Blast Zones

Next week will begin the all out assault on everything educationally related.  My wife and I don't return to school officially until the 14th, but the days pass quickly in August.  There has been so much going on this summer personally that has me fired up for life, when typically I kept everything compartmentalized.  Family here, work here, church here.  I'm beginning to understand that the dream God has for us is not just on one facet of our lifestyles.  He wants it all!

Teaching has always been something that I could count on to work based on my ability.  That's the problem.  When you rely on something tangible to give you purpose it eventually betrays you.  The promise of pride, the successes and dreams that go along with your career and the comfort it gives when it works can easily be ripped from underneath you.  That's pretty much where teaching has been for me this past year.  It's like the carpet has been ripped from my feet leaving me to fall on my ass.  Where's that promise of success?  Where's the trophy?  Where's the feeling it once gave me? I'm on my ass and it doesn't feel right.

This concept was brought to my attention during junior high work camp.  Satan's scheme is to betray you.  He hates us, really.  You think Satan wants you close to God?  You think Satan wants you transforming the hearts of the kids God is entrusting you with?  Those schemes contradict the dreams God has for all of us.  We are a performance based culture.  Capitalism is the backbone of our economic system.  We've been fed this Horatio Alger storyline since we were kids--the self-made man.  We all want to be James Dean in "Giant," striking oil in a vast Texas landscape, only so we can punch Rock Hudson in the face and kiss Liz Taylor.  But we drill and drill for riches that never come.  You probably think it's silly that I had these movie-inspired dreams for my classrooms over the years.  The one where the test scores increase and I walk down the hall in triumph (Stand and Deliver) or the one where  all my returning students come to recognize my glory days (Mr. Holland's Opus).  Every year I have that one kid you want to toss off the roof (Stand by Me) and the kids who you hope will be standing on their desks reciting poetry (Dead Poet's Society).

That was me those first 5 years.  Soccer team, the endless nights, the early mornings, the home visits and the lunch bunches.  Eventually that led to me changing schools, and there were plenty of burnt bridges along the way.  When I came to my current location, I couldn't see the potential in me because of the plank sticking out of my eye.  Over the course of several years, you begin to think why isn't it fun. Where's the urgency?  I can blame the administration all I want (and believe me, I did) but the dream God had for me was missed in my quest to pursue greatness without allowing Him to tag along.

The promise teaching once gave me now mocked me.  Every time a kid acted out when I had a substitute teacher, or the one parent I failed to call even when I should have, the every-other-week parent complaints.  All these incidents piled up.  This wasn't the promise teaching had for me, was it?  I didn't ever strive to be that teacher who counted the days before the next holiday, the next weekend or the next summer vacation.  I didn't want to be that teacher who sighed every Monday, the one who complained in the lounge about some broken kid whose rearing by similarly broken adults was somehow unbearable to be around.  The one who fell asleep in meetings or the one who didn't seem to have time for the most troubled, the most annoying or the most clingy.

And then this summer happened.  I found clarity in an Oklahoma wheat field.  I found peace in the eyes of Miss Jaunita who now has a home to comfort her.  I found life in the presence of some extraordinary young men and ladies who I worked alongside with this summer.  I found depth among the men at my table during this last Emmaus walk.  I found myself.  God tapped me on the shoulder and I responded.  God had been tapping me on the shoulder all along, but Satan's scheme had other ideas. For the first time ever in my career, I actually thought teaching wasn't where I belonged.  And perhaps that's not where I'll end up.  But what I do know is that God has placed me in the ripest of environments.  I may not be able to preach but living the life will be just as important.  It's that blast-zone of influence.

So next week begins the note taking and planning.  I'll trove Pinterest for ideas and I'll begin to make phone calls.  If I sigh at work it will only be because I'm not raking through wheat to find debris thrown about by a tornado.  The challenge is realizing the wreckage is sometimes right in front of me.  I pray my heart is broken enough for me to respond.