No Wooden Spoons, Please.

When I was younger, I was often asked the infamous question, “What do you want to be when you grow up?”  Once “dolphin trainer” became an unreachable goal, I began answering the question with the following exclamation: I don’t have a clue, but I do know I will NOT be a teacher!  It seemed comforting to be able to at least eliminate one profession.  Little did I know, God would call me right out of that comfort zone; He’s good at that.

I attended SBU with the goal of obtaining my English degree as quickly as possible.  Teaching terrified and intrigued me simultaneously, which created a strange passive passion inside my heart.  Then amidst general education courses, I met some incredible musicians who forced me to hone my musical talent in the public spotlight.  Up until this point, I had perfected the art of serenading my bedroom.  My friends forced me out of that safety zone, and I naturally fell in love with the vulnerability that accompanied sharing my story with others via song.  Then these same people who tore me out of my shell moved to pursue musical things in Nashville.  I was convinced that I would follow in their footsteps.

I had convinced myself that God brought me to SBU with the sole purpose of igniting a passion within my soul for music.  I thought I had found my calling, and planned on packing up my bags, heading toward the big city lights, and pursuing music full-time.  However, the Lord had different plans: He wanted to finish what He had started; He wanted me to teach. 

I followed His instruction and stayed put in small-town Bolivar, Missouri.  I sacrificed my desires in order to pursue His heart for my life.  That path brought me to Bolivar High School and connected me with a large number of local teens.  Before I knew it, my heart had taken root. 

A student recently said that she knew I cared about my students because I “could go off and sing and make a living off of that… but [I’m their] teacher.”  This blew my mind because I feel like she was peering into my soul without knowing it. 

This morning, I pondered her words and my journey, and I came to one steadfast realization: God relentlessly pursues His beloved. 

He loves each individual student, and I would sacrifice any personal dream or goal if it meant that the above statement became real to them.  I do not regret forgoing my musical plans to let Him root my heart in Bolivar.  I am richly blessed. 

Know one thing, reader: Long before He laid down the earth’s foundations, He had YOU in mind.  He settled on you to be the focus of His love—to be made whole and holy by His love.  (Ephesians 1) 

Last night I crouched in front of my filled bookshelf and experienced dismay as my eyes perused the various titles.  Within the covers, various topics, time-periods, tales, and truths are at my disposal; it is as if a well-dressed man with a monocle stands before me and says, “Well, Madam, where shall we journey tonight?”  Though the world was at my disposal, I simply could not be excited by any of my possible adventures.  I had become a spoiled child, and this monocled man could not twist my arm far enough to force it out of it’s crossed posture. 

Have you ever finished a story, smiled at the conclusion of it’s grandeur, and then immediately allowed your shoulders to slump because the beautiful journey has come to an end?

I guess it is better to love and to have lost than to have never loved at all.  Que sera sera.

I feel like this moment’s mental mixtape deserves a recipient:

As I listen to Patty Griffin’s “When It Don’t Come Easy,” the song presents fresh perspective and new meaning.  I think creation is groaning, aching, and yearning for a glimpse of its Creator.  While I speak with people from all walks of life, Griffin’s verses seem to align with the lack of hope that surfaces during these conversations:

I don’t know nothing except change will come
Year after year what we do is undone
Time keeps moving from a crawl to a run
I wonder if we’re gonna ever get home
You’re out there walking down a highway
And all of the signs got blown away
Sometimes you wonder if you’re walking in the wrong direction

The Church seems to be denying these lonely wanderers of true nourishment.  We seem to filter into a ‘proper’ comfort zone, while outsiders roam to-and-fro on the streets of loneliness.  While I constantly feast on the fellowship of numerous brothers and sisters, potential members of my eternal family are starving to death.  That fact doesn’t seem to align with Christ’s calling…

But if you break down
I’ll drive out and find you
If you forget my love
I’ll try to remind you
And stay by you when it don’t come easy

The past few days have wielded a lot of interesting thoughts and a whirlwind of feelings.  Upon initial retrospection, all of my interactions seemed beautiful in their individuality, yet completely unrelated to one another as a whole.  However, time has passed; I have cooked a meal, washed an overflow of dishes, made some tea, and sat in the silence of a quiet house.  These mindless tasks provided the perfect atmosphere for the unveiling of the underlying them of my days of exchanges.  This theme is haunting, like a ghost in your closet who greets you with a sly grin every time you attempt to hang up your coat.  But unlike that familiar ghost, the theme of my days wears a cloak of hope and interacts with me like a friend who ask the hard questions only with the intent of pulling me out of my current shallow ditch of thought.  Either way, this theme is tough—but I want to dive in with eyes closed and heart abandoned as I try to answer the question: How organic is my spirit?

In an attempt to creat a life that saves us from time-consuming tasks and bug-filled crops, we’ve invented a variety of additives and pesticides, which eliminate all of the natural things we fear.  However, along with that plight, we’ve also created a whole new array of complications that our bodies do not know how to naturally fight.  Bless them, for they try wtih all of their might—but eventually they wear out and lay six feet under a fresh mount of dirt, exhausted.

I could easily venture through the conversations I have had, the articles I have read, and the things I have witnessed and attempt to explain the bridge that connects the previous paragraphs, but that bridge would be a long one with a handful of holes and weathered ropes.  Instead, I’ll continue to ponder this interesting metaphor and seek Truth in my venture.  As for you, I’ll leave you with one portion of that new bridge:  I met a mother who had a beautiful bookshelf filled with every classic novel you could ever imagine.  She has made a tradition out of reading selections from her prized bookshelf to her children.  Her gorgeous darlings have journeyed the pages of Pilgrim’s Progress before bed.  Sweet dreams.

For the last time, I strolled into 17^th and 18^th Century British Literature, unshowered with a pep in my step. I nestled into my usual seat and smiled: this is the day I had dreamt of for three years. When originally pursuing higher education, I wanted to chase the artist’s dream. In my dream, showering was silly because you’d be covered in clay and paint by the end of the day, and steps were always peppy because you’re barefoot and your choice of footwear (or lack thereof) is welcomed. However, God had different plans. His dream for me included a classroom with high standards of proper punctuation, exhaustive reading lists, and lessons concerning the topic of creating lessons. I put my shoes back on and placed the paintbrush on the shelf and plastered His dream goggles on my face. Then for three years, I fooled myself into thinking I was compliant.

As I pulled my oversized literature Bible out of my bag and heard its mighty thud echo through the room, I realized that I have wasted time. I counted down class periods and ridiculed “close-minded” classmates, and now I finally have what I asked for: my last class. But the tantalizing idea I had chased over the past three years didn’t taste as sweet as I had thought it would. Instead, bitterness overwhelmed my mouth and I quickly took a drink to combat the intense feeling of my closing throat. I was sad. Not the kind of sadness you feel when cannot attend an exciting event or when you find out your car needs a replacement part and you have no cash in your pocket. No. I experienced that gut-wrenching sadness that signals you’ve missed something huge. So for those next seventy-five minutes, I attempted to play catch-up.

I realized:
I loved the degree of challenge that accompanied my major.

The exhaustive reading lists brought new insight to my Savior’s character and the worldview many people examine it through. These tidbits are valuable, and I wish I would have read every assigned reading.

I was blessed with amazing professors with mind-blowing passions, and I am privileged to know them.

I value knowledge, and I desire to be a lifelong learner.

The list went on and on…
But above all I realized that
I wish I could write a multitude of letters sealed with teardrops of sincere gratitude.

My God knows EXACTLY what He’s doing.

I sit on my couch in a dimly lit room with the voice of Patty Griffin harmonizing with the clicking sound of home row.  I recently had to judge various works for a junior and senior high writing contest and then was given the assignment to reflect upon the task.  As I concluded my extended paragraph, tears welled in my eyes to the rhythm of Mrs. Griffin’s perfectly crafted words.

“As the judging concluded, I think recently muddy waters began to clear enough to reveal this resolution:  I am a girl who loves grammar, literature, and literary elements.  I am also in love with kids who are bearing heavy burdens on a daily basis.  However, I’m beginning to think these two do not overlap as much as I once thought they did.  I do not want to be reading similar assignments about daily heart break, and then putting a grade on the top of the page.  While reflecting upon this task, I realize that I may have not taken away exactly what was intended.  But I walk away from the file folders filled with stories with a peace in my heart; God’s plan is better than mine.”

My professor may not be pleased with my conclusions… but I am more than prepared to deal with that.

I am currently in control of my mind and I experience despair because of it.