How Stagnancy Opened the Door

Humility

noun:  a modest or low view of one’s own importance

Do you think it’s ironic that I used to live in a town called Humble and it’s by far my worst quality? I didn’t get the joke until just now. Back when I lived in Humble I was a middle school student. I loved writing PG-13 short stories about GI Joe-type paramilitary groups that saved America from the Russians (Imagine what I would have done with the current state of the Middle East?). My parents were going through their own issues, and I know I wasn’t much help. It was one house removed before they separated. My greatest challenge besides surviving the bus every afternoon was finding the time to hang out with Kevin Hebert down the street and being picked first for kickball at recess.

Lately I’ve felt this stagnancy about my life, my Christian walk most importantly. At other times when I’ve felt this Holy Spirit tug, I’ve asked God to intervene, to open doors. And when you ask God to open doors, you have to be prepared for what comes next.     

One instance in my lesson on humility was having to say sorry. I’ve never been good at admitting my mistakes. My mom always seemed to know when I was up to something dastardly, and I always got caught when I least expected. My step-father used to tell me he “hated liars,” and I took it to mean he hated me. I was a liar. I lied about my intentions, I lied to others (sometimes willingly and purposefully and other times it was to keep them from the truth as I saw fit), I lied mainly to myself. My mom used to say, “You can lie to me but you can't lie to yourself.” I never had a comeback or sarcastic comment for that one. It abruptly ended all of my arguments. Being so far away from the first person who loves you enough to tell you the truth about yourself perhaps has had its effect on me. How many miles from Texas is Ohio?

These blogs have become therapeutic, however. It’s been a way to feel my way through this newfound Christian life of mine. Being this transparent also has its drawbacks. Some people, family included, have been unwitting pawns in my quest for righteousness. The more I share, the more someone else gets bombarded with my version of the truth. Sitting next to a friend and telling them you’re sorry, knowing that you hurt them--was my first lesson in humility. The apology stemmed from my people-pleasing personality. In order to get along with all walks of life, I’ve strived to be everyone’s best friend. I can chat up just about anyone, but it hasn’t always been authentic. Once authenticity was empowered by the Holy Spirit, I felt free. Still, the old self lingers. The old self likes the set patterns, the old drapes of the house, the chair with the wobbly leg.

The apology was barely uttered when my second lesson in humility began peering around the corner. While I won't go into specifics because it deals with work, let’s just say that I was knocked down a peg. I was put in my place. I’ve also begun to understand that God allows events to transpire to bring out the best in us, to challenge us, to help us grow. In essence, it was needed.

The last several years, I’ve had three different teaching partners. It has not felt cohesive since I came from Broadleigh. My partners there spurned one another on, child by child. one lesson plan at a time. I came into my wife’s school feeling that I had something to prove, and essentially have been on an island lifting the world up like some poor Atlas statue.

Before the year starts, every teacher receives their test scores from the previous year. This one was no different. Again, the scores weren’t indicative of the hard work or expectations I have for my class nor my students. For the past few years, the scores seem to be going down, each percentage an indictment on my teaching skills. It’s a stain on my career.

While I understand that scores aren't everything, I am intensely aware that the public and administration relies on those scores to evaluate my performance. It’s the nature of today’s educational minefield. Scores matter, even when I try to tell myself they don’t. So, along with those momentum-killing scores, I was dealt a professional blow. I was suddenly the teacher that couldn’t challenge my gifted students.

I drove home that afternoon with plenty of anger, but the biggest thing I felt was a quiet despair. I felt helpless. The rug had been pulled out from under me. God had allowed the door to open wide enough for the Holy Spirit to work. I needed it. Since then I’ve had other spiritual battles, and something tells me there’s more coming, but sure enough it’s brought me back to my knees. It has brought me back to my devotions, my daily time with God.

Humble, TX still has a place in my heart. My sister currently resides there. It’s grown so much from when I was a kid. The local movie theater is no longer there, but a mall houses the new one. The town of Humble has grown an identity on its own. Funny, a word that means to have a low opinion of one’s self is such a suburbanized city on its own, thriving to make a name for itself. For once, I feel like I know what it’s like to be the little indiscreet town you pass on the map to something greater, the dot on the GPS. Life lessons always bring me closer to God. Perhaps the destination is right on target. Finally.

The Cries of a Fence-Straddler

So much has been going on in the world that it's been hard to be blogless (new word alert). In this world of instant comments, blogs, twitter and social media, it's as if everyone who has an opinion can now give their assumptions, biases and knowledge on the public even if we didn't want it. There are times when I'm reading the comments to a news story where the comments are like watching a car wreck. I find myself glued to the endless amounts of sarcasm, witty barbs and insults thrown back and forth from strangers with smiling (okay, not always smiling) icon faces or names that represent some political ideology (teapartyxxo). And while I rarely comment on news stories or get into arguments with random Facebook users, I did respond to someone's comments about teachers recently that revealed to me my own biases and ideology. Most of the time I watch and observe, a quality I've refined over the years, lives and opinions scroll down my computer screen and wonder where people form their ideas. 

The most fervent of opinions are those found by Christians, or at least they purport to be Christians in the way they use scripture and those ever familiar Christian clichés that warrant responses upon responses. I follow Christian conservative organizations on Facebook, like the American Family Association, where ever post is shared and multiplied and commented on from atheists and Christians alike. Remember whey Chic-fil-A was coming under fire months ago for the comments by its owner (who, ironically I've read has just passed away) on traditional marriage? Every comment was someone quoting some random passage from Leviticus to fire and brimstone passages about sinners and repenting before the Lord. I mean, if you're going to post Leviticus as your argument of why you're mad at God, you're going to really try harder to get my goat. On the flip side, an all caps tirade about going to hell is not going to convert anyone to want to see Heaven either. I've felt that there is no middle ground anymore. Like the shrinking middle class, there is no room for fence-straddlers like me, who like observing and forming their own opinion based on the evidence of the situation. While I'm guilty of harshly judging someone based on their looks or situation, I comment as much as I used to.

Part of this is that nowadays, you're not allowed to have a vocal opinion if you are a teacher or someone in public office. If I ranted and complained about my students on Facebook or twitter, it's likely to be found by someone and the ramifications could be harmful to my career. As someone whose Christianity is forming my reactions, I don't plan on ranting and raving about my school or district anytime soon. Yes, I do complain (just ask my wife) but sometimes having the right to spout off doesn't always mean you should.

Luckily, I didn't have social media as a teenager. I remember that the most damaging thing we could do with our mouths besides gossiping was passing around notebooks where you could answer anonymously about other kids in junior high. The notebook, who knows what they were called, were dangerous in the eyes of the teachers and administrators. While we had fun commenting about girls' bra size and making lewd comments (sometimes with visuals!) and dreaming of people we were crushing on, our words only fueled the flames of low self esteem among the girls in the school, and to a different extent, the guys too. One kid got suspended for making one back in 8th grade and suddenly it wasn't cool anymore. We all went back to hushed hallway conversations. Gossip wasn't in writing.

My life has formed my ideas and biases too. I was raised in an opinionated family. My grandma sure had them. On African-Americans, on the wives her sons married, on how my mom was raising me too. My mom, while not gossipy or back-biting, had her way of building my self-esteem, even in its lowest depths. I could always count on being introduced to strangers feeling like a king, and being expected to have an adult conversation. It was training for life. My dads were more low key. Walk humbly and don't carry a big stick. While my step-dad and father were not necessarily meek men, they weren't necessarily pillars of intimidation either. It was always the opposite of the women in my life. Go with the flow. Don't make waves. No need to get into an argument when silent aggressiveness was so much better. My grandmother Cordova would have thrived in this new environment of social media awareness, but she was born two generations too soon. I could have seen her walking the picket lines with teachers, claiming proudly her heritage, injecting truth into every conversation.

Sadly, that's not the case much anymore. There isn't much civility in message boards. Language is becoming more foul. If you don't agree with a certain mindset, you are labeled a bigot, homophobe, sinner, troll or something far worse. Thoughts give way to rights. We are beholden to our opinions as if they matter in the grand scheme. Changing hearts or minds requires conversation, requires a sense of humility and an ability to listen. I think the next few blogs will be about current events and how they are shaping my perceptions. I don't feel the need to be right more than I feel the need to admit I'm wrong. I've been questioning the loyalties of my views. The world demands that we all listen just a bit harder. Pull up a chair if you're willing. I'd love to talk back and forth. In honor of my grandma, she'd love the conversation even if we didn't agree or see eye to eye. We owe ourselves at least that much.