Blessings of today

1. my car started
2. Jane
3. a kind parent who warmed my feelings in the checkout aisle at WalMart
5. a custodian who came looking for me to show off his grandaughter in costume
6. a surprise call from Kristen
7. knowing there's more than tears

on empty

I’ve been freakishly caught up in myself lately, and now, still freakishly caught up in myself, I feel remorseful and empty. I want to go home, hug my mom, visit Sue next door, and spend the night with my grandma. I want to walk Mollie and have a conversation with Mr. Hail, sitting in a lawn chair just inside of his garage. We’ll talk about his daughter and son, his grandkids and garden, and he’ll laugh at and delight in Mollie, sniffing under his truck. I want to forget about me and lose myself in someone else’s life for awhile. I want to sit and listen as someone pours out her life to me. I want to help someone other than myself.

a head He can lift up

I haven't hung around with a whole lot of ex-cons in my life, but I'm usually up for anything I haven't done before (as long as it's a day-thing and not a rearrange my life kind of thing), so I happily went along this morning when my small group teamed up with another small group to clean out the basements and yards of ex-criminal rehabilitation mission houses in the city. Our job was joy. Except for the removal of the toilet tanks that sat on the porches (I have no idea why) and the pungent smell of urine that lingered (don't ask - I have no idea), the tasks were for the most part pleasant in the cool, sunny October morning. Our task was clear: carry every broken appliance out to the dumpster and clean up the place. We did our job well, and there is no satisfaction like the visible evidence of a job well done.

At one point in the morning, though, as I was scoping leaves into a bag, I overheard a regular volunteer at the mission and one of the clients the mission serves talking. I wasn't really paying attention to the conversation until I heard the words out of the former convict's mouth, "Do you really think God could have a purpose for my life?" Direct quote. Exact sentence. A man whose history I don't even know anything except for the fact that he's been in prison for drugs, spoke with a tone of humility and revealed a disbelief ever so scared but ever so desiring to grasp onto hope, "Do you really think God could have a purpose for my life?"

That man finds it amazing, awesome with an emphasis on the awe, that God, the God he's heard about as the caretaker of good little girls and boys, the God of the holy, the devout, the pristinely dressed church-goers, has a purpose for his broken life. That God knows him, loves him, and finds him worthy to become His own child.

I love my God. I love Him. He is so shocking, radical, and offensive to the social contructs of this world that He must either be loved or hated, and I am so glad that He has opened my eyes to love Him. He has chosen to reveal His truth to a broken man, barely out of prison and holding on to his sobriety with a weak will and a prayer, so that this man, this shady-looking fellow, can glorify Him. God does choose rich and successful people to glorify Him, but just as often He chooses the poor, the guilty, the addicted, the mentally ill, the homeless, the parentless, the abandoned, the condemned, the rejected of society to glorify Him. What kind of God would seek those who have little to no credibility as far as society is concerned, to glorify Him? My God does. He'll accept a criminal who bows before Him long before He will accept a good-intentioned charity volunteer who has no use for Him. It's offensive. It's backwards. It angers and confuses me at times. But, sometimes it just leaves me in awe. I'm honored that the broken, convicted man said thank you to me today for raking his yard, and I feel I certain sense of shame that he had no idea what we were talking about when we thanked him. I'm honored that God allowed me to overhear the conversation between him and the volunteer, that God would allow me to experience a piece of His kingdom in that way. And, perhaps more than anything today, I'm honored I'll get to stand by my new ex-convict friend in Heaven someday.

missing you

It's amazing how, when I feel most lonely, writing out a Christmas card list comforts me. I hope someone out there misses me, because I sure miss all of you. And if you are one of those people with whom I exchange warm hellos and comforting words throughout the week as we fly by one another in our busy schedules, I sure miss the time I once had to get to know you better. I miss you too.

Field of Dreams

I caught the end of Field of Dreams last night. Ray had just gotten into a fight with Shoeless Joe Jackson over not being able to follow James Earl Jones to wherever those baseball ghosts spend their time when they're not playing ball. Ray wanted to go, was upset that after he had done all that work he didn't get to, and was feeling cheated and used. And then, there was that moment when Ray saw the catcher take off his mask, and realized that he was looking at his father. "If you build it, he will come. Go the distance. Ease his pain." Ray said, "It was him." Shoeless Joe Jackson looked back, "No Ray, it was you."

I relish those moments in my life. When watching a movie, I only have to wait two hours. In life, it's usually months, if not years, for such a moment. I so much want to do be part of something important and something mysterious - I want to be part of something that I trust and feel connected to yet do not fully understand. And then, despite the desire to be part of something larger than myself, I want to know someone is looking out for me, and that even as I strive in faith and love, someone is being very intentional about guiding events so that my own pain will be eased. The ballfield was as much an instrument of healing for Ray as it was for any of those athletes. And whatever force in that movie whispered for Ray to build and have faith chose Ray for that purpose. I love two-hour movies. I need to keep faith as I live my life, which oddly doesn't swell into a hopeful ochestra score every two hours. I need to remember that even in the midst of the mundane, there is something important going on here - and the way things work in this world are far more mysterious than I even appreciate. And yes, someone is very aware of my needs and hurts, hopes and fears, and is working things out for my own good, even as He touches so many other people around me. Life is not random; there is a plan, there is a score, and it will all work out "for the good of those who love Him."

Doubts

Sometimes I am so proud of myself for moving out on my own. I moved into a community in which I knew no one, lived by myself for the first time ever, found a church all by myself, and have managed to keep a job and pay my bills. Sometimes, though, I wonder what I am doing. I love my job. I love it. But, at the end of the day, I wonder if it is enough. Choose a career you love and you'll never have to work a day in your life; but if your career is all you have, what do you do when you go home at night? This isn't enough. I miss my friends. I miss my family. I work in the best school district in the entire state, but I don't know how long I can do this.

Squeaky

I somehow survived a mouse poking its head out of my shoe as I was about it put it on. Then, yesterday, I made it through the day even though I found two baby mice in the sticky trap behind my desk. Today, though, the mouse took up extreme sports in my classroom, and I am finding this utterly unacceptable. The filthy vermin plunged from a hole in the ceiling, landing within a foot of a student who was giving an informative speech, and transformed what was once a quiet, sleepy after-lunch classroom into chaotic circus of screaming, jumping, and grandstanding. Boys were suddenly chasing the once-airborn rodent around the room, girls were curled up in their seats, and I was standing on top of my chair, telling everyone to stay calm. I'm striving to teach these kids volume, articulation, poise, and eye contact; but I have a feeling the only thing they will remember from today is Squeaky the flying mouse.

Monday

I was not ready for today. I had not finished grading all of the tests and papers as I had hoped, my lesson plans were sketchy at best, I had very limited options as far as clean work clothes go, I overslept, I didn't have time to dry my hair, I had not spent time in prayer or reading the Bible in a couple of days, the house was a mess, I didn't allow time to make my lunch, the hem of my pants fell out, I put on makeup after I got to work instead of before, and then, at the end of first hour, I spotted two live baby mice in the sticky mouse trap in my classroom. I freaked out, went pale, and called maintenance. Once the mice were gone, I was still frightened and jumpy, and I screamed once during class when I saw a fly out of the corner of my eye. I spent most of the morning wanting to cry, I was so shaken up and startled. Then, to make things worse, a student brought in a mounted large-mouth bass as a visual aid for his informative speech, and those fish eyes and gaping mouth penetrated my calm exterior for the rest of the day. I'm going to curl up and pull the covers over my head now, thank you.