Admission of the Morality Police

Pregnancy has emboldened me in many ways.  It's odd. 

But something I keep fighting with is my reaction to other Christians.  Young Christians. 

Josh tells me I cannot be the morality police, but there's something about professing Christianity that I believe calls people to a higher standard, and to accountability.  The tragic thing is, most people do not want accountability.  Or some people say they do, but then get mortally offended when actually held accountable. 

Pre-pregnancy, I would read friends' posts on Facebook- Christian friends- and there would be something that I disagreed with or found offensive.  I wouldn't say anything pre-pregnancy, but now that I'm five months pregnant and ever aware of the responsibility coming to Josh and I in four short months, I find myself speaking out.  Why?  I haven't a clue.  Maybe it's my hormones.  Maybe it's something subconscious preparing me to confront the tough stuff with this child.  Maybe I'm just finally fed up with flaky, lukewarm Christians. 

And maybe I'm actually mad about the way other "Christians" represent my God.

But here's the thing: I really can't be the morality police.  Jesus didn't even do that.  Jesus spoke truth---in love; how did he always do that? I fail at that so miserably---but he gave people a choice.  The Pharisees and the Sadducees called themselves believers, but they were people Jesus spoke truth to, bold truth, and people Jesus didn't chase down.  He let them continue in their hypocrisy and religious falsehood when they chose to ignore Truth himself. 

What really has my heart churning, though, is the justification and the arrogance of sin.  And maybe it breaks my heart because I know I've done that, and I know it hurt ME.  I want so badly to save that hurt for others, but if I can't be the morality police, I certainly can't be Christ either.  I cannot save, I cannot redeem, I cannot judge. 

And I am not perfect.  I have my own flaws and blemishes, to be sure, and I need grace just as much as everyone else.  But it still breaks my heart to see young, brazen Christians flirting with the world while at the same time proclaiming to follow my God, and justifying their sin. 

And I don't know where my place is in that.

This blog isn't meant to point out anything profound, rather, it's meant to vent.  And this blog is an admission: I still need help on this journey, on my own walk, and walking with others.  Oh, how often I botch things up.

Goodbye, Good Friend. I'll See You in Nine Months.

To students, the day that summer ends is like a funeral.  They mourn the days they didn't get to fully enjoy, and dread the coming days of work and schedules.

But to teachers?  The last day of summer is like an old friend leaving for the umpteenth time.  It's bittersweet.  We'll miss Summer.  But the coming adventures in the classroom are something to look forward to.  Summer and teachers pick up right where they left off.  There is no mourning...at least not until mid-October (that's when the need for a personal day ALWAYS begins tempting me).

This was a great summer.  I'm not mourning at all. 

I just posted this on Facebook tonight about my summer adventures:

"Signs of a Successful Summer:

A visit to cooler climates to see marvelous friends.
A week at the beach, soaking up sun and laughter with Samantha.
An INCREDIBLE week of youth camp with Delta Chi.
LOTS of time with my Lesslie/Hada family AND my Blain family.
TWO family engagements, which means TWO new sisters.
For King and Country with one of OKWU's summer ministry teams.
Road-tripping with my favorite fella.
A tour of the convent.
Game night with fellow teachers.
One-on-one time with lovely teens.
Baking? Check.
Painting? Check.
Sleeping? Check.
Reading? Check.
House organized? Check!
Yep. I'd say this summer was successful!" 

I need to remember this so that when October hits, and especially when May slowly peeks its head around the corner and the chaos of end-of-the-year begins, I can remember that every long marathon of a day, every research paper graded, every cranky student, and every "well meaning" parent were completely worth it.  

And Summer will be visiting to pick up where we left off again.

I've heard many comments this summer about how teachers "have it made; they only teach nine months a year and get paid a full salary."

Yes... we do... but we're also exhausted.  We take our work (even though every wise college professor tells us not to) home with us.  And our work does not just include grading.  It includes the burdens of our students.  The drama of those "well-intended" parents.  The kick-back of nationally inducted fix-alls to education that will only last for five or six years until the next fix-all comes along and the cycle repeats itself all over again.

I'm proud of what I do, and I love that I get to do it, but summer is my reprieve.

However, I cannot lie.  I'm so excited for the beginning of a fresh school year I may have trouble sleeping tonight.  

Last year was a great year teaching in Kansas.  I work with an incredible team of teachers and administrators, and I loved my students.  It was a grueling year, though.  I was exhausted with all of the extra curriculars I picked up (Scholars' Bowl, SADD, after prom, and softball), but they were worth the exhaustion.  

God has called me to teach so that I can live in such a way that others can see Him.  Education, like so many of the jobs you all fill and feel called to, is a mission field.  I fail so often at being his hands and feet.  But I am called to merely plant seeds.  God will grow and nourish those seeds.  

The exhaustion is worth it, because I know I'm not doing it alone.  Even if I don't see the harvest, I know the crops will flourish under the Son.

And Summer will visit again.  We'll smile at one another, jump right back into our last conversation, and play until the departure calls again.

I have the best job in the whole world.  I get to be a teacher.

Cheap Shots and Word Scars

 I overheard a student calling her mom this morning; I was in the zone of early morning preparations, and her tone snapped me out of my thoughts.

“I KNOW, Mom!  I don’t care if you told him I would.  Mom.  Mom.  Mom!  I’m NOT going!  Well you don’t know…Mom.  Mom!  MOM!!!!  I’M NOT GOING!  I’ve got to get to class.  Click.”

My heart surged for a second due to the anger I felt on the mother’s behalf, and then a great sadness as disappointment and a jolting reality hit.

My disappointment was due to the stereotype of “this generation is so bad; back in my day…”

But then reality: I’ve talked to my mother like that. 

There are so many phases of being a teenager, and sadly, teenagers think they know it all and can talk down any person who contradicts them.  How very brazen.  And I remember that phase.

But I’m seeing things very differently the older I get.  I cherish my mother, and wish I had listened to her wisdom that I now covet when I was a teen.  I swallowed a large dose of pride somewhere in college as the Lord broke my rebellion and softened my heart to authority.  I won’t lie- I still have to pray for God’s help in this area.  I’m a bold woman who has a large independent streak, which God knows is in me.  But as a teacher, I’m called to model teamwork and character, and my at-times snotty attitude can’t come into play or I won’t keep my job, a job I feel called to.

A student called me a “bitch” this week, and maybe this is why this one phone call is so disturbing to me.  I’ve seen God work in my life, but so many of my students don’t know him.  The student on the phone?  She’s living for herself, and has not desire to make time for God in this phase of her life.

What I see in this generation is a desire to justify every ill thought, mean word, and hurtful action rather than take responsibility, rather than apologize, and rather than change. 

The student who called me a “bitch” didn’t mean for me to hear, but I did.  So when I confronted her to tell her that kind of behavior would not fly with me, she said, “I said it about you, not to you.”  As if that made it okay?  That absolutely justified nothing.

People, I don’t care who they are, deserve respect.  They deserve grace and great forgiveness.  So I write to remind myself that with God’s help, I can love and forgive students who use cheap and hurtful words.  If God could change me in that way, I know he can change them too.  I thank the Lord he has shown me the value of people, especially my incredible mom and dad.

I want to be more like Christ.  Today is a great reminder of where I used to be and how far God has brought me; but it’s also a reminder of how much more I need to strive to emulate his heart, actions, and words.

Remembering an Island

After three years of marriage, and two cross-country moves, I think I finally have every box of my old bedroom's contents removed from my parents' house (and boy are they thankful!).

I had a great chat with a dear friend from Idaho tonight, and after I got off the phone, Josh was pouring over his Sunday school lesson, so I grabbed a box and started sifting through it.

It's so funny to me that I didn't realize the calling to become a teacher until my second year of college.  It wasn't until God made it blatantly obvious that I was not to become a doctor that I realized he was calling me to be a teacher.  Looking back, I think God made that calling clear from an early age- I just refused to see it.  I never played with toys as a child, instead, I dug discarded mail out of the post office trashcan and pretended to write letters to students (and what an incredible infringement of privacy, and most likely a felony!).  So it is also funny to me that three of the boxes I just transported home are not full of trinkets or clothes, but letters.  And notes. And pictures.

I have three boxes FULL of paper!

I think God made no mistake in calling me to be a teacher, an English teacher.

The box I pulled out tonight was overflowing with old music programs, college acceptance letters, and much to my surprise, emails sent and received while in Jamaica over the course of three different summers.

My initial thoughts while reading were, "How was I ever so accident prone?"  I went to the Jamaican E.R. twice, and received many death threats, but for some reason, I kept going back.

I also wondered, "How on earth did my mom and dad let me travel to a foreign country, alone, at the age of fifteen?!"  The first summer I flew down there was a miscommunication, and no one was at the airport to pick me up for nearly three hours.  I remember, vividly, the horror I felt as Jamaican men whistled and cat-called, saying "Come 'ere, sweet ting, get in my car.  I'll take you home."  I think back to clutching my bags and sobbing as hot rain poured from the sky, and I thought intensely about turning around and catching the first flight back to the United States.

But I'm so glad my mom and dad said 'yes' to Kingston.  My youth pastor and his wife said, "She can do it- she'll be okay," and my parents trusted that God had a plan.

Almost daily, I have memories of Jamaica.  I remember it's people and poverty, it's sun-kissed beaches and tropical waters, it's danger and crime.  And it's missionaries.

Rex and Jan Harmon and Quentin and Sally Reese made such a huge impact in my life.  Their examples of faith stretched me and encouraged me.  Looking back, I think it was that first trip to Jamaica in 2002 that really pushed me to make my faith in Christ personal and authentic because for the first time in my life, being a Christian wasn't easy.  Desperation had never felt or looked more real, and I wanted to cling to Hope.

One day, I would really love to take Josh to Kingston, and visit the people of Trench Town.  I talk about that Caribbean island so often, and what a joy it would be for Josh to see the group of people who will forever be in my heart, and meet the missionaries who impacted me so greatly.

To each of you who shared in those Jamaican memories, thank you for investing in me.  Thank you for praying for my safety, preparation, and use.  Thank you for supporting my financial needs.  Thank you, Kevin and Sharla, for seeing something in me that I didn't see in myself.  Mom and Dad, thank you for trusting God to take care of me when you were thousands of miles away.  Rex and Jan, Quentin and Sally, thank you for pouring your love into a 15-year-old girl from Haven, Kansas.  Rex and Jan, thank you for continuing to impact the kingdom in Jamaica.

Some of my favorite memories took place in Jamaica.  And that island will forever be imprinted on my heart.

Pain is Pain

I found myself stunned today, silently pleading that God would give me wisdom I knew I didn't have.

Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird continues to hit the heart of readers some fifty years after its original publication date.  The responses from my students in Idaho to the injustices of deep South racism made me fall in love all over again with the book I read as a 16-year-old, but my students in Kansas today made me remember why this book continues to appeal to teenagers: it's relevant.

Charles Lamb once said, "Lawyers, I suppose, were children once."

Quite a packed quote.

If children are viewed as honest, carefree, naive, selfless, and innocent beings, contrast them with the stereotype that tends to be placed on lawyers: lying, uptight, all-business, selfish, greedy, and desensitized beings.  Are all lawyers this way?  Absolutely not.  But the lawyers who fit this list of adjectives, unfortunately, tarnish the names of a profession, not just their own.

One of Lee's most prevalent themes in the novel is the loss of innocence. 

Lawyers, too, were once innocent and naive, as children are.  But the harsh realities of their profession wore their innocence away.  Slowly over time or quickly in one instance makes no difference.  Innocence lost cannot be regained.

And so I posed the question: "Can you remember an age or a specific moment where you felt your innocence was lost?"

The first student said, "When my grandpa died. We were really close." He was age 8.

The second student said, "When I got cancer." She was age 4.

 The next student said, "When my dad left." He was age 4.

And the next student said, "When I visited my mom in prison.  I couldn't hug her when it was time to say goodbye." He was age 7.

The classroom was very quiet, because I didn't call on the next student to share.

I had a hard time recovering, so I just stopped, praying for wisdom.

For many of my students today, their innocence wasn't just worn down over time, it was ripped out of their hands before they even knew what was happening.

Jerry Bridges said, "God never allows pain without a purpose in the lives of His children. He never allows Satan, nor circumstances, nor any ill-intending person to afflict us unless He uses that affliction for our good. God never wastes pain. He always causes it to work together for our ultimate good, the good of conforming us more to the likeness of His Son."

Romans 8: 28 and 29 say, "...we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. ²⁹ For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters."

I told my students that they each have a story, and their stories matter.  No pain is wasted.  I thanked them for sharing their stories with me, and went silent again.

The silence hung for about ten seconds, then the bell rang and the students were dismissed.  But I cannot get names off of my heart this evening. 

I've carried home the hurts of my students today, but I'm also rejoicing in Hope.  Hope endured pain, for us, and I know that we don't hurt alone or unnoticed.  And as Josh said after I shared today's events with him, "Pain is pain, and kids are kids," in Idaho, and here in Kansas.  And I believe our God can handle our hurts.

Our stories really do matter.

What's yours?

Pity Party: Table for One

A new school year is well underway. 

After the transition and 2,000 mile trek back to Kansas this summer, I think I anticipated my students to be different from the faces that stared back at me in Idaho, but I'm realizing they're the same energetic and promising smiles and summer-sunned students.  Yes, Kansas has it's differences, but there are also many comparisons to the CV Rams who sunk into my heart as I started a career in teaching.

We are one week down already, which is hard to believe.  In terms of first-days, this year's was virtually flawless.  I think I stood, mouth agape, at the end of the day thinking, "That could not have gone ANY better."

My students kicked off the school year with research over the Civil Rights Movement as we get ready to move into Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. 

As students presented and shared, it hit me: during an era when people had to fight for basic rights and recognition, they were also fighting for something no one can take away.  Worth.

Worth has been something I've been processing all summer, and the reason I've been hesitant to blog.

School ended quite poorly for me in Idaho.  I loved my students, and many of my coworkers, but I let my boss push me into a corner the last week of school over a grade issue, and his bully behavior made me feel...cheap.  And very weak.  And if I'm being totally honest, worthless.

In the midst of an ethical dilemma, I did the wrong thing.  I was naive.  I was scared to tell my authority no.   I was weak.

And I hate that.

And so I not only allowed a wayward leader to bully me, I allowed that broken and misguided leader to determine my worth.  Even though he is thousands of miles away, that "worthless" thought has whispered through my head all summer. 

The injustice of what happened makes me angry.  But I can't do anything- nothing- to change it. 

The hurt runs in so many directions, but the widest path of hurt is at myself for knowing the right thing to do and not doing it.  I play the what-if game often.

"What if I had stood up for myself?"

"What if I had more experience and had known what to do!"

"What if the union had backed me?"

What if...what if...what if...

I can so easily throw a pity party for myself, but how pointless is that?  It doesn't help, it doesn't change anything, and it doesn't glorify God.

I was convicted while listening to my new students present about the fight for civil rights this week. 

During an era in which the majority said "you're worthless," a determined group of people said, "no, we're not; we're worth it," and they pressed on.  They fought, hard, and they did not let the broken and misguided leaders determine their worth. 

This summer I have felt like King David.  "Why are you downcast, O my soul?  Why so disturbed within me?" 

But Jesus told his followers to not let their hearts be troubled, not to grow weary.

The pity party is a farce!

The admission ticket to that party is worthlessness, and that ticket is single admittance.  

The world may whisper, "You're worthless!"  But God whispers, "You're worth it!"  And so he sent his son...for us.

For me.

For my own inadequacies and my own failures.  For my own sins.

And he gives more grace.

More than I'll ever deserve, and more that I am ever so thankful for.

And I have worth, because I have Him. 

And He has you.

Therefore, a table for one won't be big enough, and we don't want to miss the party...

Catching Up

I was a bit shocked when I logged on this morning to realize it has been several months since either Josh or I posted on our blog. Life has changed quite a bit for us. In February both Josh and I lost a grandparent. His grandpa, Elmore, passed away from ALS on February 16, and my grandma, Karla, passed away from cancer on February 23. The day of my grandma's funeral service, we were heart sick. We were praying about the losses of two beloved grandparents, asking God how we could move forward. Then the phone rang. A pastor in north central Kansas was curious if Josh might be interested in an assistant pastor position, primarily focused on leading youth. I jumped on the Kansas ed website, and behold, the same small town where the church was had an English opening. We began to pray. We asked God to not only open doors in Concordia if that was the place for us, but we also asked God to close doors in Kooskia so that we would know his ministry for us there was finished. God is good. We flew down in late March and fell in love with the church. Pastor David offered Josh the position on a Thursday morning, and four hours later, Concordia High School called to offer me a high school language arts position. We were both ecstatic to see God's hand moving in our lives. Getting home though, we realized how difficult it would be to tell our church people. Upon telling Eternal Hope Wesleyan Church of our plans, they decided it best to close the church and for the church body to join another local church. A definite door was closed. I was still struggling with leaving Clearwater Valley High School. I loved my job, coworkers, and students, and didn't particularly want to leave, but God closed that door as well. I won't get into the details, but Josh and I both feel God saved us from heartache that was coming. Idaho education is messy right now, and a few things happened at the tail end of school that would have made returning in the fall difficult. My students did ask that I speak at graduation, which was a huge honor and a wonderful way to say goodbye to CVHS. This class of seniors snuck into my heart. Graduation was June 8, and Josh and I pulled out of Kooskia, Idaho, in a U-Haul on June 17. What a whirlwind! My cousin Samantha flew up from Texas to help us get everything packed, then helped with the driving on the way to Kansas. It was so wonderful to have her! She'll be a senior in high school this fall, so I know opportunities like these must be cherished! I think we might still be in Idaho if Sam hadn't helped. We've already gotten to see a grandpa, a great grandma, aunts, uncles, cousins, both sets of our parents, one of Josh's brothers, my brother, sister-in-law and nephews, and another of Josh's brothers and his girlfriend are coming up tonight for the 4th festivities. We are richly blessed by the closeness of family. Concordia Wesleyan Church has already been a huge blessing. We do miss the Idaho church body that we worshiped with, but we're finding that this Kansas church body is very lovable as well. Youth camp is just a week away, and we're so excited to see what God has in store. A whirlwind indeed! Much love to each of you. As God has been working in our lives, I'm excited to hear how he's been working in yours!