A Rude Awakening

I try so hard to forgive the wounds from my childhood in a church full of loving people who I think meant well. But sometimes, those wounds resurface, and I'm angry all over again.

As a 15-year-old who just spent her first summer in Jamaica, I came home knowing God had called me into missions, I just didn't know what that meant. Five men came to me after I spoke to my church, telling me I had to be married to do that, and my husband would have to be the missionary.

I was so crushed. I thought God wanted to use me, not just make me a wife.

And so began the stubborn pride in me to be single and prove to everyone I knew that God could use women, single, in the ministry.

God broke down a lot of that pride in me. He placed a calling in my life to be a teacher, then he introduced me to Josh Blain, the man who stole my heart and who I longed to serve alongside. God has used Josh as a beautiful example of what unity and partnership should look like. Josh has given me a glimpse of the true joy of marriage because he walks beside me, he doesn't make me follow. He and I are in ministry together.

I thought I was okay with those wounds. I've spent many years working through them, begging God to take them away. But yesterday, they resurfaced.

Without going into a full-out soap-box, let me just say I hate denominations. People get so wrapped up in a title that they forget the body, and Christ's church is divided.

I was asked to sing at my home church while on my travels, something I enjoy doing and look forward to. The church just got a new pastor, I met him Saturday, and really had a great impression of him.

Sunday morning came, I lugged my guitar to church, and was asked to "step into the office," a sign that should have told me something bad was coming.

Remember, I had a great first-meeting with the new pastor, so when he said, "Our by-laws state that only Baptists can sing at church," I thought he was completely joking.

I burst out laughing, then heard the following statement come out of this new pastor's mouth.

"We can't let just anyone sing. If a Mormon came in and wanted to sing a song, we wouldn't let them."

Wow. And 'denomination' just became a dirty word.

Forget the fact that I am a Christ follower. I didn't realize Wesleyans were grouped with Mormons. Forget the fact that I got saved in that church, and the fact that I grew up there. Forget the fact that I traveled on three missions trips while at that church, and followed God's leading into the ministry.

I was so hurt.

Because I am Wesleyan, I'm not good enough. And all of my childhood insecurities came flooding back.

I looked at my dad's face, and it donned on me. This guy was being serious.

The pastor said, "Are you mad at me?"

I didn't know what to say. A weak "No" slipped out.

"Okay. Good."

He left, and I turned to my dad, and instantly burst into tears.

Rejected by my home church. That one stung.

I tried to sit through the worship, but I could not regain my composure. I hate that one man's words cut me so deeply. I finally wrote my dad a note telling him I was going to walk home, stood up, and walked out of the doors, telling myself I would never go to church there again if it meant more hurt.

My mom walked home with me, and talking through some of that emotion was good. But if I'm being totally honest, I'm still reeling. I am so hurt and angry and disappointed and disgusted.

Denominations divide the body of Christ. People who think their name gets them to heaven or qualifies them for more holiness than others make me so frustrated. I understand that it wasn't the pastor's opinion- he's new and is trying to follow the church constitution, but I'm still hurt by him.

Shouldn't we all be working on the same goal? Shouldn't we all have the same focus? Shouldn't we walk together and love one another with fierceness?

I fail to understand.

In 1 Corinthians 1, Paul is getting onto the church for this very issue. People were following Paul, and Peter, and several other missionaries, and Paul called them on it, saying, "Shouldn't we be followers of Christ?"

Verses 10-13 state it much more eloquently than I am, but that's the gist. Jesus never said, "Be Baptist," or "Be Wesleyan," or "Be Church of Christ." He called both Jew and Gentile to follow him. But people's rules make that simple practice difficult.

And the body takes a beating.

Any wisdom out there? I would certainly welcome it.

Reflections of a First-Year Teacher

What a whirlwind!

First, thank you to each and every one of you who has been praying for me this year as I embarked on my first-year teacher journey. I would not have maintained my physical, emotional, and mental states without those prayers.

Friday was graduation, which Don, Patty, and Andrew were able to come down for, a true joy! The keynote speaker was Billy Mills, the 1964 Olympic gold medalist in the 10,000-meter run. Mills is the only American to have ever won the gold in that race, and travels the country as a motivational speaker.

The premise of Mills' message was perseverance and perspective, two topics I have hit on with my students all year, but two topics I feel God has impressed on my heart this year as well.

When students wanted to give up- especially my seniors- I would write one word on my board: persevere. I told them I understood the feeling of wanting to give up. With graduate school this first year of teaching, I must admit, I wanted to give up often, but prize was so alluring. This year has been a constant learning process, for me and my students. Life is not easy, but it's worth pressing on.

Mills also talked quite a bit about perspective. He is a Native American, and has dealt with many poor perspectives from coaches, teammates, fans, and peers. But he walked on.

Perspective is a common theme of literature. For one of the creative writing topics my seniors had to write a monster story, but from the monster's perspective, which often changes the story.

My perspective of these students, this valley, education as a student, and now as a teacher, have all shifted greatly these last nine months.

And I can't help but see God as the adhesive agent to all of it.

Without him, all things fall apart. Perspective doesn't matter, and life simply buckles.

I feel like I've gotten very old in this last year. In fact, Friday right before graduation, Josh pulled my first gray hair. I sure hope my wisdom from these last weeks and months didn't come out with it! Gray hairs and all, I love teaching. I couldn't imagine doing anything else.

To capture the true feeling of my moment, I tried to snap a picture. I observed many teacher-attitudes today. One teacher was dancing, one was laughing from pure hpyeractivity, one was (I'm quite certain) hung over, one was sad as he was retiring, and one was just cranky. Emotions ran the full gambit.

My mood?

Contentment. Joy. Stillness. Peace.

Can you tell?

Finally The Ruler of My Own Kingdom

My English IV students...Seniors...are currently looking graduation in the eye, 14 more days until their blessed tasseled walk, but before they can gain a diploma, they must finish the creative writing unit started two weeks ago.

It's killing them.

Their first short story was to be a Faust. We read an excerpt, watched a blip of "The Little Mermaid," then they were released. They needed a central character who wanted something, but to gain it, had to sell a portion of freedom, or even, their soul. Lords, devils, contracts, and flawed characters turned up some fairly clever tales.

Next up, plays. Students read a bit of Endgame, an absurd drama by Samuel Beckett, one of my favorites. Solomon would be proud. Meaningless, meaningless. All is meaningless...in a Beckett play, at least.

On to Frankenstein. Students' short stories had to be from the perspective of the monster, a bit of inspiration from the hit production Wicked.

But the assignment that just about made my seniors keel over from their own guttural wailing was the humor segment.

Did you know Steve Martin, that's right- the father of the bride, the father of a dozen children, and the self-proclaimed lover of mixed-nuts, wrote a book of short stories. And they are all funny.

Or at least I thought so. I copied off about eight of them, making a packet for each student thinking, "They'll definitely want to keep these hilarious stories!"

But my seniors? They felt...other...emotions.

I told my students that if they read their humor stories out loud in class and made me laugh, I would give them fifteen bonus points. And let's just face it- fifteen points could make or break graduation for a few of these highly lovable albeit procrastinating seniors.

Here is the story that broke my laugh bubble today. Fifteen points well deserved.

Once upon a time, in a mystical far away world, there was a small kingdom called Englishfoura. This kingdom was ruled over by a benevolent queen named Blaina. Under her wise rule, the assignment crops flourished and the grade harvesters prospered. Her loyal subjects were happy, and so was she.

One day, however, a twisted thought entered her head. "I'm bored with all of this. I think I'll assemble my subjects and make a decree."

And that is exactly what she did. So on the allotted day, the subjects assembled before their queen, looking eagerly to their loved leader. They were confident that something wonderful was in store for them, so they thought nothing of the papers that were being passed among them.

"Everyone open your papers," she called.

The people eagerly opened them, but to their horror and dismay, they found that the papers contained a collection of incredibly lame 'humorous' short stories.

"Now," the queen said with an evil gleam in her eye, "read them ALOUD."

The terrified people groaned inwardly, but did as they were told, and for the space of an hour, they suffered.

When the poor souls had finished, they looked hopefully back to the queen; perhaps there was a good reason for this?

But it was not to be.

The queen let loose a maniacal laugh that filled them with dismay.

"Now," she cried, "write one YOURSELF!"

And so began the dark times. The happy kingdom was transformed into a hopeless wasteland, filled with despair and sorrow. No one could bring themselves to create such horrible humor.

But every story has a hero, and this one is no exception.

For traveling the land, there was a character of infinite coolness; a man of unspeakable awesomeness. Wielding the Sword of Sarcasm, he lived to defend the witless and destroy the sharp of tongue; restoring good humor wherever he went.

And that is exactly what he was here to do.

He marched into Blaina's black fortress, intent on restoring order to the land. Her guards moved to stop him, but they shied away when they realized it was futile.

Finally, he arrived in the throne room.

An evil laugh filled the air. "Good, you must have come with another stack of bad humor papers! I can't wait to give them all bad grades! There is no way they can succeed with this assignment!"

The Sword of Sarcasm rang as it was drawn.

"I have come to end this madness," he declared.

"NOOOOOOO!" screamed Blaina.

With unfathomable skill, he wielded the Sword of Sarcasm, destroying all of the bad humor papers that were stacked in the room. Having finished his first grisly task, he lifted his hand and blasted Blaina with a bolt of pure awesomeness.

The madness left her eyes, and the black clouds over the countryside began to disperse.

So the queen was restored to good sense, the awesome dude returned to his home, and the subjects never had to write humorous stories ever again. Everyone lived happily ever after.

The end.

And so live the residents in the happy kingdom of Englishfoura, along with their first-year ruler, Blaina, wife to King Blaino, and owner of Sir Ivan.

Life is good, and only 29 more days until I can smooch my nephews.

Give me the Son, With all His Beams Full Dazzling!

You would think, after countless moments of God revealing his faithfulness, I would expect him to pull through before I expected him to ignore me.

Until today, the sun forgot about the existence of Kooskia, Idaho, leaving us off its daily appearance list. We live in the valley that the sun boycotts, but today, those cheery rays graced us once again.

Monday, it hailed. Tuesday, it snowed. Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, it rained. Six weeks of dark and wet weather. That's 42 days...1,008 hours...60,480 minutes...3,628,800 seconds. Can you sense my depression expanding!?!?

But today, yellow beaming, warmth dripping, full-body surrounding SUN!!!

Josh is in the yard, with one of the cutest 8-year-olds I've ever seen, doing yard work. The mower is running, the boy is laughing, Josh is hollering over the noise, and I'm digging out fifteen hard-earned dollars for David, our new 3rd grade landscaper.

This morning our church had its first community event. Alongside the Chamber of Commerce, Eternal Hope Wesleyan Church put on an Easter egg hunt in the park. Nearly 150 kids, with probably 150 additional adults, showed up, baskets in tow, ready to "hunt the wabbit."

I checked my watch when Josh announced the hunt to begin- 10:02. At 10:04, there were no more eggs to be found. In two minutes, 150 children gathered over 2,000 Easter eggs! What a sight to see!

Along with the sun, God has remembered that Josh and I are still here, trying to reach this valley with His light. The winters are so long, but the Light is coming! Hope is on His way.

Doors are opening, and we find ourselves so very blessed.

Josh has been asked to speak at the community bachiloriette the end of May, my senior students have asked me to give the benediction at their graduation ceremony, and Josh has been asked to preach at the community Church in the Park this summer. Slowly, we are seeing the community embrace us, and we are praying that God will grow the body here in this little valley.

The winters may be long...as C.S. Lewis states in Narnia, "Always winter, never spring"...but the plum trees are showing their blooms, the grass is beginning to grow, the hills are turning green, and the Light is eating the dark. As promised, the Son will thrive.

Happy Easter!

A Revolutionary Conversation

I think I finally caught a glimpse of the allure of the epic toddler battle leading to the question, "Why."

For no particular reason other than sheer curiosity, and maybe slight boredom, I used no word other than "Why" for an entire conversation with my husband. Josh was the guinea pig- and he played along quite smoothly.

Because of one leading question, "Why," we spent ten minutes talking first about a topic neither of us can actually remember, which segued into the galaxy's make-up, Facebook, the Pope's childhood traumas of insecurity and his personal blame for his little brother's death (which Pope you ask? It doesn't matter- I'm fairly certain it applies to them all), the king and queen of England, drugs, conception of viruses, and finally, beauty.

Keep in mind, to really play along, the "Why" asker must change voice inflection, and the answerer must be willing to bend the truth with creativity. Or sheer tomfoolery.

Our conversation end piece, beauty, satiated me. After probably 200 "Why's," Josh finally said something noteworthy, true, timeless, and raw. It was absolutely cheesy, and yet, profound.

Ready? Here goes.

"People have to be ugly."

"Why?"

"Because if everyone is ugly, then no one can be beautiful."

"Why?"

"Because if everyone was beautiful, then beauty would only be skin deep. And there would be no room for someone who has a good heart to be called beautiful."

"Okay."

Try it. It will blow your mind.

WARNING: This activity will make you question the title of "adult." Be prepared to feel like a toddler when participating in this toddler activity.

Bathrooms as Photo Galleries?

I need your help understanding something.

I'm not incredibly old, and I work with teenagers every single day, but sometimes, I'm totally clueless to their behavior.

Of all the places to capture photos of yourself, the restroom? It makes absolutely no sense to me at all. Three times this week while using the restroom, I've noticed female students standing in front of the mirrors, snapping shots of themselves for what I can only assume will end up on Facebook or MySpace.

A. I'm never letting students go to the bathroom again, because now I know why they ask, and it is most definitely not to go potty.
B. How appealing can it be to have a picture of yourself, trying to look sexy, with three toilets in the background? If that's sexy, then I have failed.

I thought this was the new fad in northern Idaho only, but I just logged off of my own Facebook page and saw four...count them...FOUR other bathroom profile pictures from my own friend list, which includes mostly mid-westerners.

I'm lost. The bathroom is the last place I want to snap a picture of myself.

On a side note, this week I had a team meeting with the cranky mother who sent me on an early spring break. The four male faculty teachers in attendance surrounded me with their presence, one of them declaring he would absorb a punch if the meeting should come to that.

When the mom entered, my blood pressure sky-rocketed. I had an instant migraine from the pulsing blood in my brain.

The loner the meeting went, the more tense I became, but I was vocal. I truly do want to see the student successful, so I wanted my voice to be heard.

The longer the meeting went, though, the stranger the facial expressions of the men sitting around me.

They each cocked their heads a bit, their eyes grew slightly more narrow than usual, and they looked confused. It wouldn't have caught my attention had they not all been making this face at me.

At the tail end of the meeting, the mother did apologize to me in front of everyone, but at the same time, she told me to get over it. Let the past be the past. Move on! Let bygones be bygones. I'm sorry, but if someone chews you out, tells you you're a horrible teacher, then hangs up on you, saying, "Let the past be the past" is the very worst way to indicate remorse. Then she actually said these words: "You should be glad I hung up on you. I felt cuss words coming, so I did what I had to."

In my brain, I was having my own conversation.

"No. Being cussed out is one thing, but being hung up on infuriates me. I hate it- it's the ultimate sign of disrespect in my book when dealing with other adults."

"I'd rather be cussed out, because at least the other person is willing to get the frustration out and then move on to productive conversation. At least I get my say. Being hung up on severs communication. As nasty as being cussed out is, at least communication is still going on."

Again, cue the narrow eyed, head cocked, confused look from the other teachers.

The meeting ended, I grabbed my things, and speedily walked down to my classroom. Another teacher followed me in, and I said, "Okay- what is it? Do I have a big booger on my nose or something? Am I covered in sweat???!"

My teacher friend looked at me and said, "Ashley, you are covered in hives!"

My body betrayed me!!! I was trying to look so calm. I was breathing deeply- I was tightening muscles and letting them relax. I was doing everything I could think of to appear calm.

Curse you, hives!

Now I know, to preserve and document moments like those, I need to walk down to the restroom, snap a picture of myself, and then upload to this blog.

What was I thinking?!

Is a Week Too Long?

Rather than travel all over the Northwest, Josh and I opted to stay home this spring break, but I'm beginning to think we've both caught cabin fever.

The following conversation occurred during dinner tonight, when Josh starting choking and coughing. Me, being the helpful, loving wife that I am, offered, "Quick! I'll give you the Heimlich!"

Now here's where I started to realize we've both officially lost it...

Assume a German accent.

Josh: "Heimlich- that's the boy who steals my lunch money."

Ashley: "Yeah. Every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday."

We both looked at each other in total shock, then burst up laughing for a very hearty two minutes.

We need to get out more, but acting like children with German accents is, in all honesty, quite a hoot!