I spent time talking to a friend of mine today, and she helped me come to a sort-of revelation about myself.
I was filling her in on my life, the various ups and downs (and of course, there are always downs), yet everything I said to her ended with an exclamation mark. The tough parts of my life were always tempered with the good. And the good far outweighed the bad.
She was quiet for a second, and then she asked me, "Is life ever hard for you?"
I had to think about it for a minute, and I've been thinking about it all evening as well.
I mean, sure I have struggles just like any other person. I have weekly stresses like we all do:
-Sunday evenings stink because I'm lonely and school is the next day
-It's harder and harder to not let my personal life affect my attitude at work
-I have reports to turn into my boss and get regular evaluations
I also have larger life stresses like other people:
-I'm working on becoming financially responsible and finding it hard
-I want to excel professionally and impress my boss and coworkers
-I've opened my heart to people which makes it easier to get hurt
-I'm trying to find harmony between my spiritual, professional, and personal lives
And while some of these larger life stresses have recently weighed heavy on my heart, I'm currently laying here on my living room floor and typing this blog post with a song in my heart and simply giddy with love and positivity.
Many people reading this post have experienced difficulties in life that I can't even imagine. Sometimes God deals people crap hands in life because that person has the strength to deal with it. That person will come out of the pressure and the fire a beautiful diamond, as long as he/she doesn't back down from the trouble and pain.
I've got to say that I've yet to be tested to my utmost limit of endurance. Perhaps the thing that helps me is that I look for God in every single detail of my life. When a struggle arrives I immediately ask what He is doing in it. I never have any idea at the time, but it helps to ask at least. And when a struggle leaves I ask what He did in that struggle.
And I always find what He did. What He wanted to teach me. And I vow to accept that teaching and learn from it.
And in my very short span of life on this earth, I've learned that absolutely everything in my life has been for gain and benefit.
I have cried tears of despair so thick while driving that I simply had to pray I'd make it home. I've been betrayed by people I love, and I've lost friends I considered my best. I've been emotionally abused for years on end and have thought myself worthless more times than I can imagine.
And yet at this very moment, when I look back on those times, I almost cherish them.
They were incredibly hard for me. Yet this joyous woman I am at 9:50 on a Monday night would not be here without them.
I suppose my "secret" might be the fact that I never try to forget hardship. I let it come and go, and then I dig deep to find what can be learned from it. Then I hold that lesson hard in my heart. Then the hardship becomes gain in my life.
And, by the way, that lesson for me is that God is always, always faithful and He will never give me more than I can bear.
Which, laying here as joyous as I am, is both a sobering and an exciting thought.
Sobering because I know He has much harder things in store for me.
And exciting because they will show me just how strong I can be.
Showing posts with label struggles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label struggles. Show all posts
Monday, October 3, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
I'm not dead . . . see?
Ok, I've been sufficiently chastised about my lack of posting.
So it's happening now.
School is over. The last time I posted school felt like it was far from over. I thought that I was stressed in earlier parts of the year, but I had no idea what was in store for me until I hit May. Wow. That was like being run over by a Mack truck. Every single day. Because I wasn't just stressed by my job or the time of the year, I was also stressed emotionally.
A good friend of mine warned me about graduating seniors. The stress they put on those teachers who truly love them and the hole they can rip in your heart.
That sounds dramatic, huh? Let me explain.
We'll establish some points first.
1. I truly loved my seniors. That was easy enough.
2. They were already special to me because they were my first seniors.
3. We were all looking forward to being friends.
So then their last day happens. We had our awards day, and it was wonderful. We all laughed knowing laughs when I described The Manipulator, shed some tears when I revealed The Arm, and gasped in amazement when we saw the portraits of The Emotional Arguer and The Possessor. It was a fun hour. It was a fun last day for them as well. I had visits and company in all of my subsequent hours. I tried to soak it in.
Then I accompanied the seniors on their senior skip day. It was a great day. Go Karts, rock climbing, Olive Garden, ice skating, the mall, seeing a movie. One of them couldn't make it on the trip however. My first pangs of sadness began.
That weekend my friend, Ann, and I tagged cars with my fellow teacher, Mr. G. Senior cars. And it was such a fun night. Especially because my "sons" showed up and played a great prank on me. Sidenote: that is why I love teaching in a small town. I could never interact with my students in that way if I was in a larger town or school. We ran around, tagged the cars, and had an awesome time.
Then came graduation day. I visited receptions all afternoon. They were good. Not painful at all. Then came graduation. I did my part. I sang. It went well. Then graduation started. They walked across the stage and got their pieces of paper and turned their tassels. Yes, I cried. They were done. I was done officially teaching them and having an established place in their lives.
That evening I went to another reception. I had a good time. I'll admit, I felt a little out of place at times. I imagine it'll take me a few more years to be able to just sit with people from around town and feel like I'm part of the conversation. Sometimes I still feel like an outsider. And there were other circumstances at hand. Anyway, there was a jumbo Jenga game. Saturday Night Live to watch (a favorite of mine, of course). And an Xbox trivia game which I dominated.
Then came the last official week of school. That first day back was torture. I'll admit it. I had an awful day. The rest of the week got better. School ended. Most of my seniors came back to visit with me, which cheered me immensely. The last day of school was celebrated by myself and some fellow employees. That was my first time of relaxation since . . . well, the school year began. Then I went to state track and state baseball.
And now I'm sitting here on my front porch and it's the second night of my official summer.
And I feel lonely.
And I feel bored.
And I feel unproductive.
Even though this is only my second day alone.
Even though I have lots of things on my summer To Do list.
Even though I've already worked through a few of them.
I used to do so well when it came to getting people in my life. I had finally become comfortable with calling up people and getting things together. I truly believe that loneliness is a choice. There are lots of people that I love that I know love me back and would really enjoy spending time together. The fact that I sit at home alone is entirely up to me because hey! I have a phone. I can call them. And they would most likely come over.
The hard part is that the people here that I love and want to spend time with were my students less than two weeks ago. Calling them and inviting them to actually hang out with me and do things still feels taboo. Talking to them is no problem. But setting up hang out times? I'm nervous and insecure all over again. What if they don't want to hang out with me? What if it's too weird? What if I'm boring and uncool and blah blah blah.
Lame, huh?
This is why insecurity is so annoying to the people who have to hear about it from others.
Because it's so STUPID.
For all I know they're feeling the same things I am, only on the other side of the coin. I bet they're thinking, "Why would Miss Martin (whoops, I meant to call her MB!) want to hang out with me? I'm probably not old enough for her to want to hang out. I bet she'd think hanging out with me was boring or stupid."
Ugh.
Come on new friends! Let's be boring together!
So it's happening now.
School is over. The last time I posted school felt like it was far from over. I thought that I was stressed in earlier parts of the year, but I had no idea what was in store for me until I hit May. Wow. That was like being run over by a Mack truck. Every single day. Because I wasn't just stressed by my job or the time of the year, I was also stressed emotionally.
A good friend of mine warned me about graduating seniors. The stress they put on those teachers who truly love them and the hole they can rip in your heart.
That sounds dramatic, huh? Let me explain.
We'll establish some points first.
1. I truly loved my seniors. That was easy enough.
2. They were already special to me because they were my first seniors.
3. We were all looking forward to being friends.
So then their last day happens. We had our awards day, and it was wonderful. We all laughed knowing laughs when I described The Manipulator, shed some tears when I revealed The Arm, and gasped in amazement when we saw the portraits of The Emotional Arguer and The Possessor. It was a fun hour. It was a fun last day for them as well. I had visits and company in all of my subsequent hours. I tried to soak it in.
Then I accompanied the seniors on their senior skip day. It was a great day. Go Karts, rock climbing, Olive Garden, ice skating, the mall, seeing a movie. One of them couldn't make it on the trip however. My first pangs of sadness began.
That weekend my friend, Ann, and I tagged cars with my fellow teacher, Mr. G. Senior cars. And it was such a fun night. Especially because my "sons" showed up and played a great prank on me. Sidenote: that is why I love teaching in a small town. I could never interact with my students in that way if I was in a larger town or school. We ran around, tagged the cars, and had an awesome time.
Then came graduation day. I visited receptions all afternoon. They were good. Not painful at all. Then came graduation. I did my part. I sang. It went well. Then graduation started. They walked across the stage and got their pieces of paper and turned their tassels. Yes, I cried. They were done. I was done officially teaching them and having an established place in their lives.
That evening I went to another reception. I had a good time. I'll admit, I felt a little out of place at times. I imagine it'll take me a few more years to be able to just sit with people from around town and feel like I'm part of the conversation. Sometimes I still feel like an outsider. And there were other circumstances at hand. Anyway, there was a jumbo Jenga game. Saturday Night Live to watch (a favorite of mine, of course). And an Xbox trivia game which I dominated.
Then came the last official week of school. That first day back was torture. I'll admit it. I had an awful day. The rest of the week got better. School ended. Most of my seniors came back to visit with me, which cheered me immensely. The last day of school was celebrated by myself and some fellow employees. That was my first time of relaxation since . . . well, the school year began. Then I went to state track and state baseball.
And now I'm sitting here on my front porch and it's the second night of my official summer.
And I feel lonely.
And I feel bored.
And I feel unproductive.
Even though this is only my second day alone.
Even though I have lots of things on my summer To Do list.
Even though I've already worked through a few of them.
I used to do so well when it came to getting people in my life. I had finally become comfortable with calling up people and getting things together. I truly believe that loneliness is a choice. There are lots of people that I love that I know love me back and would really enjoy spending time together. The fact that I sit at home alone is entirely up to me because hey! I have a phone. I can call them. And they would most likely come over.
The hard part is that the people here that I love and want to spend time with were my students less than two weeks ago. Calling them and inviting them to actually hang out with me and do things still feels taboo. Talking to them is no problem. But setting up hang out times? I'm nervous and insecure all over again. What if they don't want to hang out with me? What if it's too weird? What if I'm boring and uncool and blah blah blah.
Lame, huh?
This is why insecurity is so annoying to the people who have to hear about it from others.
Because it's so STUPID.
For all I know they're feeling the same things I am, only on the other side of the coin. I bet they're thinking, "Why would Miss Martin (whoops, I meant to call her MB!) want to hang out with me? I'm probably not old enough for her to want to hang out. I bet she'd think hanging out with me was boring or stupid."
Ugh.
Come on new friends! Let's be boring together!
Monday, April 25, 2011
Lists of things
I'm trying to think of what to write.
It's hard to come back to blogging when it's been such a long time since my last post.
I should really do better with all of that.
I think it's so hard because I have a lot of things that I could catch all of you up on.
But perhaps I should just regulate this particular post to the things currently going on.
How about I tell you what is around me?
1. My phone, dark and silent. Kind of lonely.
2. My new school laptop, playing Band of Horses....lovely.
3. My English 10 textbook, open to Julius Caesar, untouched and being avoided.
4. A pile of grading, including tests and papers. Also being avoided.
5. My "To Do" list. It currently has two of ten things crossed off.
6. An empty graham cracker package....my current fixation.
7. My nail box. I am typing this with newly brilliant red nails.
8. My Scrubs season 5 DVDs. Currently on pause while I listen to some good music.
How about I continue with listing things and I'll give you a list of the last few days?
1. I enjoyed my drive back to Ashland immensely. I left with lots of time to spare and just sort of meandered. I haven't had too many opportunities to do that. It was good thinking time.
2. I've been in the mood to buy new clothes lately. So I did. My spring and summer wardrobes are filling themselves out nicely. And my wallet is considerably slimmer. And for awhile I kept wondering why every girl I ever see in athletic shorts wears those Nike shorts. Now I know. And own two pairs.
3. One of my dear friends cut my hair, and it was lovely to catch up with her. She cuts a fine head of hair. And I'll be back as soon as school is out for something a little less tame. I almost put feathers in my hair, but I figured that was just a tad too trendy and unprofessional. Darn having to be professional. When summer is here look out, dangit!
Oh, and do you know about this feather trend? No? This is what I'm talking about, in case you missed it:
4. I saw four baseball games four days in a row. It was a good time. Even though I had to watch my Shockers lose the last one. Although I am slightly disheartened that the dancing and nicknames have lagged since I left for Ashland it is somewhat gratifying to know that it was my enthusiasm that spurred those things on. In my short time back I nicknamed/renamed four players, created a new dance, and resurrected a few old ones.
5. I've been looking at my standards and the things I desire lately. I've got a lot of conflicts going on in my heart. Questions I've been asking myself: Do I desire temporary happiness or fuller, yet harder, happiness? Are my expectations too high? Am I truly looking at the things in my life through the lens of reality? Would I truly be willing to drag my heart through the dirt for little or no gain? And do these questions even apply to my life right now?
6. I usually wear jeans in the summer. I create shorts by cutting up pants. I bought my first pair of real shorts this weekend. This is a large step forward. I am determined to put my legs out there. Not like a hussy, mind you, but like a normal person. They're not bad legs. They're pretty average. Ok, they're a little short, but I'm a little short, so I think it evens out to normal-looking legs if you don't compare them to anyone else's.
7. My relationship with Jesus has stagnated. Which sucks. Cause He's sort of amazing. And he died for me. And then totally conquered death and rose again. Dang. But if you're wondering why it might have stagnated, check out list item number 5. It all ties together.
8. Sometimes I tell people things that they don't need to know. Sometimes I tell them in places where these things don't need to be talked about. Sometimes I tell too many people too many things. If I told everyone that I owned a white car, well, that's a silly thing to tell them, but at least my car actually is white. If I instead told everyone that I was thinking about taking a trip to Europe over the summer (which I'm not), well, then by the time summer rolled around everyone would be waiting for a postcard from Prague. The point is, I tell too many people about too many up-in-the-air things which then makes me look foolish if they don't pan out.
9. Some things on my mind can't be talked about in a public forum. And I'm sorry, but they also can't be talked about with the large majority of people in my life. But I am so incredibly thankful for a few close friends who do not judge, who support me, who push me toward truth and good choices, and who are trying to understand what's going on in my head. And without them I'd be in a bad place.
10. It rained today. It made me happy.
Friday, April 15, 2011
Ouch!
The next few days are tough. I said goodbye to The Monolith a year ago today. Part of me feels rather stupid for knowing that and caring. The other part of me is fully aware that I am STILL healing. You'd think after a year I'd be healed. But, well, anyone who's had to heal from lost love....you understand.
But I'm not here to drag you down. Or at least I'm not trying to do that.
I've been rather snippy or frustrated with my students lately. Some in particular. I believe this is the reason. Not the whole reason, mind you, but part of the reason.
The other part is that I'm ready for summer to be here. I'm ready to relax! And frankly, when my students act stupid in class a lot of me is just really ready to laugh with them. But I still have to teach and maintain order. So then not only am I frustrated that students are goofing off during class time, I'm also doubly frustrated that I still have to be, you know, a TEACHER and put them back on task.
Cause if I still have to do my job then, by golly, they better do theirs. Cause it's just not fair!
Ok, all whining aside, I'm working on not being so frustrated.
And hey! I actually have something fun for you all to end this rather varied blog post.
So I am not one who can stand or sit still. I am a fidgeter. I talk VERY expressively with my hands, swing my feet, sway back and forth, etc. And usually to the amusement of all around.
Ok, so then yesterday I'm in the computer lab with my seniors, who are working diligently on their research papers, and I'm leaning against the counter. As usual, I'm swaying back and forth against the counter.
Suddenly, I feel a rather sharp pain in my right butt cheek.
That's right, you heard me. Butt cheek.
I freeze, and I KNOW my eyes got really wide all of a sudden. Someone asks, "Miss Martin, what's wrong?" I simply smile and say, "Oh, nothing!" while trying to maintain a normal smile.
Luckily the bell is going to ring in one minute, so I just wait for the one male in the room to leave and promptly thrust my hand down the back of my pants.
Sorry for the graphics, but hey, if something stabbed into your butt cheek YOU try walking all the way to bathroom to do that.
Needless to say I found the culprit. A nice splinter, about 3/4inch long. It was ALL THE WAY inside my pants. AND lodged in my flesh.
Ouch.
There are so many jokes I could make at this point, but seeing as all of them are highly inappropriate, I'll hold off.
Let's just say that I'm sure you could imagine a few....
But I'm not here to drag you down. Or at least I'm not trying to do that.
I've been rather snippy or frustrated with my students lately. Some in particular. I believe this is the reason. Not the whole reason, mind you, but part of the reason.
The other part is that I'm ready for summer to be here. I'm ready to relax! And frankly, when my students act stupid in class a lot of me is just really ready to laugh with them. But I still have to teach and maintain order. So then not only am I frustrated that students are goofing off during class time, I'm also doubly frustrated that I still have to be, you know, a TEACHER and put them back on task.
Cause if I still have to do my job then, by golly, they better do theirs. Cause it's just not fair!
Ok, all whining aside, I'm working on not being so frustrated.
And hey! I actually have something fun for you all to end this rather varied blog post.
So I am not one who can stand or sit still. I am a fidgeter. I talk VERY expressively with my hands, swing my feet, sway back and forth, etc. And usually to the amusement of all around.
Ok, so then yesterday I'm in the computer lab with my seniors, who are working diligently on their research papers, and I'm leaning against the counter. As usual, I'm swaying back and forth against the counter.
Suddenly, I feel a rather sharp pain in my right butt cheek.
That's right, you heard me. Butt cheek.
I freeze, and I KNOW my eyes got really wide all of a sudden. Someone asks, "Miss Martin, what's wrong?" I simply smile and say, "Oh, nothing!" while trying to maintain a normal smile.
Luckily the bell is going to ring in one minute, so I just wait for the one male in the room to leave and promptly thrust my hand down the back of my pants.
Sorry for the graphics, but hey, if something stabbed into your butt cheek YOU try walking all the way to bathroom to do that.
Needless to say I found the culprit. A nice splinter, about 3/4inch long. It was ALL THE WAY inside my pants. AND lodged in my flesh.
Ouch.
There are so many jokes I could make at this point, but seeing as all of them are highly inappropriate, I'll hold off.
Let's just say that I'm sure you could imagine a few....
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Dresses and techno
It's been awhile, I know.
Things were tough that week. Not just that day. That week.
I cried. A lot. I haven't cried much since coming to Ashland. And that week the floodgates opened up. And it was legitimate, sure. No one likes being told they are hated. And me? Well, we know I take all things to heart, and I love everyone. And being hated by someone simply boggles my mind, I suppose.
Thankfully people reached out. And I felt loved. And comforted. And I'm grateful for all the people who soothed me, tried to make me laugh through the tears, and gave me some perspective.
Lots has gone on. I don't have space to get into it all. Many things are still the same. Loving my kids. Loving living here. Loving my surrogate family. Looking forward to summer. Still being a girl.
And speaking of being a girl, I went shopping for a Prom dress yesterday.
Let me remind you, my dear readers: I hate shopping. I'm too picky. And even worse, I hate shopping with people. So imagine my comfort while shopping for something specific (i.e. Prom dress) with people (i.e. my girlfriends) for an unspecified amount of time.
Don't get me wrong. I love my girls. And I loved seeing them. But I felt like I was dragging them along and taking up their afternoon while trying on awful dress after awful dress. Granted, the dresses were pretty and the girls were having fun (especially when I flashed them and hey, they asked for it!), but I still felt slightly uncomfortable.
BUT! This story has a happy ending! Prom dress has been procured! And wow. It's a beauty. It's a beautiful color, flowing and simple, yet very nicely shaped. I feel awesome in this dress.
It was, however much too long in the straps. And you know what? Today I actually acted even
more like a woman and shortened the straps myself. That's right, folks. Yours truly ripped seams, pushed down the straps, and sewed the dress back up. And it was successful!
Have I lost your attention my dear male readers? I know all this dress talk must be endlessly boring for you.
Hmm. How about this?
I saw HANNA as well.
Holy. Crap. What a movie.
It's beautiful and vicious. That's the best way to describe it. The fight scenes are Bourne-ish. The world is stylized and lush, even in stark places like the snowy forest. And the violence is unapologetic and incredibly in-your-face. These aren't characters who hesitate when it's time to pull the trigger. No. It gets done.
And the soundtrack? Oh my word. The Chemical Brothers. Not kidding, I was sitting practically
on my knees in the theatre chair because I was so excited by this music.
A sucker for kick-A fight scenes paired with hard, industrial techno and throbbing bass? Yeah, ok, you caught me. Guilty.
Here, take a listen to this one. Made the movie for me.
Don't like it? Well, no one's perfect. But I'll like you just a little bit less.
Things were tough that week. Not just that day. That week.
I cried. A lot. I haven't cried much since coming to Ashland. And that week the floodgates opened up. And it was legitimate, sure. No one likes being told they are hated. And me? Well, we know I take all things to heart, and I love everyone. And being hated by someone simply boggles my mind, I suppose.
Thankfully people reached out. And I felt loved. And comforted. And I'm grateful for all the people who soothed me, tried to make me laugh through the tears, and gave me some perspective.
Lots has gone on. I don't have space to get into it all. Many things are still the same. Loving my kids. Loving living here. Loving my surrogate family. Looking forward to summer. Still being a girl.
And speaking of being a girl, I went shopping for a Prom dress yesterday.
Let me remind you, my dear readers: I hate shopping. I'm too picky. And even worse, I hate shopping with people. So imagine my comfort while shopping for something specific (i.e. Prom dress) with people (i.e. my girlfriends) for an unspecified amount of time.
Don't get me wrong. I love my girls. And I loved seeing them. But I felt like I was dragging them along and taking up their afternoon while trying on awful dress after awful dress. Granted, the dresses were pretty and the girls were having fun (especially when I flashed them and hey, they asked for it!), but I still felt slightly uncomfortable.
BUT! This story has a happy ending! Prom dress has been procured! And wow. It's a beauty. It's a beautiful color, flowing and simple, yet very nicely shaped. I feel awesome in this dress.
It was, however much too long in the straps. And you know what? Today I actually acted even
more like a woman and shortened the straps myself. That's right, folks. Yours truly ripped seams, pushed down the straps, and sewed the dress back up. And it was successful!
Have I lost your attention my dear male readers? I know all this dress talk must be endlessly boring for you.
Hmm. How about this?
I saw HANNA as well.
Holy. Crap. What a movie.
It's beautiful and vicious. That's the best way to describe it. The fight scenes are Bourne-ish. The world is stylized and lush, even in stark places like the snowy forest. And the violence is unapologetic and incredibly in-your-face. These aren't characters who hesitate when it's time to pull the trigger. No. It gets done.
And the soundtrack? Oh my word. The Chemical Brothers. Not kidding, I was sitting practically
on my knees in the theatre chair because I was so excited by this music.
A sucker for kick-A fight scenes paired with hard, industrial techno and throbbing bass? Yeah, ok, you caught me. Guilty.
Here, take a listen to this one. Made the movie for me.
Don't like it? Well, no one's perfect. But I'll like you just a little bit less.
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Give 'em a swift kick in the Alberts
Dear boys, this is a warning. This post gets all sorts of girly. Get out while you still can.
And, no, I'm not talking clothes and makeup and jewelry....none of which I like very much anyway. Ok, I lied. I sometimes love makeup, but not in the summer.
And no, I'm not talking mushy feelings crap either. Although there was plenty of that going on in my head today and some will get mentioned here.
No, I'm talking about genuine, biological, girly. You ready?
Yeah.
Hormones suck.
I learned early on that I am led ALL sorts of crazy by my stupid hormones. I used to just let them wash over me without really knowing what was going on or how to get control of them. Suddenly, around the third week of the month (I am as reliable as Big Ben, people) my emotions would start swinging more and more rapidly among depths of despair, dying for a boyfriend (or dying to be with the current one), expansively joyful, and incredibly pissed off.
Dude, I totally get it when you men utterly don't understand us. The feeling is mutual, my friends.
I'd like to say that I got it after a few years, but sadly, it took me about seven years to realize what was going on and over ten years to start correcting it successfully.
Yes. Over ten. No. I'm not old. I was simply an early bloomer. Very early. Let's just say I could technically be the mother of some of my students. Yikes and yikes.
Anywho, I started to get it under control.
But sometimes, my brain and body chemistry has a will of its own. Some months I can just feel it. This one is going to be a doozy. Too much is built up, too much is happening right at the perfect (or worst, if you're a pessimist) time, too many stupid feelings are flying around.
And, by the way, I kind of dislike feelings. They're sneaky. They can't be trusted. Cause dang, mine are here and gone in, like, two seconds. Not joking, I've had crushes on people where I honestly (and this is embarrassing, ok?) thought that we were fated to be together for life. And uh, I barely knew the guys. And yes, I said guys. Plural. That's why it's embarrassing. If you're meant to be with one person for life and it's fate, then thinking that I'm fated to be with one guy after another is a serious flaw in my ability to pair logic with STUPID feelings.
This is also why I am the LAST person to realize when someone has feelings for me. Since I don't trust feelings I ignore the signs from others....I mean, why trust those either, right? Seriously. If I don't hear the exact words I won't believe it. Yeah. Nice, I know.
Anyway AGAIN, sorry for the long digressions.
This month? This week. Ayi mama, it promised to be a doozy.
And I should probably never say those words again. They sort of don't work for me.
And today? Oh today. It showed just how much of a perfect storm my hormones and life situations can create. I'm hopeful most students didn't catch on. I know some did, unfortunately. I like to think of those who did as having Martin radar. They watch me closely and pick up on the littlest things about me. And you know exactly who you are.
But man. Great mood this morning. Then SUPER pissed. Then annoyed. Then sad. Then lonely. Then that sort-of angry lonely where it's like life is taunting you just to be a B. Then I felt like crying. Yep. For the first time ever I felt like crying at school today. Because of things at school. Twice. Yikes.
I my hormones had balls I would kick them. Sorry. Violence. Never pretty.
And, no, I'm not talking clothes and makeup and jewelry....none of which I like very much anyway. Ok, I lied. I sometimes love makeup, but not in the summer.
And no, I'm not talking mushy feelings crap either. Although there was plenty of that going on in my head today and some will get mentioned here.
No, I'm talking about genuine, biological, girly. You ready?
Yeah.
Hormones suck.
I learned early on that I am led ALL sorts of crazy by my stupid hormones. I used to just let them wash over me without really knowing what was going on or how to get control of them. Suddenly, around the third week of the month (I am as reliable as Big Ben, people) my emotions would start swinging more and more rapidly among depths of despair, dying for a boyfriend (or dying to be with the current one), expansively joyful, and incredibly pissed off.
Dude, I totally get it when you men utterly don't understand us. The feeling is mutual, my friends.
I'd like to say that I got it after a few years, but sadly, it took me about seven years to realize what was going on and over ten years to start correcting it successfully.
Yes. Over ten. No. I'm not old. I was simply an early bloomer. Very early. Let's just say I could technically be the mother of some of my students. Yikes and yikes.
Anywho, I started to get it under control.
But sometimes, my brain and body chemistry has a will of its own. Some months I can just feel it. This one is going to be a doozy. Too much is built up, too much is happening right at the perfect (or worst, if you're a pessimist) time, too many stupid feelings are flying around.
And, by the way, I kind of dislike feelings. They're sneaky. They can't be trusted. Cause dang, mine are here and gone in, like, two seconds. Not joking, I've had crushes on people where I honestly (and this is embarrassing, ok?) thought that we were fated to be together for life. And uh, I barely knew the guys. And yes, I said guys. Plural. That's why it's embarrassing. If you're meant to be with one person for life and it's fate, then thinking that I'm fated to be with one guy after another is a serious flaw in my ability to pair logic with STUPID feelings.
This is also why I am the LAST person to realize when someone has feelings for me. Since I don't trust feelings I ignore the signs from others....I mean, why trust those either, right? Seriously. If I don't hear the exact words I won't believe it. Yeah. Nice, I know.
Anyway AGAIN, sorry for the long digressions.
This month? This week. Ayi mama, it promised to be a doozy.
And I should probably never say those words again. They sort of don't work for me.
And today? Oh today. It showed just how much of a perfect storm my hormones and life situations can create. I'm hopeful most students didn't catch on. I know some did, unfortunately. I like to think of those who did as having Martin radar. They watch me closely and pick up on the littlest things about me. And you know exactly who you are.
But man. Great mood this morning. Then SUPER pissed. Then annoyed. Then sad. Then lonely. Then that sort-of angry lonely where it's like life is taunting you just to be a B. Then I felt like crying. Yep. For the first time ever I felt like crying at school today. Because of things at school. Twice. Yikes.
I my hormones had balls I would kick them. Sorry. Violence. Never pretty.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
The beauty amid the pain
This last weekend I went to watch our basketball team play in the Sub-State tournament. It was an exciting game. I never thought I would enjoy basketball as much as I did, but I found out that I like it quite a bit. I think a lot of it had to do with watching our team. Sometimes those boys can be little snots in the classroom (but don't worry, I still love 'em), but on the court, they are great together. They love each other. They give to each other. They are family.
We lost the game. It was heartbreaking. We all cried. I wanted to hug each one of them. I was so proud of them all.
And have you ever noticed that sometimes there's something exquisitely, terribly beautiful about pain captured on film? I'm not taking credit for these pictures. They were taken by someone else. I merely photo-shopped them a bit. But man, these pictures really capture those moments after the final buzzer. And they are painful. And they are beautiful.
And you are welcome to take them and use them as you please if you like the way they've been photo-shopped.
My 'yes' is on the table.
I said I would post, didn't I? Not sure what you're about to get, but let's figure it out together, hmm?
It's been an interesting month, folks. My poor little heart has had her ups and downs, and honestly, she's not used to this many downs. It's kind of a downer. Which.....makes sense.
But let's boil it down to one thing that I've been learning lately:
God's got it.
Oh, so simple, yet oh, so true.
Sometimes I feel like my head and heart have become a jumble of questions. The why?'s and the what if?'s and the huh?'s and the what-the-heck-are-you-doing?'s seem to be accumulating into one big pile that threatens to topple at any second.
Most of it has to do with my heart. Singleness. Timelines. Ugh. Things that I can't seem to stop wondering about and pondering and which I imagine would bore more of you to tears. Seriously? The girl is writing another post about her stinkin' heart? Can I stab my eyes out? Where'd I put that letter opener....
Ok, perhaps you're not that tired of hearing about my heart, but boy am I tired of thinking about it. And wondering about it. And chatting about it with friends. Honestly, my poor girls are the most incredible people in the world. All they ever hear is me yammering on about the struggles of my heart.
What does she struggle with? I wish I could tell you, gentle readers. I wish I could spill exact situations, intimate details, names and places, my secret thoughts and the terrible yearnings that keep me up at night. But alas (or thankfully), even I--the most confessional of people--know when to keep a lid on some things. I have learned to spill those things to perhaps three lucky/unlucky ladies. The rest of you get the somewhat diluted details. But you know what? It's not the details that are important. What's important is what I can write about.
What can I write about?
I can write about how good God is. How He's always got me in the right place. How He can take what looks like a hopeless situation and breathe life into it in a way I never knew before. How He can make hard conversations flow smoothly (even if they're still hard). How He can show me answers when I didn't think any were possible. How He can bolster my patience when I really want certain answers but they're not coming.
-
We had a forensics meet in Pratt this last weekend. After the meet we were all headed up to St. John to watch our basketball guys play in the Sub-State tournament. Well, we had about an hour to kill after grabbing a late lunch. What do we do?
The park, of course!
What does MB do?
Act like a 5 year-old, of course! Again.
Merry-go-rounds, swings, monkey bars, cherry drops, climbing trees, skipping stones, awkward nature hikes, enjoying running water, collecting shells.....little kid heaven.
Only thing is, as I'm sitting on the edge of the water watching my delightful students messing around on the other bank, one of my girls says to me, "Miss Martin, you are so cute! How are you not married yet?!"
Oh my darling girl. How often I have wondered this question to myself.
And finally, the next day a few pieces fell into place.
You know how I came to be in Ashland? Well, let me be the first to say that it was not my original choice, nor was I thrilled about the option when it was first presented to me. Hard to believe that now, but it's the truth. I came to the interview and was immediately freaked out. This place did not seem right. Too small. Too remote. Too.....much.
So I pull in every interview in Wichita I can. I call around. I peddle myself around like the cheapest hooker on South Broadway (yeah, not the greatest simile, but hey, if we're talking about Wichita . . .). I have impeccable references. A perfect GPA. I am charming, articulate, enthusiastic, hip yet professional, and very clear that I want to be in Wichita.
And....nothing. Nothing!
My friends are stunned. My cooperating teacher is flabbergasted. How is this possible? She's a perfect fit! How could no one call her back?!
I have no choice. I accept in Ashland. I cry after I make that call.
I pack up.
I move.
I settle.
I wander for the summer.
School begins. I meet my colleagues. I get comfortable in my room. Then I meet my students.
Oh. Oh. I get it now, God. You are so right. This is totally where I belong. This is totally what I'm supposed to be doing. I love this place. I love my part in it. I love these people. I really love these kids.
I hated what He did in my life, but I obeyed. Albeit, I did it kicking and screaming, but I said yes when He said DO THIS.
--
So. All that to say that I don't have answers or explanations for a lot of things right now. But I've said yes to Him in all of these situations. Granted, some of the situations took awhile. And if you think I came to Ashland with some kicking and screaming, let's just say that some of the recent kicking and screaming I've been doing could easily give that a run for its money.
--
Singleness is hard. It's good for a time, but does anyone really love singleness? Some may, but like the large majority of people I wasn't built for it. But God's asked me for singleness for some undisclosed length of time. I'm hoping it's not, you know, like ten years, but hey. It could be.
I've been hating it, but I realized after Pratt that it's just like Him sending me to Ashland.
God asked me to go into singleness. Just like I didn't want to leave Wichita, I didn't want to leave The Monolith. I really didn't want to leave The Monolith. It was safe there. It was familiar. Sure, it wasn't ideal or really encouraging my walk with God, but at least it wasn't hurting it. But No, God said. I'm sending you into singleness.
So I said yes.
And right now I feel like I'm in that sort of aimless stage where I've said my yes and I'm here but I'm not sure why yet. It hasn't been boring. My heart has reawakened and she's shown herself to be much more feisty, fickle, joyous, and pulled in strange directions than I ever thought she would be. And honestly, it feels good to be free for now, despite deeper desires. I can have fun. I can flirt again. I can make my own plans on my own timeline.
And I guess that's what I need right now. Because if I was ready for my man, God would bring him to me.
Guess I'm still settling into who I need to be for him. Guess he's still settling into who he needs to be for me. And I'm trusting that God will show us each other when we're ready for it.
'Cause I've already said yes to whatever God's got planned for me.
It's been an interesting month, folks. My poor little heart has had her ups and downs, and honestly, she's not used to this many downs. It's kind of a downer. Which.....makes sense.
But let's boil it down to one thing that I've been learning lately:
God's got it.
Oh, so simple, yet oh, so true.
Sometimes I feel like my head and heart have become a jumble of questions. The why?'s and the what if?'s and the huh?'s and the what-the-heck-are-you-doing?'s seem to be accumulating into one big pile that threatens to topple at any second.
Most of it has to do with my heart. Singleness. Timelines. Ugh. Things that I can't seem to stop wondering about and pondering and which I imagine would bore more of you to tears. Seriously? The girl is writing another post about her stinkin' heart? Can I stab my eyes out? Where'd I put that letter opener....
Ok, perhaps you're not that tired of hearing about my heart, but boy am I tired of thinking about it. And wondering about it. And chatting about it with friends. Honestly, my poor girls are the most incredible people in the world. All they ever hear is me yammering on about the struggles of my heart.
What does she struggle with? I wish I could tell you, gentle readers. I wish I could spill exact situations, intimate details, names and places, my secret thoughts and the terrible yearnings that keep me up at night. But alas (or thankfully), even I--the most confessional of people--know when to keep a lid on some things. I have learned to spill those things to perhaps three lucky/unlucky ladies. The rest of you get the somewhat diluted details. But you know what? It's not the details that are important. What's important is what I can write about.
What can I write about?
I can write about how good God is. How He's always got me in the right place. How He can take what looks like a hopeless situation and breathe life into it in a way I never knew before. How He can make hard conversations flow smoothly (even if they're still hard). How He can show me answers when I didn't think any were possible. How He can bolster my patience when I really want certain answers but they're not coming.
-
We had a forensics meet in Pratt this last weekend. After the meet we were all headed up to St. John to watch our basketball guys play in the Sub-State tournament. Well, we had about an hour to kill after grabbing a late lunch. What do we do?
The park, of course!
What does MB do?
Act like a 5 year-old, of course! Again.
Merry-go-rounds, swings, monkey bars, cherry drops, climbing trees, skipping stones, awkward nature hikes, enjoying running water, collecting shells.....little kid heaven.
Only thing is, as I'm sitting on the edge of the water watching my delightful students messing around on the other bank, one of my girls says to me, "Miss Martin, you are so cute! How are you not married yet?!"
Oh my darling girl. How often I have wondered this question to myself.
And finally, the next day a few pieces fell into place.
You know how I came to be in Ashland? Well, let me be the first to say that it was not my original choice, nor was I thrilled about the option when it was first presented to me. Hard to believe that now, but it's the truth. I came to the interview and was immediately freaked out. This place did not seem right. Too small. Too remote. Too.....much.
So I pull in every interview in Wichita I can. I call around. I peddle myself around like the cheapest hooker on South Broadway (yeah, not the greatest simile, but hey, if we're talking about Wichita . . .). I have impeccable references. A perfect GPA. I am charming, articulate, enthusiastic, hip yet professional, and very clear that I want to be in Wichita.
And....nothing. Nothing!
My friends are stunned. My cooperating teacher is flabbergasted. How is this possible? She's a perfect fit! How could no one call her back?!
I have no choice. I accept in Ashland. I cry after I make that call.
I pack up.
I move.
I settle.
I wander for the summer.
School begins. I meet my colleagues. I get comfortable in my room. Then I meet my students.
Oh. Oh. I get it now, God. You are so right. This is totally where I belong. This is totally what I'm supposed to be doing. I love this place. I love my part in it. I love these people. I really love these kids.
I hated what He did in my life, but I obeyed. Albeit, I did it kicking and screaming, but I said yes when He said DO THIS.
--
So. All that to say that I don't have answers or explanations for a lot of things right now. But I've said yes to Him in all of these situations. Granted, some of the situations took awhile. And if you think I came to Ashland with some kicking and screaming, let's just say that some of the recent kicking and screaming I've been doing could easily give that a run for its money.
--
Singleness is hard. It's good for a time, but does anyone really love singleness? Some may, but like the large majority of people I wasn't built for it. But God's asked me for singleness for some undisclosed length of time. I'm hoping it's not, you know, like ten years, but hey. It could be.
I've been hating it, but I realized after Pratt that it's just like Him sending me to Ashland.
God asked me to go into singleness. Just like I didn't want to leave Wichita, I didn't want to leave The Monolith. I really didn't want to leave The Monolith. It was safe there. It was familiar. Sure, it wasn't ideal or really encouraging my walk with God, but at least it wasn't hurting it. But No, God said. I'm sending you into singleness.
So I said yes.
And right now I feel like I'm in that sort of aimless stage where I've said my yes and I'm here but I'm not sure why yet. It hasn't been boring. My heart has reawakened and she's shown herself to be much more feisty, fickle, joyous, and pulled in strange directions than I ever thought she would be. And honestly, it feels good to be free for now, despite deeper desires. I can have fun. I can flirt again. I can make my own plans on my own timeline.
And I guess that's what I need right now. Because if I was ready for my man, God would bring him to me.
Guess I'm still settling into who I need to be for him. Guess he's still settling into who he needs to be for me. And I'm trusting that God will show us each other when we're ready for it.
'Cause I've already said yes to whatever God's got planned for me.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Hearts are not Hot Wheels
My friend led me to this song, and I am so grateful to her for it.
One, it's beautiful.
Two, it's a reminder that I have to be careful with my heart. She really wants to be captured, but sometimes she wants it so badly that she could let a man capture it who would use it up and then release it.
You know (and ladies, please feel free to chime in with an amen), I don't put my heart out to be caught and released. My heart is not part of the wildlife tagging program. I don't want a man to tag me, put me back out there, keep me on his radar, and pick me back up every three months for a check-up.
No girl does.
Pardon my phrasing, but if a lady is out there to hit it and quit it, ain't no way a man is seeing even a sliver of her heart. Hell no.
Right girls?
If my heart is out there to be caught, it better be for keeps. I'm not saying marriage. That's a lot. But she wants to be caught, kept, and learned until she's been tamed (and bravo to the man who does that-it'll take someone strong). Or until it's clear that's not who's meant to keep her.
Pardon me while I continue for a bit longer--we had an early release day, so I have extra time on my hands.
I know how good it feels to win someone's heart for the sake of winning it and NOT for the sake of keeping it. I felt wanted. I felt desired. I felt strong and powerful. And I'm not proud to admit it, but I used him.
It wasn't until years later that I realized just how wrong of me that was. That it's one thing to test the waters to see if he's a good fit. But it's another thing to know he's not one I truly want yet still flirt, cajole, whisper, and kiss (yes kiss).
I used him to pass my time.
He got hurt. Really hurt.
I'd like to say that I was able to apologize to him when I realized how badly I'd treated his heart. But, you see, I couldn't because we weren't friends anymore. He intentionally disappeared from me so I wouldn't hurt him anymore.
I still can't find him.
Why do I tell you all this, gentle readers? Well, boys and girls, it's partly because that's what I do here and partly because I hope this resonates with you in some way. We've all had our hearts touched by others and touched hearts ourselves. Some of our hearts have been mishandled. And some of us have handled the hearts of others poorly. Maybe, like me, you didn't know. I didn't think I was hurting his heart. We were having fun! He was smiling, happy, enjoying it!
I should have seen it. I wish I had.
He was too open with me. Too honest with me. Too available at all hours, too willing to drop his plans for mine, and too willing to share the deepest thoughts in his head. That wasn't just "for fun" folks. That's a boy who wanted me to keep his heart safe.
And I didn't.
He wanted me to treat it like a brand new dream car: maintained, polished, understood, and driven at maximum speed.
Instead I treated it like a Hot Wheel: fun, cute, and easy to toss aside while I played with my others.
My heart is not a Hot Wheel to be played with. Sure, she's fun, but she's fun because she's a sweet ride with all the bells and whistles. She's got some miles on her, but she's got a lot more to go.
--
In honor of that, this song (remember me mentioning a song at the beginning of the post? No? Well, it was a long time ago) perfectly illustrates what I'm talking about.
For those of you who like to play with Hot Wheels, please, please, please think about what you're doing. And for those of you who have been used, please, please, please know that your heart is precious and lovely and deserves to be loved. You're not disposable. You're lovely.
One, it's beautiful.
Two, it's a reminder that I have to be careful with my heart. She really wants to be captured, but sometimes she wants it so badly that she could let a man capture it who would use it up and then release it.
You know (and ladies, please feel free to chime in with an amen), I don't put my heart out to be caught and released. My heart is not part of the wildlife tagging program. I don't want a man to tag me, put me back out there, keep me on his radar, and pick me back up every three months for a check-up.
No girl does.
Pardon my phrasing, but if a lady is out there to hit it and quit it, ain't no way a man is seeing even a sliver of her heart. Hell no.
Right girls?
If my heart is out there to be caught, it better be for keeps. I'm not saying marriage. That's a lot. But she wants to be caught, kept, and learned until she's been tamed (and bravo to the man who does that-it'll take someone strong). Or until it's clear that's not who's meant to keep her.
Pardon me while I continue for a bit longer--we had an early release day, so I have extra time on my hands.
I know how good it feels to win someone's heart for the sake of winning it and NOT for the sake of keeping it. I felt wanted. I felt desired. I felt strong and powerful. And I'm not proud to admit it, but I used him.
It wasn't until years later that I realized just how wrong of me that was. That it's one thing to test the waters to see if he's a good fit. But it's another thing to know he's not one I truly want yet still flirt, cajole, whisper, and kiss (yes kiss).
I used him to pass my time.
He got hurt. Really hurt.
I'd like to say that I was able to apologize to him when I realized how badly I'd treated his heart. But, you see, I couldn't because we weren't friends anymore. He intentionally disappeared from me so I wouldn't hurt him anymore.
I still can't find him.
Why do I tell you all this, gentle readers? Well, boys and girls, it's partly because that's what I do here and partly because I hope this resonates with you in some way. We've all had our hearts touched by others and touched hearts ourselves. Some of our hearts have been mishandled. And some of us have handled the hearts of others poorly. Maybe, like me, you didn't know. I didn't think I was hurting his heart. We were having fun! He was smiling, happy, enjoying it!
I should have seen it. I wish I had.
He was too open with me. Too honest with me. Too available at all hours, too willing to drop his plans for mine, and too willing to share the deepest thoughts in his head. That wasn't just "for fun" folks. That's a boy who wanted me to keep his heart safe.
And I didn't.
He wanted me to treat it like a brand new dream car: maintained, polished, understood, and driven at maximum speed.
Instead I treated it like a Hot Wheel: fun, cute, and easy to toss aside while I played with my others.
My heart is not a Hot Wheel to be played with. Sure, she's fun, but she's fun because she's a sweet ride with all the bells and whistles. She's got some miles on her, but she's got a lot more to go.
--
In honor of that, this song (remember me mentioning a song at the beginning of the post? No? Well, it was a long time ago) perfectly illustrates what I'm talking about.
For those of you who like to play with Hot Wheels, please, please, please think about what you're doing. And for those of you who have been used, please, please, please know that your heart is precious and lovely and deserves to be loved. You're not disposable. You're lovely.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
A quick post...
In case you all weren't aware, I've been pretty sick. Nasty and gross. Ick.
Today marks my third absence from school because of it.
I hate medicine. I am not a fan of going to the doctor. Clinics make me feel strange, and it always smells way too clean in them.
But I am going and braving my fear. For my kids. So they don't pine away for me.
And so I don't, you know, die?
Ah, sometimes my jokes are just for me. But if you've watched a certain Taylor Mali video then you got the joke. And probably hated the irony of my statement.
In other words, hopefully I will be on medication this afternoon and out of the land of the walking dead....
.....and zombies. Awesome.
Today marks my third absence from school because of it.
I hate medicine. I am not a fan of going to the doctor. Clinics make me feel strange, and it always smells way too clean in them.
But I am going and braving my fear. For my kids. So they don't pine away for me.
And so I don't, you know, die?
Ah, sometimes my jokes are just for me. But if you've watched a certain Taylor Mali video then you got the joke. And probably hated the irony of my statement.
In other words, hopefully I will be on medication this afternoon and out of the land of the walking dead....
.....and zombies. Awesome.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
I want to be Spirit stronger . . .
Oh my rabid readers, I've missed you. This is a long one, you ready?
Today we had a five day school week. Wait, you may say. Don't all schools always have a five day week? Silly reader, please try to keep up with my life. Remember? My school is on a four day week. Yes, I've reminded you yet again that you need to be jealous of my life.
Back to the point. Why was it a five day week? Well, because it was homecoming this week. Themed spirit days, the excuse to be silly and dumb, a home game to look forward to, and a visit from a very dear friend of mine? What a great week, right?
Yeah, well, don't get ahead of yourselves my dears. Let me recount the last five days for you.
It begins well enough. Monday and Tuesday, pretty good days. Normal. Uneventful. I dress loudly for Clash Day on Monday. I look awesome for Rock Star Day on Tuesday [just check out that pic!]. I listen to rap with my sophomores for half an hour [for our poetry unit] on Tuesday. And shortly after teaching him how to Dougie [you heard me--want to learn?], I have this conversation with Tubby:
Me: G, why aren't you dressed up for Spirit Week?
G: I'm not a Spirit Weeker, Miss Martin.
Me: You're not a Spirit Weeker?
G: No. I'm a Spirit Stronger.
Ah, loved it. I was a little more tired than normal that night, but I figured it was fine.
No. It wasn't.
I woke up the next morning feeling bad. Not terrible, just bad. Bad enough for a sick day, though. Felt a little better during the day . . . but then it was like someone dropped a ton of bricks on my head. Or a gorilla. Or the Chrysler Building. Then a cough. Then aches. Then a 101.5 fever. Took a second sick day--very unusual for me. I left my bed to do three things that day, and this is how long they took:
1. Relieve myself [sorry, am I embarrassing you?]:
5 minutes
2. Shower [because let's face it, the only thing worse than being sick is feeling disgusting and sick]:
20 minutes
3. Drink some chicken broth and eat some rice [regretted both immediately]:
20 minutes
There you go. Other than that, I was in my overly large, soft, and heated bed all day long. By the end of that second day I hated everything about that bed. Especially the fact that I needed the heated blanket cranked up: I'd shiver violently without it, but ugh, I would sweat like crazy with it [no, thank you 101.5 degree fever!]. Gross.
You hanging in there with me, readers? Sorry, sickness isn't pretty.
Thank the Lord I wake up yesterday morning cool and clammy. Good clammy. Like, fever broke clammy. Not only am I grateful that I can make it to school, I'm doubly excited because that means my dear friend, Kristy, can still come see me.
The day was an interesting mix. Though my fever was gone, I still felt pretty awful. But then again, I was back at school cracking jokes with Tubby. I had to miss my seniors, but I had a great day with my other kids [plus, I actually got good time in with a lot of my seniors yesterday anyway]. I had no lesson plans ready due to the sickness, but just hanging out in 7th hour was a pretty great time. I had an amazing meal prepped for Kristy and I, but I felt too ill to really enjoy it. My voice was slowly leaving me, but I got asked to announce the Homecoming candidates--and even got to announce the winners.
The day's verdict: The fun parts of the day were much more fun than the bad parts of the day were bad.
Make sense? No? Great.
Kristy then taught me how to play a game after the basketball games [which our guys won, and our girls almost did--most exciting girls game yet!]. I was the winner. Or I could have been the loser. It depends on how you look at the game. Either way, we had fun!
After that, and some hemming and hawing, we decided to check out the dance. It wasn't much, to say the least. Sparsely attended. That's not to say I didn't have fun, however. Those of you who know my are very aware that loud dance music suddenly whisks away all pain, fear, and inhibition in me. Well, ok, not all inhibition.
Let's just say I'm looking forward to Prom, which is when I've decided I can dance.
My pal D and I are going to tear it up.
A rather random ending, I know, but I feel this post has gone on long enough, and I need to get some stuff done today. Also, I need to hack up with gravel that is currently sitting in my lungs.
YES.
Today we had a five day school week. Wait, you may say. Don't all schools always have a five day week? Silly reader, please try to keep up with my life. Remember? My school is on a four day week. Yes, I've reminded you yet again that you need to be jealous of my life.
Back to the point. Why was it a five day week? Well, because it was homecoming this week. Themed spirit days, the excuse to be silly and dumb, a home game to look forward to, and a visit from a very dear friend of mine? What a great week, right?Yeah, well, don't get ahead of yourselves my dears. Let me recount the last five days for you.
It begins well enough. Monday and Tuesday, pretty good days. Normal. Uneventful. I dress loudly for Clash Day on Monday. I look awesome for Rock Star Day on Tuesday [just check out that pic!]. I listen to rap with my sophomores for half an hour [for our poetry unit] on Tuesday. And shortly after teaching him how to Dougie [you heard me--want to learn?], I have this conversation with Tubby:
Me: G, why aren't you dressed up for Spirit Week?
G: I'm not a Spirit Weeker, Miss Martin.
Me: You're not a Spirit Weeker?
G: No. I'm a Spirit Stronger.
Ah, loved it. I was a little more tired than normal that night, but I figured it was fine.
No. It wasn't.
I woke up the next morning feeling bad. Not terrible, just bad. Bad enough for a sick day, though. Felt a little better during the day . . . but then it was like someone dropped a ton of bricks on my head. Or a gorilla. Or the Chrysler Building. Then a cough. Then aches. Then a 101.5 fever. Took a second sick day--very unusual for me. I left my bed to do three things that day, and this is how long they took:
1. Relieve myself [sorry, am I embarrassing you?]:
5 minutes
2. Shower [because let's face it, the only thing worse than being sick is feeling disgusting and sick]:
20 minutes
3. Drink some chicken broth and eat some rice [regretted both immediately]:
20 minutes
There you go. Other than that, I was in my overly large, soft, and heated bed all day long. By the end of that second day I hated everything about that bed. Especially the fact that I needed the heated blanket cranked up: I'd shiver violently without it, but ugh, I would sweat like crazy with it [no, thank you 101.5 degree fever!]. Gross.
You hanging in there with me, readers? Sorry, sickness isn't pretty.
Thank the Lord I wake up yesterday morning cool and clammy. Good clammy. Like, fever broke clammy. Not only am I grateful that I can make it to school, I'm doubly excited because that means my dear friend, Kristy, can still come see me.
The day was an interesting mix. Though my fever was gone, I still felt pretty awful. But then again, I was back at school cracking jokes with Tubby. I had to miss my seniors, but I had a great day with my other kids [plus, I actually got good time in with a lot of my seniors yesterday anyway]. I had no lesson plans ready due to the sickness, but just hanging out in 7th hour was a pretty great time. I had an amazing meal prepped for Kristy and I, but I felt too ill to really enjoy it. My voice was slowly leaving me, but I got asked to announce the Homecoming candidates--and even got to announce the winners.
The day's verdict: The fun parts of the day were much more fun than the bad parts of the day were bad.
Make sense? No? Great.
Kristy then taught me how to play a game after the basketball games [which our guys won, and our girls almost did--most exciting girls game yet!]. I was the winner. Or I could have been the loser. It depends on how you look at the game. Either way, we had fun!
After that, and some hemming and hawing, we decided to check out the dance. It wasn't much, to say the least. Sparsely attended. That's not to say I didn't have fun, however. Those of you who know my are very aware that loud dance music suddenly whisks away all pain, fear, and inhibition in me. Well, ok, not all inhibition.
Let's just say I'm looking forward to Prom, which is when I've decided I can dance.
My pal D and I are going to tear it up.
A rather random ending, I know, but I feel this post has gone on long enough, and I need to get some stuff done today. Also, I need to hack up with gravel that is currently sitting in my lungs.
YES.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
When life gives you mountains . . .
So my last ones were funny.
This one is heartbreaking. Beautiful. It is truth.
Sometimes life gives you more than lemons. Life gives you boulders. Mountains. You can't make lemonade out of mountains, silly. So what do you do? The weight of sadness, loneliness, longing, guilt, desperation, or heartbreak sits on your back and you can't even lift your head.
That's where Jesus comes in. Remember singing this song in Sunday school as a little kid? Well, even when you're chained by the things above it's still truth.
And sometimes all you can do is repeat it to yourself over and over and pray with all your might that it will finally sink in and take hold of your heart. Because sometimes you just don't believe it.
And that's life. You're not a bad person. You're not failing God. You're not failing others. Just because it's truth doesn't make it easy. The fact that it's truth makes it hard. Especially when you're under the weight.
But even when you can't feel it, knowing there's real truth out there can help you put your hands against the ground, and hopefully soon you'll be able to finally push yourself up and stand in that truth.
A caveat for you all: I'm not currently in the depths of despair, but I know people who either are or are close. This is for them.
This one is heartbreaking. Beautiful. It is truth.
Sometimes life gives you more than lemons. Life gives you boulders. Mountains. You can't make lemonade out of mountains, silly. So what do you do? The weight of sadness, loneliness, longing, guilt, desperation, or heartbreak sits on your back and you can't even lift your head.
That's where Jesus comes in. Remember singing this song in Sunday school as a little kid? Well, even when you're chained by the things above it's still truth.
And sometimes all you can do is repeat it to yourself over and over and pray with all your might that it will finally sink in and take hold of your heart. Because sometimes you just don't believe it.
And that's life. You're not a bad person. You're not failing God. You're not failing others. Just because it's truth doesn't make it easy. The fact that it's truth makes it hard. Especially when you're under the weight.
But even when you can't feel it, knowing there's real truth out there can help you put your hands against the ground, and hopefully soon you'll be able to finally push yourself up and stand in that truth.
A caveat for you all: I'm not currently in the depths of despair, but I know people who either are or are close. This is for them.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
An overly confessional confession
*Too much drama about this post. This is the state of my heart, people, and I feel like sharing it here. No, it's not about one person. Part of my confusion is the fact that a whole slew of things have piled into my heart in a few months. Pains, excitements, joys, heartbreaks--all as a single woman for the first time. So do not read yourself into this post, no matter who you are. It is a conglomeration of everything.
Sometimes it's hard being a confessional person.
There are times that I'm aware of it, and I realize that I should keep more things in. I should guard my heart a little more closely. I should be careful to whom I spill my thoughts and feelings.
Part of being a confessional person, however, is that itch. If you're similar you know exactly what I'm talking about. If I haven't shared part of myself for a certain period of time I become restless. I start looking for ways to share. I seek out a person with whom I can unload.
You'd think that prayer or a private journal would be helpful for a confessional person. But those of us who long to share our hearts understand that a large part of the process is the response from another. Physical words and feedback.
I say all this because the need to write about the struggles in my heart has become unbearably strong, yet I must still watch my words and what I reveal.
The heart of a woman is a treacherous environment. I knew that it was treacherous when I was dating the Monolith. He got to experience it firsthand, poor man. Assaulted by my fears and doubts, then soothed by love and pride in him, then shunned by my misgivings and hesitations.
But you know what I'd forgotten?
The heart of a woman is also treacherous to herself. The lack of feelings. The presence of feelings. The questions about worth, about motivation, about attraction. Feelings unmet. Impossible feelings. Impossible situations. Dangerous feelings. Dangerous situations.
This treacherous heart of mine is in turmoil. It feels pulled and manipulated, soothed, pursued, confused, longing, doubtful, fearful, hesitant, nervous, excited, sorrowful, desperate, rebellious, open, and hopeful.
This wildly complicated heart of mine has only been free for a short time. Folks, she's not out of practice. She has no practice. Somehow my fluttering heart simply fell into the hands of others along the way. She's never had to weigh things, gauge words and actions, or make hard choices.
She doesn't know what to do when a man declares his feelings. She doesn't know what to do when a man won't declare any feelings. She doesn't know what to do with her intense and new feelings. She warms at the slightest pursuit by a man and shrivels at the slightest indication of disinterest. She blossoms at thoughtful gestures, grand and small, and she wilts at silence. She's young, naive, easily swayed, and entirely too romantic.
Sometimes she just really bugs me.
One thing is the same though, and it's the main reason she's shiny and new right now:
More than anything in the world, she longs to be captured by a man. She longs to be pursued like mad, pursued like nothing in the world exists except her and the knowledge of her depths. She wants to be known, held, understood, cherished, and kept safe. She wants a man to love the body, mind, and soul she beats within, and she wants him to find it a joy and a thrill to unlock her mysteries.
-
Ah, my precious heart. Someday, my love.
There are times that I'm aware of it, and I realize that I should keep more things in. I should guard my heart a little more closely. I should be careful to whom I spill my thoughts and feelings.
Part of being a confessional person, however, is that itch. If you're similar you know exactly what I'm talking about. If I haven't shared part of myself for a certain period of time I become restless. I start looking for ways to share. I seek out a person with whom I can unload.
You'd think that prayer or a private journal would be helpful for a confessional person. But those of us who long to share our hearts understand that a large part of the process is the response from another. Physical words and feedback.
I say all this because the need to write about the struggles in my heart has become unbearably strong, yet I must still watch my words and what I reveal.
The heart of a woman is a treacherous environment. I knew that it was treacherous when I was dating the Monolith. He got to experience it firsthand, poor man. Assaulted by my fears and doubts, then soothed by love and pride in him, then shunned by my misgivings and hesitations.
But you know what I'd forgotten?
The heart of a woman is also treacherous to herself. The lack of feelings. The presence of feelings. The questions about worth, about motivation, about attraction. Feelings unmet. Impossible feelings. Impossible situations. Dangerous feelings. Dangerous situations.
This treacherous heart of mine is in turmoil. It feels pulled and manipulated, soothed, pursued, confused, longing, doubtful, fearful, hesitant, nervous, excited, sorrowful, desperate, rebellious, open, and hopeful.
This wildly complicated heart of mine has only been free for a short time. Folks, she's not out of practice. She has no practice. Somehow my fluttering heart simply fell into the hands of others along the way. She's never had to weigh things, gauge words and actions, or make hard choices.
She doesn't know what to do when a man declares his feelings. She doesn't know what to do when a man won't declare any feelings. She doesn't know what to do with her intense and new feelings. She warms at the slightest pursuit by a man and shrivels at the slightest indication of disinterest. She blossoms at thoughtful gestures, grand and small, and she wilts at silence. She's young, naive, easily swayed, and entirely too romantic.
Sometimes she just really bugs me.
One thing is the same though, and it's the main reason she's shiny and new right now:
More than anything in the world, she longs to be captured by a man. She longs to be pursued like mad, pursued like nothing in the world exists except her and the knowledge of her depths. She wants to be known, held, understood, cherished, and kept safe. She wants a man to love the body, mind, and soul she beats within, and she wants him to find it a joy and a thrill to unlock her mysteries.
-
Ah, my precious heart. Someday, my love.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
But then it snowed . . .
Today was a rather lackadaisical day. Oh, if my students could see this they'd be so proud!
I'm not sure what it was. Perhaps it's simply the nature of this week. My visits to Wichita have ceased which is saddening yet a relief at the same time. Naturally, I'm sad I can't see my friends every weekend now, but I'm so very relieved that I can finally stay at home for a day, sleep in, actually clean my house, and catch up on some reading/grading/planning, etc.
That will be this weekend, however. Now I'm in this frantic planning mode. Ah, the things that students never see, hear, or know.
I love to plan ahead. It makes me feel better about where I'm headed with the students if I know what's coming up. Now, I'm all about being spontaneous. I change things at the last minute all the time. I love to go with the flow and see what would work best for the kids (sometimes it's even a split second decision just before the words come out of my mouth!). Have plans made ahead of time, however, makes me feel better about changing them.
I'd rather spontaneously change pre-made plans than enact hurried plans, you know?
Well, because all my planning time (i.e. weekends) has been taken up lately with visits to the ICT, that's left me in a few weeks of rushed plans. And for me, rushed means coming up with it the night before.
This has slowly worn me down, and I think today was the first time it's actually affected my attitude and demeanor with my kids. I was easily annoyed and aggravated by many things that would normally slide right off my shoulders. I told two of my classes today how disappointed in them I was. That's not normal.
Even my hour that normally relaxes me and lifts my heart couldn't do it for me today.
But then it snowed.
Big, fat snowflakes that instantly turned into puddles on the ground, but I'm still counting it as snow.
And I was happy again.
I'm not sure what it was. Perhaps it's simply the nature of this week. My visits to Wichita have ceased which is saddening yet a relief at the same time. Naturally, I'm sad I can't see my friends every weekend now, but I'm so very relieved that I can finally stay at home for a day, sleep in, actually clean my house, and catch up on some reading/grading/planning, etc.
That will be this weekend, however. Now I'm in this frantic planning mode. Ah, the things that students never see, hear, or know.
I love to plan ahead. It makes me feel better about where I'm headed with the students if I know what's coming up. Now, I'm all about being spontaneous. I change things at the last minute all the time. I love to go with the flow and see what would work best for the kids (sometimes it's even a split second decision just before the words come out of my mouth!). Have plans made ahead of time, however, makes me feel better about changing them.
I'd rather spontaneously change pre-made plans than enact hurried plans, you know?
Well, because all my planning time (i.e. weekends) has been taken up lately with visits to the ICT, that's left me in a few weeks of rushed plans. And for me, rushed means coming up with it the night before.
This has slowly worn me down, and I think today was the first time it's actually affected my attitude and demeanor with my kids. I was easily annoyed and aggravated by many things that would normally slide right off my shoulders. I told two of my classes today how disappointed in them I was. That's not normal.
Even my hour that normally relaxes me and lifts my heart couldn't do it for me today.
But then it snowed.
Big, fat snowflakes that instantly turned into puddles on the ground, but I'm still counting it as snow.
And I was happy again.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Great weekend . . . wait . . . what? Really?
Things from the wedding were great. They really were. A few rough patches, but otherwise great.
And I love people so much. It'll be really hard when I stop going back every weekend. I'm getting used to seeing everyone again!
On another note, I can now add a fifth terrible thing that God's heaping on my plate!
Ready for this?
So, way back when I had to buy another violin because mine got stolen and I bought something nice, including a nice bow? Remember that? No? Well, I'm telling you now.
Anyway, I bought a nice bow. One made out of pernambuco wood. Ever heard of it? It's OK. Not everyone is up to date on the different varieties of violin bow-wood. No biggie. Well, this particular word is rare and very good for violin bows; however, it is no longer legal to make new bows from this wood. You can resell the old ones, but you just can't make news ones. This bow? You guessed it. Old. Made from pernambuco wood. From the 1920's.
Ah me, I'm sure you can see where this is going, can't you? Gentle reader, you're so smart.
I played worship this morning for the first time in ages. It felt so good. I must have been playing extra hard or something because right in the middle of practice this morning the tip of my bow popped off of the stick.
You heard me. It didn't snap. It didn't crack. It literally popped off the rest of the bow, and the hair fanned out like a long, white firework. Except I didn't "ooo" and "ahhh."
Nope. I just stood there. No one else had noticed. The sounds of worship were still surrounding me as I cradled my now useless bow in my hands. See, the thing about breaking the tip of a bow is that it can't be fixed.
You can't just slap some Gorilla Glue on it and call it good. It's done for. I can save the fittings from the end, and that's about it. People were sad for me and sympathetic, but I'm not sure they can really understand unless they've played the violin before. If you've ever played, and you've ever gotten close to your bow (because, really, that's the thing that makes your instrument sing), you know exactly what I'm talking about.
Was I careless with the bow? Of course not! Was I misusing it? Never. It seriously was an out of the blue, ridiculously terrible, crazy, random happenstance.
I haven't even cried yet. I think I'm still in shock. And surprisingly, still in a good mood.
We'll see how long it lasts. I'll let you know.
Because I know you hang on every word.
And I love people so much. It'll be really hard when I stop going back every weekend. I'm getting used to seeing everyone again!
On another note, I can now add a fifth terrible thing that God's heaping on my plate!
Ready for this?
So, way back when I had to buy another violin because mine got stolen and I bought something nice, including a nice bow? Remember that? No? Well, I'm telling you now.
Anyway, I bought a nice bow. One made out of pernambuco wood. Ever heard of it? It's OK. Not everyone is up to date on the different varieties of violin bow-wood. No biggie. Well, this particular word is rare and very good for violin bows; however, it is no longer legal to make new bows from this wood. You can resell the old ones, but you just can't make news ones. This bow? You guessed it. Old. Made from pernambuco wood. From the 1920's.
Ah me, I'm sure you can see where this is going, can't you? Gentle reader, you're so smart.
I played worship this morning for the first time in ages. It felt so good. I must have been playing extra hard or something because right in the middle of practice this morning the tip of my bow popped off of the stick.
You heard me. It didn't snap. It didn't crack. It literally popped off the rest of the bow, and the hair fanned out like a long, white firework. Except I didn't "ooo" and "ahhh."
Nope. I just stood there. No one else had noticed. The sounds of worship were still surrounding me as I cradled my now useless bow in my hands. See, the thing about breaking the tip of a bow is that it can't be fixed.
You can't just slap some Gorilla Glue on it and call it good. It's done for. I can save the fittings from the end, and that's about it. People were sad for me and sympathetic, but I'm not sure they can really understand unless they've played the violin before. If you've ever played, and you've ever gotten close to your bow (because, really, that's the thing that makes your instrument sing), you know exactly what I'm talking about.
Was I careless with the bow? Of course not! Was I misusing it? Never. It seriously was an out of the blue, ridiculously terrible, crazy, random happenstance.
I haven't even cried yet. I think I'm still in shock. And surprisingly, still in a good mood.
We'll see how long it lasts. I'll let you know.
Because I know you hang on every word.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
I want to be fat . . . keep reading. It'll make sense.
Yikes. The last few days have slowly heaped on more bad things for me than I've had in the entire four months I've lived in my beautiful, small town!
First, I was again confronted with my own ugliness and selfishness. Thanksgiving is coming up, and it's a time for family, togetherness, and thankfulness, right? Well, it's also the time that MB gets the most selfish.
Let me explain.
I'm not one to invite people to family functions. I'm just not. I don't know why. I dated someone for six years and never even felt strange about not having him at Thanksgiving or Christmas. Those times are sacred to me somehow, and I just always figured I'd never invite anyone until he was officially part of my family.
Now, for those of you who are open and welcoming and inviting, that's strange. Don't worry. I understand. I've been informed that it's a little closed-off of me.
Well, my sister is one of those open, welcoming, and inviting young ladies, and she rightly wants to welcome her new boyfriend into our celebration. Now, past history aside, I should be fine with that.
Except, this year, the celebration is taking place at my house, making me the final decision-maker. I guess I didn't realize that I'd have to make a decision like that and that it would affect me so deeply.
I discovered that I didn't want him to come. I discovered that I am so selfish about it that I threw a tantrum because of it. Oh, you heard me. A literal tantrum. Crying, whining, accusing others, and saying phrases like "It's just not fair," and "How could you do this to me?"
Yikes.
Double Yikes.
Long story a little longer, I finally decided to let him come. And now I just have to whip my selfish and whiny butt into shape so that he feels welcome.
Second, our boys lost Sub-State last night. That was pretty rough.
Your first year as a teacher, you develop a strong bond with your first "batch" of students. And, naturally, since it's a small school, the majority of the young men are on the football team. And I already love football, so when we say our boys I really men our boys. My boys, even.
My heart just breaks for my senior guys. There's more pressure and history going on this year than most, for the town works in generations. The generation before won State, and now those men's sons are on the football team, and it was their year to win State. It was crushing for them on many levels.
So, I suppose this tough thing is not necessarily my tough thing, but their pain is pretty intense.
And I feel like a momma or a sister bear. My cubs are in pain, and I'm in pain for them.
Third, I got a speeding ticket last night. Why? Oh, just not paying attention.
Yeah. I think that speaks for itself.
And now, it's all preparing me for this afternoon.
I love weddings, OK? Don't get me wrong. I tear up when almost every bride floats down the aisle. It's the smiles on their faces. You've never seen a woman look more radiant than on her wedding day. Perhaps the moment she gives birth, but more people get the chance to see more weddings than live births, so I figured that was a better event to put in first place.
But this wedding this afternoon will be rough. It will put me to the test. The monolith will be present. It'll be in person monolith time.
And I'm not sure how I'll handle it.
God's been throwing these rough things at me lately, and I think I've figured out why.
It's like I'm a big,juicy steak, ready to be thrown onto the flames. God is the chef. He's an excellent chef. He's tenderized me right up until I'm ready to go on the grill. He's going to do everything right.
But we'll find out if I have the proper marbling to be truly delicious, or if I instead am fat-free and end up tough and chewy. Gross.
Dear Lord, please let me be fat.
Side note: Want to see how it turned out?
First, I was again confronted with my own ugliness and selfishness. Thanksgiving is coming up, and it's a time for family, togetherness, and thankfulness, right? Well, it's also the time that MB gets the most selfish.
Let me explain.
I'm not one to invite people to family functions. I'm just not. I don't know why. I dated someone for six years and never even felt strange about not having him at Thanksgiving or Christmas. Those times are sacred to me somehow, and I just always figured I'd never invite anyone until he was officially part of my family.
Now, for those of you who are open and welcoming and inviting, that's strange. Don't worry. I understand. I've been informed that it's a little closed-off of me.
Well, my sister is one of those open, welcoming, and inviting young ladies, and she rightly wants to welcome her new boyfriend into our celebration. Now, past history aside, I should be fine with that.
Except, this year, the celebration is taking place at my house, making me the final decision-maker. I guess I didn't realize that I'd have to make a decision like that and that it would affect me so deeply.
I discovered that I didn't want him to come. I discovered that I am so selfish about it that I threw a tantrum because of it. Oh, you heard me. A literal tantrum. Crying, whining, accusing others, and saying phrases like "It's just not fair," and "How could you do this to me?"
Yikes.
Double Yikes.
Long story a little longer, I finally decided to let him come. And now I just have to whip my selfish and whiny butt into shape so that he feels welcome.
Second, our boys lost Sub-State last night. That was pretty rough.
Your first year as a teacher, you develop a strong bond with your first "batch" of students. And, naturally, since it's a small school, the majority of the young men are on the football team. And I already love football, so when we say our boys I really men our boys. My boys, even.
My heart just breaks for my senior guys. There's more pressure and history going on this year than most, for the town works in generations. The generation before won State, and now those men's sons are on the football team, and it was their year to win State. It was crushing for them on many levels.
So, I suppose this tough thing is not necessarily my tough thing, but their pain is pretty intense.
And I feel like a momma or a sister bear. My cubs are in pain, and I'm in pain for them.
Third, I got a speeding ticket last night. Why? Oh, just not paying attention.
Yeah. I think that speaks for itself.
And now, it's all preparing me for this afternoon.
I love weddings, OK? Don't get me wrong. I tear up when almost every bride floats down the aisle. It's the smiles on their faces. You've never seen a woman look more radiant than on her wedding day. Perhaps the moment she gives birth, but more people get the chance to see more weddings than live births, so I figured that was a better event to put in first place.
But this wedding this afternoon will be rough. It will put me to the test. The monolith will be present. It'll be in person monolith time.
And I'm not sure how I'll handle it.
God's been throwing these rough things at me lately, and I think I've figured out why.
It's like I'm a big,juicy steak, ready to be thrown onto the flames. God is the chef. He's an excellent chef. He's tenderized me right up until I'm ready to go on the grill. He's going to do everything right.
But we'll find out if I have the proper marbling to be truly delicious, or if I instead am fat-free and end up tough and chewy. Gross.
Dear Lord, please let me be fat.
Side note: Want to see how it turned out?
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The monolith has finally left my chest . . .
Something finally lifted from me on Saturday night. Something that's been lurking in the back of my brain and evading all my attempts to corner it and kick it out (much like my pesky cat when she gets under my bed. you think you've got her, but no. she simply rushes out and around to the other side.).
It's taken four months, but my bitterness has finally lifted and true forgiveness has settled into its place.
A few caveats for you:
1. Four months, you say? That's nothing! Well friends, let me tell you, that's like a lifetime to me. I am literally incapable of keeping a grudge or holding things against others. Usually bitterness just slides off me overnight, and I don't think I've ever dealt with it for more than a week--and trust me, that was tough. So imagine how hard four straight months has been.
2. I am 100% aware that the person I've forgiven doesn't even need to be forgiven. He technically did nothing wrong. But, you know, hearts just don't care about technicalities, do they? Can I get an amen?
3. I'm not going to go back into the details of the situation. One of the great things about true forgiveness is the fact that the book on that particular time is closed. I've learned my lesson, and I've stored it away, but I'm not going to rehash it here for your entertainment, so back off. Love you!
And now, on to the good stuff!
--
A lot of my readers don't know this, but this was what my life has looked like for almost the last seven years:
It's taken four months, but my bitterness has finally lifted and true forgiveness has settled into its place.
A few caveats for you:
1. Four months, you say? That's nothing! Well friends, let me tell you, that's like a lifetime to me. I am literally incapable of keeping a grudge or holding things against others. Usually bitterness just slides off me overnight, and I don't think I've ever dealt with it for more than a week--and trust me, that was tough. So imagine how hard four straight months has been.
2. I am 100% aware that the person I've forgiven doesn't even need to be forgiven. He technically did nothing wrong. But, you know, hearts just don't care about technicalities, do they? Can I get an amen?
3. I'm not going to go back into the details of the situation. One of the great things about true forgiveness is the fact that the book on that particular time is closed. I've learned my lesson, and I've stored it away, but I'm not going to rehash it here for your entertainment, so back off. Love you!
And now, on to the good stuff!
--
A lot of my readers don't know this, but this was what my life has looked like for almost the last seven years:
Looking at these pictures no longer pains my heart.
I cherish the times we had. Life has moved us forward without each other, and I'm excited about that now.
Honestly.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
But a drop of water . . .
I wrote this post awhile before I had a blog. I looked it up this evening and wanted to share it with those of you who follow along here. I still believe in this above all things.
So, my friend Rich spent one evening pretending to be Barbara Walters at a recent gathering, and I was his subject. He asked me many thought provoking questions, one of which was very difficult to answer and which I've been pondering for the last week or so. His question was this:
"What would you say you believe in above all other things, besides the existence of God, sovereignty of Christ, etc.?"
My answer:
"Wow, um, let me think . . . [about 60 seconds elapse]. Well, I'd have to say that I believe in the pursuit of truth above all else."
His response:
"Ok. Why the pursuit of truth rather than just truth?"
My response:
"Erm, well, truth is constant, right? But culture is always changing and we change with our culture. And we have to constantly be looking for truth because we're changing too, you know?"
And that was probably the least-best way I could have described it! I've been pondering it a lot and I think I've come up with a word picture to describe what I mean. I love using pictures and images to describe what concept I'm trying to convey, and hopefully this describes why I believe that I as a Christian must always PURSUE Truth rather than trying to just STAND in Truth.
And please forgive me if the metaphor falls apart when you get really literal. It is merely an illustration to convey the concept!
.
Truth is the rock in the surf. Unchanging in the face of the crashing waves. I am but a DROP of water.
I KNOW the rock is truth, but without pursuit of that rock I am swept along by the waves of culture. I am human, fallen, and fickle. A bride prone to adultery against my true Bridegroom. And Christ forgive me.
I might occasionally crash against the Rock of Truth and alight on its surface for a time, but Truth is not a soft, sweet cradle. It is a jagged, beautiful and shining surface, which I will eventually slide off of when I don't continually cling to it. I will slide off and back into the swirling waters.
I must always strike out for Truth, climb Truth, establish new footholds and handholds because my own human nature pulls me away.
.
Hopefully that helps. It helped me!
So, my friend Rich spent one evening pretending to be Barbara Walters at a recent gathering, and I was his subject. He asked me many thought provoking questions, one of which was very difficult to answer and which I've been pondering for the last week or so. His question was this:
"What would you say you believe in above all other things, besides the existence of God, sovereignty of Christ, etc.?"
My answer:
"Wow, um, let me think . . . [about 60 seconds elapse]. Well, I'd have to say that I believe in the pursuit of truth above all else."
His response:
"Ok. Why the pursuit of truth rather than just truth?"
My response:
"Erm, well, truth is constant, right? But culture is always changing and we change with our culture. And we have to constantly be looking for truth because we're changing too, you know?"
And that was probably the least-best way I could have described it! I've been pondering it a lot and I think I've come up with a word picture to describe what I mean. I love using pictures and images to describe what concept I'm trying to convey, and hopefully this describes why I believe that I as a Christian must always PURSUE Truth rather than trying to just STAND in Truth.
And please forgive me if the metaphor falls apart when you get really literal. It is merely an illustration to convey the concept!
.
Truth is the rock in the surf. Unchanging in the face of the crashing waves. I am but a DROP of water.
I KNOW the rock is truth, but without pursuit of that rock I am swept along by the waves of culture. I am human, fallen, and fickle. A bride prone to adultery against my true Bridegroom. And Christ forgive me.
I might occasionally crash against the Rock of Truth and alight on its surface for a time, but Truth is not a soft, sweet cradle. It is a jagged, beautiful and shining surface, which I will eventually slide off of when I don't continually cling to it. I will slide off and back into the swirling waters.
I must always strike out for Truth, climb Truth, establish new footholds and handholds because my own human nature pulls me away.
.
Hopefully that helps. It helped me!
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
The older cousin, but not the friend.
Multiple thoughts are rushing around in my head tonight.
Usually my blog tends toward the lighter, more joke-centered side. I mean, I'm interested in writing funny things, so might as well practice here, right?
Sometimes it's hard to find things to joke about.
I've been thinking about teaching. And my students. And how much I really love both. And how the fact that I truly love all the kids at the high school can be difficult since 1) I'm not that much older than them, and 2) and perhaps most importantly, I don't feel that much older than them.
I'm only twelve years older than my youngest student, which means that the large majority of pop culture references they make go right into my head rather than over it. I definitely feel older than them, both in maturity and interests, but the lines start to blur with my older students, especially my oldest students.
I keep telling all my friends that God took the world's perfect student and cloned it 11 times and put them in one of my classes. And that's my class. Eleven of the most perfect students ever. Sure, sometimes they do dumb things (like nearly kill each other for a Nerf ball) or grumble through homework, but doesn't every student? Didn't I do that for a lot of my own English classes even though they were my favorite? Those things don't lessen my students. What makes them amazing is the fact that they care, they're grateful to be learning, and they aren't afraid to ask questions. Shoot, sometimes they stump me with their questions. I love that! What smart kids.
Here's the problem. I'm a teacher because I think teenagers are awesome. Somehow they move from little punks into being responsible and thoughtful individuals. And as a high school teacher I get to see that. I get to part of it.
But I also think my friends are awesome. But my students aren't (read: can't be) my friends. It breaks my heart to think about it, but I've witnessed one of my friends blur the line between student and friend and it cost him his job, his family's trust, his law record and his entire career.
I mean, look, I'm on my A-game, OK? And I'm not my friend. And his actions stemmed from a prolonged period of unchecked motivations. But it all began with a love for his students and a desire to be friends. And in some of my students I see friendship potential.
This is where I'm grateful for my father. A vet of teaching high school for over 30 years, he always kept his students at bay . . . until they graduated. The second they walked that stage then the relationship was different. They could call him by his first name and no longer had to worry about school rules. He was known for it. Students waited for four years until they could finally call him "Ben." Sure, they would giggle and feel weird at first, but they cherished that. And he's developed some real friendships with former students because of it.
So I've decided to adopt that for myself as a teacher. Once those students walk across that floor, no more Miss M. We can be friends.
I figure if I take my father's example then there will at least be a few students who will take me up on that. Until then, I'll be their wise, older cousin who can give them quite a few tips about literature.
Usually my blog tends toward the lighter, more joke-centered side. I mean, I'm interested in writing funny things, so might as well practice here, right?
Sometimes it's hard to find things to joke about.
I've been thinking about teaching. And my students. And how much I really love both. And how the fact that I truly love all the kids at the high school can be difficult since 1) I'm not that much older than them, and 2) and perhaps most importantly, I don't feel that much older than them.
I'm only twelve years older than my youngest student, which means that the large majority of pop culture references they make go right into my head rather than over it. I definitely feel older than them, both in maturity and interests, but the lines start to blur with my older students, especially my oldest students.
I keep telling all my friends that God took the world's perfect student and cloned it 11 times and put them in one of my classes. And that's my class. Eleven of the most perfect students ever. Sure, sometimes they do dumb things (like nearly kill each other for a Nerf ball) or grumble through homework, but doesn't every student? Didn't I do that for a lot of my own English classes even though they were my favorite? Those things don't lessen my students. What makes them amazing is the fact that they care, they're grateful to be learning, and they aren't afraid to ask questions. Shoot, sometimes they stump me with their questions. I love that! What smart kids.
Here's the problem. I'm a teacher because I think teenagers are awesome. Somehow they move from little punks into being responsible and thoughtful individuals. And as a high school teacher I get to see that. I get to part of it.
But I also think my friends are awesome. But my students aren't (read: can't be) my friends. It breaks my heart to think about it, but I've witnessed one of my friends blur the line between student and friend and it cost him his job, his family's trust, his law record and his entire career.
I mean, look, I'm on my A-game, OK? And I'm not my friend. And his actions stemmed from a prolonged period of unchecked motivations. But it all began with a love for his students and a desire to be friends. And in some of my students I see friendship potential.
This is where I'm grateful for my father. A vet of teaching high school for over 30 years, he always kept his students at bay . . . until they graduated. The second they walked that stage then the relationship was different. They could call him by his first name and no longer had to worry about school rules. He was known for it. Students waited for four years until they could finally call him "Ben." Sure, they would giggle and feel weird at first, but they cherished that. And he's developed some real friendships with former students because of it.
So I've decided to adopt that for myself as a teacher. Once those students walk across that floor, no more Miss M. We can be friends.
I figure if I take my father's example then there will at least be a few students who will take me up on that. Until then, I'll be their wise, older cousin who can give them quite a few tips about literature.
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