School Meeting

     I used to dread school meetings.
    I know for someone that has promoted teaching as one of the best jobs in the world, that is a startling admission. Why would one dislike a time of fellowship with those of a similar passion? Why cringe when faced with the boundless energy and enthusiasm found at such a meeting? Why turn away from a chance to hear stories that touch your heart and bring tears to your eyes, occasionally laughing till your stomach hurts?
    Allow me to dig myself in deeper. I also failed to read the Chalk Talk. I didn't just forget. It wasn't that I didn't have time. I simply refused to do it.
    The reason? I hated feeling like a failure.
    I remember going to one school meeting where a teacher passed around picture-perfect penmanship pages and asked how she could get her students to write more neatly. I ducked my head in shame, sure I was red with mortification. I didn't think my students that year were even capable of that level of neatness, and she wasn't satisfied?
    Another teacher got up and left an experience of dealing gently with a student that ended in a "happily ever after." All I could think of were the days I couldn't keep frustration from creeping into my voice and the times I was even compelled to apologize to my students.
    More amazing teachers spoke about the consistent discipline methods they used, how their children were wonderfully caring and kind to one another, how enthused they were with teaching math concepts I could barely understand. 
    Then I would go home and try to read the Chalk Talk. Inside were more heartwarming stories of perfect teachers with perfect direction and perfect students. They always had the right answer to the problems they faced. They always conquered every battle in the end. It was beyond me how they did it. I knew my teaching experience hadn't been like that. 
    And so I tried to keep low. I attempted to blend in quietly in the background while surrounded with all these superhuman teachers at school meeting and in Chalk Talk. I didn't want anyone to see the truth. I wasn't a teacher at all. I was only an imitation. A fraud. A counterfeit. A failure.
    It took several years of living in the teacher realm before I realized what the truth really was. All the inspiring stories, the great talks, the amazing victories that I was hearing were the best side of things. People don't tell about their bad moments at school meeting. You don't publish your mistakes across the conference. You don't share the days that teaching feels like hitting your head against a brick wall. No one talks about the misery of teaching when you don't feel well, whether physically, mentally, or spiritually. All that is left to see is the good side.
    I realized a few years ago that I was guilty too. Hearing me talk at a school meeting you could be under the impression that I am always calm and controlled. You may think that every day I leap out of bed and bound into my classroom with fresh enthusiasm. You possibly would be left with the idea that my students love to learn because I always come up with new, innovative ideas to teach. You might suppose I pray before every decision and am always positive of God's direction in everything I do.
    You would be wrong.
    Why am I telling you this? There are a couple of reasons. One is the hope that I will be able to inspire some other teacher out there who sometimes feels like a failure. I want you to know that you are not alone, even on the days when it feels like you are plodding on through the dreary month of February.
    Just because you make mistakes does not mean you are not in the right career. I want you to know that the stories you hear are told for a reason. They are told because they were special moments. No one tells stories about the hum-drum days of normalcy. At least, no one did until Covid.
    The second reason I am writing this for anyone else that sometimes feels like an imposter. The mom that is comparing her child's lopsided cake to someone elese's Pinterest-worthy birthday production. The youth girl that is never sure if her style is on point when she sees the other girls walk in with perfectly coordinated colors and great hair. The artist that only sees the flaws in her own work when she compares it with others. The writer that doubts her abilities and wishes to write like one of her peers.
    And perhaps most of all I am writing this for the Christians. Perhaps it is the Christians that struggle the most. We look around and see our brothers and sisters winning great victories. We watch as they live placid, stable lives while we are falling apart. They sail through life. We stumble. We cry. We fall.
    And so we hide. We hide our struggles, ashamed. We bury our depression and anxiety, afraid of what others will think. We shove our disappointments to a back corner and try to appear happy.
    We forget that the parts of other people's lives that we are seeing is probably the best part. We forget that we, too, are guilty of showing only our best side to the world around us. We forget that "...we dare not...compare ourselves with some that commend themselves: but they measuring themselves by themselves, and comparing themselves among themselves, are not wise." (2 Corinthians 10:12)
    When we can gain the courage to speak with other Christians about our failures, we soon realize that they have struggles too. As long as we try to blend in and hide out, we are putting ourselves at great risk to the Devil's game of making us feel separated and disconnected from the rest of God's people.
    We are a church that needs one another. We cannot stand alone. We cannot afford to sever ourselves from other Christians because of our own idea that they could not love us if they really knew the truth about our struggles.
    Today I look forward to school meeting. I love to soak up the enthusiasm of the new teachers and the wisdom of the experienced ones. I enjoy reading the Chalk Talk, feeling the inspiration that flows from people who love God and children.
    No, we're not perfect. Not perfect teachers, perfect moms, or perfect Christians. But we are doing our best, and that is all that is required. Cling to wisdom, not comparison. Count the victories, not the trials. Choose love instead of loneliness.
    And someday? Someday we will stand together wearing identical crowns, singing songs of praise to our Father in Heaven who loves us in spite of our frailty, who forgives us though He knows we are prone to failure, who compares us, not to other Christians or to some lofty ideal, but to our ability believe and accept the blood that once flowed from a Man that died upon a rugged cross.
    So for today, thank Him. Praise Him. Live joyfully without comparison. Heaven is coming soon.

Do Miracles Still Exist?

    Do miracles still exist?

    Several years ago, Gracelyn was taking a friend home from a youth meeting. The stars twinkled overhead, as the two rode comfortably toward the friend's home. Gracelyn slowed the car and put her blinker on, preparing to turn down the road where her friend lived. About a half mile away, she could see the lights of a semi speeding toward her. No worries. She had plenty of time.

    There was no warning for what happened next. As Gracelyn pulled across the path of the oncoming truck, her car abruptly stopped. She did her best to get the vehicle moving again. Desperately, she tried changing gears, turning the car off and back on, and checking the parking brake. Nothing. 

    Time was running out. The truck bore down on the black car sitting in darkness across its lane. The two girls inside prepared to leap out of the vehicle and run. 

    For some reason, Gracelyn tried restarting the car one more time. To her amazed relief, the vehicle cranked correctly, and she pulled out of the way of the oncoming semi, feeling the car shake in the wind created by the truck as it passed behind her.

    Gracelyn walked into her own home sometime later, still shaken by the close call. Excitedly, she related the story to her mother. Her mother looked at her as she finished telling about the close call, then said,  with tears in her eyes, "That must be about the same time I felt like I needed to pray for you."

    Do miracles still exist? 

    I could use a miracle. I'm sure you could, too. A big splashy miracle that takes my breath away would suit me just fine. But there are days we are convinced in our humanness that getting our hopes up for a miracle is just setting ourselves up for disappointment. The disasters and trials, the sadness and suffering that we see on every hand sometimes seem to shout out at our feeble hopes in defiance. The quiet workings of the miracles are sometimes nearly drowned out beneath the raucous cries of doubts and fears.

    If you are needing a miracle, do not weary in asking. We serve a mighty God who is able to perform mighty miracles. Don't doubt His listening ear or His loving hand. The things that we cannot understand and cannot see our way through, He can change with the utterance of a single command. It does not matter if the problem is as small as a lost wallet or as large as a ruined relationship. It makes Him no difference if the miracle we seek is healing for a wasted body or a sin-sick soul. He is the worker of miracles. He always has been. 

    When the father in the Bible brought his son to Jesus seeking for healing, Jesus told him, If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth. Assured of the father's belief, Jesus healed the child.  

    Often miracles do not come about as we expect them to. Sometimes the miracles He sends are not the ones we asked for. Sometimes it looks like our pleas are answered with only more valleys through which to pass. Sometimes the miracle He sends is drawing us to a closer consecration.

    Maybe you believe God doesn't care about the miracle you need. Maybe you doubt that He has a miracle available for you. Take courage! Reach out in faith, grasp the hem of His garment, touch the foot of the cross.

    Do miracles exist? Ask Him for yours. He'd love to know you believe in Him enough to ask for the impossible.

     

Morning Walk

     When I was ten, Gramps came to stay with us for a while after Granny's life was ended in a car accident. It was a novelty to have him there. Looking back, he must have longed for some peace and quiet at times, but he was far too longsuffering to be abrupt with us children.
    One of my favorite memories of that time is Gramps' morning walks. He would rise while the rest  of us were still in bed, and walk down the nearly empty country road where we lived. I woke up one morning, earlier than normal, and heard him leaving the house. By the time I was dressed, he was already down the road. I remember running until I felt exhausted, trying to catch up. The sky was clothed in delicate colors, and the morning felt fresh and clean. 
    Panting, I finally reached him. I don't remember any conversation, though I'm sure there was some. We walked together, mostly in silence, my patient grandfather and I. My hand was tucked inside his big, calloused one. The birds twittered in delight at the dawn. Everything felt safe and peaceful. I was loved. My little world was completely secure.
    After that first walk together, I hoped ardently to awaken early every morning so I could walk with Gramps. Sometimes I was lucky, and sometimes I wasn't. None of the adults in my life seemed inclined to awaken me early on purpose. The morning meanders remained a precious privilege.
    Years have passed since then. Gramps is no longer with us. Life has overtaken the innocent girl that once ran down that rural lane. Sometimes it seems there is no dawn at all. Darkness is all about and there is no hope. Casting about for some semblance of joy and peace often seems entirely useless. 
    There are days we cry to our Father, asking where His hand is in all this misery and despair. It seems the burden of our hearts only grows heavier day by day. The pain of this world only intensifies. Our lungs cry for air as we run and run, trying to follow the path that our Father is walking. Exhausted, we are sometimes tempted to lie down in the ditch by the side of the road and give up.
    May we never feel alone and forgotten. Although there are many sad things that we do not understand, we need to grasp in faith this opportunity to be drawn closer to God. Do not despair by the wayside! Continue to run with courage, continue to call His name. 
    He is not walking away from us. No, He is leading us toward a beautiful reward that He has prepared. He is drawing us closer to Him, closer to His peace, His love, His joy. "Yea, I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore with lovingkindness have I drawn thee (Jeremiah 31:3).
    What is more wonderful than to be drawn to the One who loves us? It is my prayer that although we are assailed by a foe that tries his best to plunge us into a dark valley of loneliness, we will learn to rejoice in the battle. We will take the darkness about us as an incentive to draw nearer, not only to our Heavenly Father, but also to one another. And someday, we will remember the darkness and weariness and realize that, truly, the struggles have been worth it all.

    

Shared Prayer

     It had been a horrible day. I'd had to punish a student at school, and my emotions were a wreck. After my class left for the day, I discovered I would have to give another punishment on the morrow. My heart was deeply troubled. I dreaded the morning.
    The next day before school started the upper grade teacher, appeared at my classroom door. "I wondered if you would like to have a prayer?" he asked. And so we did. 

    All of the teaching staff gathered in the office moments before children began arriving, closed the door, and lifted our hearts and problems heavenward. It was a very special time for me. Not only did God feel near, but the knowledge that my co-teachers cared about me and my class was so comforting. I could face the day, not feeling alone.
    I think sometimes we forget the power of praying together. Or maybe we are hesitant and embarrassed to suggest it to those around us. But the power of calling upon God together is a beautiful, binding moment that He blesses.
    In fact, Matthew 18:19 says, "Again I say unto you, That if two of you shall agree on earth as touching any thing that they shall ask, it shall be done for them of my Father which is in heaven."
    My mind goes to other times of prayers in the midst of challenge: bowing with my family when the burden has become too heavy for our human shoulders to bear, sharing hearts and tears while sitting in a dark car with a friend and then lifting our hearts heavenward together, joining hands while tears fell in the youth girls' Sunday school to pray for our fellow youth that had gone astray. Each memory is precious.
    Let us not forsake shared prayer. There is courage and power in praying together. May we learn to lean more on one another and the love of our great God in Heaven who has promised to hear every plea that falls from the lips of the sincere seeker. 

The Year of Imperfect

     I have always loved to draw. I don't often take time for it anymore, but it's still there— the niggling in my mind when I see a poetic scene, the itching in my fingers, the pleased smile the feel of a clean piece of sketch paper brings to my face. 
    When I was young, I filled notebook after notebook with my drawings. I asked for plain white paper and cardstock at Christmas time. Because, you see, when you have a blank page in front of you the possibilities are endless. 
    I loved my drawings. Or maybe I'm just a pack rat. Either way, when my mom insisted on throwing out some of my reams of paper, I was devastated. I knew the drawings weren't perfect, but they were my stepping stones to the future where my drawings would be perfect, and with that in mind, I didn't even care so much that they weren't flawless.
    Somewhere along the way, though, the imperfections started to stand out more plainly. The stark reality of the pathetic smallness of my own efforts become overwhelmingly huge. Suddenly perfection seems to be a goal that must be reached sooner rather than later, and a sense of panic set in. Looking around, it became clear that others had succeeded beyond my own greatest dreams. There was nothing to do but admit that I must be a failure.  My goal was no longer to draw the best picture I could, but instead to cover up my imperfections.
    Covering up imperfections means that if you have decided you are bad at drawing, you quit. Shove the paper to the bottom of the dresser drawer, toss out the old notebooks full of failed tries, put the shading pencils in with the the everyday pencils, and try to forget the dreams you used to cherish.
    Covering up imperfections means that you try to hide the parts of you that make you insecure. For much of the world around us, it means wearing makeup and dressing in the latest fashion, but there are many other ways to hide, too. Sometimes hiding means that we fail to speak to a visitor because we are sure  that we are no good at small talk. Maybe we find it hard to volunteer a song or a thought at church because there are others who could do it so much better. There are some of us who hide from hospitality because we believe our house or our cooking isn't up to par.
    Covering up imperfections means defending yourself when you feel your area of sensitivity is being attacked. It means feeling that you are never enough; that you are stuck in some crazy charade and are terrified of being found out. Soon, hiding becomes bondage, a prison where you try to contain all the parts of yourself that you do not like.
    But we are not meant to hide. We are not meant to be imprisoned. We are meant to be free.
    Today we have a blank page before us. The blank page is challenging us all. Will we continue to hide our imperfections, or will we dare to pick up our pencils and make the first mark? 
    Of ourselves we are not able to be perfect. God knows it even better than you and I. But He has promised to "Make you perfect in every good work to do his will, working in you that which is wellpleasing in his sight, through Jesus Christ; to whom be glory." (Hebrews 13:21) As long as we use our feeble, faltering selves for Him, He will turn our imperfection into His glorious perfection. 
    I am convinced that there is more blessing in doing my imperfect best than in not doing anything at all. God may find it difficult to use me if, instead of accepting my imperfections, I spend all my time striving to become perfect.
    Please don't misunderstand. I'm not talking about failing to improve yourself. That certainly has a place. I'm talking about giving yourself room and not expecting more from yourself than God does. 
    And more than that, I'm talking about giving room to others. When we can accept that we will only be perfect through our submission to the will of God, we are able to give more room to others' imperfections as well. 
    And so 2022 stretches ahead of us. I want to make this the year of "imperfect." The year of accepting how I have been created. The year of no longer trying to hide parts of me that I wish were different, but using what little I have for God. I want to make this the year of giving room to myself— giving room for my thoughts, my emotions, my ideas, whether they are perfect or not. I want this year to be the year of giving room to others— giving room for their thoughts, their emotions, their ideas. I want this to be a year of understanding that differences of opinion are not a bad thing. Misunderstandings happen. So do feelings. I want to give room not only for my imperfections, but the imperfections in the world around us: the grumpy cashier at Wal-Mart, the barista that doesn't make my drink correctly, the guy that cuts in front of me on the interstate.
    And to you, I extend an invitation. I'm not sure what picture will be drawn on the blank page of this year, I don't know everything that accepting my imperfections will mean for me, or what it will mean for you, but pick up your pencil. If you're ready, I'd like to draw together. And somewhere along the way, you'll fix some of my mistakes and perhaps I'll help fix some of yours.
    And maybe we will find, twelve months down the road, that perfection lies in being imperfect after all.
    Happy New Year to each of you!