It's crunch time at work, and being a teacher it means grade cards, testing and stress. One of the assessments I do 3 times a year is a fluency test called the DIBELS. Each kid reads for one minute, 3 different stories, and it is supposed to give me a an idea of what a student can do. A kid in the "red" most likely is having trouble with comprehension, mainly from the butchering of clue words that kids need to help them answer questions. If you cannot pronounce, "mathematician," do you even know what it is? If you substitute the word "ventilation" with some gibberish word, how do you really know the context of the sentence? So today I'm yawning through this first round of testing. Listening to 28 kids read the same three stories over and over is not what I initially signed up for when I became a teacher.
I envisioned chalk-white hands and dusty erasers (everything is dry-erase now), the endless grinding of a pencil sharpener (they are mostly electric) and the looks of children as diverse as a rainbow (that's been pretty much true). Instead I have piles of test packets, endless data, purchased books that go unopened and several yawns during a DIBELS test. Amid the testing and entering grades in a computer, there are times when the relationships and the essence of what makes a kid a kid go unnoticed. The whispering of kids being mean to one another goes unheard. The absences go unnoticed until the zeroes string along in the grade book. By that time, the call home becomes shuffled in burying priorities. By the time one kid's behavior is analyzed and investigated, another crisis awaits.
Personally, and publicly too, there are standards that I feel will never truly be accomplished. My wife and I are taking a parenting class, and sometimes what gets translated is that we, as imperfect humans, place so much emphasis on what others see, how the world judges it, that it undoubtedly leads to performance hurdles that we never can leap. A kid makes a bad decision with a substitute teacher and I think it must be something to do with my classroom management. A kid gets made fun of over the span of several weeks, only to have their parent inform me of what is happening. The kid chose to keep it a secret from me makes me feel like I didn't do enough. How did I not account for their inner pain?
There's lots of talk about kids that "fall through the cracks." Teachers become wimpy Atlas figures, carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. The lack of counselors, the changing curriculum, a revolving door of administrators. The only constant is us, gingerly hanging on to a round globe of risk, emotions and the malleable souls of 25 plus kids each year. And each year the globe tilts and brings us to our knees. We prevail at times, only momentarily, as so no one can boast. And just when you think you have it made, a new student arrives, equipped only with an eager face and an empty bookbag.
I confessed in parenting class last week that I always feel like I'm in "teacher mode." I leave the loudness of a class to the bustle of my own kids. My girl is a sassy 6, decked in purples and blues and the cutest smile in Ohio. My boy is part obsessive and part pessimist, but all heart. He falls into a grump state for falling one color short of perfection at school (the color all kids want to be behaviorally is pink which is considered "outstanding." He "falls" to purple which signifies "good"). He's cursed with my sense of compulsion to get things right, even though the goal is sometimes insurmountable. He strikes out once in baseball, he thinks he'll "never get a hit again." And this week I've been just closing my eyes listening to him complain about how strict our house became in 2014 concerning playing time and homework.
In December, my son turned in 2 incomplete homework packets. Now, I can bitch and moan about having him even do his homework like other parents do on Facebook, but we don't. He even had a packet during the Christmas break that we realized needed to be completed the Saturday before school started back up. Now I know how my mom felt when I told her I had a project on pyramids the night before it was to be turned in. Suddenly, the declarations of being the worst parent ever stream from the lungs of my son. Do I share this conversation with my parenting class next week?
Tonight in class the topic was perfect parenting vs. spiritual parenting. It was a time to look at our practices. Do we, as Christian parents, feel the weight of onlookers when our kids act up? I admit to feeling the sting of judgement if Cruz doesn't get his homework done. We're both teachers, so of course all homework and school rules will be upheld to the fullest extent of the law!
But perfect parenting is obsessed on the routines, behaviors and structure of obedience. We want our kids to be "good" in public, especially in public, because the world's eyes are cruel and piercing. My son still has problems getting dressed in the morning on his own, or keeping track of things maybe other kids don't. In his fourth grade little mind, life is "unfair." It's not so much unfair as trivial. The time we spend grasping the straws of obedience allows us to miss the teachable moments.
So this past week we went back to our fundamentals. We prayed before bed. We hugged, we snuggled. That's one thing that will matter when he's in front of his teachers, droning on and on over some test. Because when it's done, it will be simply completed for the moment. It won't stick. None of these tabulated measures will matter in the end. Complete them we will, but the heart remains with God. For that, I'm thankful and relieved. The globe just got a little easier to carry.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Walking Out
Walking out of a theater during a movie has always been a concept I couldn't quite understand. I believe from the 100's of movies I've seen, I've only willingly walked out of two movies. One was "Wavelength," some early 80's dud starring Robert Carradine of "Revenge of the Nerds" fame, about aliens. The other was "Congo." I don't even remember the concept. It had Tim Curry mugging endlessly and the worst special effects known to man. My dad, who always took me to the movies as a kid, never walked out of a movie that I can remember. We almost walked out together when we watched "House of a 1000 Corpses, but we were too busy laughing at the horror schlock to take it seriously.
I find it odd when people leave to answer their phones, to get extra popcorn, or simply walk out halfway through the film. Movies are so expensive nowadays, you'd figure people would pay attention to what they are seeing. I've been stricter with my movie selections too. I don't always get out, so I try to make sure what I'm watching will be worth the money. (Advice--don't watch anything in 3D.)
This past week I went and saw "The Wolf of Wall Street." The movie has drawn plenty of controversy. It is a drugged up adaptation of Jordan Belfort's real-life escapades as a stock market hustler. The film is 3 hours of in-your-face depravity. Leo Dicaprio plays the wolf well, too well at times, never blinking an eye over swindling millions from investors who thought they were getting rich by selling penny stocks. About two hours in, a couple to my left walked out. Up until that point I had been telling myself, "I'm not sure I LIKE this film." I felt uneasy at the laughter. The nudity and graphic nature of the film seemed excessive.
Much of the film's controversy stems not from its visceral episodes of drugs, hookers and foul language, but from the lack of comeuppance of the main character. The bad guy doesn't really ever seem to understand that he's a creep. In "Goodfellas," another film by one of my favorite directors, Martin Scorcese, its lead character lives it up as a rising member of the mob. But when the drop comes, it not only destroys him but the ones he loves the most. The real-life Jordan Belfort served close to two years in prison and had to pay back millions. Google him and you'll come to find out he's still hustling people as a motivational speaker. He still hasn't payed back millions and no one is knocking on his door to recoup.
Of course, America loves its movies about men behaving badly. Gordon Gekko became a household name when he uttered the famous lines, "Greed is good." We love mobster films (indeed, The Godfather Part 2 is one of my all time favorites), drug films like "Blow", the villains who wear black. When Jack Palance dismounts from his horse in "Shane" he became one of the first intriguing villains of my youth. Here was a man to be reckoned with. Here walks the devil.
TV plays into this fallen man idea. My wife and I have been watching "Mad Men," about the exploits of Don Draper, ad executive. The show is full of adultery, alcoholics, back stabbers, drug users and unfit fathers--and I love the show. Perhaps I project what I wish upon a lost man like Don Draper. You want to root for him even though you cringe when he falls in bed with some man's wife. You want him to understand that being a father is a special gift, only to see him blow his opportunities by coming home drunk. "Breaking Bad" is another modern masterpiece. It's bloody, gruesome, probably too true and features men who have lost their way. Walter White, dying of cancer and drowning in bills, decides to cook crystal meth to make ends meet. Every decision after that begins a spiral of epic proportions. It's dastardly good.
The way I approach films before I was a Christian is a stark contrast to now. When I jumped out from my Emmaus walk, I rifled through my DVD collection and threw out half my films. Horror flicks like "Halloween," "Boogie Nights" about a young stud's rise and fall in the porn industry, and several 80's style comedy romps like "The Last American Virgin." Over time, I stopped watching slasher films (I do like suspenseful scary house type stuff) and lately R-rated comedies have been skipped over for other selections. A few summers back I went and watched "Ted", a raunchy comedy about a foul-mouthed teddy bear. After the first Jesus joke 5 minutes into the film I wanted to walk out. I stayed during every nude scene and laughed quite a bit. I didn't have the heart to just walk out. Bill Hybels calls this gut feeling one has when your views and outlook begin to transform your outward habits as the "holy discontent."
Last summer when volunteering with the youth, the stories came up with college students over how non-Christians would question the music or viewing habits of Christians. We kept making these silly, snarky "You're Christian?"barbs toward one another like we were judgmental suburban girls. I don't believe that watching Family Guy, or the Simpsons or Modern Family make one a non-Christian just as watching Fox News, the 700 Club makes one a true Christian. I do try and filter the filth that is seeping in every part of our culture. It used to be risque to curse and show nudity on regular television. Now it's part of many programs.
Perhaps viewing everything through that God lens is what God wants from us. We have to balance our own biased views on life, what the culture around us wants us to act like and the lens of God. How can you really balance the 3? I understand that I'm imperfect and those that have influenced and spoke into my life were imperfect as well. The culture wants us to "break bad" and act irresponsibly. How many movies have you seen where the so-called character of high morals is some secret sado masochist? Or how many times do you hear parent's justifying their children's behavior with, "If they don't get it out of their system they'll go to college and be all wild." The oldest joke in film, and one uttered in "Wolf" is how no one who is married is happy. I grew up thinking that being married sucked the life from every man. It's a seed that gets planted in the rich soil of our impressionable minds.
I think there are many lies and half truths that need to be filtered through the God lens. A straight diet of the world corrodes the engine that drives us--our hearts. At Blockbuster Video, I remember so many transactions of families renting movies for their weekend. Moms and dads, single moms, teenage kids. Stacks of horror films, Skinamax soft porn movies and anything starring Adam Sandler. There's a line in the Bible that basically says the truth (the law) is inscribed on our hearts. We know crap when we see it. But when we turn off the filter it can become dangerous.
Just before "Wold" ends, the real-life Jordan Belfort introduces his doppelganger to a rapt audience who undoubtedly paid money to learn how to get rich faster. The crowd pans over their faces, in awe of the guru who will plant the seed of greed into their hearts. I think it's the true message of the film, one that pokes at the theater audience as well. Why do we sit for three hours in a dark movie house laughing as men mount hookers, blow cocaine, pop Quaaludes and swindle money from investors? We don't' even see the people affected by Jordan Belfort's penny stock schemes, and I think that's the point. Their greed, the lure of money that isn't earned from one's effort, toil or intelligence, is a crime in itself. They wanted to believe that Jordan was the answer to all their prayers. :I can imagine them in their homes realizing they've been swindled and performing a Clark Griswold montage of swear words and proclamations. But as we sit and watch hour after hour, we don't leave the theater. We don't have the heart to get up and walk out. That's the biggest sin of them all.
I find it odd when people leave to answer their phones, to get extra popcorn, or simply walk out halfway through the film. Movies are so expensive nowadays, you'd figure people would pay attention to what they are seeing. I've been stricter with my movie selections too. I don't always get out, so I try to make sure what I'm watching will be worth the money. (Advice--don't watch anything in 3D.)
This past week I went and saw "The Wolf of Wall Street." The movie has drawn plenty of controversy. It is a drugged up adaptation of Jordan Belfort's real-life escapades as a stock market hustler. The film is 3 hours of in-your-face depravity. Leo Dicaprio plays the wolf well, too well at times, never blinking an eye over swindling millions from investors who thought they were getting rich by selling penny stocks. About two hours in, a couple to my left walked out. Up until that point I had been telling myself, "I'm not sure I LIKE this film." I felt uneasy at the laughter. The nudity and graphic nature of the film seemed excessive.
Much of the film's controversy stems not from its visceral episodes of drugs, hookers and foul language, but from the lack of comeuppance of the main character. The bad guy doesn't really ever seem to understand that he's a creep. In "Goodfellas," another film by one of my favorite directors, Martin Scorcese, its lead character lives it up as a rising member of the mob. But when the drop comes, it not only destroys him but the ones he loves the most. The real-life Jordan Belfort served close to two years in prison and had to pay back millions. Google him and you'll come to find out he's still hustling people as a motivational speaker. He still hasn't payed back millions and no one is knocking on his door to recoup.
Of course, America loves its movies about men behaving badly. Gordon Gekko became a household name when he uttered the famous lines, "Greed is good." We love mobster films (indeed, The Godfather Part 2 is one of my all time favorites), drug films like "Blow", the villains who wear black. When Jack Palance dismounts from his horse in "Shane" he became one of the first intriguing villains of my youth. Here was a man to be reckoned with. Here walks the devil.
TV plays into this fallen man idea. My wife and I have been watching "Mad Men," about the exploits of Don Draper, ad executive. The show is full of adultery, alcoholics, back stabbers, drug users and unfit fathers--and I love the show. Perhaps I project what I wish upon a lost man like Don Draper. You want to root for him even though you cringe when he falls in bed with some man's wife. You want him to understand that being a father is a special gift, only to see him blow his opportunities by coming home drunk. "Breaking Bad" is another modern masterpiece. It's bloody, gruesome, probably too true and features men who have lost their way. Walter White, dying of cancer and drowning in bills, decides to cook crystal meth to make ends meet. Every decision after that begins a spiral of epic proportions. It's dastardly good.
The way I approach films before I was a Christian is a stark contrast to now. When I jumped out from my Emmaus walk, I rifled through my DVD collection and threw out half my films. Horror flicks like "Halloween," "Boogie Nights" about a young stud's rise and fall in the porn industry, and several 80's style comedy romps like "The Last American Virgin." Over time, I stopped watching slasher films (I do like suspenseful scary house type stuff) and lately R-rated comedies have been skipped over for other selections. A few summers back I went and watched "Ted", a raunchy comedy about a foul-mouthed teddy bear. After the first Jesus joke 5 minutes into the film I wanted to walk out. I stayed during every nude scene and laughed quite a bit. I didn't have the heart to just walk out. Bill Hybels calls this gut feeling one has when your views and outlook begin to transform your outward habits as the "holy discontent."
Last summer when volunteering with the youth, the stories came up with college students over how non-Christians would question the music or viewing habits of Christians. We kept making these silly, snarky "You're Christian?"barbs toward one another like we were judgmental suburban girls. I don't believe that watching Family Guy, or the Simpsons or Modern Family make one a non-Christian just as watching Fox News, the 700 Club makes one a true Christian. I do try and filter the filth that is seeping in every part of our culture. It used to be risque to curse and show nudity on regular television. Now it's part of many programs.
Perhaps viewing everything through that God lens is what God wants from us. We have to balance our own biased views on life, what the culture around us wants us to act like and the lens of God. How can you really balance the 3? I understand that I'm imperfect and those that have influenced and spoke into my life were imperfect as well. The culture wants us to "break bad" and act irresponsibly. How many movies have you seen where the so-called character of high morals is some secret sado masochist? Or how many times do you hear parent's justifying their children's behavior with, "If they don't get it out of their system they'll go to college and be all wild." The oldest joke in film, and one uttered in "Wolf" is how no one who is married is happy. I grew up thinking that being married sucked the life from every man. It's a seed that gets planted in the rich soil of our impressionable minds.
I think there are many lies and half truths that need to be filtered through the God lens. A straight diet of the world corrodes the engine that drives us--our hearts. At Blockbuster Video, I remember so many transactions of families renting movies for their weekend. Moms and dads, single moms, teenage kids. Stacks of horror films, Skinamax soft porn movies and anything starring Adam Sandler. There's a line in the Bible that basically says the truth (the law) is inscribed on our hearts. We know crap when we see it. But when we turn off the filter it can become dangerous.
Just before "Wold" ends, the real-life Jordan Belfort introduces his doppelganger to a rapt audience who undoubtedly paid money to learn how to get rich faster. The crowd pans over their faces, in awe of the guru who will plant the seed of greed into their hearts. I think it's the true message of the film, one that pokes at the theater audience as well. Why do we sit for three hours in a dark movie house laughing as men mount hookers, blow cocaine, pop Quaaludes and swindle money from investors? We don't' even see the people affected by Jordan Belfort's penny stock schemes, and I think that's the point. Their greed, the lure of money that isn't earned from one's effort, toil or intelligence, is a crime in itself. They wanted to believe that Jordan was the answer to all their prayers. :I can imagine them in their homes realizing they've been swindled and performing a Clark Griswold montage of swear words and proclamations. But as we sit and watch hour after hour, we don't leave the theater. We don't have the heart to get up and walk out. That's the biggest sin of them all.
Thursday, December 19, 2013
The Tin Man
This week, just before my kids head home for Christmas break, I brought out the holiday cheer by watching a short film adaptation of Shirley Jackson's "The Lottery." The film is broken in 2 8-minute segments and shows its 1969 date well. For those that don't know, the story consists of a small town who adhere to tradition rather than morals in determining who is released from the community. The ending was shocking when I read it back in high school, again in college, and in video form watching it with my fifth graders. Seeing their hands shoot up to ask questions is the best part of my day.
I thought this was a great intro to the Utopian lifestyle depicted in their next novel, The Giver. by Lois Lowry. The story is set in some far off future, where the government controls the population, the educational tracts of its citizens, and even the worrisome problem of what to do with the elderly and the defiant. In this story, and in countless other great science-fiction stories, choice is outlawed in the sake of the mass public. Overpopulation leads to less resources? Let's make everyone have 2 kids maximum. Too many people sick? Let's euthanize them! Having "feelings" for the opposite sex? Take a pill and control your "stirrings"!
The one thing lost on all the hubbub about another popular novel, The Hunger Games, is what the book really says about reality TV, our obsession with celebrities and our reluctance to fight for anything meaningful. Ironically, one of our vocabulary words this week was rebellion. No wonder the kids have no idea what the word means--I used the American Revolution and Star Wars as my examples, along with my impersonation of the Emperor himself!
After some note taking about the plot and the characters, we delved into the "why". Why would a community sacrifice a member each year (again, in The Hunger Games, each district must give 2 tributes for the arena, and those tributes are chosen by a forced lottery)? Religion was their first answer. We talk about the Aztecs who sacrificed conquered peoples (did they really rip the hearts out of virgins or is that just some Hollywood fantasy of men?) in order to assure themselves a plentiful crop. One of my students from Africa starts getting into a punishment ceremony where limbs are chopped off of criminals. That really got the kids talking!
Another student said that you control the population because you can't feed them all. Perfect answer! So we get into hypotheticals. If having a perfect society means you rid the state of poverty by killing all the poor, would that be okay? What about the sick and the old? Where's their place? Why do you think the people of the town just go along with the lottery? Why doesn't anyone fight anymore?
We finalized the into to the novel by looking at the movie trailer for the film adaptation of George Orwell's "1984." What a trailer with its tunic blues, Big Brother faces and fascist embodied flag waving. It's bleak and gruesome, and I doubt the kids really "get" all of it. But they see the nonsense of watching our every move. Don't we have cameras everywhere, I asked. Eyes light up. We talk about Hitler. We write down some thoughts on if a perfect society can be accomplished. Pencils race.
I have plenty of friends on Facebook and Twitter that rail about all the rights we have supposedly or arguably lost over the last decade. Gun rights, what we can eat, health care. I find it ironic too that the phrase "thought police" that was penned by Orwell decades ago is being used so much today, especially after the comments made by Phil Robertson of "Duck Dynasty" fame.
So here's the question--do we really have free speech? As a teacher, and I'm sure you have too dear reader, I have read countless stories about fellow teachers being sacked because of their rants on social media. From gun rights, hating Obama, Sarah Palin, gays, blacks, lesbians, PETA, you name it some teacher has said something to defame another which leads to them being put on "administrative leave until a further investigation" is held. When social media was first making its way into our lives we were all told, not so politely, not to have any social media presence whatsoever. If it wasn't something you said that would get you fired, what you do in your personal life undoubtedly will offend someone.
After some close calls with my own tongue (it's no accident that the Bible mention the tongue as a flame), I've grown to understand the sensitive nature of my social footprint. But then again, I can't censor what I don't do. You wont find pictures of me holding shot glasses (okay maybe) next to some divorced lady with wrinkled cleavage. You wont find me sticking my middle finger to the viewer as if I have some secret about life that they do not possess. I hardly even share links to other stories. I'm pretty bland, not because I have to but because that's just me. I haven't waded into the culture wars that are prevalent on today's news. I hardly knew there was a war on Christmas. They can take all the nativity scenes from every city hall in America and the one that matters most to me is the one at my church, the one in my house and the one in my heart.
What bothers me the most about the divide I see growing in our culture, form black-white, gay and heterosexual, alien believers and non alien believers is that no once can be civil. Petitions are immediately set in place and signs are thrusts. If I banned every form of merchandise recommended to me by progressive teachers, Christian moms and environmentalists, I wouldn't drive, eat, drink or wear any clothes. Where does it all end? The second worst? The endless comments that someone felt necessary for every article on the internet. The Christian spouts biblical verses and the unbeliever pulls something meant for the Jews in the time of Moses and throws it back at us.
One thing for certain, I don't consider myself a bigot. But then again, what do I really care about what anyone does in their bedroom? What would I really say to my family members that are gay? I would still hug them if I saw them. I don't know what we'd talk about, but I bet it would be catching up and laughs. I dont always agree with what is shown on tv, but guess what, I just turn the channel.
Maybe our freedoms and ideals are being stripped away. I think we lost heart years ago. I was reminded today that in the original "The Wizard of Oz" the character of the Tin Man had a much different story line. You see, he was a man first, of blood and bone. The witch was jealous of his love he had for a woman (a munchkin at that) and when he was cutting wood, his axe began to cut off his own limbs. Each limb was replaced by metal until eventually he became the Tin Man. He no longer had the love of the woman in his heart, and eventually he was undone by a rainstorm that rusted his parts. A man without a heart, frozen along the yellow brick road, undone by a green-skinned witch.
My kids still have those hearts. They raise their hands and mine beats.
I thought this was a great intro to the Utopian lifestyle depicted in their next novel, The Giver. by Lois Lowry. The story is set in some far off future, where the government controls the population, the educational tracts of its citizens, and even the worrisome problem of what to do with the elderly and the defiant. In this story, and in countless other great science-fiction stories, choice is outlawed in the sake of the mass public. Overpopulation leads to less resources? Let's make everyone have 2 kids maximum. Too many people sick? Let's euthanize them! Having "feelings" for the opposite sex? Take a pill and control your "stirrings"!
The one thing lost on all the hubbub about another popular novel, The Hunger Games, is what the book really says about reality TV, our obsession with celebrities and our reluctance to fight for anything meaningful. Ironically, one of our vocabulary words this week was rebellion. No wonder the kids have no idea what the word means--I used the American Revolution and Star Wars as my examples, along with my impersonation of the Emperor himself!
After some note taking about the plot and the characters, we delved into the "why". Why would a community sacrifice a member each year (again, in The Hunger Games, each district must give 2 tributes for the arena, and those tributes are chosen by a forced lottery)? Religion was their first answer. We talk about the Aztecs who sacrificed conquered peoples (did they really rip the hearts out of virgins or is that just some Hollywood fantasy of men?) in order to assure themselves a plentiful crop. One of my students from Africa starts getting into a punishment ceremony where limbs are chopped off of criminals. That really got the kids talking!
Another student said that you control the population because you can't feed them all. Perfect answer! So we get into hypotheticals. If having a perfect society means you rid the state of poverty by killing all the poor, would that be okay? What about the sick and the old? Where's their place? Why do you think the people of the town just go along with the lottery? Why doesn't anyone fight anymore?
We finalized the into to the novel by looking at the movie trailer for the film adaptation of George Orwell's "1984." What a trailer with its tunic blues, Big Brother faces and fascist embodied flag waving. It's bleak and gruesome, and I doubt the kids really "get" all of it. But they see the nonsense of watching our every move. Don't we have cameras everywhere, I asked. Eyes light up. We talk about Hitler. We write down some thoughts on if a perfect society can be accomplished. Pencils race.
I have plenty of friends on Facebook and Twitter that rail about all the rights we have supposedly or arguably lost over the last decade. Gun rights, what we can eat, health care. I find it ironic too that the phrase "thought police" that was penned by Orwell decades ago is being used so much today, especially after the comments made by Phil Robertson of "Duck Dynasty" fame.
So here's the question--do we really have free speech? As a teacher, and I'm sure you have too dear reader, I have read countless stories about fellow teachers being sacked because of their rants on social media. From gun rights, hating Obama, Sarah Palin, gays, blacks, lesbians, PETA, you name it some teacher has said something to defame another which leads to them being put on "administrative leave until a further investigation" is held. When social media was first making its way into our lives we were all told, not so politely, not to have any social media presence whatsoever. If it wasn't something you said that would get you fired, what you do in your personal life undoubtedly will offend someone.
After some close calls with my own tongue (it's no accident that the Bible mention the tongue as a flame), I've grown to understand the sensitive nature of my social footprint. But then again, I can't censor what I don't do. You wont find pictures of me holding shot glasses (okay maybe) next to some divorced lady with wrinkled cleavage. You wont find me sticking my middle finger to the viewer as if I have some secret about life that they do not possess. I hardly even share links to other stories. I'm pretty bland, not because I have to but because that's just me. I haven't waded into the culture wars that are prevalent on today's news. I hardly knew there was a war on Christmas. They can take all the nativity scenes from every city hall in America and the one that matters most to me is the one at my church, the one in my house and the one in my heart.
What bothers me the most about the divide I see growing in our culture, form black-white, gay and heterosexual, alien believers and non alien believers is that no once can be civil. Petitions are immediately set in place and signs are thrusts. If I banned every form of merchandise recommended to me by progressive teachers, Christian moms and environmentalists, I wouldn't drive, eat, drink or wear any clothes. Where does it all end? The second worst? The endless comments that someone felt necessary for every article on the internet. The Christian spouts biblical verses and the unbeliever pulls something meant for the Jews in the time of Moses and throws it back at us.
One thing for certain, I don't consider myself a bigot. But then again, what do I really care about what anyone does in their bedroom? What would I really say to my family members that are gay? I would still hug them if I saw them. I don't know what we'd talk about, but I bet it would be catching up and laughs. I dont always agree with what is shown on tv, but guess what, I just turn the channel.
Maybe our freedoms and ideals are being stripped away. I think we lost heart years ago. I was reminded today that in the original "The Wizard of Oz" the character of the Tin Man had a much different story line. You see, he was a man first, of blood and bone. The witch was jealous of his love he had for a woman (a munchkin at that) and when he was cutting wood, his axe began to cut off his own limbs. Each limb was replaced by metal until eventually he became the Tin Man. He no longer had the love of the woman in his heart, and eventually he was undone by a rainstorm that rusted his parts. A man without a heart, frozen along the yellow brick road, undone by a green-skinned witch.
My kids still have those hearts. They raise their hands and mine beats.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Slightly Askew
On Wednesday at a professional development meeting, I was introduced to the 4 types of teachers. Mind you, I've read many of these types of lists before. The trend in education every few years is to rename or reinvent what was once old. I remember the cynical eye rolls of the veteran teachers I used to work with. They've been through different superintendents, principals and a decade of classroom students. By the end of their tenures they had become what this study on Wednesday called the "Survivors." Just reading the name implies that the energy required to motivate and sustain a career has long been gone. There was retirement to look forward too, grand kids and the warmer climate of a summer home.
I always looked on the survivor teacher (or the fundamentalist teacher--one who resists changes) with some form of derision and contempt. There was always this part of me that wanted to leave an anonymous note in their mailbox with the inscription: You should just retire now. They would rant and rave in the teacher's lounge and all the ladies would wonder who wrote it. But in the end the message would hit home. Problem solved!
But then again, if there was any anonymous note in anyone's mailbox it would be mine. It would simply read: Dude, chill.
The pressure I place on myself is much greater than the one anyone else could impose. As a teacher, no job is ever done. Assessments, the data crunching, paperwork and lesson plans are ongoing as they are tedious. Like any teacher, I have several papers bound together with clips, all awaiting attention. The evidence of a days work--half pencils, paper shards, the lid from some lonely marker--all need to be swept away. The bulletin boards need attention and the calendar sets slightly askew on a dry erase board that has the remnants of smeared powdery dry marker on its surface.
I'm late to meetings at times and I've been known to be on my phone or grade papers. I have 27 students who all need a variety of attention that I feel inadequate to give. I told the kids that I read about those teachers with "of the year" awards and accolades. Those are my expectations. The survivor isn't an expectation, it's a safety net.
But lately, that's how teaching has felt, like I'm looking forward to an end game that isn't even there.
And the home life is sometimes just as cluttered.
I was watching a foreign film a few weeks back (first warning of existential crisis? Foreign film viewings!). It was one of those that I couldn't remember why I had it on the queue, but I tried it anyway. It featured a family who decided to check out from the mundane life they were living in a drastic and tragic way. It was a film of repetition, routine and sadness. I wouldn't recommend it but the director's arms-length point of view and lack of emotion has not left my mind since I watched it. I the began to look at some of the routines in my life.
Like any dad, any home, there's laundry to be done (our break from the mundane came thanks to a wayward bottle of white out that blotted several of our clothes with sprinkles of white) and carpets to clean. The marks of kids can be seen in any direction, a solitary doll shoe, a dog-eared book, a soldier who lost his way from the basement to the bedroom. The dog pulls his bed from the cage as if he's searching for some perfect view of the house when we aren't home. There's cars to be fixed and a garage to clean.
Yes, a God's man is forever busy. We're supposed to be the light upon the lamp stand. If I were at home all the time doing nothing, the time would be filled with something, and for me, that's not always a great thing. Left to my own devices, I'd eat all day and browse pictures of girls. I'd sleep all day and wouldn't change my clothes. And while this past week I've been reluctant to identify with the Holy Spirit that is working overtime to break through my hard heart, I cannot deny the thrills that come with life.
The feeling I got in a room full of youth on the launch night of our Disciple Now weekend. That feeling of satisfaction when the 2-3 zone we implemented in practice shut down the opponent tonight in our weekly scrimmage (I'm helping a friend coach 9th grade boys basketball). It's the conversations that stem from choosing to wear a blatant Christian shirt (the one tonight was, a blood donor saved my life). It's the voice of the 3 parents I talked to today about their child's successes and challenges.
In the end there really isn't anything routine. Each day is an opportunity. Each new face we see is a chance to awaken a smile. That's all God expects, to believe and let Him do the work. For too long I drift into old habits. I try to tame the lion, keeping it caged up. That baby wants to run. It's the feeling I get in the company of men on my Wednesdays when we get off track and laugh ourselves back onto the agenda. It's the rebuke of a pastor who knows what you really meant when you sent him that email, and it's in the form of my principal who knows just what I needed and exactly how to say the words:
Dude, chill.
I always looked on the survivor teacher (or the fundamentalist teacher--one who resists changes) with some form of derision and contempt. There was always this part of me that wanted to leave an anonymous note in their mailbox with the inscription: You should just retire now. They would rant and rave in the teacher's lounge and all the ladies would wonder who wrote it. But in the end the message would hit home. Problem solved!
But then again, if there was any anonymous note in anyone's mailbox it would be mine. It would simply read: Dude, chill.
The pressure I place on myself is much greater than the one anyone else could impose. As a teacher, no job is ever done. Assessments, the data crunching, paperwork and lesson plans are ongoing as they are tedious. Like any teacher, I have several papers bound together with clips, all awaiting attention. The evidence of a days work--half pencils, paper shards, the lid from some lonely marker--all need to be swept away. The bulletin boards need attention and the calendar sets slightly askew on a dry erase board that has the remnants of smeared powdery dry marker on its surface.
I'm late to meetings at times and I've been known to be on my phone or grade papers. I have 27 students who all need a variety of attention that I feel inadequate to give. I told the kids that I read about those teachers with "of the year" awards and accolades. Those are my expectations. The survivor isn't an expectation, it's a safety net.
But lately, that's how teaching has felt, like I'm looking forward to an end game that isn't even there.
And the home life is sometimes just as cluttered.
I was watching a foreign film a few weeks back (first warning of existential crisis? Foreign film viewings!). It was one of those that I couldn't remember why I had it on the queue, but I tried it anyway. It featured a family who decided to check out from the mundane life they were living in a drastic and tragic way. It was a film of repetition, routine and sadness. I wouldn't recommend it but the director's arms-length point of view and lack of emotion has not left my mind since I watched it. I the began to look at some of the routines in my life.
Like any dad, any home, there's laundry to be done (our break from the mundane came thanks to a wayward bottle of white out that blotted several of our clothes with sprinkles of white) and carpets to clean. The marks of kids can be seen in any direction, a solitary doll shoe, a dog-eared book, a soldier who lost his way from the basement to the bedroom. The dog pulls his bed from the cage as if he's searching for some perfect view of the house when we aren't home. There's cars to be fixed and a garage to clean.
Yes, a God's man is forever busy. We're supposed to be the light upon the lamp stand. If I were at home all the time doing nothing, the time would be filled with something, and for me, that's not always a great thing. Left to my own devices, I'd eat all day and browse pictures of girls. I'd sleep all day and wouldn't change my clothes. And while this past week I've been reluctant to identify with the Holy Spirit that is working overtime to break through my hard heart, I cannot deny the thrills that come with life.
The feeling I got in a room full of youth on the launch night of our Disciple Now weekend. That feeling of satisfaction when the 2-3 zone we implemented in practice shut down the opponent tonight in our weekly scrimmage (I'm helping a friend coach 9th grade boys basketball). It's the conversations that stem from choosing to wear a blatant Christian shirt (the one tonight was, a blood donor saved my life). It's the voice of the 3 parents I talked to today about their child's successes and challenges.
In the end there really isn't anything routine. Each day is an opportunity. Each new face we see is a chance to awaken a smile. That's all God expects, to believe and let Him do the work. For too long I drift into old habits. I try to tame the lion, keeping it caged up. That baby wants to run. It's the feeling I get in the company of men on my Wednesdays when we get off track and laugh ourselves back onto the agenda. It's the rebuke of a pastor who knows what you really meant when you sent him that email, and it's in the form of my principal who knows just what I needed and exactly how to say the words:
Dude, chill.
Friday, November 29, 2013
Value Added
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.
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.
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.
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