Today is "Black Friday" and I'm home sipping coffee, smelling bacon cooking and listening to my son whine about not getting a Yahtzee (in his world he "never" wins). We have foregone the madness that is the mecca for shoppers across America a few years back. Some of the decision was made for us with having kids to attend to. Some of it was from the pulpit and the conviction that comes from the inability to pay out tithes but the ability to spend a huge wad of money on toys and gifts no one really needs. It never occurred to me to think of the retail workers who work that day.
But this blog isn't some diatribe about worker's rights and the media's fight to bring down Wal-Mart. I find it funny that the liberal Huffington Post is all over Wal-Mart each week for a variety of reasons, from wages to the disparity between incomes for its corporate honchos to "ruining" Thanksgiving by opening its doors to shoppers. No one mentions the shoppers, who share some of the blame for seeking consumptuous (new word alert!) deals and a Thunderdome mentality to survive with the one electronic that will rule them all.
Back when I worked retail, the lure of extra pay during the holidays was rather appealing to someone who wanted more and who had no one to care for at home. That's the difference now. The people I worked with at Target many years ago were teenagers like me who didn't really care if we worked on Christmas Eve. There were grandmas too, people who had retired and went back to work. Single moms and those working a second job. The economy has always been in flux. I've always worked with people who were above the skills needed to perform a task, and those that were forced back into work to help ends meet. The real issue is that the ends we are trying to meet are continuing to drift further and further away.
Priorities and balance have always been an issue for people, especially for myself. The time you devote to yourself dwindles with the commitments towards your kids, your wife and the pressures of work. That just becomes inevitable. There are times when I groan about driving to soccer practice, or having to clean my house. It gets tiring. I begin to take score. I've done x amount of chores but my wife has only done x amount. The analytic teacher side of me fixates on results rather than intentions.
But when you approach life with the charts and graphs of an evaluation, the results will never become clear. In education, half of my performance evaluation is determined by something we call "value added." It's some complex theory that tries to relate the growth of each individual student. Test scores are analyzed, computed in some database and a line graph and numbers are assigned to each teacher in the state of Ohio. We have workshops and conferences to help us read our data. We spend days on professional development to somehow use this data to serve the kids in our classrooms. It's a never ending cycle of number crunching. This year in particular has become numbing in the assessments, tests and attention I've devoted to charting trends and standards targets. I spend more time grading papers and interpreting data than I do teaching.
So I bring more work home, and the work at home becomes cluttered and dusty. When I'm not grading, I'm reading and jotting notes towards the men's ministry at our church. We currently have no men's ministry. It's just me and a small group of courageously committed men hammering out the vision and mission to help our men become God's man. There's a youth ministry component to our lives as well.
So tell me when does burnout happen?
I had a meeting the other day with a great friend. The kind that isn't afraid to speak truth into your life. The kind who is witness to the gifts I bear to others. I brought my judgment, my frustrations, my dreams into his office like I would bring in ingredients to some fantastic meal that has yet to be cooked. I leave with a silver platter of a dish ready to serve. But decisions must be made. The youth? The men? My family? My service to God? I have no complex graph to turn to, not some binder with statistics and highlighted phrases for me to interpret. The human side of me needs answers while the spiritual side demands patience and perspective. I liked it when there was just laundry to worry about.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Sunday, November 17, 2013
That Brutal Nonchalance/The Master Rummager
There's a great part in one of my favorite movies, Magnolia, where TJ Mackey (played by Tom Cruise) stares down his accuser. In the span of an interview with a reporter, TJ Mackey, a Lothario "motivational" speaker who helps men "tame" women. The veneer is all but lost. The machismo has been stripped away. He's left defenseless as his true identity has been revealed. He finally speaks, "I'm quietly judging you." There's pain in that statement, deflection too. there are some tremendous moments in many of director Paul Thomas Anderson's movies. Camera close-ups that linger. We've all been in those situations. Maybe not as cinematic, but it's our drama nonetheless. That quiet judgment of others.
Of course the topic of judgement came up with our youth group this past week. Teaching the class that Sunday helped me get myself back on track. Satan likes to make you feel worthless as it is, especially when your own standards are set high. Leading by example is more than just a saying, it's a kingdom expectation. No, I cannot gain any favor for any job that I could perform, and I would never satisfy God. But to lie helplessly on the ground like a fish out of a bowl is not the plan God has for our life either.
Researching the lesson brought me to Instagram. I wanted to make it relevant to our kids who use social media. The active kids in our youth are great examples of what to post. They hardly complain, they understand that people read more into a random thought, and they generally seem to care about what they are promoting. The somewhat active teens are a little more liberal. And sometimes that comes with the territory. The active kids have active parents (generally), while those that don't get dropped off with friends or have a grandma bringing them, sometimes raising them. Their friends are a different story. Their usernames espouse attitude, a brutal nonchalance. Under their usernames are typical statuses. The high school they attend, the year of graduation, emojis that signify personality. But then the words get more personal.
Build a bridge and get over it. You only live once so fuck it. Can't beat it join it. Listen bitch if u don't like me i'll find u and kick your ass.
So there's me, a teacher, a father with a 20 year old, a youth leader. Judgement ends up filtering through the lenses of my life. Do you judge a situation as uncaring by their parents? Do I judge the mom who knows it and leaves it? Would I think twice about letting my daughter hang out with a kid with that outlook on life? When my daughter was in junior high we ran into many parenting obstacles. Many were attacked with my foot firmly in my mouth. I had no filter. When she went on a shopping excursion with a few girls and a mom and brings back thong underwear, your emotions sometimes get the best of you. Did I judge a few of those girls and her mom? You betcha. Another fiasco was my mouth on Myspace where I told the world no way my daughter was hanging out with the mature-looking blonde. No way I was sending my daughter into that crowd. Surely I was in the right? Yeah, foot in mouth. Call me Judgementor.
Judgment comes in many forms. Sometimes its the deflections of your own shortcomings. As the men's ministry grows one class at a time, it's hard sometimes to see a man's excuse as a means to judge his entire life. As a Christian we're told to "pray" for them, right? A person asks you for money but they wont take you up on the offer to fill up their gas tank. Judge. The person who is so sarcastic they cannot breathe without uttering a joke. Surely they aren't filled with the same Holy Spirit as me? Judge. You put THAT picture on Facebook? Judge.
Here I am spending so much time helping people pry logs from their eyes, I can't see the planks in my own.
I've always been an observer. I noticed the woman pulling folded food stamps from her purse with the look on her face if the amount would be enough to cover the four jugs of milk. The look of a girl who really didn't want to hug that guy friend of hers, rolling her eyes as he pats her back. That skill eventually became one of the many excuses I had from running from God. I remember sitting in church and witnessing the congregation. I could have pointed out the drug addict, the adulterer, the slut. How could so many contradictions remain under one roof? How can the priest sanction this behavior? All this as I was drowning in my own transgressions.
And when I strive to be God's man, that gift of observation becomes ever so prideful. I catch myself thinking it, confiding to my wife, my share group. It "goes away" and comes back. Like any other sin, to extinguish its affects is to break free form its enjoyment, however fleeting. On the flip side of that, that judgment mixed with love has interesting effects too.
It helps me realize when to post on an Instagram account to a text message instead. Less eyes. It helps me speak into the lives of the youth about their grades or the truth about their relationships (one word: overrated). It gives me patience with my students (and when to back off the pedal when it comes to motivation). It allows me to set standards for my kids without calling out the choices of other families. Pointing fingers never won anyone over to the Kingdom. My stubby ones surely wont either.
Other thoughts this week too. At school, God opened up a door in my life I didn't want opened. Which is the messy truth about letting Him in. He's the master rummager, the best interior designer of the heart that ever walked the earth. He moves furniture that is past its due date out for bulk pick-up. He paints the walls. He escorts people out the back (or maybe we do, cause Jesus would invite all wouldn't he?) and sells your luxury SUV for something more economical. There used to be a show called Trading Spaces where couples would redesign a room for one another. The big reveal was always the show's best moment. The look on a husband or wife's face when they see their new rooms are typical of our pride. Sometimes they cry, sometimes they are shocked. But every once in a while they stand there with that look on their face. The one that screams, "What happened?" Or, "you had all this time and you chose THIS?"
We want the prosperity and the blessings and the prayers fulfilled but in the meantime we are wary of the hurt, the change and the sacrifice. Like the student this week who was transferred into my room. I judged him as the bad kid, his mother even worse. Open a door for me Lord and I'll respond, I've prayed before. In walks in this kid and I'm looking to slam it. The mom sat in with him for 3 days. Totally atypical for a classroom observation. My colleagues whispered to me in the halls, they questioned why, they injected me with visions of revolt. I had to change the subject so many times I felt like I wasn't being sincere.
You see, I wanted that release of frustration. I wanted to pound drinks at happy hour and complain on twitter. I didn't want to be a change agent, but there I was teaching through it, hardly missing a beat. I think the kid will return without mom next week. Maybe he leaves to his online destination, maybe he doesn't. One thing's for certain, to God the time now matters. Each person in our life is a reason to respond to the love given to us. Judgment is easy. Love is hard.
Jesus wants to redesign more than a room. Trading Spaces.
Here I am spending so much time helping people pry logs from their eyes, I can't see the planks in my own.
I've always been an observer. I noticed the woman pulling folded food stamps from her purse with the look on her face if the amount would be enough to cover the four jugs of milk. The look of a girl who really didn't want to hug that guy friend of hers, rolling her eyes as he pats her back. That skill eventually became one of the many excuses I had from running from God. I remember sitting in church and witnessing the congregation. I could have pointed out the drug addict, the adulterer, the slut. How could so many contradictions remain under one roof? How can the priest sanction this behavior? All this as I was drowning in my own transgressions.
And when I strive to be God's man, that gift of observation becomes ever so prideful. I catch myself thinking it, confiding to my wife, my share group. It "goes away" and comes back. Like any other sin, to extinguish its affects is to break free form its enjoyment, however fleeting. On the flip side of that, that judgment mixed with love has interesting effects too.
It helps me realize when to post on an Instagram account to a text message instead. Less eyes. It helps me speak into the lives of the youth about their grades or the truth about their relationships (one word: overrated). It gives me patience with my students (and when to back off the pedal when it comes to motivation). It allows me to set standards for my kids without calling out the choices of other families. Pointing fingers never won anyone over to the Kingdom. My stubby ones surely wont either.
Other thoughts this week too. At school, God opened up a door in my life I didn't want opened. Which is the messy truth about letting Him in. He's the master rummager, the best interior designer of the heart that ever walked the earth. He moves furniture that is past its due date out for bulk pick-up. He paints the walls. He escorts people out the back (or maybe we do, cause Jesus would invite all wouldn't he?) and sells your luxury SUV for something more economical. There used to be a show called Trading Spaces where couples would redesign a room for one another. The big reveal was always the show's best moment. The look on a husband or wife's face when they see their new rooms are typical of our pride. Sometimes they cry, sometimes they are shocked. But every once in a while they stand there with that look on their face. The one that screams, "What happened?" Or, "you had all this time and you chose THIS?"
We want the prosperity and the blessings and the prayers fulfilled but in the meantime we are wary of the hurt, the change and the sacrifice. Like the student this week who was transferred into my room. I judged him as the bad kid, his mother even worse. Open a door for me Lord and I'll respond, I've prayed before. In walks in this kid and I'm looking to slam it. The mom sat in with him for 3 days. Totally atypical for a classroom observation. My colleagues whispered to me in the halls, they questioned why, they injected me with visions of revolt. I had to change the subject so many times I felt like I wasn't being sincere.
You see, I wanted that release of frustration. I wanted to pound drinks at happy hour and complain on twitter. I didn't want to be a change agent, but there I was teaching through it, hardly missing a beat. I think the kid will return without mom next week. Maybe he leaves to his online destination, maybe he doesn't. One thing's for certain, to God the time now matters. Each person in our life is a reason to respond to the love given to us. Judgment is easy. Love is hard.
Jesus wants to redesign more than a room. Trading Spaces.
Friday, November 8, 2013
The Epiphanies No One Sees
I'm going to think twice listening to Christian music when I work out. Just that sentence alone sounds horrible, so let me set the context.
At Planet Fitness the endless line of cardio machines, ellipticals, sled glider machines, steppers and bikes all point to several 50-inch or more flat screen tv's that offer an stream of news, sound-bites and talking heads. The major news stations are on, Fox News and CNN, plus the local channels and ESPN. I typically work out from 5:30-7 on a few given nights which is when the news and entertainment shows are in full swing. A few weeks back after the MTV Music Awards, Entertainment tonight and its broadcasting cousins aired nothing but Miley Cyrus. It was close ups of Miley's tongue, close ups of her butt cheeks hanging out of her short shorts. Shots of her swinging naked on a wrecking ball. I felt embarrassed to even watch, Not that I don't sneak a peak at women. But there's something unseemly about Miley Cyrus, perhaps in the fact she looks like she's 12 but she parades around like the woman you hope to meet in some dark alley (well, I don't hope to meet, but you get my drift).
Most times its the news. Obama care and his broken promises about keeping your insurance. Is he dishonest or a liar? Isn't that one in the same? The video from the recent biker group that chased a hit and run perpetrator has been plugged a lot recently. And of course we get the video of the car rolling over a human being. We get men acting violently, attacking the car and beating the windows with their helmets like fervid zombies.
Today the news in our city involved the beating death of a 4 year old girl. The girl suffered multiple skull fractures that were delivered by the mom's boyfriend. The child's grandmother and family were caught by cameras in the courtroom hallways, being asked the types of questions no family should have to ask. The grandparent is interviewed shortly afterward as he condemns the accused to hell.
On another screen there are other tales of woe. A man weeps on his porch, Words from athletes blurted out, redacted for the masses. I've heard about bullying and harassment so much over the past few years you'd think there were gangs on every street corner waiting to take your lunch money (In this fantasy, the gangs are always dressed according to their "specialty" like the ones from the 1979 film, The Warriors. Baseball bats and white painted faces. The roller-skating, overall gang. I'm sure there are gangs of bullies running in my mind all wearing camouflage and Duck Dynasty beards).
I'm inclining on the treadmill seemingly towards the direction of the tv's and it's like that moment in a movie when the music swells and the camera tightly wounds around the face of the protagonist. The moment of epiphany is about to happen (for a great example, see Magnolia). The audience's heart begins to beat in unison with the character. Being witness to the epiphany is cathartic in itself. The release of tears becomes inevitable. Cue music swell, the character blinks and the moment is over. Cut scene.
But I'm at a Fitness center. All I want to do is drop to my knees (thanks to this song here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_6JQDsbtlM) but the thought of dropping there on the treadmill would send me into the wall which would result in a fireball of embarrassment so intense it would burn like a thousand suns. So I did what I thought best. I began to pray. I prayed for the man to forgive the man who bludgeoned the poor girl to death (all I could think about was my little girl. Who would beat a little girl like that? Seeing her little teeth, that smile. God, that just kills me thinking about it). I prayed for the family whose son is now behind bars. Surely this is not the life plan they had in mind when they held him lovingly for the first time. I prayed for the football player who thought it was just "fun" to say he was going to stick it to a sister of a teammate. I prayed for the sports newscaster who recently lost a daughter in a car accident.
I came across the parable of the seed from Luke 8. A farmer goes out to scatter his seed. Some falls along the path, among the rocks, some in good soil and others among thorns. The seed that grows among thorns grows, but it ends up being choked by the thorns. In a worldy view, growing up through thorns would be considered superhuman. These are the uplifting stories we get from athletes and public figures. The adversity they faced living in the tough neighborhood, the deaths of family members or close friends. The close calls that lead to those epiphanies that no one sees. In the broken world we live in, the thorns are evident in bunches. Among the 27 students in my 5th grade classroom, they are the seeds growing among thorns.
But I'm not so sure Jesus told us this parable for us to strive for adversity in living a life that's called to seek justice, a call to a life that's bigger than oneself. It's a cautionary tale. How many Christians make it through a life that is surrounded by naysayers, doubters and gawkers? The world wants revenge, the Christian wants forgiveness. Thorns v supple soil. Adversity and trials come at a moments notice and we have no idea how to respond.
Like tonight when I turned the van around and drove back home. I simply had more of my fill of the world. All I wanted to do was cry. All I wanted to do was pray. I think it's okay to do both.
At Planet Fitness the endless line of cardio machines, ellipticals, sled glider machines, steppers and bikes all point to several 50-inch or more flat screen tv's that offer an stream of news, sound-bites and talking heads. The major news stations are on, Fox News and CNN, plus the local channels and ESPN. I typically work out from 5:30-7 on a few given nights which is when the news and entertainment shows are in full swing. A few weeks back after the MTV Music Awards, Entertainment tonight and its broadcasting cousins aired nothing but Miley Cyrus. It was close ups of Miley's tongue, close ups of her butt cheeks hanging out of her short shorts. Shots of her swinging naked on a wrecking ball. I felt embarrassed to even watch, Not that I don't sneak a peak at women. But there's something unseemly about Miley Cyrus, perhaps in the fact she looks like she's 12 but she parades around like the woman you hope to meet in some dark alley (well, I don't hope to meet, but you get my drift).
Most times its the news. Obama care and his broken promises about keeping your insurance. Is he dishonest or a liar? Isn't that one in the same? The video from the recent biker group that chased a hit and run perpetrator has been plugged a lot recently. And of course we get the video of the car rolling over a human being. We get men acting violently, attacking the car and beating the windows with their helmets like fervid zombies.
Today the news in our city involved the beating death of a 4 year old girl. The girl suffered multiple skull fractures that were delivered by the mom's boyfriend. The child's grandmother and family were caught by cameras in the courtroom hallways, being asked the types of questions no family should have to ask. The grandparent is interviewed shortly afterward as he condemns the accused to hell.
On another screen there are other tales of woe. A man weeps on his porch, Words from athletes blurted out, redacted for the masses. I've heard about bullying and harassment so much over the past few years you'd think there were gangs on every street corner waiting to take your lunch money (In this fantasy, the gangs are always dressed according to their "specialty" like the ones from the 1979 film, The Warriors. Baseball bats and white painted faces. The roller-skating, overall gang. I'm sure there are gangs of bullies running in my mind all wearing camouflage and Duck Dynasty beards).
I'm inclining on the treadmill seemingly towards the direction of the tv's and it's like that moment in a movie when the music swells and the camera tightly wounds around the face of the protagonist. The moment of epiphany is about to happen (for a great example, see Magnolia). The audience's heart begins to beat in unison with the character. Being witness to the epiphany is cathartic in itself. The release of tears becomes inevitable. Cue music swell, the character blinks and the moment is over. Cut scene.
But I'm at a Fitness center. All I want to do is drop to my knees (thanks to this song here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o_6JQDsbtlM) but the thought of dropping there on the treadmill would send me into the wall which would result in a fireball of embarrassment so intense it would burn like a thousand suns. So I did what I thought best. I began to pray. I prayed for the man to forgive the man who bludgeoned the poor girl to death (all I could think about was my little girl. Who would beat a little girl like that? Seeing her little teeth, that smile. God, that just kills me thinking about it). I prayed for the family whose son is now behind bars. Surely this is not the life plan they had in mind when they held him lovingly for the first time. I prayed for the football player who thought it was just "fun" to say he was going to stick it to a sister of a teammate. I prayed for the sports newscaster who recently lost a daughter in a car accident.
I came across the parable of the seed from Luke 8. A farmer goes out to scatter his seed. Some falls along the path, among the rocks, some in good soil and others among thorns. The seed that grows among thorns grows, but it ends up being choked by the thorns. In a worldy view, growing up through thorns would be considered superhuman. These are the uplifting stories we get from athletes and public figures. The adversity they faced living in the tough neighborhood, the deaths of family members or close friends. The close calls that lead to those epiphanies that no one sees. In the broken world we live in, the thorns are evident in bunches. Among the 27 students in my 5th grade classroom, they are the seeds growing among thorns.
But I'm not so sure Jesus told us this parable for us to strive for adversity in living a life that's called to seek justice, a call to a life that's bigger than oneself. It's a cautionary tale. How many Christians make it through a life that is surrounded by naysayers, doubters and gawkers? The world wants revenge, the Christian wants forgiveness. Thorns v supple soil. Adversity and trials come at a moments notice and we have no idea how to respond.
Like tonight when I turned the van around and drove back home. I simply had more of my fill of the world. All I wanted to do was cry. All I wanted to do was pray. I think it's okay to do both.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)