Magnificent

I just finished the 11th week of the first semester. Time goes by so fast that it makes me dizzy. Of course I have stacks of stories to tell you about teaching, but I think I will save most of them for Thanksgiving week--only two weeks away! Tonight I want to tell you what God's been teaching me lately. 

During one of our frequent nighttime prayers a few weeks back, my Chinese roommate, Sophie, asked me to pray that God would give me laughter. (It's a struggle for her to pray in English, so she usually asks me to pray for us both.)

"Oh, yes," I agreed. "Laughter is exactly what I need. I'm always so serious, especially with so many responsibilities as a teacher."

So we prayed for laughter, and I thanked God that I would surely be seeing the funny side of life in the coming weeks.

[Oh goodness, just realized I only thought about telling you about Sophie. Will have to save that story for another night, though.]

There certainly have been funny moments at school, like the time I asked my toughest class if they'd laugh at me for wearing exactly the same outfit two days in a row. It would be Black-Out day the next day, but I'd inadvertently worn all black on this day; a sweet colleague had brought me a black T-shirt with a wolf on it that morning so that we could be twins for Twin Day. My students admitted that they might laugh a little, but they said I should go ahead and wear the same clothes as long as I went home and washed them first.


"Oh, I won't have time to do laundry," I said. "I'm going to the orchestra concert tonight. So I suggest that you keep your distance tomorrow. I might not smell so good."

It dawned on all of us at that moment that the room smelled distinctly of farts. "Hey, miss!" said one of the most mischievous boys, "maybe that smell-"

"Yep," I said. "Maybe that smell is me."

We all burst out laughing. I could see the confusion on a few faces as they struggled to determine whether I was kidding. "Really??" a couple asked.

"No!" I exclaimed. And then I put a dab of peppermint essential oil on the back of each student's hand and sent out the real culprit, who'd been begging to go to the restroom for the last ten minutes.

Another funny moment was when Marcus* came into class behind another student whom I'd just fist bumped. Normally I shake every student's hand as they arrive, but the first student had wet hands from the restroom, so we fist bumped instead. Marcus quickly converted his hand from handshake position to a fist, while I simultaneously converted my fist to an outstretched palm. We both saw the mismatch and immediately switched our hands again, at which point we made a very awkward motion that combined a glancing bump with a limp clasp of the fingertips. Although we often get on each other's last nerve, we shared a moment of hearty laughter that started our interaction off on a positive note that day.

Still, I found myself lamenting to Sophie the other night that I am entirely too serious. I told her about a colleague who never stresses about anything and spends most of his day laughing. "I'd like to be lighthearted like that," I said, "but maybe it's just not in my nature. I'm always pondering things, always thinking about everything I need to be doing, and how I can do things better."

We agreed that there are many positives to my earnest, passionate nature, but I still felt somehow deficient.

"Just be you," Sophie urged.

I nodded. "Yes, but I still want to look for the lighter side of things. And I want to take care of myself more."

Last night, I took care of myself by watching an episode of my favorite (and only) show, Call the Midwife. At the end, I was moved to tears by a scene where a very elderly couple was reunited after the wife had surgery. As she snuggled up against her bedridden husband, they both looked positively radiant. What a beautiful picture of lifelong love, I thought.

In just an instant, though, the fullness and warmth in my heart changed to an unexpected stab of pain. I vividly remembered seeing an elderly couple dancing, cheek to cheek, on the night that Bill proposed. "Will that be us one day?" I'd asked.

No, it would not. Even though thoughts of my divorce rarely cause me pain after nearly five years, I found myself sobbing over that broken dream. There won't be an old man to snuggle with me when I am old and gray, I thought.

Immediately, I began to speak aloud the thoughts that came to my mind. "I won't be alone at the end of my life. You will be with me, Beloved. You will never leave me nor forsake me.... And I will have plenty of people to love me: friends and family members, my children, and probably grandchildren."

I imagined myself snuggling a grandchild, or a great grandchild, and smiled through my tears.

"Maybe you will send me an old man to love.... Or you won't. Not my will, Father, but yours. I know that you have planned so many good things for me, all through my life."

I pictured myself trying to peer around a bend in the road. "I don't know what's coming, but I know it's gonna be good," I whispered.

I thought about all the students He's brought into my life this year, and how so many of them love me. Here's the evidence of that, from a sweet girl in that toughest class I mentioned.

This was an assignment for English class,
a "friendly letter" using vocabulary words. I'm guessing that "absurd" was the vocab word.

I received two other letters, including one from a boy I've enjoyed tutoring after school. He called me "a magnificent teacher." I was shocked and gratified by that word choice until I realized it must have been a vocabulary word. Still, I choose to believe it was a sincere compliment.

I asked my Beloved to hold me close as I fell asleep, and he did. But I still woke this morning with puffy eyes and a somewhat heavy heart.

This afternoon we visited a nearby church because Allyson will be at a soccer game in the morning. I was surprised when the sermon was delivered by a prominent author, Max Lucado. His text was one of my most beloved memory passages, Philippians 4:4-9

4 Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! 5 Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. 6 Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. 8 Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.

Mr. Lucado said that the key to combating anxiety is to be:

C - Celebrate God's goodness (verse 4)
A - Ask Him to help (verse 6)
L - Leave your concerns with Him (verse 7)
M - Meditate on good things

He reminded us of something I know from experience: gratitude and anxiety can't exist together. "When gratitude comes in," he said, "anxiety picks up its puny duffel bag and goes out the door. So when you feel anxious, you need to pause and make a list of things you're grateful for."

On the way home, I thought about my past battles with anxiety. Overall, I've come so far; I'm no longer bound by crippling fear, and when anxiety does rear its head, I know to fight back with scripture. Even so, what if this seriousness that I've been calling my personality is really worry in disguise? After all, I'm not serious when I'm on vacation, or when I'm hanging out with my girlfriends.

I was still pondering this after I'd made some tasty salmon patties. Even though it was getting pretty dark, I felt an urgent need to walk out on my wreck of a kitchen and take a turn around the park across the street. On the way over, I remembered the latest instance when a student had to remind me that I'm blessed--just yesterday, when I had a hard time settling that tough class down for a test. I'd definitely been anxious that they would not be able to focus and that their scores would suffer.

"Next time they tell me I'm blessed, I need to pause and think about something I'm thankful for," I said aloud. "Please help me remember, God."

I chattered away with Him until I spotted this on the sidewalk and fell silent.

"Regardless of our circumstances, each of us has much for which to be grateful,
if we will but PAUSE AND CONTEMPLATE our blessings."

When I'd recovered my power of speech, I said, "It's a sacred echo. A DOUBLE sacred echo!"

This echoed not only the sermon I'd heard an hour before, but also the thoughts God had brought to my mind just minutes before--right down to the words "grateful" (gratitude), "pause," and "blessings" (blessed).

Gratitude is the key. I can feel a breakthrough coming, right around that bend that I was picturing last night. Joy is waiting for me, and laughter too.

After a couple minutes of rejoicing, the most peculiar thing happened. At the sound of dry leaves crunching behind me, I halted my jabbering and turned to look for a bicycle, but there was no one behind me, only a swirling pile of leaves skittering down the sidewalk. The leaves tumbled along the path, driven by a tiny wind that followed the contour of the sidewalk. The grass on either side of the curved path was still, and I could perceive no wind around my body. Goosebumps arose on my arms and legs as I anticipated the arrival of that little breeze, but the leaves abruptly stopped and fell at my feet.

For the second time in ten minutes, I was (momentarily) speechless. Finally, I sputtered, "That was you, wasn't it? It was!" A scripture filled my mind, and I spoke it into the eerie stillness:

"The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit." (John 3:8)

Again, I felt the assurance that God's plans for me are very, very good. His Spirit will take me wherever He wants me to go, and I will let Him carry me like the wind carried those leaves. It's going to be magnificent.

*Student's name changed to protect privacy.