Little W

On Friday mornings, my regularly-scheduled students are elsewhere. This affords me a bit too much free time, so I help out in one of the kindergarten classrooms. Two weeks ago was my first time there this year.

While the little people worked on their assignment, I walked around the room and helped the regular teacher check the students' progress. One got a particularly pleased look on his face when I praised his work.

"'W' gets a star on his chart when he does what he's been asked to," the teacher said in a meaningful tone and with a distinct look.

A star? Shouldn't they...all be doing what they're supposed to? I looked at him again and noted the hair that would be matted if it weren't so short, the semi-blank expression on his face, and the pierced ear (on a kindergarten boy). And I wanted to cry. Kindergarten, and it's likely this kid will struggle throughout his entire school career. He's lacking social graces and a bit of common sense, which will likely make him the object of scorn of his peers and an object of frustration for his teachers. He'll shut down and be belligerent.

I just wanted to take him in and give him the one-on-one that will help him grow to be healthier.

We didn't have school last Friday, so today was my second day with the kindergarteners. The class was gathered around their teacher and went over the letters they'd learned up to this point. ("U" was today's letter.) When they were dismissed to return to their seats, "W" changed direction and made a beeline for me. He buried his head in my chest and wrapped his arms around my legs.

"I remember you!" he cried with delight.

"I remember you, too, child," I thought with the same amount of delight. To be loved...

God, thank You for this "in" with this child. Please help me make a difference in his life. And if it's not me, please provide someone else to nurture him. Oh, God...

Like Driving Past a Multiple-Vehicle Pile-Up

Uh?

Take Me

One thing I loved about the land on the Rosebud Reservation was, well, how it didn't get in the way of the sky. It didn't sustain many trees. It was too dry to farm, so no cities have cropped up anywhere near there. It just _was_, and the sky was free to exist beyond it.

I often imagined myself standing in the middle of the grasses, with my arms spread wide. Me. The sky. The wind. God. And I'd yell in my heart, "Take me, God!"

And...He did, in a way. It was one of those "one with Him" sorts of things.

I thought of that tonight and instinctively drew my arms in toward my chest.

Why? What has changed? When did the Norwegian woman in the kitchen of the Lutheran church basement take over my psyche?

I'm not thinking of any non-wussy female role models, but there had to be an intelligent, strong Viking chick in there somewhere. I've been her before. I plan to bring her back.

So this is who I am. Short. Intelligent. Quirkily humorous. Obsessively analytical. Grappling with the difference between what I know and what I do. Caring. Selective. Looking forward to a few more lunchtimes spent on the treadmill at work.

Face to mirror: Take me as I am.

Surprises Peeking out from Buck Teeth and Glasses

I've taught "low" kids before. I've taught reservation kids who were victims of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. I've taught kids whose IQs were too low to qualify for Special Education services. But this kid--he seems to have nothing.

When I get an unintelligible call in the morning, I automatically know it's him as he calls to say he's with the Special Ed teacher and will miss homeroom. I tell him it's okay and I thank him for the call. I hope he doesn't say more, because I'm likely to miss the meanings to his mumblings over the phone.

This morning, he got squirrely during our reading class. He began poking his neighbor, distracting him and me as another student was reading. At that point, I noticed his story was laid out upside down--again--and he could probably go through the whole page without noticing, himself.

Then the fire (drill) alarm went off. The six of us left our classroom and headed down the hall toward exterior doors. Blocking our smooth exit were 20-some kindergarteners with one teacher who tried to be at the front, middle, and end of their disintegrating line. All that went through my mind was, "How do I get the kids that I'm responsible for out of this building quickly?"

"Buck" was lagging behind as I made it through one set of double doors. I turned to urge him out...and noticed his hand on the door and tiny kindergarteners exiting beneath his arm.

Of all the people... My five higher-abled students had attained the "goal" of being outside. "Buck" found a different goal.

Worth the Read

A Holocaust story.

Note to Self

This morning was another of those disappointing, disillusioned, disenfranchised, disengaged times. Really not so happy. So after church, I drove, vented to God, cried, drove, vented, cried...

My fingers wanted to surf the radio stations, but I couldn't bring myself to lift my hand for it. The station playing was one of the locally-accessible Christian ones, and inside my spirit, I knew I needed it.

As I drove (and cried...and drove...and cried...not a good combination, really...), I appreciated that the station was playing songs that dealt with loneliness and crying out to God. I wasn't in a praising mood, but the reaching bit fit very well.

One farm I passed had a small herd of sheep trotting about in its pasture. On the other side of a fence was a lone donkey, and my heart went out to it. "I feel your pain, man," I thought.

A donkey? I'm a Christian, and I identify more with a donkey than with sheep?

Last week, a friend gave me directions for a shortcut from her town to mine. "You turn at the corner where there's a white house, and there are horses and cows next to it."

A white house? Horses and cows? I laughed at her for saying something akin to, "Turn at the corner with the stop sign--the one with white letters and a white border around it."

Through this morning's tears, the cattle and horses I saw were no surprise--but the numbers of sheep were. What _are_ You trying to say? I wondered.

The songs on the radio changed to ones reminding me of Who He is. One song I hadn't heard before proclaimed that He made all things glorious, and He made me--so what does that mean? Just kind of puts you in the palm of His hand.

I got the lesson, I laughed as I neared town. We all like sheep have gone astray... You are the Good Shepherd... And then I saw another donkey. (Really--I didn't think we had donkeys around here.) Two miles from town, and this was to be my last bit of symbolism? Oh, please, God, show me more sheep!

And a quarter mile down the highway, I saw little bits of dirty wool trotting around--waiting to be fed by their master.

Moral of the entry: Don't be an ass; follow the Shepherd.

Upside Down House (a little like the Cosmos in the Hills)

"They bring out the bull to get everybody's attention. But it's really about God."

A) Loved the statement.
B) Is this "peddling the Gospel," or is it reaching people where they are?
C) What's my bull?

The Things You Don't Expect

A persistent friend told me I should definitely go to LifeLight this year. But I don't like crowds...or traffic congestion...or the masses... Knowing I needed to release myself from the small town for at least an evening, I took the drive anyway.

M found me near the gate, and we chatted as we walked along. He has much energy. He scares me sometimes. However, he's someone I'd follow almost anywhere--he'll challenge you to your limits, but he watches for when to back off.

Closer...closer to the front we went...but parallel to the masses encased in orange plastic fencing.

"See that tent?" he pointed. My eyes went to the edge of the stage. "That's where we're going." He handed me a security tag with "ALL ACCESS" printed across it.

I didn't say much that was intelligible as we waved our tags at the security guards who manned the backstage gate. He prodded me up the steps and we stopped at the top. There, in their early 80's style gym shorts and glory, were Jars of Clay.




I spent the first ten minutes on stage texting friends who were in the audience and elsewhere. It occurred to me that I wasn't watching Jars as much as I was watching my phone, so I calmed down and put it away. And I sat there and relished it, perched atop equipment boxes with M. The music was loud, the wind blew my hair, and it was just perfect.

Heading home a couple hours later, I was still rejoicing. I wanted to call everyone I know. "Guess what! I was on stage with Jars of Clay!" I didn't, but it got me thinking.

My urges toward proclamations had nothing to do with me--just with who I know. M worked with LifeLight people, which had perks--an extra access tag being one of them. The tag allowed me past security, and there I was.

Who you know...huh... Heaven isn't anything I'm going to get into on my own. No way I can make it past security. But it's Who I know, and the work He's done, that gives me "ALL ACCESS" to life everlasting. He hands me the tag of His blood, I take it, and there I am.

I wonder if my enthusiasm is skewed about some things. Okay, I don't wonder--I've been hit with it. Why am I not as excited about being rescued from eternal damnation (a little bit like being stuck in a crowd of 70,000 people) as I am about being on a platform with a bunch of guys who jump around and make music?

Maybe not cognizant enough of my own sin? I know I'm a peon at LifeLight. Nobody would let me in without that pass. But that's not even the gate of the Almighty...