Entitled for a Miracle

Failure is an event, not a person--Craig Groeschler, Fight DVD

Is it only me who feels that when your kids act up in public there’s that feeling as if all eyes are upon you, massive judgment boggly eyes.  I’ve been battling a front on both ends, my own kids and my fifth grade students.  I sometimes tell them that your my kid during the day.

Your momma entrusts me with you, therefore I will do all I can to make sure you are learning even when you don’t want to--Me

And so when my son or my other sons act up, I take it personal. Everyone who knows me knows my kid can be hard to handle.  He picked up the wonderful art of obsessive compulsiveness from his grandfather (okay me too), his old-man curmudgeon nature from me (maybe my dad too) and his attention deficiency from his environment because all active boys of today are walking medicine vessels.  Just when we think we have our bases covered, he has small incidences at school.  Squash that, he acts up at church, calls a volunteer an "old lady" and sulks in choir.  Win that battle, he screams at home and still doesn't get dressed on time.

So this past week we began a different incentive plan.  We have clothes pins on the "do" side of a board, mainly chores, and when they are accomplished they get moved to the "done" side.  My son's prized possessions--his ipod, his x-box controllers--are safely tucked away in a box.  You want your stuff back, better flip those pins.  Incidentally, his sister is no angel.  Her chores are very similar, but since she's not an electronic kind of girl, we have her fancy shoes in the box.  No chores, you get the ugly old shoes.

So my son is working on getting dressed independently, getting his bookbag in order at night, feeding the dog, hanging his t-shirts.  So far it's been met with applause.  He loves the listness of life, that schedule that tells him when to wake up and when to perform.  But like a true compulsive kid, he doesn't have much wriggle room when he's told he did not earn his materials back, or he loses his cool when he has that one setback.  One day he won't be stomping up the stairs and yelling, but until then it's like little bee stings on an already itchy rash.

Flip to my students.  This year we've done a fair share of team building exercises, modeled how to handle stress, drawn diagrams of perseverance.  Then reality sets in.  Their off topic conversations, at least with the boys this year, eventually goes into put-down territory.  First its fun teasing the kid who misspelled a word, said something perceived as dumb, gets in trouble in front of the class.  But when one of them defends himself with insults, no one can handle the rebuke. 

He's talking about my momma.  He talked about my grandma and she's dead--5th grade student

In the span of two weeks, there have been 3 fights.  Most of them have originated from trash talking, petty arguments over someone saying something about you, or defending one's self from being shown up.  There hasn't been much "learning" of lessons or behavior modification.  In some sense, it's getting worse.  One kid behaves on Monday, the best friend freaks out on Tuesday.  It's a shame for the boys who work so hard and the girls who do as well, although I do have a set of girls who just kinda stare at me like I'm an abomination.  They're teenagers in waiting.

 

I know that I'm fighting the culture.  My own son complains about what his friends supposedly have (I'm sure I gave my mom grief over similar material things), and what they can supposedly do.  I remember writing a list for my mom of all the things that were unfair in my life, and she promptly line-itemed me into realizing I had some growing up to do.  My students laugh when others get into a fight, or when someone is teased, they talk back and mumble curse words.  Each transgression is like a thorn in my lesson plans of life.  Is this reflection of my lack of control?  Is every office referral a sign of my failure?

 

But that's my sinful nature, that "old self" chiming in with its doubtful words.  If the failure isn't on me, then who is to blame?  Why blame anyone?  I come home exhausted and unmotivated.  I show up at work sighing and flinching when the phone rings or the bell signals their return to the room. 

 

You're only as strong as you are honest--Craig Groeschler, Fight DVD

 

Tonight I shared with my men's study group that failure is by far my biggest fear.  But in essence, who am I failing?  I'm trying so hard to compete with the bumper stickers of other parents that I'm not seeing past the traffic.  I see Facebook posts about how parents made their kids special testing day breakfastes when all I did was roll down the passenger window of the van to yell one word of encouragement (dear reader, I do care, but testing is a raw subject with me, and I've been blessed with a smart kid.  I know this isn't always the case with all parents).  Kids come to church happy and smiling, mine comes in grumpy. 

 

My heart knows this isn't the focus of parenting.  But I've neglected God's plan for my own.  I'm not trusting.  This week I saw "Heaven Is for Real" and there were two sequences that really hit home.  One was a scene of the pastor father questioning God, pleading with the higher power to not take his son.  But the argument was one of legalism, not out of love.  I felt myself on my knees in the same movie.

 

I'm going to church on Sunday.  I'm leading men, I'm in a Bible study.  I wear Christian shirts.  Why is my kid still acting up?  Why do my students do what they do?  Can't you do me a solid?

 

If Christianity were easy, if there were a manual, we'd all be robots.  Free will gives us that choice.  Kids have that free will too.  Consequences are learned, growth ensues.  We're not robots.  If we were, how much fun would life be in between oil change ups?

 

I'm envious.  There was another scene in the movie where Todd Burpo (played by Greg Kinnear) is counselling a mother who lost her son in the war.  She grieves.  Here it is:

 

The scene rang true for me.  Does God love THAT family more than mine?  Why is your kid free from ADHD but this one is?  But God doesn't love you and I differently.  We think He does.  Some people live, some die and we think there is some "not fair" card we can play when it's convenient.  It's difficult to wear out your knees praying when you feel entitled for a miracle.  That's faith.  Wearing out your knees even when you feel you can't any longer.  We forget that someone in our life will respond and cushion you.  Take the place of your weariness.  Walk alongside you. 

 

These are minor bumps.  I know there is a target on my back with each blog, each step in faith, each call for discipleship.  Why do the righteous always seem to stumble, was a questions asked tonight in study. 

 

Because there is movement involved--Matt Stephens, friend

Each of us can be a climber, a camper or a quitter.  Quitters moan and complain, woe is me, singing the song of lament.  Campers stay below where it's safe.  Comfort Zone USA.  The climbers navigate through these two groups towards the top.  When movement is involved, sometimes there will be stumbles, but the quest is never complete.  Keep climbing, keep reaching, keep wearing out the knees.

The Barriers that Bind

I'm going to tell you now dear reader that the following blog will be combing through specific plot points and arguments surrounding the film, "God's Not Dead".  So, if you hate spoilers or think the film is something you'd like to see, come back later, read the blog and tell me what you think.

This also isn't a movie review.  While I will interject how I felt about the film, the majority of the blog is a rebuttal of sorts from an article I read before seeing the movie.  I had the article swimming through my mind throughout the movie, and while it didn't necessarily ruin my experience, I did feel the article was off base (or better yet, geared to a specific kind of Christian who is more interested in what is wrong in a Christian film instead of what works).  After watching the film, I also began prowling through other reviews, viewpoints, message boards and other type of articles about the film in hopes of getting a consensus on people's reactions.  I'll admit that the friends I follow on Facebook primarily touted the film as one of their personal favorites.  I'll also admit that Christian films up to this point are more emotionally driven than say a typical Hollywood blockbuster. Most are Lifetime channel dramatic, the acting isn't great and the message is what drives you to see the film.  I probably would be herd pressed to find the right movie to show a non-Christian friend.  But then again, I don't know the numbers of non Christian people seeing Christian based films.  I think essentially the films marketed towards us today are in some way reaching out to the frustrations we have as families looking for an alternative to the films out there now. Most films made for adults go way beyond what I think is appropriate to the point that I've shied away from certain movies.  Action films like the current run of Marvel comic boys' dreams are most likely for my son and I.  Besides Disney fare, there's not much choice for families. 

So yes, if you didn't know already, God's Not Dead, has an agenda.  It portrays the interlocking stories set around a college where a student must defend his faith in front of his atheists instructor and class to prove the basis of the movie's title. There are subplots too, about a preacher who doesn't understand why he can't seem to leave his parking lot, a Muslim girl taking a leap of faith, a woman at a crossroads between her relationships with God and her relationship with her boyfriend, a student from China who is beginning to open his eyes to Jesus and a leftist blogger coming to grips with her own mortality. The film flowed like I'd think it would.  The story arcs and directions weren't new to a person raised on film, but I still felt myself moved at different times during the film. It's the God's lens I see every film, TV show or commercial with. I cry foul every week when then Braverman family tries so hard to navigate through life's trials on their own without any sort of reference to God.  I've been watching The Shield, where the Christian rookie cop is trying to stymie his own homosexual desires, all while trying to play God to his lover.  And I sometimes cringe at the advice from the atheists characters on Bones and how they portray the one Muslim character practically without flaws. 
    
Which gets me to the problem brought up from the article related to race and culture. You see, there was a time when I saw everything in black and white. As a Hispanic person, I sometimes felt outside of a fishbowl, looking in at the data driven American life pass me by. I was raised in an America that launched Affirmative Action and I wanted no hand outs from anyone (ironically, I ended up taking a minority scholarship from Ohio University!). I have met new education teachers coming into the field where they have been led to believe there is a privilege from being white. Since the main protagonist is white, the article seems to suggest, it in no way speaks to this brave new world of rainbow communion bread and ribbon-driven directives. 

I get the message, and I once walked in those shoes.   As a minority, I felt obligated to break down racial barriers with plenty of awkward jokes and self deprecating humor.  What's true of most jokes and sarcasm, however, was that there is always some truth behind the barbs.  Eventually I fell into the trap of believing my own shtick. I was simply saying what I perceived to be on everyone's mind. But it also kept me at a distance and built this exterior that was a scab on any relationship I ever had.  I assumed every white person was a closet racist, and the verbal racist were just more authentic (I had a friend in high school who named his dog the n-word).  Fast forward 30 years, and I'm sitting in a Reynoldsburg church at my Emmaus walk sitting among 50 guys, the majority of them being white. That was a hang up for me the first few days.  I couldn't relate to these men. What racism did they ever face? Did they ever know the feeling of being watched when walking in a convenient store after the sun went down? The great thing among many about God, is that he made us equal.  At the foot of the cross, we are all sinful humans. Perhaps the Holy Spirit had been always nudging me to realize this earlier on.  I always found it strange that my high schools and community colleges we so segregated. If we were made in His image, bound for fellowship, then why aren't we more diverse?

The movie features a Muslim character, a teenage girl, who is forced to wear a headdress by her fundamentalist father each morning before she goes to work. Later in the movie, he comes to find out she has been listening to the Bible on her iPhone, promptly kicks her out and vanishes from the movie.  Racial stereotypes are nothing new.  This portrayal wasn't more or less controversial than any in its history put on film, but the article seems to suggest that by portraying the Muslim character as such, it feeds into our already biased mentality. Why is America so worried about offending those from a middle eastern descent, especially after 9/11? By this standard, we shouldn't watch Selena because all Mexicana girls want to dance cumbia and marry their guitarist (well, don't they?) or why watch Misery, because it makes all mid western overweight white women as psycho killers.  I mean, didn't Fast n the Furious teach me all guys who look like Vin Diesel race cars (or that Jordanna Brewster is even remotely Latina?)?  Are there fundamentalist Muslims living in America?  Yes. Stereotypes exist because we also play into them. Guess how many Hispanic homes in Houston have blue exterior siding with a Virgin Mary statue on the porch? More than I care to admit.

The article, and plenty of non believers, have a lot more problems with the film. The ever faithful African priest is a thorn in the side of this progressive Christian writer.  Don't even get me started on the suggestion that all Asian foreign exchange students are braniacs (but seriously, if you're coming to this country on a scholarship, you'd think he or she would be smart). Best yet is the idea that those who come to Christ in the film do so from circumstances that first are followed by clinical death sentences. True, not everyone finds God through tragedy. Some face tragedy and rely on God to get them through the tough times. Others use the opportunity to question the love of God. Why do bad things happen, they ask? When no truth is being spoken in your life, the world will answer for you.

Finally, the article denounces the use of the antagonist non-believers who take the form of an evil, pompous professor, a leftist blogger and an evil, uncaring capitalist.  While it's true that not all non believers falls into this category, the most profound unwritten statement is the reluctance to paint an atheist in any negative portrayal whatsoever.  I'm left to believe that we are the crazy ones, the haters, the bigots, the unloving, while the secular humanist just live their lives, recycles, drinks lattés on Sunday afternoon and adopts children from Uganda.  I'm sure at every college there aren't atheists plotting the demise of Christian students one grade point average at a time, but there does exists among the educationally elite this cynical worldview that points its fingers in our direction.  Those silly Christians and their dinosaurs!

As Christian writers, believers, followers and church goers, we must be aware of how we are portrayed as well.  The world wants us to believe that one can live without God.  Do good, the world says, and you will be rewarded.  Call American Idol during their Feed Africa campaign and you'll feel better about yourself.  All those concepts of giving and sacrifice are Christian ideals. When the next tornado or hurricane ravages the country, let's see how many Agnostic church vans roll up to volunteer.  Can you go "good" without God?  Who do you think placed this feeling in your heart in the first place?

By the end of the film, there's really only two conclusions door the viewer.  You either realize your connection to others in this grand universe He created or you reject it.  That's the essence of free will, isn't it?  We get choices each day of who we will follow.  Your life won't be perfect by being a believer, but let's not also fool ourselves to think that a lack of belief will not make a difference.  In the end, all Christians should unite ands support artistic and entertainment choices made for us.  Pointing out the stereotypes and gender differences only reminds us of our differences. You think God is worried about what political party, gender confused, doctor prescribed, neighborhood associated, team loyal, authentic bloodline you hail from?  I've stopped worrying about my skin tone among my peers, or the fact that I don't speak Spanish.  Those differences only build gaps and walls.

So see the film for yourself.  I'm going to see "Heaven is For Real" on Tuesday.  I hope it's blatantly Christian, and I hope every white character in the film are down home country folk.  Would I expect  anything less?

Celestrial Trixie

Spring is peeping through the sleep of winter like waking eyes after a seriously long nap.  We had soccer practice this evening a day after a Monday full of rain.  Small puddles hid beneath the grass and the girls had freckles of mud on their backsides from running around.  We have been at war with an sun that refuses to stay for more than a day or two.  It's been a long winter, a long several months. I feel like I have arrived at some rest stop only to realize I barely have enough gas to reach the next exit.  I'm riding on fumes.

The word of the month has been "tolerated". I know my wife is barely putting up with me.  There's no way possible I'm anywhere near the person I can be without her persistent force on my life.  She's the embodiment of the strength God gives you that doesn't come from prayer requests or revivals.  My kids have been tolerable of their father.  My poor son has been cooped up, which means there are more ways he ends up being disciplined for some reason that gets his iPod taken away.  When we finally got a chance for some batting practice today I didn't care how many baseballs flew into the mud or how dirty my knees were from fielding pitches.  I know my students have barely tolerated me this last month as well.  I can barely see their arms raised above the Babylon tower of upgraded papers and administration requests.  I shoo kids from my room in the morning and my room is vacant and quiet during lunch whereas typically you can hear unruly laughter.  Even the boys from other rooms who we play basketball with are stopping me in the halls to say hi.  When we played basketball today it was like they realized hearing the sound of the ice cream truck from around the block, doing anything to dig around for a few bucks to get a taste of something blue on a stick.  Each room of the house has a unique debris of our lives on display.  There's bookbags on the kitchen table.  A paper towel lays in tatters under the table, probably from my dog trying to garner any remnants of hand wipes that were once on them.  Dog toys in the living room, water bottles next to the computer that were leftover from the weekend's birthday party (my son turned ten).  There are books to be read and a half liter of Diet Coke on my nightstand. 

A week removed from blogging about the experience I had being among a group of sign wavers and protesters, I felt as if I wasn't doing anything on my end to be a disciple.  It's been said to me that if you cannot come up with a list of four people who need to know about Christ, then there needs to be some adjustments.  I had no problem coming up with the list but I felt myself telling God, "Do I have to talk to him again?" or "Must I really find a reason to talk to them again?". I didn't want to make the sacrifice of a "no". I didn't want anyone to see that I didn't have enough patience to hear their answer.  If they looked into my eyes they would see I wasn't going to be there for the long haul. 

Then Sunday arrived.

Church is my hospital.  I can relax and not have to put on some performance.  The topic of the day's table talk was the Holy Spirit.  We came to the conclusions that when we pray, we pray to Jesus or God, and that when we speak of the Holy Spirit we typically refer to it as something akin to the refilling of our spiritual energy.  The Holy Spirit gave the apostles in Acts the ability to speak in tongues and gave them powers of healing.  I can attest that I knew the Spirit was strong in me the first night I knew my old self had died.  But I never referred to it as a person (for a description of what the Spirit would "look" like try and grab a copy of "The Shack").

Galatians 5:22:23 reveals to us what the Holy Spirit is responsible for in the lives of a Christian. 

²² But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, ²³ gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.

Here it is again in The Message:

^22-23 But what happens when we live God’s way? He brings gifts into our lives, much the same way that fruit appears in an orchard—things like affection for others, exuberance about life, serenity. We develop a willingness to stick with things, a sense of compassion in the heart, and a conviction that a basic holiness permeates things and people.

My brain immediately kicks towards the qualities that the Spirit has strengthened, renewed and discovered.  That goofiness I've always had that only became present when I wasn't moody was the unequivocal injection of pure joy.  At the end of each day I find myself in the hallway as some second grader shuffles past.  The little ones don't skip a beat.  While I don't have their fleet-footed energy I sense the joy they have just being kids.  Yeah, there's worries and bills and clutter but damn if I typically can't smile. 

And then there's patience and self-control.  Time to turn the blog off now.  Nothing to read here. 

Why is it that food and lust can buckle a man's knees?  I am as much as a gambler as one going to a casino, except my heart and body are on the roulette wheel.  How quickly my eyes can sway from my good intensions.  Patience can betray my thoughts in an instant. As a teacher you'd think I'd have the greatest patience alive. Teachers given the same instructions every day.  I deal with the same egos, the same tantrums (I was actually called a "fucking faggot" this last week by a fifth grader), the same needy kids.

There's mini battles taking place each day in the heart of a man.  One month porn free, about fifteen pounds down since December, a small, committed member of a men's group that keeps me going each Wednesday.  I can stick with it much better then I ever thought. When I heard our school was getting a new principal, my fifth in eleven years, I barely blinked. Just another change. It's true that when Jesus gets the keys to our home, he's going to rearrange the furniture, throw old things out, hold different kinds of parties.

We joked at our junior high table that the Holy Spirit must be some aura, some celestial Trixie that floats around us and sprinkles us with magic dust. But I think the Spirit is more than some holy gas station that serves us when we need a refill of grace.  It's a living being that walks among us like Jesus and God. The Spirit resides in our voices as we sing, the smiles we give others and the goosebumps we get when we meet a new friend. And they take residence in your house too. Now, if only I can get him to help me with all this clutter.