Truth: I have been putting off writing.
Lie: Writing is not good for me.
Writing is good for me. A week or so ago I was having one of those lonely nights that people have when they move to a new place. I had lots of homework piled on top of my wicker chest. Books that needed to be analyzed, response papers that needed to be written. But all I wanted was a good coffee date with a friend. Maybe you have had nights like that. In order to prevent an onslaught of self-pity, I began looking through my thankfulness journal. I began it last year on November 21st. I have been going through it slowly- I am on 700 something now. As I looked through the numbered items, I saw that many of the things I was thankful for had come into my life unexpectedly: new friends, the weather, students' comments, random text messages, and impromptu late night movie viewings with Mom.
I did not plan any of them. They simply came up, and I received them as gifts. They did not come after I had done great deeds either. These surprises often came after disappointments and lonely nights.
Here are some things that have surprised me here:
(1) My cell phone died a couple of weeks after I got here. One week with no cell phone meant I had to interact with the people around me. I had to notice the sunsets every evening on my walks by the Warrior River. I allowed Tuscaloosa to start becoming home.
(2) It rains very often here, more often than in Dothan. I enjoy it.
(3) My roommate got a little boxer from the Humane Society. Her name is Stella, and I absolutely love her.
(4) One of the first friends I made here, Stephanie, is so similar to me. What a blessing to meet someone who shares so many of the same experiences.
(5) I talk frequently in all my classes. I don't analyze every single thing that I say out loud in a class anymore!
(6) I changed my concentration from literature to rhetoric/composition. I enjoy that slice of English studies more.
(7) I am going to buy a T.V. That is very surprising.
(8) I think I have found a church to become a part of already. Wow, that was quick!
Here is a quote that I love. It has to do with surprises.
"Happiness turns up more or less where you'd expect it to-- a good marriage, a rewarding job, a pleasant vacation. Joy, on the other hand, is as notoriously unpredictable as the One who bequeaths it." -Frederick Buechner
"You make known to me the path of life; in Your presence there is fullness of joy; at your right hand are pleasures forevermore." -Psalm 16:11
Monday, September 24, 2012
Contradictions
Contradictions are difficult. I ran into many of them a couple of days ago when I wrote my first formal paper for graduate school. My assignment was to read Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, and then to write five pages about what I found interesting.
I hated Wuthering Heights. I did not connect with a single character. The characters' lives were perfect train wrecks, their children's lives became train wrecks shortly upon entering the world due to their parents' lives, and then the characters, most of them at least, die. Most of the dialogue between characters is colored by hatred and a desire for revenge. Characters abuse their children, the religious man in the novel is actually a manipulative tyrant, and emotions rage out of control.
I figured I could easily write a five page paper in a day, especially on such a straightforward book.
But, my figure was wrong.
I flew through writing my introduction: Heathcliff and Hindley (two of the main characters) are products of their father's absence. Simple. However, when I began looking back in the text to prove this, I realized things were so much more confusing than I thought. They were not entirely products of their father's mistakes; they had both made plenty of choices in their freedom that led to their demises. They were COMPLEX. Ahhhh! (That "ahhh!" is not the feeling you get when you are sinking into a warm bath but rather the feeling you get when you wake up from a nap in the library and see that you have a missed call from your employer asking where you are...both have happened to me, and the former is definitely better).
This complexity thing freaked me out. I emailed the professor and asked for an extension, citing contradictions as the problem. He approved and also said "Hint about contradictions: they are your friends."
Contradictions are scary because they cause me to re-consider something I had previously known as a fact.
Isn't it funny that I, with a finite perspective, who live in a fallen world, would be afraid of contradictions. They will inevitably happen to any thinking person who looks around them and tries to interpret the world.
I hated Wuthering Heights. I did not connect with a single character. The characters' lives were perfect train wrecks, their children's lives became train wrecks shortly upon entering the world due to their parents' lives, and then the characters, most of them at least, die. Most of the dialogue between characters is colored by hatred and a desire for revenge. Characters abuse their children, the religious man in the novel is actually a manipulative tyrant, and emotions rage out of control.
I figured I could easily write a five page paper in a day, especially on such a straightforward book.
But, my figure was wrong.
I flew through writing my introduction: Heathcliff and Hindley (two of the main characters) are products of their father's absence. Simple. However, when I began looking back in the text to prove this, I realized things were so much more confusing than I thought. They were not entirely products of their father's mistakes; they had both made plenty of choices in their freedom that led to their demises. They were COMPLEX. Ahhhh! (That "ahhh!" is not the feeling you get when you are sinking into a warm bath but rather the feeling you get when you wake up from a nap in the library and see that you have a missed call from your employer asking where you are...both have happened to me, and the former is definitely better).
This complexity thing freaked me out. I emailed the professor and asked for an extension, citing contradictions as the problem. He approved and also said "Hint about contradictions: they are your friends."
Contradictions are scary because they cause me to re-consider something I had previously known as a fact.
Isn't it funny that I, with a finite perspective, who live in a fallen world, would be afraid of contradictions. They will inevitably happen to any thinking person who looks around them and tries to interpret the world.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
Teaching from rose-colored glasses
I am no longer a high school English teacher. In the past two years I have been a teacher for grades nine through twelve, a volleyball coach, a high school pageant director, the Key Club advisor, and the Prom sponsor. The secondary roles, after the teaching, were like hot potatoes passing from me to other teachers. But the teaching remained the same, and now it is gone.
The feeling of finishing something like teaching is a bit more complicated than just relief. Maybe since it was a job, a lifestyle even, I feel more than just relief. I feel a bit lost and fearful of the prospect of being a student again.
Feelings change after "the big thing," whatever it is, passes. These last few months of teaching, I had a number in my planner which I changed every day that passed: 21 days left, 14 days left, 1 day left. Sounds like I was pretty anxious to leave, huh? However, towards the end of teaching- like maybe the month of May, I started to see all the good things about my job.
Remember the scene in Father of The Bride Part II where George Banks (played by Steve Martin) and Nina Banks (played by Diane Keaton) are driving home after receiving the news that Nina is not going through menopause, but is pregnant? George Banks looks out his car window and sees a father with a wrinkled forehead running after his crying, yelling three year old son. Nina Banks looks out her car window and sees a young, long-haired mother with her six year old daughter. They are skipping, hand-in-hand, down the sidewalk. Much of the time I worked as a high school teacher, I saw a lot of the bad parts (just like George Banks). Toward the end, I saw the rosy parts (like Nina Banks).
Since I don't think my blog is the place to carp about the bad parts of my job, let me share some rosy parts:
1) My tenth graders (the class that tested my sanity the most) brought food on the last day of class before finals. One boy brought his mom's famous candy topped brownies. Another boy brought Mountain Dew, lots of it. By the end of the party which lasted into seventh period, all thirteen of us were pretty jumpy which led to some pretty hilarious conversations. Kid: Miss Johnson, if I go up to the University of Alabama to visit and you see me across the quad will you wave at me or just ignore me? Me: Ummm, I would wave at you and say "Hi!" Seriously, I am not going to ignore you. Another kid: Miss Johnson, right after graduation I am sending you a friend request on Facebook. Another kid: Miss Johnson, I am definitely not sending you a friend request.
2) On some of my final exams, after the essay section at the end, I wrote something like "I am going to miss y'all next year and I hope next year is wonderful!" Not in a million years did I expect some kids to write back on the exams "I'm going to miss you too, Miss Johnson" and "Don't forget the time capsule we buried, Miss Johnson." Those were some sweet moments sprinkled into the grittiness of grading final exams.
3) On the seniors' last day at school, I made them take the last quiz on Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie. After some whining and complaining about how I was the only teacher who made them do work on the last day of school, I conceded to making the quiz open book. One of my senior boys who is country as it can get came up to me and hugged me. As if he needed an explanation for his sudden paroxysm of kindness toward a teacher he said "I knew you were nice, Miss Johnson."
4) I spoke at our schools' assembly we have once a week where pastors come and speak on a designated word of the week. I like to think that the words come off the posters that are on the walls of the office on The Office. Example: A picture of a lone canoe at sunset with the words "Integrity: being who you really are" beneath. Anyway, I spoke on "Sincerity" and began my talk by telling the kids that it was hard for me to stand up and speak about the Lord to them since they had seen me in some bad moments of me being condescending and mean. I had several students audibly say "It's okay, Miss Johnson." Ok, now I am starting to cry.
I don't know why things get better right before you leave. Maybe you put less pressure on your job, or your family, or your friends to be "just right" since you know you don't have enough time to change them, only time to enjoy them for what or who they are.
The feeling of finishing something like teaching is a bit more complicated than just relief. Maybe since it was a job, a lifestyle even, I feel more than just relief. I feel a bit lost and fearful of the prospect of being a student again.
Feelings change after "the big thing," whatever it is, passes. These last few months of teaching, I had a number in my planner which I changed every day that passed: 21 days left, 14 days left, 1 day left. Sounds like I was pretty anxious to leave, huh? However, towards the end of teaching- like maybe the month of May, I started to see all the good things about my job.
Remember the scene in Father of The Bride Part II where George Banks (played by Steve Martin) and Nina Banks (played by Diane Keaton) are driving home after receiving the news that Nina is not going through menopause, but is pregnant? George Banks looks out his car window and sees a father with a wrinkled forehead running after his crying, yelling three year old son. Nina Banks looks out her car window and sees a young, long-haired mother with her six year old daughter. They are skipping, hand-in-hand, down the sidewalk. Much of the time I worked as a high school teacher, I saw a lot of the bad parts (just like George Banks). Toward the end, I saw the rosy parts (like Nina Banks).
Since I don't think my blog is the place to carp about the bad parts of my job, let me share some rosy parts:
1) My tenth graders (the class that tested my sanity the most) brought food on the last day of class before finals. One boy brought his mom's famous candy topped brownies. Another boy brought Mountain Dew, lots of it. By the end of the party which lasted into seventh period, all thirteen of us were pretty jumpy which led to some pretty hilarious conversations. Kid: Miss Johnson, if I go up to the University of Alabama to visit and you see me across the quad will you wave at me or just ignore me? Me: Ummm, I would wave at you and say "Hi!" Seriously, I am not going to ignore you. Another kid: Miss Johnson, right after graduation I am sending you a friend request on Facebook. Another kid: Miss Johnson, I am definitely not sending you a friend request.
2) On some of my final exams, after the essay section at the end, I wrote something like "I am going to miss y'all next year and I hope next year is wonderful!" Not in a million years did I expect some kids to write back on the exams "I'm going to miss you too, Miss Johnson" and "Don't forget the time capsule we buried, Miss Johnson." Those were some sweet moments sprinkled into the grittiness of grading final exams.
3) On the seniors' last day at school, I made them take the last quiz on Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie. After some whining and complaining about how I was the only teacher who made them do work on the last day of school, I conceded to making the quiz open book. One of my senior boys who is country as it can get came up to me and hugged me. As if he needed an explanation for his sudden paroxysm of kindness toward a teacher he said "I knew you were nice, Miss Johnson."
4) I spoke at our schools' assembly we have once a week where pastors come and speak on a designated word of the week. I like to think that the words come off the posters that are on the walls of the office on The Office. Example: A picture of a lone canoe at sunset with the words "Integrity: being who you really are" beneath. Anyway, I spoke on "Sincerity" and began my talk by telling the kids that it was hard for me to stand up and speak about the Lord to them since they had seen me in some bad moments of me being condescending and mean. I had several students audibly say "It's okay, Miss Johnson." Ok, now I am starting to cry.
I don't know why things get better right before you leave. Maybe you put less pressure on your job, or your family, or your friends to be "just right" since you know you don't have enough time to change them, only time to enjoy them for what or who they are.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Psalm 69
One of the psalms today in the Book of Common Prayer was Psalm 69.
These verses stuck out to me: "For it is for your sake that I have borne reproach, that dishonor has covered my face. I have become a stranger to my brothers, an alien to my mother's sons." (vv. 7-8)
I do believe that Jesus was (and is, I guess......oh theological reflections) fully human and fully God. But, I never really thought Jesus is fully human like I am fully human. I figured that He has such an intimate union with the Father that rejection by humans, or anxiety during times of suffering, or fatigue hurt Him, but not to the extent that I have been hurt due to rejection, or paralyzed due to anxiety, or exhausted due to fatigue.
But these verses reminded me that Jesus felt all His emotions, just like me. He felt them strongly. Thankfully, He didn't allow His emotions to control Him. But, He had them and felt them.
Which helps me understand that living the Christian life doesn't mean denying that I am upset, or anxious, or despairing. It means bringing those emotions to Him, since He understands and can be fully trusted with them.
How He loves us :)
Blessings Friends!
These verses stuck out to me: "For it is for your sake that I have borne reproach, that dishonor has covered my face. I have become a stranger to my brothers, an alien to my mother's sons." (vv. 7-8)
I do believe that Jesus was (and is, I guess......oh theological reflections) fully human and fully God. But, I never really thought Jesus is fully human like I am fully human. I figured that He has such an intimate union with the Father that rejection by humans, or anxiety during times of suffering, or fatigue hurt Him, but not to the extent that I have been hurt due to rejection, or paralyzed due to anxiety, or exhausted due to fatigue.
But these verses reminded me that Jesus felt all His emotions, just like me. He felt them strongly. Thankfully, He didn't allow His emotions to control Him. But, He had them and felt them.
Which helps me understand that living the Christian life doesn't mean denying that I am upset, or anxious, or despairing. It means bringing those emotions to Him, since He understands and can be fully trusted with them.
How He loves us :)
Blessings Friends!
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Vulnerability
Happy February!
A couple of months ago, I stumbled across this TED talk entitled Vulnerability. Brene Brown, a research professor with a doctorate in social work, speaks about different barriers to vulnerability she has found from her research (interviews/letters with thousands of people). She also shares a bit about her own "battle" with vulnerability.
At the time I watched the video I was wrestling with the fact that I had just ended a three month dating relationship. Though I knew it was right that we both ended it, I also knew that the relationship brought to light the fact that I did not like to take risks ( at all! ).
Right now in my life, I am taking some risks. It is scary! Applying for graduate school in a program that I don't know for SURE will work out, going out on dates with guys who I'm not SURE are right for me, and investing in high school students who I am not SURE I will ever see again after this year.
One thing I have learned: that embracing life in joyful and painful moments is better than trying not to feel at all :)
Enjoy the video! Tell me what you think!
Vulnerability
A couple of months ago, I stumbled across this TED talk entitled Vulnerability. Brene Brown, a research professor with a doctorate in social work, speaks about different barriers to vulnerability she has found from her research (interviews/letters with thousands of people). She also shares a bit about her own "battle" with vulnerability.
At the time I watched the video I was wrestling with the fact that I had just ended a three month dating relationship. Though I knew it was right that we both ended it, I also knew that the relationship brought to light the fact that I did not like to take risks ( at all! ).
Right now in my life, I am taking some risks. It is scary! Applying for graduate school in a program that I don't know for SURE will work out, going out on dates with guys who I'm not SURE are right for me, and investing in high school students who I am not SURE I will ever see again after this year.
One thing I have learned: that embracing life in joyful and painful moments is better than trying not to feel at all :)
Enjoy the video! Tell me what you think!
Vulnerability
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Laughing
This morning I pressed the snooze button twice, finally waking up at 6:45 am. With no light coming out of the windows in my bedroom, I was proud of myself for the accomplishment of putting feet on floor. Once feet were on the floor, I remembered the 7:15 am faculty meeting. I commute thirty minutes to my work. So, after throwing myself together, I flew out the door and arrived last at the faculty meeting.
Now, this was no ordinary faculty meeting. It was the "let's gripe about uniforms" meeting. Anyway, our principal was reminding us that we teachers had not been nearly strict enough on enforcing dress code.
Which is why there was a line of 5-10 kids in the office at 8:00 am with "uniform violations." This means, for teachers, lots of eye-rolling and death looks from teenagers when we inform them of their violation.
Add to the uniform drama, the gray day, and the fact that today was composition notebook entry day in which all my classes have to write about an assigned topic at the outrageous length of FIVE sentences, I was fading quickly.
By 12:45 pm, after lunch, I sat at my desk during some free time in which I was supposed to be productive and stared at my Bible. I knew I needed to read it, but all I could do was just sit and stare blankly. I allowed some self-pity to pile.
My last period of the day I had four tenth grade boys. The nine other members of their class had left for an away basketball game. Like the rest, they complained about the five sentence requirement for the composition entry. By the time we got around to reading "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" by Washington Irving, I was ready to yell, or cry.
That's when one kid in the class volunteered to read. Now, this kid doesn't have a speech impediment or a stutter. He simply reads in a very stilted, awkward way...on purpose. While he was reading, one of my students looked up and caught my eye. We pursed our lips first, then held our hands up to our mouths, and then started making choking sounds to suppress the giggles. Another student looked up at us with a smile that turned into a laugh. The kid who was reading caught on and began giggling. Then, I just let myself go- I laughed so hard I started crying. Some of the boys fell out of their desks, laughing. These tenth grade boys let out some high-pitched cackles that would rival the wicked witch of the west. After we finished laughing, we read the rest of the story and I finished class five minutes early.
Praise God for five minute laughing extravaganzas. It turned my day around. A joyful heart is good medicine :)
Now, this was no ordinary faculty meeting. It was the "let's gripe about uniforms" meeting. Anyway, our principal was reminding us that we teachers had not been nearly strict enough on enforcing dress code.
Which is why there was a line of 5-10 kids in the office at 8:00 am with "uniform violations." This means, for teachers, lots of eye-rolling and death looks from teenagers when we inform them of their violation.
Add to the uniform drama, the gray day, and the fact that today was composition notebook entry day in which all my classes have to write about an assigned topic at the outrageous length of FIVE sentences, I was fading quickly.
By 12:45 pm, after lunch, I sat at my desk during some free time in which I was supposed to be productive and stared at my Bible. I knew I needed to read it, but all I could do was just sit and stare blankly. I allowed some self-pity to pile.
My last period of the day I had four tenth grade boys. The nine other members of their class had left for an away basketball game. Like the rest, they complained about the five sentence requirement for the composition entry. By the time we got around to reading "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow" by Washington Irving, I was ready to yell, or cry.
That's when one kid in the class volunteered to read. Now, this kid doesn't have a speech impediment or a stutter. He simply reads in a very stilted, awkward way...on purpose. While he was reading, one of my students looked up and caught my eye. We pursed our lips first, then held our hands up to our mouths, and then started making choking sounds to suppress the giggles. Another student looked up at us with a smile that turned into a laugh. The kid who was reading caught on and began giggling. Then, I just let myself go- I laughed so hard I started crying. Some of the boys fell out of their desks, laughing. These tenth grade boys let out some high-pitched cackles that would rival the wicked witch of the west. After we finished laughing, we read the rest of the story and I finished class five minutes early.
Praise God for five minute laughing extravaganzas. It turned my day around. A joyful heart is good medicine :)
Saturday, January 14, 2012
December 30, 2011
On December 30, 2011, I sat in front of a computer, a stack of articles, and three chunky reference books, at the far side of the Houston Love Memorial Library in Dothan, AL. I was on my second full day of re-writing a paper comparing Olaudah Equiano and Mary Rowlandson. It was not going well.
Here is some background on the subjects of my paper. Olaudah Equiano was an African slave in the 1700s who came to America by the Middle Passage (he is portrayed in the movie Amazing Grace). Mary Rowlandson came to the colonies one hundred years earlier, as a child, when her Puritan parents moved from England. Both experienced captivity- Equiano through slavery and Rowlandson through her kidnapping by Native Americans during King Phillip's War. I wanted to compare the similar (I thought) ways that both interpreted/made sense of their suffering as Christians. I secretly hoped that I would have an epiphany on the meaning of suffering while I was writing the paper, too. I guess that was a little ambitious.
It took me a couple of weeks to realize why the paper wasn't working out- why I left the library that day with a totally un-finished paper and ended up turning in another paper to Alabama and Auburn for my writing sample.
I thought that both people, since they had written about their lives for goodness sakes, would have a fully-formed coherent understanding of WHY they suffered. As I read more and more critical sources and looked and re-looked at each narrative, I realized neither Rowlandson nor Equiano could quite make sense of why they suffered- at times they spoke about God punishing them for past sins, at times they spoke about the fact that they felt closer to God in their sufferings, and at times they simply lamented ("Why God!") Both still struggled with pain over the trauma they had experienced- Rowlandson more so than Equiano.
I left the library, my computer, my books, and my scholarly articles in the far corner of the library after I, out loud, said "This is ridiculous!" When you start talking to yourself out loud in the library you know you need to externally process with SOMEONE. So, I called Jen, then Meg, and then my lovely Mother. After crying and yelling about how I may not want to go to graduate school in English and how I cannot write papers anymore and how I am so confused about the direction of my life and that my life story doesn't make sense, my Mom calmed me with the simple truth that God is good. He knows the direction of my life.
Which means, I don't have to sit in a library all my life and figure out the meaning of suffering, for every person who has ever suffered. I felt so much freedom in giving up writing that paper for the time. I have felt freedom when I think about the possibilities of graduate school in counseling psychology or even seminary (what.... this idea is a new one!).
Mostly, though, I truly find, now, freedom in the fact that I am not the ultimate "interpreter" of my life. Or anyone else's. The Lord helps each person interpret their suffering and find joy in daily life. And sometimes the Lord gives us friends who help us interpret our suffering because they have experienced suffering themselves :)
My prayer: Oh Great God, Thank you for our lives. You have given us the gift of life and you knew all our days before one of them came to be. Remind us of your careful attention when we feel our lives are not what they should be. You have not turned away, or forgotten. Every word of Yours proves true. When we accept your love, our story, no matter how difficult, has a happy ending with joy interspersed throughout. Love you Jesus!
Love you all!
Here is some background on the subjects of my paper. Olaudah Equiano was an African slave in the 1700s who came to America by the Middle Passage (he is portrayed in the movie Amazing Grace). Mary Rowlandson came to the colonies one hundred years earlier, as a child, when her Puritan parents moved from England. Both experienced captivity- Equiano through slavery and Rowlandson through her kidnapping by Native Americans during King Phillip's War. I wanted to compare the similar (I thought) ways that both interpreted/made sense of their suffering as Christians. I secretly hoped that I would have an epiphany on the meaning of suffering while I was writing the paper, too. I guess that was a little ambitious.
It took me a couple of weeks to realize why the paper wasn't working out- why I left the library that day with a totally un-finished paper and ended up turning in another paper to Alabama and Auburn for my writing sample.
I thought that both people, since they had written about their lives for goodness sakes, would have a fully-formed coherent understanding of WHY they suffered. As I read more and more critical sources and looked and re-looked at each narrative, I realized neither Rowlandson nor Equiano could quite make sense of why they suffered- at times they spoke about God punishing them for past sins, at times they spoke about the fact that they felt closer to God in their sufferings, and at times they simply lamented ("Why God!") Both still struggled with pain over the trauma they had experienced- Rowlandson more so than Equiano.
I left the library, my computer, my books, and my scholarly articles in the far corner of the library after I, out loud, said "This is ridiculous!" When you start talking to yourself out loud in the library you know you need to externally process with SOMEONE. So, I called Jen, then Meg, and then my lovely Mother. After crying and yelling about how I may not want to go to graduate school in English and how I cannot write papers anymore and how I am so confused about the direction of my life and that my life story doesn't make sense, my Mom calmed me with the simple truth that God is good. He knows the direction of my life.
Which means, I don't have to sit in a library all my life and figure out the meaning of suffering, for every person who has ever suffered. I felt so much freedom in giving up writing that paper for the time. I have felt freedom when I think about the possibilities of graduate school in counseling psychology or even seminary (what.... this idea is a new one!).
Mostly, though, I truly find, now, freedom in the fact that I am not the ultimate "interpreter" of my life. Or anyone else's. The Lord helps each person interpret their suffering and find joy in daily life. And sometimes the Lord gives us friends who help us interpret our suffering because they have experienced suffering themselves :)
My prayer: Oh Great God, Thank you for our lives. You have given us the gift of life and you knew all our days before one of them came to be. Remind us of your careful attention when we feel our lives are not what they should be. You have not turned away, or forgotten. Every word of Yours proves true. When we accept your love, our story, no matter how difficult, has a happy ending with joy interspersed throughout. Love you Jesus!
Love you all!
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