Sunday, November 14, 2010
comic relief
A few days ago, Emersyn--the two-year-old who shares our room--came over to me and said, "Say DIH!" Because she has trained me well, I said "Dih!" She said more clearly, "Dih." i repeated what I heard. Again she said, "Dih." I said, "Dih." She said, "Dih;" I said , "Dih." The she stopped and looked at me seriously and said, "Why you saying dat?"
stories
I am feeling way too sick to join my precious daughter and my magnificent husband on today's road trip, but maybe I can use my few bits of consciousness well here. Before they departed, my husband brought me a cup of soy milk in a Christmas-y paper cup from Starbucks. The sight of the red and snowflakes caused happiness to bubble up in me inexplicably. A few minutes later, I realized the cup says:"Stories are gifts. Share." So here I am.
I woke up this morning with a memory on my mind. It was of a chilly Monday morning in New York way before I met Paul. Another English teacher, Dean, and I had recently started our own ESL school after getting frustrated with working long hours in a school that was only for Chinese and frequently didn't manage to pay its "highly esteemed teachers." Our school of course was tiny but we loved having a blend of the various cultures of the city gathering in the ballet studio we rented during weekday mornings. Dean and I had had a discussion on Friday about the fact that we really really needed to have tables for our classes. We had both gone into debt to start our little endeavor and were not going to make money anytime soon at the ridiculously low prices we were charging. There was just no way we could come up with money to buy tables. As we parted ways on Friday, I had said, "Just give me and my family and friends the weekend to pray on it." Dean, not a believer in any sense, had sweetly smiled and said okay.
So Monday morning I trudged through the snow, unlocked the ballet studio, and turned on the lights wearily. Set up neatly before me were three of what I always refer to as "fellowship-hall-tables," just waiting for our classes. The entire building was still dark at that hour (except for the little Dunkin Donuts at street level). I just kept walking around the room staring at the tables. at that point, Dean walked in the room and froze. I said, "I take it you didn't have anything to do with this?" He shook his head no and finally said, "I might have to think about all this God stuff differently if I keep working with you."
It turned out that the little Chinese newspaper office across the hall owned the tables, had used them in the ballet studio on Sunday, and had forgotten to take them down. Since we often helped them out with proofreading anything they wanted to publish in English, they were quite willing for us to use the tables whenever we wanted as long as we would take care of putting them away after our classes! To this day, I am overwhelmed to look back at all the grace pouring down over my life in moments like that.
I woke up this morning with a memory on my mind. It was of a chilly Monday morning in New York way before I met Paul. Another English teacher, Dean, and I had recently started our own ESL school after getting frustrated with working long hours in a school that was only for Chinese and frequently didn't manage to pay its "highly esteemed teachers." Our school of course was tiny but we loved having a blend of the various cultures of the city gathering in the ballet studio we rented during weekday mornings. Dean and I had had a discussion on Friday about the fact that we really really needed to have tables for our classes. We had both gone into debt to start our little endeavor and were not going to make money anytime soon at the ridiculously low prices we were charging. There was just no way we could come up with money to buy tables. As we parted ways on Friday, I had said, "Just give me and my family and friends the weekend to pray on it." Dean, not a believer in any sense, had sweetly smiled and said okay.
So Monday morning I trudged through the snow, unlocked the ballet studio, and turned on the lights wearily. Set up neatly before me were three of what I always refer to as "fellowship-hall-tables," just waiting for our classes. The entire building was still dark at that hour (except for the little Dunkin Donuts at street level). I just kept walking around the room staring at the tables. at that point, Dean walked in the room and froze. I said, "I take it you didn't have anything to do with this?" He shook his head no and finally said, "I might have to think about all this God stuff differently if I keep working with you."
It turned out that the little Chinese newspaper office across the hall owned the tables, had used them in the ballet studio on Sunday, and had forgotten to take them down. Since we often helped them out with proofreading anything they wanted to publish in English, they were quite willing for us to use the tables whenever we wanted as long as we would take care of putting them away after our classes! To this day, I am overwhelmed to look back at all the grace pouring down over my life in moments like that.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Fish Out of Water
Fish Out of Water
You're a fish out of water, flopping on dry land.
Your lungs ache with the effort it takes just to sigh
And it seems like a chore to keep breathing all day.
There's nothing easy here, no matter what you try.
Your awkward feet and elbows are always in the way.
There's nowhere to hide from the gawkers who stare
like you're some oozing, reeking aliens stray.
Nobody looks like you or wears clothes like you wear.
If blending in could just be bought, you'd gladly pay.
Despite your discomfort, you know people don't die
Just from being out of place, but then again you may.
You can't seem to leave although you don't know why.
So, confused and uneasy, you seem destined to stay
A fish out of water, flopping on dry land.
In Honduras once--sometimes twice--a year
Hundreds of fish rain down from the sky.
They're all the same species, which doesn't live near.
Call it an unexplainable phenomenon--it's still dinner to fry.
The people say it's a miracle wrought by a saint
Who prayed three days and nights for food for the poor.
as an explanation, the story's , well, quaint,
But if it's not true, what are fish falling for?
So you're a fish out of water, flopping on dry land.
Maybe you're just a freak, more weird than rare.
You feel like an oddball, and I understand,
But you might just be a miracle, an answer to someone's prayer.
You're a fish out of water, flopping on dry land.
Your lungs ache with the effort it takes just to sigh
And it seems like a chore to keep breathing all day.
There's nothing easy here, no matter what you try.
Your awkward feet and elbows are always in the way.
There's nowhere to hide from the gawkers who stare
like you're some oozing, reeking aliens stray.
Nobody looks like you or wears clothes like you wear.
If blending in could just be bought, you'd gladly pay.
Despite your discomfort, you know people don't die
Just from being out of place, but then again you may.
You can't seem to leave although you don't know why.
So, confused and uneasy, you seem destined to stay
A fish out of water, flopping on dry land.
In Honduras once--sometimes twice--a year
Hundreds of fish rain down from the sky.
They're all the same species, which doesn't live near.
Call it an unexplainable phenomenon--it's still dinner to fry.
The people say it's a miracle wrought by a saint
Who prayed three days and nights for food for the poor.
as an explanation, the story's , well, quaint,
But if it's not true, what are fish falling for?
So you're a fish out of water, flopping on dry land.
Maybe you're just a freak, more weird than rare.
You feel like an oddball, and I understand,
But you might just be a miracle, an answer to someone's prayer.
Monday, September 6, 2010
"In my mind . . .'
Last night during a big serious family discussion about changing some of our patterns, I said to Brianna, 11, "I think maybe the good mother you see in your mind doesn't discipline at all."
"Well of course not, Mom. In my mind, I never do anything that needs to be disciplined! In my mind, I never do anything wrong!"
Last week, Brianna said, "I can't wait to tell Mark that I'm learning Latin. I'm going to walk up to him and say, . . . Oh, I forgot--I don't actually know how to say anything yet."
Settling into the fall semester. I am teaching at El Centro as usual, but ended up with ESL reading and Listening/speaking and A NON-ESL class! I picked up a developmental reading class, which I am actually thoroughly enjoying. I got very lucky and have a small group of highly-motivated students with several older students. (Rather than the frequent dev. rdng. scenario of a room full of recent high-school-graduates who still act like they are in high school.)
Brianna is taking a full load at our homeschool co-op for her 6th grade year: Bible-based writing, life science, math, texas history, clay, latin, and creative writing. We may end up dropping something--we'll see how our pattern-changing goes the next 2 weeks. So she's in class from 8:30 to 3:30 on Tuesdays, then goes home with her best friend. They swim and find interesting creatures outside and do their homework for texas history and life science. They are also learning calligraphy. Their house actually has a schoolroom--quite different from our current living situation, so Brianna also gets quite a bit of other homework done there. She spends Tuesday night and wednesday night there. Then we meet up at co-op at 9;30 on Thursday. During at least one of Brianna's classes, I work with her friend one-on-one on some issues with dyslexia and dyscalculia. We head home by about 1:00 on Thursdays. Now I just need to figure out a plan to get Brie out of our house on Mondays and Fridays so that those can be at least half as productive as the middle of the week. She is so remarkable, and this is our year to correct some things we wish we had done better. Hopefully we will find our way into more and more things that work for us as we all learn the art of self-discipline and persistence and allow each experience to shape us more into His likeness.
"Well of course not, Mom. In my mind, I never do anything that needs to be disciplined! In my mind, I never do anything wrong!"
Last week, Brianna said, "I can't wait to tell Mark that I'm learning Latin. I'm going to walk up to him and say, . . . Oh, I forgot--I don't actually know how to say anything yet."
Settling into the fall semester. I am teaching at El Centro as usual, but ended up with ESL reading and Listening/speaking and A NON-ESL class! I picked up a developmental reading class, which I am actually thoroughly enjoying. I got very lucky and have a small group of highly-motivated students with several older students. (Rather than the frequent dev. rdng. scenario of a room full of recent high-school-graduates who still act like they are in high school.)
Brianna is taking a full load at our homeschool co-op for her 6th grade year: Bible-based writing, life science, math, texas history, clay, latin, and creative writing. We may end up dropping something--we'll see how our pattern-changing goes the next 2 weeks. So she's in class from 8:30 to 3:30 on Tuesdays, then goes home with her best friend. They swim and find interesting creatures outside and do their homework for texas history and life science. They are also learning calligraphy. Their house actually has a schoolroom--quite different from our current living situation, so Brianna also gets quite a bit of other homework done there. She spends Tuesday night and wednesday night there. Then we meet up at co-op at 9;30 on Thursday. During at least one of Brianna's classes, I work with her friend one-on-one on some issues with dyslexia and dyscalculia. We head home by about 1:00 on Thursdays. Now I just need to figure out a plan to get Brie out of our house on Mondays and Fridays so that those can be at least half as productive as the middle of the week. She is so remarkable, and this is our year to correct some things we wish we had done better. Hopefully we will find our way into more and more things that work for us as we all learn the art of self-discipline and persistence and allow each experience to shape us more into His likeness.
Friday, July 9, 2010
e-mail to lgbc, our church
lgbc will gather at 1507 grantbrook this saturday evening. Snacks out at 5:30--Bring some to share if you'd like. Dancing-singing-shouting worship (Read a little loud and a lot kid-friendly) at 5:45. Worship continues (possibly calmer and quieter) at 6:00 p.m. After worship, at least some of us will head out to GirlShow which begins at 8:00 (Kelly Nygren performing on Saturday evening--along with many many other female artists. In fact, on Friday night of GirlShow, our own Cynthia Miller is one of the featured photographers! (We'll be there on Friday night too--Let us know if you'd like to meet up to go together.
See http://www.artlovemagic.com/ for more details on GirlShow.
Looking ahead: August 7th, we'll do a pot-luck dinner and catch up on stuff: For example: reports from those who've been distributors of Mercy Funds for the past year and decisions about where to go next with that experiment in corporate stewardship. Also, finalizing finally the monthly giving to Heartline ministries in Haiti. And you never know what else will come up--Pray and seek God's word for our community in decision-making. It's not just a business meeting--there will be food! And more importantly, some great stories of God at work.
The next part of this e-mail is confessional. I feel like I need to put it out there for the whole postcard readership but feel free to stop reading if it's just too much information for you!
Over the past few weeks, I have been spending more time seeking out the Holy Spirit and His purposes for us as a community. Here is the biggest thing I have been struck by: We exist to worship God. That's why we're gathering together as one little chunk of the Body. Paul and I had some great worship times during our car trips. Those hours have changed some of our daily patterns already. I was very convicted by the sudden realization of one way our community life has changed: When I used to plan/lead worship at lgbc, when someone else was doing the teaching, I would spend at least 3 or 4 hours during the week just worshiping and seeking prayerfully choosing each song, scripture, and reading. Eventually, leading worship became a responsibility (?) that was passed around. Often we figure out who's doing it the day of the service, and I know that if it falls to us, Paul usually rapidly picks some songs while I finish cleaning the living room. Wow--that's a pretty big change, but it happened by tiny degrees. So--I feel that I am being called to plan/lead worship on Saturday evenings again. I am unspeakably excited about the opportunity. So--if you are interested in playing an instrument and/or whatever else, send me an e-mail. I will plan to e-mail at least a song list to you by Friday each week--hopefully sooner in the future. At any rate, we do want to apologize to you as part of our community for letting this foundation get so shaky. God's mercy--that's all we've got.
See http://www.artlovemagic.com/ for more details on GirlShow.
Looking ahead: August 7th, we'll do a pot-luck dinner and catch up on stuff: For example: reports from those who've been distributors of Mercy Funds for the past year and decisions about where to go next with that experiment in corporate stewardship. Also, finalizing finally the monthly giving to Heartline ministries in Haiti. And you never know what else will come up--Pray and seek God's word for our community in decision-making. It's not just a business meeting--there will be food! And more importantly, some great stories of God at work.
The next part of this e-mail is confessional. I feel like I need to put it out there for the whole postcard readership but feel free to stop reading if it's just too much information for you!
Over the past few weeks, I have been spending more time seeking out the Holy Spirit and His purposes for us as a community. Here is the biggest thing I have been struck by: We exist to worship God. That's why we're gathering together as one little chunk of the Body. Paul and I had some great worship times during our car trips. Those hours have changed some of our daily patterns already. I was very convicted by the sudden realization of one way our community life has changed: When I used to plan/lead worship at lgbc, when someone else was doing the teaching, I would spend at least 3 or 4 hours during the week just worshiping and seeking prayerfully choosing each song, scripture, and reading. Eventually, leading worship became a responsibility (?) that was passed around. Often we figure out who's doing it the day of the service, and I know that if it falls to us, Paul usually rapidly picks some songs while I finish cleaning the living room. Wow--that's a pretty big change, but it happened by tiny degrees. So--I feel that I am being called to plan/lead worship on Saturday evenings again. I am unspeakably excited about the opportunity. So--if you are interested in playing an instrument and/or whatever else, send me an e-mail. I will plan to e-mail at least a song list to you by Friday each week--hopefully sooner in the future. At any rate, we do want to apologize to you as part of our community for letting this foundation get so shaky. God's mercy--that's all we've got.
Father and An Excellent Day
Father
So I picked up the Madame Guyon classic, “Experiencing the depths of Jesus Christ” in a used bookstore in some little town in West Virginia. I had read about her, but had not read her own writing. Already I can tell she is going to be an important teacher for me. I'll probably want to write more about her later, but this is my first aha moment.
Particularly for those who cannot read, she says, “Begin with the word, 'Father.' As you do, let the full meaning of that word deeply touch your heart.” Attempting this, I realized—as I have less consciously many times before-- that the word 'father' does not actually have much meaning for me. I've never used the word father in reference to my own dad or anyone else's who I know personally. I never say, “He's a good father”--I say “He's a good dad/parent/daddy.” For me, father is a formal and distant word, and –oddly, I know,--very British.
I have always felt enormously blessed in my comfort with God as dad because my own daddy is truly one of the most godly people I've ever known and his love for me has always been undeniable, deep and wide.
Interesting, then, to find that I stumble on the word father. So . . .
“Begin with the word, 'Daddy.' As you do, let the full meaning of that word deeply touch your heart.” Oh. I get it. Or at least I begin to.
Exceptional Day
I kind of struggled against vacation this year. It seemed so unreasonable to pay a sub to teach my summer classes, to spend precious hours shopping to fully stock our house before leaving town, to prepare to be away from our church for two Saturdays, to trust that our household would function without us for an extended period of time. But the thought of me in Dallas while Paul and Bri were in Virginia for over a week pushed me over the edge, and I agreed to go after all.
Since Bri was off to hang with Paul's mom and then meet us near Virginia, Paul and I had a long road trip together. More time than we have spent just the two of us in ages. I finally got into the vacation mode and planned out where we would spend each night on the way to Virginia. Paul discovered that the place where we would spend Friday night, Charleston, West Virginia, was actually having its annual Festivall while we were there. I delightedly checked the schedule and planned accordingly.
Thus, we pulled out of Jackson on Friday morning to begin a fantastic day. Having mostly run through our audiobooks on day 1, we ended up talking about worship and worshiping together for a big chunk of the drive. We found cheap or free refills on drinks throughout the drive and enjoyed our peanut butter sandwiches in the car. Lovely, lovely. We pulled into Charleston, a town we had loved when driving through once, checked in and headed immediately to the Sing-Along-Sound of Music! We ended up parking across the river from downtown and walking over the bridge looking at water taxis while jazz wafted up to us. We made our way to the theater just on time and got our goody bags: a bell, a plastic sprig of eidelweiss, a square of curtain fabric, a glow stick, and a popper (for the first time Maria and the Captain kiss). Then we got our instructions about cheering for Maria, barking at Rolff, hissing at the Baroness (although one contingent at the front followed every hiss with “It's not her fault!”) saying aawww at Gretel's cuteness, and yelling, “Liar!” whenever someone tells a fib. Amazing how well I know the lyrics to all those songs. Fun to sing them badly with a theater full of other fans. Hilarious to hear comments: Our favorite audience comment was when Maria was comforting the heart-broken Leisl--”You'll see, you'll fall in love again one day and everything will be wonderful--” Huge audience roar: LIAR! Followed by rolls of laughter. So much fun. Then we walked back across the bridge in the moonlight and drove to our perfectly acceptable little hotel room.
The next morning, we headed to downtown and meandered through the art fair. Blocks and blocks of tents sheltering a wide array of artists. Cool kids' area where we missed Brianna greatly. But someone let Paul make a whirlygig for her and someone else gave us the kit for weaving her own coinpurse. Not actually being kids, we didn't push to do the marbling or clay or tambourines or hats. Didn't even see all of the kid options. It was fun to see all the different art, talk with a few artists, and overhear the conversations between locals: 'I didn't know you wrote—Is this your first book?' and 'I haven't tried your idea yet about painting vegetables—maybe this summer.' We also found an excellent bookstore along the way—In addition to a wide enough assortment of interesting books to make us wish we had hundreds of dollars to spend on books for everyone we know, there was a coffee shop, an art gallery, and a clay studio. Check that off on our list of things that make a city a perfect place to live. We had an amazing local pizza for lunch and headed on through beautiful mountain roads. Really just one of my favorite days ever. Not to mention the sheer joy of spending that much one-on-one time with the love of my life. Sweet.
So I picked up the Madame Guyon classic, “Experiencing the depths of Jesus Christ” in a used bookstore in some little town in West Virginia. I had read about her, but had not read her own writing. Already I can tell she is going to be an important teacher for me. I'll probably want to write more about her later, but this is my first aha moment.
Particularly for those who cannot read, she says, “Begin with the word, 'Father.' As you do, let the full meaning of that word deeply touch your heart.” Attempting this, I realized—as I have less consciously many times before-- that the word 'father' does not actually have much meaning for me. I've never used the word father in reference to my own dad or anyone else's who I know personally. I never say, “He's a good father”--I say “He's a good dad/parent/daddy.” For me, father is a formal and distant word, and –oddly, I know,--very British.
I have always felt enormously blessed in my comfort with God as dad because my own daddy is truly one of the most godly people I've ever known and his love for me has always been undeniable, deep and wide.
Interesting, then, to find that I stumble on the word father. So . . .
“Begin with the word, 'Daddy.' As you do, let the full meaning of that word deeply touch your heart.” Oh. I get it. Or at least I begin to.
Exceptional Day
I kind of struggled against vacation this year. It seemed so unreasonable to pay a sub to teach my summer classes, to spend precious hours shopping to fully stock our house before leaving town, to prepare to be away from our church for two Saturdays, to trust that our household would function without us for an extended period of time. But the thought of me in Dallas while Paul and Bri were in Virginia for over a week pushed me over the edge, and I agreed to go after all.
Since Bri was off to hang with Paul's mom and then meet us near Virginia, Paul and I had a long road trip together. More time than we have spent just the two of us in ages. I finally got into the vacation mode and planned out where we would spend each night on the way to Virginia. Paul discovered that the place where we would spend Friday night, Charleston, West Virginia, was actually having its annual Festivall while we were there. I delightedly checked the schedule and planned accordingly.
Thus, we pulled out of Jackson on Friday morning to begin a fantastic day. Having mostly run through our audiobooks on day 1, we ended up talking about worship and worshiping together for a big chunk of the drive. We found cheap or free refills on drinks throughout the drive and enjoyed our peanut butter sandwiches in the car. Lovely, lovely. We pulled into Charleston, a town we had loved when driving through once, checked in and headed immediately to the Sing-Along-Sound of Music! We ended up parking across the river from downtown and walking over the bridge looking at water taxis while jazz wafted up to us. We made our way to the theater just on time and got our goody bags: a bell, a plastic sprig of eidelweiss, a square of curtain fabric, a glow stick, and a popper (for the first time Maria and the Captain kiss). Then we got our instructions about cheering for Maria, barking at Rolff, hissing at the Baroness (although one contingent at the front followed every hiss with “It's not her fault!”) saying aawww at Gretel's cuteness, and yelling, “Liar!” whenever someone tells a fib. Amazing how well I know the lyrics to all those songs. Fun to sing them badly with a theater full of other fans. Hilarious to hear comments: Our favorite audience comment was when Maria was comforting the heart-broken Leisl--”You'll see, you'll fall in love again one day and everything will be wonderful--” Huge audience roar: LIAR! Followed by rolls of laughter. So much fun. Then we walked back across the bridge in the moonlight and drove to our perfectly acceptable little hotel room.
The next morning, we headed to downtown and meandered through the art fair. Blocks and blocks of tents sheltering a wide array of artists. Cool kids' area where we missed Brianna greatly. But someone let Paul make a whirlygig for her and someone else gave us the kit for weaving her own coinpurse. Not actually being kids, we didn't push to do the marbling or clay or tambourines or hats. Didn't even see all of the kid options. It was fun to see all the different art, talk with a few artists, and overhear the conversations between locals: 'I didn't know you wrote—Is this your first book?' and 'I haven't tried your idea yet about painting vegetables—maybe this summer.' We also found an excellent bookstore along the way—In addition to a wide enough assortment of interesting books to make us wish we had hundreds of dollars to spend on books for everyone we know, there was a coffee shop, an art gallery, and a clay studio. Check that off on our list of things that make a city a perfect place to live. We had an amazing local pizza for lunch and headed on through beautiful mountain roads. Really just one of my favorite days ever. Not to mention the sheer joy of spending that much one-on-one time with the love of my life. Sweet.
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