Quelled

Life is overwhelming this week.  And I have just tried about seven or eight times to put words together to explain this.  It’s not working.  Nevertheless, these thoughts and words must eventually rest in some place.   I woke up with a canker sore this morning and remembered that this is the beginning of my own personal version of complete shut down.   I have a mind that turns and turns, and in the meantime, connects one thing to everything else, and sometimes knowing logical things about history just sucks. 

For example, when I learned about the explosions about Boston, one side of me was horrified.  My best friend was two blocks away from it.  The other was logically beginning to see that social media of this time brings the stressful information to you live, as it’s happening, and the news stations can’t even promise anything won’t be graphic.  I thought of Mathew Brady’s art gallery of war during the Civil War.  Or television coverage during Vietnam.  What a shock to our collective system.  

Sunday Morning

I’m going to a church in South Minneapolis these days that is really a wonderful place.  When I wrote about God cracking me apart, church was a part of it for sure.  I’ve been thinking about the church these days.  And I’ve been thinking about intellect versus the heart. 

            But before even that, I’ve been thinking about Bethel.  What my experience was while I was there, how it prepared me for the world I’ve been in for the past 5 years, what I railed about when it disappointed me, the quiet gratitude that I feel when I think of the place.  Even while paying off…All. Of. That. Debt. 

It was worth it. 

Adventuresome

I wore high heels during three of the five days in this work week.  That was ridiculous. 


In happier news, a substitute teacher in our building, this really lovely woman that we all love for her timelessness and cheerfulness, came all the way across the school to sit with me and talk a little during our common preps.  I learned today that she knows when I have a free hour, and that she is willing to walk across the entire school to have a conversation.  As soon as she came into my room, I happily shut down all thoughts of grading tests, and there we sat, while it began to snow again, and basically we talked about adventures. 

This woman is maybe 70 years old, and had my very job for about 40 years.  She likes to talk shop.  What I love is that she is without guile.  When she forgets things, she turns to me and says, 'Which battle am I thinking of?'  And I will tell her, and she will exclaim loudly with the same word, and she is back on track.  She still likes to be someone's teacher, even at 70, and I find this inspiring. 

Earlier in the week, I admitted to her that I was in a low, depleted place.  I was doing that inner transition from 3rd quarter to 4th quarter, and it was tough.  She knows the feeling, probably 40 times over. And she said a really simple thing that made me laugh really hard. 

'Pardon my language, but once the shitty weather dissipates, things will get better, won't they?'  

Almost

 These lyrics are about as creepy and obscure as it gets but today, every time I had a few minutes of silence, this song naturally came to mind.  It was a good song to listen to when I stared out the window for a few minutes during my prep hour.  Today was overwhelming.  I HAD to stare at the gray clouds and the faraway trees to clear my mind.  This song helped.

Here it is.  Teaching is really rough in April when it’s gloomy.  Lots of things outside of teaching are rough when it's this gloomy for this long in April.  I'm just seeing it from Teacherville.

I’m hanging on to the little things that keep me going.  (Maybe we all are.)  I prayed the Psalms inside when I walked down the hall.  I practiced breathing.  I found my people.  I tried to make the gloom feel cozy…(it didn’t work, but I tried).  I took a break. Later in boldness, I forged on past a break when I thought it would just make me languish.  I reminded myself of my utter dependence on the Spirit of God for anything good.  (Teachers often like to think they can be in total control.  This is false.)  All of the little things that you learn to do.