really know what your heart is made of"
It was then that it occurred to me- that whatever this was between me and God, it must be love because otherwise it wouldn't have broken my heart.
Not only that, but for such a long time, there had been two primary issues in my spiritual growth. One being that I hadn't been loving God enough- here I was feeling rightfully distraught and more upset that I had been in a very long time about the idea of some kind of a loss of God. This was good- I had never loved God like this before. This was, in fact, the entire point of my 70 DAYS- to love God better. Lo and behold- prayers are answered. It's amazing, when faced with difficult circumstances, the reassuring and comforting things you find- the part of yourself you come to find.
The second issue being that I often said, when discussing major Christian concepts/principals, that I knew things in my head, not in my heart and thus could not "walk the walk" or truly understand them. This time my head did not know what to think and no matter how confused it became, no matter how all the darkness that had filled my life all winter/spring tried to use my thoughts, my mind to break down my spirit- it could only go so far. As much as I like to think thought/reason/logic are such powerful things, they hit a wall that they could not push beyond. They hit some kind of fortress in my spirit that had been building up without my realizing it.
What I found was that I knew all of these things- I knew God loved me- in my heart, even if I didn't know it in my head at the time. And that is much better than the opposite alternative.
Later that week I ran at Chauncy Lake on a stormy day, Switchfoot blasting in my ears- this time it was the song, "Hello Hurricane." The clouds hung menacingly (although what could they do? Pour reviving, forgiving water on me?) My feet pounded angrily to the beat- a righteous anger at evil- and yet, a triumphant anger.
Darkness had taken so many forms, trying to pull me away from God those past few months and it found a wall it could not penetrate- It found the walls of my heart- a heart that has deep roots now, that knows God loves me- by His billions of actions, by what He's written on my heart, not just a certain string of words.
"Hello Hurricane," I sang to all the darkness in the woods that could hear me, to the stones, the rocky trail I trampled under my feet,
"You're not enough.
Hello hurricane, you can't silence my love.
I've got doors and windows boarded up
All your dead end fury is not enough
You can't silence my love, my love."
A number of things had occurred and weighed on my spirit to bring me to this point, some of which I had already chronicled: being fragile in spirit after a period of exhaustion and burn out and some questioning about major spiritual matters.
Additionally, I was continually undergoing the stress and sadness of my mother's continuing illness and it just seemed as though the storms just kept coming, waves just kept surging, pounding over me before I could get my head above water and gasp for breath.
I had also been in a theoretical foundations (the foundations of behavior analysis) class for grad school that for some reason, shook me up. We spent the first few classes discussing Christianity vs. science as behavior analysis' basic principles are often in conflict with major christian ideas (phenomenology, assumption of first-cause theory, evolution, etc). While many of the arguments brought up by my atheist professor were ones I could easily counter, the general ideas brought up threw me off. I began trying to view the world in an atheistic, phenomenological way, just to see if I could do it- trying to understand how my professor, my colleagues view it. I'd try to look at the trees moving in the wind just as they were, seeing no driving force behind any of it but a series of cause and effects.
Here's the thing about being an atheist:I'm bad at it. Trying to view the world this way depressed me terribly. I felt like I was grieving a loss of a loved one- and in a way, I was. For more on this see Week 39
All of this nudged me to question things and on top of that, I just went through a period of a questioning nature- doubting the legitimacy of some scripture, and more than the legitimacy, doubting what it was truly intended for. I began to question so many basic assumptions Christians base so much off of as potential culturally influenced phenomena. The idea of taking so much scripture literally (in addition to figuratively) for example became an issue. I began to look at the potential sources of texts and wondered how we could see Genesis as some kind of actual account. To me, it seemed to be some written account of a folk tale, and oral tradition (of course this ignores God's power over what goes into His Holy, living, word, but I ignored a lot of things during this period). Perhaps the most dangerous and frightening thing I questioned was God's love for me. I wanted proof. So much of faith and religion is skewed by our cultural view of things. We reiterate over and over that "God is Love" as a mantra. Why not just echo, "God is a Jealous God?" Because it's not as suitable for us? It doesn't comfort us as much even if it's equally as true. I found we focused so much on Love in our society that perhaps we had skewed God's personality more in one direction to suit our needs (and I still think I'm onto something there, although now I do believe He loves me). On top of this, I wanted scriptural proof. "WHERE DOES GOD SAY HE LOVES ME, TELL ME WHERE?!" I demanded of my friend, so angry that I was swearing like a truck driver, throwing the F-word in between most of the words in caps above. I don't think I've ever sworn that much at God or in reference to God in my life (perhaps the proof to my doubt that he loves me was in that lightning didn't strike me then and there).
I was dismayed that I even found myself asking this question, and even more to my dismay, my friend did not have an answer for me. Well, she did- she could mention lots of scripture that alluded to actions that showed God loved me or that he loved people. But God never said right out that he loved me and when he came out and expressed love for a people, it was his Chosen people of Israel, etc. It was never for someone like me.
At least in my mind at this point, it wasn't. I didn't want action, I didn't want some (seemingly) round-about way of showing His love. I wanted the very human, earth-bound, potentially meaningless, word love. As if that stood as proof of His love for me far more than Jesus' dying for my sins.
Nonetheless, I found that I had questions buzzing around my head that I could not turn off. I'm too philosophical to just stop thinking things because they're unpleasant. I have to reason and think my way out of them. Thus, I found myself lying in bed crying one night, realizing I was at some kind of potential "final precipice." I was questioning the foundations of my faith- whether God loves me, the legitimacy of the scripture that I relied on as truth, and so many other fundamental issues relating to those two primary ones. I could not manage to think my way out of some of these issues- at least at some level- at least at the level I want to think my way out of them (on a human, selfish, very naive mortal level).
So there I lay, realizing how dangerous this was and feeling as if I was losing God. It was the kind of feeling you have when you're in the process of/on the verge of breaking up with someone and you feel as though you're desperately clinging to something that you can't figure out how to work out. The feeling that this thing you are trying to save is, despite your attempts, still slipping from your grip.
And really, in my mind, this is what I was doing. I had fought with and sworn at God and now I was breaking up with him. Only, I didn't want to. I just didn't see how I couldn't. I felt as though my mind were divorcing (perhaps this is the better word than breaking up given the nature of our relationship) God, my spirit did not want to. And of course, God was not at all divorcing me- it was as if my human self was working against my will to pull me away from Him. And yet, there was a part of me that could not fully- that knew something my brain didn't. So there I lay, in some hellish limbo that threatened the loss of everything.
In desperation that night I bought some Christian music I had not listened to since I listened to KLOVE, a radio station that plays all over- but that I cannot get in MA. I used to listen to it to and from student teaching in WI and it was a big part of my spiritual growth during that time. So, I found some familiar tunes and bought the Switchfoot Album, "Hello, Hurricane." A song I had never heard, "yet" began to play, a song that seemed to have been custom-written for this exact moment in my life. It discussed losing ground, heading toward the final precipice, losing sight of God, on the verge of moving far from him, and then it says, "but you haven't lost me yet."
I curled up in my blankets and let the truth of this song wash over me, let it be my sad anthem. Let myself wallow in it. I felt my heart breaking, I was losing the love of my Life.
And then came the line- wrenched out of the lead singer's gut, "If it doesn't break, if it doesn't break, if it doesn't break your heart then it's not love, naww, if it doesn't break your heart it's not enough. It's when it's really breakin' down with your insides coming out that you really know what your heart is made of"
It was then that it occurred to me- that whatever this was between me and God, it must be love because otherwise it wouldn't have broken my heart.
Not only that, but for such a long time, there had been two primary issues in my spiritual growth. One being that I hadn't been loving God enough- here I was feeling rightfully distraught and more upset that I had been in a very long time about the idea of some kind of a loss of God. This was good- I had never loved God like this before. This was, in fact, the entire point of my 70 DAYS- to love God better. Lo and behold- prayers are answered. It's amazing, when faced with difficult circumstances, the reassuring and comforting things you find- the part of yourself you come to find.
The second issue being that I often said, when discussing major Christian concepts/principals, that I knew things in my head, not in my heart and thus could not "walk the walk" or truly understand them. This time my head did not know what to think and no matter how confused it became, no matter how all the darkness that had filled my life all winter/spring tried to use my thoughts, my mind to break down my spirit- it could only go so far. As much as I like to think thought/reason/logic are such powerful things, they hit a wall that they could not push beyond. They hit some kind of fortress in my spirit that had been building up without my realizing it.
What I found was that I knew all of these things- I knew God loved me- in my heart, even if I didn't know it in my head at the time. And that is much better than the opposite alternative.
Later that week I ran at Chauncy Lake on a stormy day, Switchfoot blasting in my ears- this time it was the song, "Hello Hurricane." The clouds hung menacingly (although what could they do? Pour reviving, forgiving water on me?) My feet pounded angrily to the beat- a righteous anger at evil- and yet, a triumphant anger.
Darkness had taken so many forms, trying to pull me away from God those past few months and it found a wall it could not penetrate- It found the walls of my heart- a heart that has deep roots now, that knows God loves me- by His billions of actions, by what He's written on my heart, not just a certain string of words.
"Hello Hurricane," I sang to all the darkness in the woods that could hear me, to the stones, the rocky trail I trampled under my feet,
"You're not enough.
Hello hurricane, you can't silence my love.
I've got doors and windows boarded up
All your dead end fury is not enough
You can't silence my love, my love."
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Week 40: "If I Ever Leave this World Alive"
When Flogging Molly sings this, I don't think they were implying anything about Jesus. But to I'm sure many artist's chagrin (if they were ever to find out), I hear Jesus in even the most secularly intended music (If only Jay-Z knew that I heard "hallelujah" instead of "New York" in Empire State of mind and had a really great spiritual moment. So much for "life starts when the church ends").
It's Easter, He is risen, and really the first to leave this world Alive (And in a much more live way than we'll be, I think- but that's just because He is the definition of Life itself, so how can we compete with that?). My Easter experience got me thinking about life and being alive and I have been thrown into a menagerie of thoughts, so forgive the random episodes of differing topics in this post, they are the product of a lively day where my thoughts drift in and out, changing with the restless spring wind and altering light.
This was my first Easter away from home, and the "Easter Bunny" mailed me a package a few days before full of amazing goodies even though I'm 24 and 1,000 miles away from home. I went to church- which was packed and bright and cheerful and I was reminded how much I love it and how much I'll miss it when I move for my next phase of life in a little over a year.
A couple in their 80s invited me over for brunch- more like insisted. Louie, the husband, who makes me desserts and brings them to church just for me, asked if I had anything to do, and when I said I didn't, wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Louie is an awesome guy who I bonded with as his son has a very similar form of cancer as my mother and he asks me how she's doing every week.
Anyway, East Sunday finds me at a kitchen table with three 80 year olds (the couple and Joan's brother in law)in a house that has been owned by Joan's (the wife part of the couple) family for 80+ years. The door is open and a breeze wafts through the screen door as I drink ginger ale and a glass of ice water. I look out at a backyard that would only belong to older people: bird feeders and squirrel feeders (refilled religiously, as would not be the case with busy, younger people unless they were especially bird obsessed) set up everywhere, perennial bulb plants, ancient desks and things from another life out on the porch with flowers brought from church sitting on top of the desk, blooming right in my view. The walls of her kitchen were covered in pictures and notes, trinkets, crosses, phone numbers, etc.Duplicate products of which she probably had a few (like plastic wrap, etc) but forgot she bought it so had more, were stacked on shelves. I ate real food, made from scratch, in the old, simple, but delicious style, the way that the older generation cooks- with butter and brown sugar- no new special ethnic spices, nothing processed or prepared. Louie had made most of it. I sat there eating real, fresh cut carrots, homemade apple pie, looking out into the back yard, completely at ease. It reminded me of my childhood growing up in my grandparents' house. There is something so magical and real and poetic and perfect about real houses that are lived in, decorated with life rather than perfectly planned decor. Something wonderful that allows your imagination to go wild about places with real yards, where an older way of life persists. I grew up in some combination of the 1930s, 1960s, and 1970s.I did not have a computer or cable TV until 7th or 8th grade and never had video games. I spent my time writing, playing in the backyard. I never had a barbie dream house, I made them out of cardboard boxes, using Tupperware and odds and ends as furniture. I've always cherished my childhood, and I felt like I revisited it, almost as though I had Sunday Brunch with my grandparents- I found myself talking about my real grandparents, which I rarely do as I have little occasion for it.
At the same time however, the situation was saddening. Conversation turned to Joan's sister, who her brother-in-law, Earl, had just visited in the nursing home. All he talked about was her, how she ate, what floor she was on. His eyes were sad, he was quiet, thin and hollow looking- they talked of how worn out he had been taking care of his wife before she went to the nursing home. How long had this been going on? People are old and face medical issues for a long long time- it seems it takes some people 20 or 30 years to die. I couldn't imagine such a thing,taking care of someone who is sick, living that, and for such a long, extended period of time. Except, I almost can imagine it- thinking about my mother and how her medical issues never seem to end- the only thing that keeps me going is that it will go away and get better, one way or the other. But with Louie moving about the house in his tired gait (and yet he's more active and able than my mother who is 20 years younger), Joan talking about watching her sugar intake and all the things they cannot eat, Louie saying "don't ever get old," and the sorrow in Earl's eyes, I wondered, "how many of us leave this world alive?"
Of course, none of us get out of it alive physically, but how often does the physical decay of our bodies and of the loved ones around us get into our being, weary our soul, until spiritually, we are no longer alive? Do we find ourselves hopeless, scrambling around, grumbling at the spouse we've known for 50+ years, only to wake up and find we don't know them anymore?
I am so so frightened of growing old- I've always thought I would die young. And it's not growing old physically as much as it is spiritually, mentally- I'm afraid that somewhere along the line, this world will kill my soul, that I won't leave this world alive. Maybe Jesus then will bring me back to life? But you can't live this life dead, and you can't be effective in your ministry or be the hands and feet of Jesus if your soul is dead.
I think of this fear and what it means to my next phase of life: how do I find a career that won't kill me? A teaching job that won't kill my soul, where I won't feel that all I'm doing is failing students as I have for the past 7 years now? Can I be in a relationship, get married, and trust that it won't suck the life out of me, that I won't suck the life out of someone else? That I can have children and not have everything sucked out of me, that I won't damage them?
Dying is easy (when it actually happens) life (and living while slowly dying) is hard.
I suppose all we can do is pray for the faith and grace to see the beauty in the world, to see and feel God with us so all the slow death doesn't kill us, so we can leave this world Alive.
It's Easter, He is risen, and really the first to leave this world Alive (And in a much more live way than we'll be, I think- but that's just because He is the definition of Life itself, so how can we compete with that?). My Easter experience got me thinking about life and being alive and I have been thrown into a menagerie of thoughts, so forgive the random episodes of differing topics in this post, they are the product of a lively day where my thoughts drift in and out, changing with the restless spring wind and altering light.
This was my first Easter away from home, and the "Easter Bunny" mailed me a package a few days before full of amazing goodies even though I'm 24 and 1,000 miles away from home. I went to church- which was packed and bright and cheerful and I was reminded how much I love it and how much I'll miss it when I move for my next phase of life in a little over a year.
A couple in their 80s invited me over for brunch- more like insisted. Louie, the husband, who makes me desserts and brings them to church just for me, asked if I had anything to do, and when I said I didn't, wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Louie is an awesome guy who I bonded with as his son has a very similar form of cancer as my mother and he asks me how she's doing every week.
Anyway, East Sunday finds me at a kitchen table with three 80 year olds (the couple and Joan's brother in law)in a house that has been owned by Joan's (the wife part of the couple) family for 80+ years. The door is open and a breeze wafts through the screen door as I drink ginger ale and a glass of ice water. I look out at a backyard that would only belong to older people: bird feeders and squirrel feeders (refilled religiously, as would not be the case with busy, younger people unless they were especially bird obsessed) set up everywhere, perennial bulb plants, ancient desks and things from another life out on the porch with flowers brought from church sitting on top of the desk, blooming right in my view. The walls of her kitchen were covered in pictures and notes, trinkets, crosses, phone numbers, etc.Duplicate products of which she probably had a few (like plastic wrap, etc) but forgot she bought it so had more, were stacked on shelves. I ate real food, made from scratch, in the old, simple, but delicious style, the way that the older generation cooks- with butter and brown sugar- no new special ethnic spices, nothing processed or prepared. Louie had made most of it. I sat there eating real, fresh cut carrots, homemade apple pie, looking out into the back yard, completely at ease. It reminded me of my childhood growing up in my grandparents' house. There is something so magical and real and poetic and perfect about real houses that are lived in, decorated with life rather than perfectly planned decor. Something wonderful that allows your imagination to go wild about places with real yards, where an older way of life persists. I grew up in some combination of the 1930s, 1960s, and 1970s.I did not have a computer or cable TV until 7th or 8th grade and never had video games. I spent my time writing, playing in the backyard. I never had a barbie dream house, I made them out of cardboard boxes, using Tupperware and odds and ends as furniture. I've always cherished my childhood, and I felt like I revisited it, almost as though I had Sunday Brunch with my grandparents- I found myself talking about my real grandparents, which I rarely do as I have little occasion for it.
At the same time however, the situation was saddening. Conversation turned to Joan's sister, who her brother-in-law, Earl, had just visited in the nursing home. All he talked about was her, how she ate, what floor she was on. His eyes were sad, he was quiet, thin and hollow looking- they talked of how worn out he had been taking care of his wife before she went to the nursing home. How long had this been going on? People are old and face medical issues for a long long time- it seems it takes some people 20 or 30 years to die. I couldn't imagine such a thing,taking care of someone who is sick, living that, and for such a long, extended period of time. Except, I almost can imagine it- thinking about my mother and how her medical issues never seem to end- the only thing that keeps me going is that it will go away and get better, one way or the other. But with Louie moving about the house in his tired gait (and yet he's more active and able than my mother who is 20 years younger), Joan talking about watching her sugar intake and all the things they cannot eat, Louie saying "don't ever get old," and the sorrow in Earl's eyes, I wondered, "how many of us leave this world alive?"
Of course, none of us get out of it alive physically, but how often does the physical decay of our bodies and of the loved ones around us get into our being, weary our soul, until spiritually, we are no longer alive? Do we find ourselves hopeless, scrambling around, grumbling at the spouse we've known for 50+ years, only to wake up and find we don't know them anymore?
I am so so frightened of growing old- I've always thought I would die young. And it's not growing old physically as much as it is spiritually, mentally- I'm afraid that somewhere along the line, this world will kill my soul, that I won't leave this world alive. Maybe Jesus then will bring me back to life? But you can't live this life dead, and you can't be effective in your ministry or be the hands and feet of Jesus if your soul is dead.
I think of this fear and what it means to my next phase of life: how do I find a career that won't kill me? A teaching job that won't kill my soul, where I won't feel that all I'm doing is failing students as I have for the past 7 years now? Can I be in a relationship, get married, and trust that it won't suck the life out of me, that I won't suck the life out of someone else? That I can have children and not have everything sucked out of me, that I won't damage them?
Dying is easy (when it actually happens) life (and living while slowly dying) is hard.
I suppose all we can do is pray for the faith and grace to see the beauty in the world, to see and feel God with us so all the slow death doesn't kill us, so we can leave this world Alive.
Week 39: Why I am not not a Christian
My calling is an interesting one. I'm called to teach children in the most effective way possible and thus have been called into Applied Behavior Analysis, a field who's theoretical foundations (rooted in science, phenomenology, and evolution) as well as it's suppositions about how behavior is controlled (which negate free will) are often contradictory to the faith and belief that convicts me to pursue behavior analysis in the first place. God's a funny guy. Why does this matter to my 70 weeks? Because threats to my belief are always going to impact any decisions I make and because what I pursue after I leave here depends on how I view God and even my field in relation to God.
Moving on: I read Bertrand Russell's "Why I am not a Christian" for class (Theoretical Foundations of Applied Behavior Analysis). I have struggled with Christianity and Behavior Analysis as conflicting philosophies for a long time, and always settled on the idea that professionally, I am a teacher who uses behavior analysis practices (while still a Christian) and spiritually, I am a Christian (not a behavior analyst, as some allow it to seep even into that realm). I found that our friend Bertrand has a lot of holes and in the end, his view of things and what it inspires struck me in an incredibly painful way, proving even further, why I am not "not a Christian"
Primary points (most of these are what Russell claims are Christianity's support for its claims, he then refutes, I then refute Russell- the last few are other important notes not part of the list of Christian claims he discusses)
*First Cause- something must be the original cause of everything
-Russell says that this theory is flawed as if there must be a first cause for everything, there must be a cause for God
-I disagree both with Russell and somewhat with the first cause theory. The problem with both is that they assume that God exists within time. Time allows for first, last, successive, etc. When time does not exist, “first” and thus “first cause” cannot exist, thus, exempting God from first cause theory as well as the notion that something had to create God. You could argue that we do not have the pre-requisite skills to prove or disprove God’s existence because we live on a temporal plane, not an eternal plane.
*Natural Law- that all things in the universe are governed by natural laws/do what they do due to God
-Russell says that when we examine things that appear to be natural laws we find they are simply human conventions or chance
- However, natural laws can be explained by observations within the universe. But our ability to observe and see environmental causation does not mean that there is not a source for these laws. At one point, these laws had to be created, and their intricacy suggests design. Too often we attempt to apply natural Laws to God and make Him fit them rather than apply God to natural laws to God and make them fall under Him, their creator.
*Design- that everything in the world was carefully planned so it could be lived in and would be unlivable if there were even small alterations.
-Russell says that evolution shows that the environment was not made to suit us but that we change to suit our environment, thus negating design. He also argues that if something omnipotent and omniscient designed the world, it has flaws and is in a state of decay. Why would something divine design something broken?
-I disagree because, true design implies that everything is designed to function in a certain way with one another in a way that it exists for however long it is designed to exist for. This does not require the environment to alter but it does require something to alter- and in the case of our universe it is the organisms that alter and evolve and change their environment to suit them. An omnipotent and omniscient designer would be remiss if it did not create flexible, adaptable creatures. Also, the assumption that the world has flaws/is in a state of decay, assumes the notion of flaws, assuming that there is good and bad. Which begs the question: What is the source of good and evil? Where do they come from? Design can also account for this- the design is not ours, and the design may not be necessarily beneficial for us (in ways that we can conceive it), thus, the universe may have been designed to burn out, human kind may have been designed to fall(not that I necessary believe this- I'm just pointing out holes in Russell's argument). The assumption that design theory necessitates a perfect design is remiss. A designer may very well design something broken with the purpose of fixing it or with any other number of purposes that we cannot guess at as we are not the designer.
*Christianity and religion in general is not something someone reasons himself into, it comes from emotion, not logic- this is a general point Russell makes, explaining that one does not become a Christian only because logic leads him to it. And here, I agree with Russell, but I suppose being a Christian, there is a bias that leads me to believe this is a good thing that Russell, not having experienced this, cannot understand. While I recognize that in many ways, a belief in God actually is logical, and the belief of many may be backed up by logic, no one comes to true belief only for the sake of logic alone. Doing something purely out of logic sucks the life out of it, sucks the faith out of it. You can't have belief without faith, you can't have faith if logic is the only reason you do anything.
The professor of the class where we discussed this talked about his atheism and how Russell did not make him an Atheist, Priests being inappropriate with little boys did. That is not only a terribly sad statement because it means he lost faith through the sins of other men, and because he doesn't have the understanding to differentiate between who God is and the sins of men- how the sins of men should not prove that God does not exist. It also proves that even for a man who claims to be primarily logical, for a man well known for his work in an incredibly scientific field based on theory contradictory to many forms of religious faith, did not come to be an atheist by logic, but though emotion. Not just belief, but lack of belief (which is a belief unto itself, so thus, all forms of belief or belief of nothing) can, and often, come from emotion, not logic.
Needless to say this class sent me into an emotional tailspin for a few reasons. First because some of Russell's support for his ideas were just awful and I knew it, but I needed more evidence to support Christianity. Second (and this is one of the reasons I was very emotional), was that I just felt sorrow and compassion for my professor given many of the things he said that were very telling about his faith, lack of understanding of God, sin, and basic theological concepts that are necessary to understand Christianity at all. Basically, it led to me experiencing something that's been happening more often lately- I feel as though I'm seeing aspects of a person in the way God sees them (minimally of course, my brain doesn't have the capacity for all that understanding) and suddenly feel compassion and sorrow for them and sense how much God longs after them. Third and finally, because we talked so much in this respect, I began trying to imagine the world without God, without a creator, looking at it, trying to see it as though it was all there was. There was nothing beyond it, nothing moving among it that was greater- it was all at face value, and thus, it all looked empty and meaningless. I wanted to stop, I couldn't look at the world that way. It hurt my heart, literally gave me a hollow feeling in my stomach, the kind you get when someone has died or you've broken up with someone and you find yourself reminded of them.
Only, everything in the world reminds me of God, and when I tried to view it as an atheist, scientifically, etc. and imagined it without God, it felt like someone I loved had died- worse- had never even existed. And in a way it was true, in that moment, in that thought, the God I loved was dead- at least in my current view. So, I hated thinking like this, but I couldn't help it because I felt like stopping viewing the world that way was like just stopping because it hurt- I wasn't being analytical enough. I'm a philosopher, I question, I don't just stop questioning or believe something because it's more pleasant, I believe something because it's the truth, I stop questioning because I have found the truth. So, I had to meditate on and really think out my faith to justify ceasing viewing the world in an atheistic way. I had a lot of thought time and conversations with great friends who made me feel much better and helped me talk and think through things and I was good again.
But for that day, I realized what it would be like to go without a God- how it is really the worst thing I could possibly endure: to stop believing in a God. The world was so empty. Not that I was good at being an atheist, I kept accidentally thinking, "God, what is your plan for me and these atheistic thoughts" as if, this way of viewing the world as Godless was God's plan. I'd make a terrible atheist. For a better explanation of that experience see my poem: http://visionofjohanna.livejournal.com/51599.html
This sudden attack on my faith was interesting- affecting me emotionally and intellectually. I felt anger and loss at the same time, and honestly, freaked out a little bit.
Bertrand Russell, what a guy. As my mom said when I told her, "oh, Bertrand Russell?! That jerk just needed to get laid."
Moving on: I read Bertrand Russell's "Why I am not a Christian" for class (Theoretical Foundations of Applied Behavior Analysis). I have struggled with Christianity and Behavior Analysis as conflicting philosophies for a long time, and always settled on the idea that professionally, I am a teacher who uses behavior analysis practices (while still a Christian) and spiritually, I am a Christian (not a behavior analyst, as some allow it to seep even into that realm). I found that our friend Bertrand has a lot of holes and in the end, his view of things and what it inspires struck me in an incredibly painful way, proving even further, why I am not "not a Christian"
Primary points (most of these are what Russell claims are Christianity's support for its claims, he then refutes, I then refute Russell- the last few are other important notes not part of the list of Christian claims he discusses)
*First Cause- something must be the original cause of everything
-Russell says that this theory is flawed as if there must be a first cause for everything, there must be a cause for God
-I disagree both with Russell and somewhat with the first cause theory. The problem with both is that they assume that God exists within time. Time allows for first, last, successive, etc. When time does not exist, “first” and thus “first cause” cannot exist, thus, exempting God from first cause theory as well as the notion that something had to create God. You could argue that we do not have the pre-requisite skills to prove or disprove God’s existence because we live on a temporal plane, not an eternal plane.
*Natural Law- that all things in the universe are governed by natural laws/do what they do due to God
-Russell says that when we examine things that appear to be natural laws we find they are simply human conventions or chance
- However, natural laws can be explained by observations within the universe. But our ability to observe and see environmental causation does not mean that there is not a source for these laws. At one point, these laws had to be created, and their intricacy suggests design. Too often we attempt to apply natural Laws to God and make Him fit them rather than apply God to natural laws to God and make them fall under Him, their creator.
*Design- that everything in the world was carefully planned so it could be lived in and would be unlivable if there were even small alterations.
-Russell says that evolution shows that the environment was not made to suit us but that we change to suit our environment, thus negating design. He also argues that if something omnipotent and omniscient designed the world, it has flaws and is in a state of decay. Why would something divine design something broken?
-I disagree because, true design implies that everything is designed to function in a certain way with one another in a way that it exists for however long it is designed to exist for. This does not require the environment to alter but it does require something to alter- and in the case of our universe it is the organisms that alter and evolve and change their environment to suit them. An omnipotent and omniscient designer would be remiss if it did not create flexible, adaptable creatures. Also, the assumption that the world has flaws/is in a state of decay, assumes the notion of flaws, assuming that there is good and bad. Which begs the question: What is the source of good and evil? Where do they come from? Design can also account for this- the design is not ours, and the design may not be necessarily beneficial for us (in ways that we can conceive it), thus, the universe may have been designed to burn out, human kind may have been designed to fall(not that I necessary believe this- I'm just pointing out holes in Russell's argument). The assumption that design theory necessitates a perfect design is remiss. A designer may very well design something broken with the purpose of fixing it or with any other number of purposes that we cannot guess at as we are not the designer.
*Christianity and religion in general is not something someone reasons himself into, it comes from emotion, not logic- this is a general point Russell makes, explaining that one does not become a Christian only because logic leads him to it. And here, I agree with Russell, but I suppose being a Christian, there is a bias that leads me to believe this is a good thing that Russell, not having experienced this, cannot understand. While I recognize that in many ways, a belief in God actually is logical, and the belief of many may be backed up by logic, no one comes to true belief only for the sake of logic alone. Doing something purely out of logic sucks the life out of it, sucks the faith out of it. You can't have belief without faith, you can't have faith if logic is the only reason you do anything.
The professor of the class where we discussed this talked about his atheism and how Russell did not make him an Atheist, Priests being inappropriate with little boys did. That is not only a terribly sad statement because it means he lost faith through the sins of other men, and because he doesn't have the understanding to differentiate between who God is and the sins of men- how the sins of men should not prove that God does not exist. It also proves that even for a man who claims to be primarily logical, for a man well known for his work in an incredibly scientific field based on theory contradictory to many forms of religious faith, did not come to be an atheist by logic, but though emotion. Not just belief, but lack of belief (which is a belief unto itself, so thus, all forms of belief or belief of nothing) can, and often, come from emotion, not logic.
Needless to say this class sent me into an emotional tailspin for a few reasons. First because some of Russell's support for his ideas were just awful and I knew it, but I needed more evidence to support Christianity. Second (and this is one of the reasons I was very emotional), was that I just felt sorrow and compassion for my professor given many of the things he said that were very telling about his faith, lack of understanding of God, sin, and basic theological concepts that are necessary to understand Christianity at all. Basically, it led to me experiencing something that's been happening more often lately- I feel as though I'm seeing aspects of a person in the way God sees them (minimally of course, my brain doesn't have the capacity for all that understanding) and suddenly feel compassion and sorrow for them and sense how much God longs after them. Third and finally, because we talked so much in this respect, I began trying to imagine the world without God, without a creator, looking at it, trying to see it as though it was all there was. There was nothing beyond it, nothing moving among it that was greater- it was all at face value, and thus, it all looked empty and meaningless. I wanted to stop, I couldn't look at the world that way. It hurt my heart, literally gave me a hollow feeling in my stomach, the kind you get when someone has died or you've broken up with someone and you find yourself reminded of them.
Only, everything in the world reminds me of God, and when I tried to view it as an atheist, scientifically, etc. and imagined it without God, it felt like someone I loved had died- worse- had never even existed. And in a way it was true, in that moment, in that thought, the God I loved was dead- at least in my current view. So, I hated thinking like this, but I couldn't help it because I felt like stopping viewing the world that way was like just stopping because it hurt- I wasn't being analytical enough. I'm a philosopher, I question, I don't just stop questioning or believe something because it's more pleasant, I believe something because it's the truth, I stop questioning because I have found the truth. So, I had to meditate on and really think out my faith to justify ceasing viewing the world in an atheistic way. I had a lot of thought time and conversations with great friends who made me feel much better and helped me talk and think through things and I was good again.
But for that day, I realized what it would be like to go without a God- how it is really the worst thing I could possibly endure: to stop believing in a God. The world was so empty. Not that I was good at being an atheist, I kept accidentally thinking, "God, what is your plan for me and these atheistic thoughts" as if, this way of viewing the world as Godless was God's plan. I'd make a terrible atheist. For a better explanation of that experience see my poem: http://visionofjohanna.livejournal.com/51599.html
This sudden attack on my faith was interesting- affecting me emotionally and intellectually. I felt anger and loss at the same time, and honestly, freaked out a little bit.
Bertrand Russell, what a guy. As my mom said when I told her, "oh, Bertrand Russell?! That jerk just needed to get laid."
Monday, April 11, 2011
Week 38: New Life
I'm not going to say much (well, comparatively speaking. By now you probably know to stop reading after a few paragraphs because these posts soon become epistles). If you read my last post, you know that last week was the breaking point of my exhaustion. It was not a sudden burst of it or just one bad week, it was the culmination and realization of something bad that had building up a long time and was threatening my being. Man do I hate evil- well, at least I hate it most of the time when I recognize it for what it is (which I don't always do, I confess).
But prayer is an amazing thing and our God is an amazing God so this week has been much better. But this is not one of those uplifting, sha-la-la,-things-are-terrible, but-God-makes-everything-wonderful-again-in-the-blink of an eye posts. Because if it were, that would imply that my problem was just a poor state of mood, a bad week, or even just me not realizing some key fact and then, because of some revelation or God's presence, everything was miraculously perfect again. This is not that story.
Not to say that God couldn't or even doesn't make everything wonderful or make everything miraculously perfect, but I feel like God doesn't usually choose to work that way, at least not in this type of situation. In some cases, where the problem is a single incorrect notion or a simply distance from God, or some kind a problem between you and God, He can and sometimes does instantly make everything feel right with the world again, depending on the situation.
This darkness that took up residence inside of my and the slump that followed was not a problem between me and God, it was a problem between me and evil, and thus, a problem between me and myself for which I enlisted the help of God. In fact, I came to realize the problem was that I had tried to fight off darkness for so long on my own, trying to be strong enough, forgetting to tap into God's strength, and so I became tired, weak, and fell prey to all sorts of dark thoughts.
Even my roommate and co-workers were thrown off by how off I was. After being somewhat snappy and terse about something or another one of my co-workers asked very concernedly if I was okay. Talking to my roommate this week she recalled, "I didn't know what to do. I've never seen you like this before." Long story short, I was not okay.
But I digress, the point here is that my problem was and is the continual problem of all human kind- that of having a constantly sinful nature and needing to make an effort to battle it. The problem was with my own will, giving it over to God, and doing the work it takes to give it over (which is kind of an interesting notion, but I won't go into that now). Because God gives us free will, he won't force us to give our will over to Him and force our decisions and thoughts on a daily basis to change for the better. And this is what I needed, to change them for the better, work on continually loving people. Thus, by that logic, God would not do something miraculous to make everything better because the source of my problem is within the domain of myself over which God has given me free reign. And free reign over myself, well, that's just trouble. Thank God I have God to help me out and guide me, right?
So, this week has not been easy, it has been a continual effort to work on loving people all the time and make an effort to live my life in Christ, to go back to making the efforts I was before this exhaustion took over. And it's hard getting back on the wagon. And of course, a whole ton of prayer and quality God time has been involved. After a few days I just felt the joy come back- I could see beauty in the world again. The fog that highlighted everything, every edge of the hills thrilled me, I felt like I was flying into the sunrise as I drove to work on a beautiful day listening to music my best friend burned for me. I genuinely laughed with my students and friends, and I finally appreciated a few moments of work for being precious and something that I will not be able to hold until. I was able to cherish moments of my life again. It's amazing and interesting how loving and working on walking in Christ taps you into this fountain of Joy. But I suppose that makes sense as God IS pure joy (among many other things), so tapping into Him means tapping into Joy itself.
This week the grass even came up- there is green on my planet again. I can't tell you how much the sight of that just opens up my soul and makes me feel alive again. It shoots up through the dark dirt and is suddenly green and bright, feeding off the light. Perhaps this culmination, this realization of the darkness that had enveloped me was like the final straw, the last second I could take from winter before I broke through the darkness, out into the light with new life.
Today I played the piano next to my open balcony door, the sunlight streaming in, a soft breeze playing with my hair as if God were continually saying hello. I played bright, happy, notes, major staccato chords. Improvising, letting the notes float out on the breeze that had a breath like summer. My roommate came in the door and asked how I was as I joyfully plinked away on the keys, I smiled and said I was amazing, that it was a beautiful day.
I am much better, although I am still not all the way okay. But glory hallelujah it is spring, there is new life in the world around me, there is new life in my chest, and by His Grace there is redemption so if I praying, keep working, keep looking for the light, I think I'll be more than fine.
Lloyd (see week 37) was right, I can give my love, my light, away freely, because God gives it right back. He restores our souls. Of course, the process of giving out our light is continual and one that requires constant effort and diligence, it is not some miraculous quick fix. Giving out light is a life long project that is easy to view as a chore, that is, until He fills you back up with light even brighter than you could conceive, and when you remember that, you can't help but give it out freely and joyfully.
But prayer is an amazing thing and our God is an amazing God so this week has been much better. But this is not one of those uplifting, sha-la-la,-things-are-terrible, but-God-makes-everything-wonderful-again-in-the-blink of an eye posts. Because if it were, that would imply that my problem was just a poor state of mood, a bad week, or even just me not realizing some key fact and then, because of some revelation or God's presence, everything was miraculously perfect again. This is not that story.
Not to say that God couldn't or even doesn't make everything wonderful or make everything miraculously perfect, but I feel like God doesn't usually choose to work that way, at least not in this type of situation. In some cases, where the problem is a single incorrect notion or a simply distance from God, or some kind a problem between you and God, He can and sometimes does instantly make everything feel right with the world again, depending on the situation.
This darkness that took up residence inside of my and the slump that followed was not a problem between me and God, it was a problem between me and evil, and thus, a problem between me and myself for which I enlisted the help of God. In fact, I came to realize the problem was that I had tried to fight off darkness for so long on my own, trying to be strong enough, forgetting to tap into God's strength, and so I became tired, weak, and fell prey to all sorts of dark thoughts.
Even my roommate and co-workers were thrown off by how off I was. After being somewhat snappy and terse about something or another one of my co-workers asked very concernedly if I was okay. Talking to my roommate this week she recalled, "I didn't know what to do. I've never seen you like this before." Long story short, I was not okay.
But I digress, the point here is that my problem was and is the continual problem of all human kind- that of having a constantly sinful nature and needing to make an effort to battle it. The problem was with my own will, giving it over to God, and doing the work it takes to give it over (which is kind of an interesting notion, but I won't go into that now). Because God gives us free will, he won't force us to give our will over to Him and force our decisions and thoughts on a daily basis to change for the better. And this is what I needed, to change them for the better, work on continually loving people. Thus, by that logic, God would not do something miraculous to make everything better because the source of my problem is within the domain of myself over which God has given me free reign. And free reign over myself, well, that's just trouble. Thank God I have God to help me out and guide me, right?
So, this week has not been easy, it has been a continual effort to work on loving people all the time and make an effort to live my life in Christ, to go back to making the efforts I was before this exhaustion took over. And it's hard getting back on the wagon. And of course, a whole ton of prayer and quality God time has been involved. After a few days I just felt the joy come back- I could see beauty in the world again. The fog that highlighted everything, every edge of the hills thrilled me, I felt like I was flying into the sunrise as I drove to work on a beautiful day listening to music my best friend burned for me. I genuinely laughed with my students and friends, and I finally appreciated a few moments of work for being precious and something that I will not be able to hold until. I was able to cherish moments of my life again. It's amazing and interesting how loving and working on walking in Christ taps you into this fountain of Joy. But I suppose that makes sense as God IS pure joy (among many other things), so tapping into Him means tapping into Joy itself.
This week the grass even came up- there is green on my planet again. I can't tell you how much the sight of that just opens up my soul and makes me feel alive again. It shoots up through the dark dirt and is suddenly green and bright, feeding off the light. Perhaps this culmination, this realization of the darkness that had enveloped me was like the final straw, the last second I could take from winter before I broke through the darkness, out into the light with new life.
Today I played the piano next to my open balcony door, the sunlight streaming in, a soft breeze playing with my hair as if God were continually saying hello. I played bright, happy, notes, major staccato chords. Improvising, letting the notes float out on the breeze that had a breath like summer. My roommate came in the door and asked how I was as I joyfully plinked away on the keys, I smiled and said I was amazing, that it was a beautiful day.
I am much better, although I am still not all the way okay. But glory hallelujah it is spring, there is new life in the world around me, there is new life in my chest, and by His Grace there is redemption so if I praying, keep working, keep looking for the light, I think I'll be more than fine.
Lloyd (see week 37) was right, I can give my love, my light, away freely, because God gives it right back. He restores our souls. Of course, the process of giving out our light is continual and one that requires constant effort and diligence, it is not some miraculous quick fix. Giving out light is a life long project that is easy to view as a chore, that is, until He fills you back up with light even brighter than you could conceive, and when you remember that, you can't help but give it out freely and joyfully.
Week 37: The most dangerous death... (and the tricky things about exhaustion and love)
is the one you don't see coming, the one that kills a part of you you didn't expect to die. Perhaps you didn't even believe this part of you could die. It can come after a great tragedy, a great pain. Something earthshaking, so big that by sheer probability you don't expect anything else as dangerous to come around for a long time. This great tragedy threatens to knock you down, topple your walls. But it's obvious, you see it coming like a Tsunami- you feel the shock so you run even before the wave is visible- it can catch you. You seek High ground. Eventually the waves subside, leaving all kinds of damage and debris but you, your whole self, is still alive. Yet the water remains in low lying areas, it seeps down deep, into your foundations, slowing wearing at them, silently breaking you until one day, there is a noticeable crack, a frightening, seemingly irreparable gap. It's the silent aftermath, that gets in under your radar, and cracks your insides- the very basis of your being. And if your foundation is completely destroyed, your entire house eventually crumbles. This is the most dangerous death- dangerous because it's the most difficult to prevent and because of the area it targets, the most deadly.
Perhaps I've been slacking in updating on my 70 weeks lately because it's just a process of recalling unpleasantness, rehashing the battles I'm fighting, or the ways in which I feel dead. And I suppose I also feel the obligation to be somewhat positive in updating this- I don't want this blog to be a vent session, I want it to seriously explore theological and philosophical themes in a way that is constructive and somehow provokes the thoughts of people who read it. So, I had to wait until all my grumpiness turned into some actual deep and constructive thought in order to write to you. Needless to say, I'm a few weeks behind so I will be posting in rapid succession.
First off, it's no secret that my mother's medical issues have been impacting my 70 weeks, where I am spiritually, emotionally, etc. In addition, my work situation is stressful and I have been working in the same place for the length of time it takes most teachers to get burnt out (a year and a half to two years where I work is usually the point where you see most of even the most positive and dedicated teachers starting to get tired and fed up- some amazing people never show the signs, but unfortunately, I'm not one of them). Here's the thing- when work got stressful, I fought back, I was still pushing through being who I wanted to be- loving, working on how I was viewing people and interacting in the environment around me. When things suddenly looked really terrible with my mother medically, I cried and had to battle with it, but the evil was so recognizable that I fought back. I was diligent in prayer, God gave me peace, I was ok or at least more ok than I should have been and in fact, doing great spiritually. "Wow, I thought, I must be super strong, I made it through this." But then, the evil didn't go away, bad things kept happening, work remained stressful, my mother's health continued to deteriorate, and last week, I found out she now has cancer in her one remaining lung in addition to her brain.
Heh. Evil is so tricky like that. First, it doesn't just come and go- it stays, it's a persistent, nasty thing. And not only does it stay, it goes underground, quiet, so you don't notice it, you let your guard down and just when you do, it slips in. And not only does it do that, it gives you pride for thinking you've beaten it (even when you haven't) and now you've committed a sin! So now, evil is two fold in my life: 1) attacking me spiritually/emotionally 2) now a part of my behavior in the form of pride.
But it doesn't stop there. While it silently attacks, it slowly gets into your behavior further- pushing you to commit more sin and thus move further from God. It's attacks slowly, imperceptibly until suddenly you feel the weight of the world and you're exhausted. So you say, "my life is really tough right now, I'm exhausted, I need a break" and you cut yourself some slack. But not always in the good areas like giving yourself more time to pray, more sleep at night, healthier food. You give yourself less work and more time by doing fewer things for others, even giving your brain and spirit less work by stopping to continually strive in your everyday thoughts to love others, and hold sin (like pride, lust, and just hurtful thoughts) captive. Now, you have a disease- of exhaustion and pride- a vicious circle. Because you're exhausted, you allow sin to enter which makes you more exhausted, allowing more sin to enter, and on and on it goes until you realize you're burnt out from the passions you feel you have due to convictions from God and suddenly, you're just an exhausted, sinful, passionless mess that is pushed so far down, you're barely up to asking for (and sometimes even doubting the power of) redemption to help you out of this crater (and we know it could, the problem is asking for it and believing in it in order to receive it, which sin is so good at preventing you from doing because sin likes to stay, it hates being pushed away).
When I said dangerous, I was not kidding.
And so I was exhausted and burnt out with my work and life in general. And for me, being burnt out of my job feels like a personal sin. I spoke earlier about this "tsunami" being dangerous because of the place it targets- your foundations. And that is exactly what happened. My foundation is obviously my relationship with God but my relationship with God initially was founded in my work with children. I first came to know God almost through my call to work with kids. My relationship with and understanding of God has developed and He ultimately is my foundation, but my faith is still extremely linked to my calling and my work, in a way that can sometimes present problems.
But, I have always said that if I had any quality that made me a good teacher, it would be my love for kids and my passion for teaching, that anything else good spawned from that (and that love comes from God). I remember always scoffing at teachers who "burnt out" and I even remember proclaiming to someone defiantly, "I don't burn out."
So this evil, this exhaustion, this gradual, imperceptible growth of darkness inside me completely shook me when I realized it had targeted the very core of me- my passion for what I do, and thus threatening, not necessarily my faith, but how I live it out and thus my walk with God and everyone else around me. In short, I was not the person I wanted to be, was still struggling with my mother's medical issues, and even what I should do next year at work as the age of students I work with/the type of program I'm involved in will impact where I will go after I leave here, the type of job I'll get, and really how effective I will be wherever I am based on the type of experience I get. Needless to say, I was trying to pray about where I should go next year and after my 70 weeks while in the middle of a crises regarding what is at the heart of my 70 weeks: my calling, what I should be doing with it, how I should be executing it, and how I should be working toward glorifying God with it.
Of course, all of this clarity on the issue took a while to come, and it came from a lot of introspection and prayer. I spent a lot of the week completely drained and really at the end of my rope. Of all the things that have been happening in my life lately, nothing has thrown me off as much as suddenly realizing that I had "burnt out" because I simply can't be "burnt out"- were I to remain that way I would be an ineffective teacher, ineffective in my daily ministry with everyone around me, and continually growing more and more distant from God. Terrible things happening doesn't necessarily alter you at your core- this slow attack on my core was much worse, much harder even though you wouldn't guess it. Finally, at my wits end I went for healing prayer while at church, which is something I've never done. First of all, I may ask for prayers during "prayers of the people," but I've never gone with the intercessors for healing prayer because, well, I never really needed healing. Sure, I needed answers, comfort, many people in my life needed healing, but I was never sick to require that specific type of prayer. Last week, I felt like I was broken, I was spiritually sick, I didn't know what else to do. One of the intercessors, Lloyd, who is quite an old character- a Vietnam vet with a booming voice- said, well, more like yelled at me, "LOOK AT ME. I GIVE YOU MY LIGHT. I GIVE IT TO YOU. I GIVE IT TO YOU FREELY because I KNOW that He will give it BACK TO ME, HE WILL REPLENISH IT ENDLESSLY." And it was then I realized my problem.
I left church and went to Chauncy lake for the first time since fall. If you recall, Chauncy Lake is where I wrote the first pieces that have become the early posts of this blog. It is where I went last summer to walk and talk with God and really worked on my 70 DAYS of loving God properly. Since it was a warmer and sunny day that was approaching spring, I was able to finally go again. At first, I felt like I was in a graveyard. The trees, once green and luscious, were still bare bones, the blue of the sky still held the harsher hues of winter, and everything with littered with colorless leaves from the fall that had never blown away. They just remained like remnants of my usual hellish falls and winters.
But slowly, I let my heart soften, stopped talking and started listening, just feeling God's presence again like I had when I had walked here when it was warm, before everything fell apart. I thought about what Lloyd said and realized that I had been holding back my light- from co-workers, from students, from everyone I had been around. I was not making an effort to love them, to act in love toward them, to actively think and walk in Christ every day. And I had done it because I felt too tired and that I had felt that so much of my light had been drained by all the circumstances around me that maybe I felt I couldn't give it away, I didn't have enough. I had to selfishly hold the light that I had, keep it closed in inside. But a light hidden under a bowl goes out.
After much prayer it seemed that the cure of this exhaustion, this burn out, was more work, more effort to "walk the walk," stop slacking in an effort to live my life in Christ- the cure for this was more love. Love is a lot of work, but when it's Love that comes from God, it's light, both luminous and lacking in weight, and it's a renewable resource. Lloyd was right, God gives us light and love endlessly so we can give it away freely. And, I find, when we don't give it away freely, we ourselves are in chains.
Perhaps I've been slacking in updating on my 70 weeks lately because it's just a process of recalling unpleasantness, rehashing the battles I'm fighting, or the ways in which I feel dead. And I suppose I also feel the obligation to be somewhat positive in updating this- I don't want this blog to be a vent session, I want it to seriously explore theological and philosophical themes in a way that is constructive and somehow provokes the thoughts of people who read it. So, I had to wait until all my grumpiness turned into some actual deep and constructive thought in order to write to you. Needless to say, I'm a few weeks behind so I will be posting in rapid succession.
First off, it's no secret that my mother's medical issues have been impacting my 70 weeks, where I am spiritually, emotionally, etc. In addition, my work situation is stressful and I have been working in the same place for the length of time it takes most teachers to get burnt out (a year and a half to two years where I work is usually the point where you see most of even the most positive and dedicated teachers starting to get tired and fed up- some amazing people never show the signs, but unfortunately, I'm not one of them). Here's the thing- when work got stressful, I fought back, I was still pushing through being who I wanted to be- loving, working on how I was viewing people and interacting in the environment around me. When things suddenly looked really terrible with my mother medically, I cried and had to battle with it, but the evil was so recognizable that I fought back. I was diligent in prayer, God gave me peace, I was ok or at least more ok than I should have been and in fact, doing great spiritually. "Wow, I thought, I must be super strong, I made it through this." But then, the evil didn't go away, bad things kept happening, work remained stressful, my mother's health continued to deteriorate, and last week, I found out she now has cancer in her one remaining lung in addition to her brain.
Heh. Evil is so tricky like that. First, it doesn't just come and go- it stays, it's a persistent, nasty thing. And not only does it stay, it goes underground, quiet, so you don't notice it, you let your guard down and just when you do, it slips in. And not only does it do that, it gives you pride for thinking you've beaten it (even when you haven't) and now you've committed a sin! So now, evil is two fold in my life: 1) attacking me spiritually/emotionally 2) now a part of my behavior in the form of pride.
But it doesn't stop there. While it silently attacks, it slowly gets into your behavior further- pushing you to commit more sin and thus move further from God. It's attacks slowly, imperceptibly until suddenly you feel the weight of the world and you're exhausted. So you say, "my life is really tough right now, I'm exhausted, I need a break" and you cut yourself some slack. But not always in the good areas like giving yourself more time to pray, more sleep at night, healthier food. You give yourself less work and more time by doing fewer things for others, even giving your brain and spirit less work by stopping to continually strive in your everyday thoughts to love others, and hold sin (like pride, lust, and just hurtful thoughts) captive. Now, you have a disease- of exhaustion and pride- a vicious circle. Because you're exhausted, you allow sin to enter which makes you more exhausted, allowing more sin to enter, and on and on it goes until you realize you're burnt out from the passions you feel you have due to convictions from God and suddenly, you're just an exhausted, sinful, passionless mess that is pushed so far down, you're barely up to asking for (and sometimes even doubting the power of) redemption to help you out of this crater (and we know it could, the problem is asking for it and believing in it in order to receive it, which sin is so good at preventing you from doing because sin likes to stay, it hates being pushed away).
When I said dangerous, I was not kidding.
And so I was exhausted and burnt out with my work and life in general. And for me, being burnt out of my job feels like a personal sin. I spoke earlier about this "tsunami" being dangerous because of the place it targets- your foundations. And that is exactly what happened. My foundation is obviously my relationship with God but my relationship with God initially was founded in my work with children. I first came to know God almost through my call to work with kids. My relationship with and understanding of God has developed and He ultimately is my foundation, but my faith is still extremely linked to my calling and my work, in a way that can sometimes present problems.
But, I have always said that if I had any quality that made me a good teacher, it would be my love for kids and my passion for teaching, that anything else good spawned from that (and that love comes from God). I remember always scoffing at teachers who "burnt out" and I even remember proclaiming to someone defiantly, "I don't burn out."
So this evil, this exhaustion, this gradual, imperceptible growth of darkness inside me completely shook me when I realized it had targeted the very core of me- my passion for what I do, and thus threatening, not necessarily my faith, but how I live it out and thus my walk with God and everyone else around me. In short, I was not the person I wanted to be, was still struggling with my mother's medical issues, and even what I should do next year at work as the age of students I work with/the type of program I'm involved in will impact where I will go after I leave here, the type of job I'll get, and really how effective I will be wherever I am based on the type of experience I get. Needless to say, I was trying to pray about where I should go next year and after my 70 weeks while in the middle of a crises regarding what is at the heart of my 70 weeks: my calling, what I should be doing with it, how I should be executing it, and how I should be working toward glorifying God with it.
Of course, all of this clarity on the issue took a while to come, and it came from a lot of introspection and prayer. I spent a lot of the week completely drained and really at the end of my rope. Of all the things that have been happening in my life lately, nothing has thrown me off as much as suddenly realizing that I had "burnt out" because I simply can't be "burnt out"- were I to remain that way I would be an ineffective teacher, ineffective in my daily ministry with everyone around me, and continually growing more and more distant from God. Terrible things happening doesn't necessarily alter you at your core- this slow attack on my core was much worse, much harder even though you wouldn't guess it. Finally, at my wits end I went for healing prayer while at church, which is something I've never done. First of all, I may ask for prayers during "prayers of the people," but I've never gone with the intercessors for healing prayer because, well, I never really needed healing. Sure, I needed answers, comfort, many people in my life needed healing, but I was never sick to require that specific type of prayer. Last week, I felt like I was broken, I was spiritually sick, I didn't know what else to do. One of the intercessors, Lloyd, who is quite an old character- a Vietnam vet with a booming voice- said, well, more like yelled at me, "LOOK AT ME. I GIVE YOU MY LIGHT. I GIVE IT TO YOU. I GIVE IT TO YOU FREELY because I KNOW that He will give it BACK TO ME, HE WILL REPLENISH IT ENDLESSLY." And it was then I realized my problem.
I left church and went to Chauncy lake for the first time since fall. If you recall, Chauncy Lake is where I wrote the first pieces that have become the early posts of this blog. It is where I went last summer to walk and talk with God and really worked on my 70 DAYS of loving God properly. Since it was a warmer and sunny day that was approaching spring, I was able to finally go again. At first, I felt like I was in a graveyard. The trees, once green and luscious, were still bare bones, the blue of the sky still held the harsher hues of winter, and everything with littered with colorless leaves from the fall that had never blown away. They just remained like remnants of my usual hellish falls and winters.
But slowly, I let my heart soften, stopped talking and started listening, just feeling God's presence again like I had when I had walked here when it was warm, before everything fell apart. I thought about what Lloyd said and realized that I had been holding back my light- from co-workers, from students, from everyone I had been around. I was not making an effort to love them, to act in love toward them, to actively think and walk in Christ every day. And I had done it because I felt too tired and that I had felt that so much of my light had been drained by all the circumstances around me that maybe I felt I couldn't give it away, I didn't have enough. I had to selfishly hold the light that I had, keep it closed in inside. But a light hidden under a bowl goes out.
After much prayer it seemed that the cure of this exhaustion, this burn out, was more work, more effort to "walk the walk," stop slacking in an effort to live my life in Christ- the cure for this was more love. Love is a lot of work, but when it's Love that comes from God, it's light, both luminous and lacking in weight, and it's a renewable resource. Lloyd was right, God gives us light and love endlessly so we can give it away freely. And, I find, when we don't give it away freely, we ourselves are in chains.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Weeks 35 and 36: Adjustment and Light
I'm a little late in posting this, but I couldn't skip week 35 as it marks the halfway point in my 70 weeks. I must admit, I haven't been focusing on the prayer of where I should be as much as I should. I've been working on trying to focus my prayers- really keep my 70 weeks and my future in prayer. In general, I've been losing touch with God a bit- just not having quality time. I'm especially trying to remedy that during Lent and have been pushing forward more in prayer about where God wants me. This is more of an update post rather than a philosophical post as my 70 weeks as evolved a little.
Reality, however, has been knocking on my door these past two weeks (which is also why I've put off this post- I don't want to deal with reality). Political issues with the new and ridiculous(ly terrible and unconscionable) bill in Wisconsin may mean that jobs back home in IL/WI in a year and a half (when I would move back) will be hard to come by or a bad idea because classes could have 40 students with special ed students completely included (in WI) and highly qualified teachers from WI will be looking for work in IL because of the poor situation for teachers in WI.
There are a lot more details I'm to exhausted to discuss, but in short, a conversation with my mentor (and old professor) led me to believe being a public school teacher (which is where I had felt called up until this point in my 70 weeks- and where I still feel called) is unrealistic and that I should embrace all the opportunities I would have with my BCBA/master's degree in applied behavior analysis. He's beginning a program to train BCBAs in WI and would like me to teach at my alma mater (Carthage), supervise BCBAs, and potentially eventually direct the program. I could see myself doing this potentially many many many years down the line if God called me to it, but not now. But my mentor made my calling seem like such a hopeless case, that I should at least go into consulting and parent training. All of this feels so phony- I haven't taught enough in the public schools to consult for them and tell them how to run things.
I feel called to teach- to teach teach. Special ed students in a public school. But my mentor, my mother- they all sound disappointed, like I should do "more" (which, what really is more than being a teacher on the front lines?), they talk as if I'll grow out of this notion. And I still feel like God wants me to teach teacher, but then again, I don't know anymore. I'm just generally confused and thus praying more specifically about my next phase of life, as I said earlier.
And in general, I'm still just so exhausted- my entire life just feels like a heavy weight I can't lay down. At least I've had some quality God time this weekend. I had a pretty spiritual experience at the Over the Rhine concert I went to on Friday- realizing how far I've come, and just singing along to a lot of their songs like I was at a praise concert- and in a way, that's what it was.
I took the bus back from New York City today and lay down on the seat, the sun shining through the glass roof of the double-decker bus. I skipped over all the songs on my praise/Christian related playlist that talked about all the ways we fail, how much we need to repent to God, how we need to change our behavior. I know all that, I'm far too focused on all that right now, to the point where I nearly doubt my redemption because I realize just how much I fail. So, I listened to "bridge over troubled water," playing it over and over hoping to feel comfort and trust from God- that he would remove my burden when I'm "weary, feeling small." And for the most part, He did- I felt His presence surrounding me, warming me, although I still didn't have any clearer answers.
When I hit Boston, groggy and still confused and cranky, I went down to the redline to catch the T home. A man was playing a classical guitar- the song was just exactly what my soul needed to hear. Warm and alive- I can't describe it beyond that. I dropped a dollar in- I usually just do change- because his music was exactly what I needed. I stood on the platform, swaying back and forth, and just felt God with me- more clearly this time- and more specifically, I felt Jesus. So strongly I'd almost swear He was there, had come down in the body of a street performer to play this song just for me. Tears came to my eyes and the train appeared- a soft warm light. So maybe I don't know where I'm going, but if it's the right train, I think I'll be alright.
Reality, however, has been knocking on my door these past two weeks (which is also why I've put off this post- I don't want to deal with reality). Political issues with the new and ridiculous(ly terrible and unconscionable) bill in Wisconsin may mean that jobs back home in IL/WI in a year and a half (when I would move back) will be hard to come by or a bad idea because classes could have 40 students with special ed students completely included (in WI) and highly qualified teachers from WI will be looking for work in IL because of the poor situation for teachers in WI.
There are a lot more details I'm to exhausted to discuss, but in short, a conversation with my mentor (and old professor) led me to believe being a public school teacher (which is where I had felt called up until this point in my 70 weeks- and where I still feel called) is unrealistic and that I should embrace all the opportunities I would have with my BCBA/master's degree in applied behavior analysis. He's beginning a program to train BCBAs in WI and would like me to teach at my alma mater (Carthage), supervise BCBAs, and potentially eventually direct the program. I could see myself doing this potentially many many many years down the line if God called me to it, but not now. But my mentor made my calling seem like such a hopeless case, that I should at least go into consulting and parent training. All of this feels so phony- I haven't taught enough in the public schools to consult for them and tell them how to run things.
I feel called to teach- to teach teach. Special ed students in a public school. But my mentor, my mother- they all sound disappointed, like I should do "more" (which, what really is more than being a teacher on the front lines?), they talk as if I'll grow out of this notion. And I still feel like God wants me to teach teacher, but then again, I don't know anymore. I'm just generally confused and thus praying more specifically about my next phase of life, as I said earlier.
And in general, I'm still just so exhausted- my entire life just feels like a heavy weight I can't lay down. At least I've had some quality God time this weekend. I had a pretty spiritual experience at the Over the Rhine concert I went to on Friday- realizing how far I've come, and just singing along to a lot of their songs like I was at a praise concert- and in a way, that's what it was.
I took the bus back from New York City today and lay down on the seat, the sun shining through the glass roof of the double-decker bus. I skipped over all the songs on my praise/Christian related playlist that talked about all the ways we fail, how much we need to repent to God, how we need to change our behavior. I know all that, I'm far too focused on all that right now, to the point where I nearly doubt my redemption because I realize just how much I fail. So, I listened to "bridge over troubled water," playing it over and over hoping to feel comfort and trust from God- that he would remove my burden when I'm "weary, feeling small." And for the most part, He did- I felt His presence surrounding me, warming me, although I still didn't have any clearer answers.
When I hit Boston, groggy and still confused and cranky, I went down to the redline to catch the T home. A man was playing a classical guitar- the song was just exactly what my soul needed to hear. Warm and alive- I can't describe it beyond that. I dropped a dollar in- I usually just do change- because his music was exactly what I needed. I stood on the platform, swaying back and forth, and just felt God with me- more clearly this time- and more specifically, I felt Jesus. So strongly I'd almost swear He was there, had come down in the body of a street performer to play this song just for me. Tears came to my eyes and the train appeared- a soft warm light. So maybe I don't know where I'm going, but if it's the right train, I think I'll be alright.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)