An Improver

I know it isn't my right to write about the medical and personal lives of my students, but their life stories are a reminder of the Lord's goodness. One in particular has been dealing with health issues since she was a baby and has in the last few years been dealing with cancer. To be honest I'd lived fairly ignorant of the process of cancer until I met her. Staff meetings revealed that she would again have to go for a check up or that a pain in her side would leave her out for the day. And all I could do was imagine it made the girl really tired all the time, and that's as far as I could understand it. 

I'd never known a person with cancer. Not one this close.

I met her as a freshman. She had long brown hair then. When her mother served on our school board, they'd invited me over for steak. They can grill up a good one. I sat salivating over its peppery, juicy tenderness as she told me about her daughter's heart transplant surgery when my student was a baby. And then we played games and my student eagerly chatted about her best friends.

Despite her medical needs through the years, she remains a bright and energetic student now into her senior year. She was fine for a short time into her sophomore year, and then there was news. She would have to go through treatments. They had found various spots. 

That whole year she continued to finish my sophomore English class, declaring often, I might add, that she was not a lover of reading or writing. I smiled though, because she wasn't (and isn't) the type of student to give up when she dislikes the material. She would turn in various poems and responses and even in the summer we'd email and communicate through her tutor. I'm certain that many students would have pushed all the work away, declared that it demanded too much, especially because the amount of attention on her health was substantial. But every due date I gave her, every requirement, every assignment, every quiz--she was always ready and she didn't complain. Not once. 

She went through another round in her junior year, and by that time she was taking Media with me. We decided it wasn't necessary for her so we didn't continue with it. 

This year she has been in school throughout the semester and things are looking good for next semester. In fact, she just went in for another scan and her mind is at ease because the doctors told her the recent pain in her side was just a cracked rib. (Just a cracked rib!) So when she told me this on Friday, I smiled, because for many a cracked rib would be their hardest medical scare to date. And kids her age just don't deal with those things...not typically. 

But I don't find her peers to be ignorant of her situation. They ask her about things, and she tells them, and they pray for her, because what else can they do? They cannot bear her pain, only witness it and try their best to appreciate their own health. 

Because of her I know how I am blessed by God. If he can take a tiny baby and allow medical professionals the ability to transplant a tiny heart and allow this baby to grow up and to be positive and happy and an improver and confident and funny and to share her life story in a chapel time to a hundred other students...if God can allow bravery to come from a small frame of a young woman, then surely he can know your heart (both physical and figurative!).

Tomorrow she presents her Composition portfolio. She has been working hard all semester, and it makes me proud. I always pray that students will see improvement in their writing, not perfection. And she did. 

"Miss Boman," she said, "I really thought I'd hate this class. I'm just not. I'm just not the writing type. But it was good. I learned to like it." And that made me laugh.

When you have a new or an improved lesson and  through discussion, activities, and essential questions the students are so with you that they don't even realize that good learning is taking place. They lean forward, laugh freely, sit pensively, and look you in the eye, and then you know it's working.

When you finish the last stitch to an infinity scarf or a blanket, and you know that many people can't do it like you. Your friends actually appreciate their crocheted gifts and they say "what talent" and even though it's crocheting, you feel adequate. 

When you look loneliness in the figurative eye, greet it as an old friend, and allow it to sit into your world and take up space; whether it leaves or stays you recognize it and choose never to be distressed by it.

When you pop in an old film and you can mouth every word, but remind yourself to be quiet so you can basque in the actors' inflections. 

When you can see your family members accomplishing great feats; their competences are a mystery because to you these people were more common than buttered toast.

When you sit on a wooden pew to ponder the inestimable sacrifice that Christ made so you could find favor with God; when the wine has washed down the bread and you can feel grace in your heart.

When you entreat yourself to keep pushing one foot in front of the other and reach the top of whatever sand dune, hill, or mountain you're climbing and you laugh because its so wild and you're one of a few who are hanging out there and seeing the wildflowers and letting your hair be whipped by the wind.

When you realize after reading something that you're smiling like a dork. When you read a naughty section of a novel while you're in public and try your best not to laugh or show emotion.

When your friends really talk to you.

When your friends crudely joke with you.

When you feel more content to be chubby and functioning than skinny and sick.

When you and your little brother laugh; much ado about nothing.

When your grandma takes you camping and tells you all her stories about being a little girl and hiding in the portapoties to wait while bears left their campsite; when you can see her eyes become distant while her mind rushes back to meet the past.

When you and your friends sit for hours in coffee shops and write on napkins life goals and attempt to woo the waiter only to find out he's happily dating someone and they make a really cute couple anyway.

When you watch people talk passionately about literature and you do everything you can not to interrupt them and talk about your own favorites.

When you feel like you dressed hipster enough to be part of a band.

When you want to sleep but can't because all your thoughts stayed quiet until bedtime and they have to be heard right NOW, and you think, "My word. I should be paid for how productive my mind is being."

When your niece laughs and says your weird first name clear as day and then wants to play. 

When your brother-in-law becomes as good a friend as your own family. When your brother-in-law's family becomes just as close. 

When your favorite dog wiggles his butt because you walked in the door.

When you're grading and instead of writing "Doctors assess" your student writes "Doctors asses" in the middle of a very serious essay.

When you're traveling through the night and you can see the red sunrise peak over the mountain tops.

When you sit and let Mom rub your back. 

When you realize that your childhood stories are totally bankable. 

When you're told you sort of resemble Emma Stone from a certain angle and you kind of act like her, too. 

When you've written something you like.

Searching for Elna

God really spared me from ever publishing something juicy and autobiographical about my late teens and early twenties. Thank goodness I didn't, but Elna Baker did, and I really wish she'd publish something again. She wrote The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance, published a couple follow up articles, and then vanished. I've recently discovered her on Vine, but that doesn't give me much information...just that she has a dog and a boyfriend now and maybe travels? I can't tell. Now that I'm through nearly all the ages she wrote about, I find myself yearning to know more about how she went on. How does one plunge through this life? Maybe she found out that time spent with others matters more than time spent writing about them. 

Leaders

Americans should broaden their view of leadership.

I have hesitated to publish this post because in affirming the great works that women can do, I may exclude the great works that many men are doing. I do not wish this post to be viewed negatively toward men. I have known many to be strong, faithful, and God-honoring. And I understand that as history would have it and as many cultures would have it, the books tell us that men have been chosen as leaders predominantly. I believe that in many cases, history needed men to serve in the instances they did. 

But times are changing, and as America's history has proven, we fear the unknown. We don't bend that well as a unit. And we can do better. The unknown in this case is wondering what the world would look like if our political leaders comprised more balanced numbers of women and men. Unthinkable maybe because we've never seen it. 

I think America needs to consider qualified persons for a job rather than only qualified white males (a very low percentage of all qualified).

Perhaps the people who fear change think, "It's just not the way we know the culture around us to be." That's a silly way to think. If everyone accepted only the world around them as fact and lived on that way, then Jesus' words, death, and resurrection would have no merit (I could go on about many great innovators). 

In 2009 I worked on a college service team over Spring Break in Inez, Kentucky. After a day of painting, dry walling, and talking with the locals, my group sat around the dinner table. Someone asked the girls, "On a scale of one to ten, how much do you enjoy being a girl." What I heard shocked me. One by one, my female peers said twos, threes, and fours, and when it got to me, I said, "eight" and added "It's not easy at times, but definitely an eight." Sara, a friend of two years, piped in. "Yeah. I cange my answer. Nine. Eight or nine." 

The guys all said it would be a one or two, if they were female. Why is it not seen positively to be female in this country?

I think the group agreed that the numbers were so low because of the negative portrayal that women have had in the media. America's obsession with sex makes it inconsequential to objectify a woman. By pure physicality a woman is generally weaker, and a man is stronger. The problem is not in having biological differences. The problem is in how women and men have believed bent notions that women are weaker other areas, too. 

Many people blame the media for this view of women. Documentaries such as Killing us Softly or Miss Representation thrust a series of images around. Women in provocative clothing and advertisements. Women who are skinny and women who appear less than the man, essentially. In Miss Representation, images in the opening montage flash between these and then to women who have made great strides for our country - Susan B. Anthony, Coretta Scott King, and so on. To guess how correct the producers were, I opened to the first page of my InStyle magazine to see this:

So I agree mostly. If this is the standard for a woman's value, then women might as well leave their intellect and preset of skills to the wayside. It's a magazine for women. Men don't typically read it. So the belief is that women vie for this image, too; it is not just the pressures that men put on women. In any case, through media, women hear that they must be desirable. And I'd be lying to say I didn't believe it, too. People want to be desirable. The danger is that both men and women buy into this belief. 

Media are the easy targets.  

That's one reason women don't have as many opportunities in leadership as men, but not the only one. We have a very serious heart issue that tells us it's okay to diminish the value of our neighbor by miss representing them, and for decades and centuries this notion has begun wars, has started holocausts, has made people fear their neighbor, and wrapped up in misinterpretations, chauvenism, and media influences, we have developed a belief that women are as important as the flawlessness of their skin, among a host of other misconceptions. 

I want to blame media because it seems like the easy out. But I think we have to first look at the state of our own hearts. If we did, then maybe our media wouldn't plague our perceptions so much. Maybe then women (and men) could be objectified less. Maybe a woman's role could have a broader definition, as could a man's. 

I do not aim to equalize men and women. I would be comparing apples and oranges, and it would be fruitless to do so (pun intended). Rather, I intend to say that both can fulfill certain duties in this world, and it would be a shame if the person most fit to lead our nation out of economic struggles were not elected becasue of her gender. 

My gift is not in leading but in teaching. I'm glad the patriarchs of our country considered that okay, you know, since Aristotle's teacher Plato was male. I know of a number of decent men and women who could run for public office, and if I penciled them down, the numbers would probably be similar. 

As a Christian and a woman and an English speaker, I have learned that there is a lot at stake in pronouns, but I think it's okay to end this post like this:

If a woman's gift is serving, let her serve, if it is teaching, let her teach; if it is encouraging, let her encourage; if it is contributing to the needs of others, let her do so generously. If it is leadership, let her govern diligently. If it is showing mercy, let her do it cheerfully. 

Roller Rinks

I feel like if you've been keeping up with my blog for this long, then you deserve to know about something. 

In college, sophomore year, a number of my friends decided it would be fun to roller skate in Sheldon at a little roller rink that doubled as a pizza place. About twenty minutes away from Dordt, it was close entertainment. The dress, they said, would be eighties sweat wear.

I wore gray leggings, a short one dollar skirt I bought at a thrift store, floppy pink socks, and an off-the-shoulder top, my hair in a side pony. 

Once there we ate pizza. Tiny hands from tiny children reached swiftly onto the buffet table and grabbed the cheesiest slices. It didn't take long for us to realize that there was an age gap in the skaters from 10 to 19, we of course being the older crowd. Kids weaved in and out, no fear, between me and my friends while we tried to retain body memory and keep our balance, the disco light swirling in all directions on the wooden floor. 

From time to time I took a break, but when they called age groups on the floor to do the limbo, I glided out, having secured my balance, finally, and felt confident enough to do this. The 19-year-old crowd got placed with the 10 and 11 crowd, so it was going to be a tough battle. 

 

One by one we reached over, grabbed our ankles, and avoided the bar. On the third time through I shifted my knees inward, head tucked, butt out, and that's when I heard it. My skirt was ripping off my body as I moved. Fully aware this was what it was, I toppled, sitting, other limboers avoiding me frantically. I felt my behind and a flap from my skirt--my one dollar skirt--hanging by its seams from my waist. Standing up, back mostly away the crowd, I attempted the best possible back skate off the rink. Okay, you know how to do this. Push both legs out and squeeze them back in. Do it. But it had been a while, so I scooted sideways. 

My friends still a bit unsure as to why I had removed myself but fully aware that 11-year-old boys and girls had bent over laughing, discovered the predicament quickly when they met me in the dark corner where I stood. Somebody gave me her sweatshirt to hug around my hips like we did in the nineties. 

If I ever have a child, I'm going to tell him or her that the world is unfair, and that this lesson can most effectively be learned on a roller skating rink. At this moment, for I would like to think my son or daughter enjoys talking to me, we will discuss protocol for roller skating rink parties, and I will help boy or girl conclude that the only way to look good out on the rink is to practice on one's own time in the driveway and to get friends to lower a broomstick and to double check their intended attire with me so that, at least for one night, he or she will have no real story to tell. 

The skating rink girls. What a fun group. 

This was a different night.

The Fall

The Fall

She cannot say it

They met - she saw - he might've been real

In moments she stroked his cheek

Wrapped presents with bows

Told him thoughts and waited for his

That never came

Alone alone alone she was

In his company

The fingers that scribbled those cards

To her for her 

But he never with her

Wouldn't kiss her

Just a prize, her

Three years time, her

Twenties gone and gone, her

And in them never loved her

And here she's 

Colored in the fall, 

And sad,

But fine

And fine.

Social

I realize that "Characters I Love Part 2" never made it on this blog. Actually, not many of my thoughts have made it here. I've been Tweeting - a faster form of documenting one's self. I've been checking up on the immature but hilarious 7 second clips of Vine. And now there's Instagram, which I've pinned to posting only on Sundays.

My favorite character Ron Swanson would hate my Internet behavior these days, because I'm looking more like a Tom Haverford.

I like the controlled audiences of my Instagram, Twitter, and Vine. I can create with limited viewership. To all people I don't have to be all one thing, which is how we are in our daily lives. I'd rather not tell the details of my Saturday excursions to my students, and by confidentiality I need to keep the brunt of school matters off the grid.

A blog, on the other hand, some like to visit...maybe not as much as they like these other forms. It's like watching the movie versus reading the book. A tweet allows readers to fill in gaps of the story on their own. They believe tweets based on what is typical of the person tweeting, and then they can still have time to read twenty others in only a minute. But a blog requires a bit more work (if it can be called work?) and that people take time. 

I should maybe slow down or at least revisit the blog more, but I'm not sure that giving all social media up is the answer to fixing our broken selves. It seems like when people give it all up, they're attempting some self-actualizing regimen. I guess it makes sense. If what's poisoning you is this multifaceted scope into the lives of your neighbors and it's causing jealousy or deeper longings to emulate their expensive vacations or recreate the styles they have Pinned, then maybe it's best to do away with the poison altogether. But I have a feeling that people like the poison too much to stop.

Why it can be poison: the short bursts of information catalog themselves into our brain quickly, be they amusing or enlightening or shocking, and we can bring this wit up later and entertain our friends. (Basically what people did in Twain's time when they read his epigrams). We don't have to spend much time on it, which we like, because reading and making connections is difficult, and maybe we're so "strapped for time" that if any one item takes up too much of it then we feel as if we're missing out. Perhaps the danger for me is in believing I'm only spending tiny moments in the day viewing one piece, but soon a series of pieces devour time. When that happens, it is time to step back.

It is always smart to assess what you have been creating with the social medium. Products of our work affirm us. We feel meaningful because of it, because others can see it.

I once wrote a blog about my Facebook posts through the year and then explained them more in depth. (Now tell me how narcissistic you can get.) I felt affirmed by that, probably, because it was a way to document my life. I think why people are so fascinated by Facebook or other forms is because their scrapbooks interact and no longer sit on a dusty shelf for wallflowers at a party to page through... I don't know; I'm getting lost in my analogy here, because wallflowers also apply to the Facebook world, but I digress. When the cover image is what becomes the obsession, then the inside is left empty. We have to be careful. Our profile pictures are nice, but we make so many uglier faces in the day. Remember that for other people, too. Jealousy stems from neglecting to see that all people are broken, and instead we focus on the parts of their lives that appear better than our own. 

And now that I have spent time writing this morning instead of scrolling through Pinterest, I'm going to post this link to Facebook, check the numbers of people who clicked the link by the end of the day, and probably go on believing that any of it was no real danger.

Characters I love, part 1

Lady Sybil Crawley  from Downton Abbey

Right from the get-go, Lady Sybil is a fierce young woman. Fierce as in she has ambitions to see the world change, which is not the character that a young woman of standing ought to have had early in the 20th century. Her family intend to marry their daughters to upstanding men, mostly because the estate is in jeopardy, but she pays little attention to that and instead immerses herself in global issues. The first of those issues is women's suffrage. She stands at rallies, trains in her cooks' kitchen, and learns to nurse wounded veterans. She maybe thinks too little about what her ambitions do to her family, but all-in-all they learn to look at issues beyond themselves, and they learn to love a new in-law with different political and religious beliefs. Thanks to Lady Sybil, her sisters Lady Edith and Lady Mary Crawley don't look very lady-like at all.

Doug

A middle school (high school?) kid who pays attention to his conscience and is sensitive to the needs of others, Doug is the kind of guy who is much more appealing than how he views himself. He is selfless, surrounds himself with funny and light-hearted friends like Skeeter, and pays a little too much attention to fellow nice girl Patty Mayonaise. Though people like BeBee and Roger Klutz often poke fun of him, he generally remains level-headed and combats ridicule with a cool demeanor. The social world of middle school is tough, but rest assured, Doug Funny, guys like you have a future full of people that appreciate you.

Michael Bluth from Arrested Development

With no shortage of mistakes of his own, Michael must also bear the weight of his chaotic family. His narcissistic mother rarely shows affection except for momma's boy Buster; his sister is married to a man presumed to be gay (and so the marriage is a paradox, you see) and who has no career direction or realistic perspective of his acting skills (their daughter Maeby somehow grew up intelligent and street smart); his father is a conman; his other brother Gob is a magician and incapable of taking on the family business. Nobody else is able to handle the family business, in fact, except for Michael, who mostly just feels he should keep his family relations close. His optimism is appealing, though the characters of his life will always stress him out.

Sully from Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman

He is very good looking. I mean if seven-year-old kids like me could pick that out, then...it is unlawful to be so handsome. Literally.

Hannah Horvath from Girls

She also appears on my annoying characters list for being selfish on top of a host of other negative characteristics. But I love her as well, not because she has the best of personalities, but because she doesn't, and that reminds me of me, and my friends, and other twenty-somethings I know. There's a bit of a lost nature to us and a need to ask questions we expect to be answered simply but know cannot. She is creative, however, and doesn't think before she does something atrocious...and yes I mean atrocious....but does contemplate it afterward. She voices opinions and always remains honest. I feel that honesty in these years is important because if you're always trying to look the part of whatever profession or position you're in, you may not quite feel like yourself, which is the crisis of fellow character Marnie Michaels. 

Also, nothing is glorified. And the main character seems sloppy. But, yeah, I can be, too. Like how I traipsed around my apartment in underwear for three hours this morning because I just. didn't want. to get dressed. 

Characters That Annoy Me

I must admit, if these were real people (except for Chris Harrison) I'd be less harsh. But we all have those shows we love counterbalanced with characters we love to hate. 

Dawson Leery from Dawson's Creek

It's a shame that James Vander Beek's latest role, where he plays a spoof of himself to thwart his reputation as Dawson Leery, was zapped along with the show Don't Trust the B in Apartment 23. Now it looks as though the melodramatic, uptight, sappy Dawson will stigmatize his actor forever. Dawson makes, creates, and critiques films; because of this immersion he perpetually overanalyzes insignificant events, hides from more important duties, and often leaves his friends to make sense of the world for him.

 

Andie McDowel

Also from Dawson's Creek, she appears in the second season as an also uptight, driven, bib-wearing eventual love interest of Pacey Witter. Her grades are immaculate, and she seems to be well-liked by those around her (I can't figure out why), but when she starts showing signs of severe depression, she behaves maniacally, forcing Pacey and others to piece her back together. It is not her issues that make this character bothersome to me. In fact through her situation Pacey proves himself to be dependable--he appears on my most loved characters list--but she is terribly selfish, before and after she receives abundant help. Also, I could do without her fake grin and those bibs. 

Roger from Doug

He was insecure himself. Every kid in town knew that, or at least that's what they learned from their moms, but they still had to deal with his torments, his name-calling, and his green skin and orange hair. He reminded me of my own bullies, always aiming for weak spots; for Doug, it was always about his love for Patty. The foremost reason why Roger bothers me, however, is his laugh, probably because my twin bullies with side pony tails cackled just like him. 

CeCe from New Girl

She is the tall model best friend of Jess Day. She contrasts Jess's quirkiness, and she is more grounded than other characters, or seems to be, what with the eye-rolling and such, but I find her to be rude. She falls in lust with Schmidt and soon it becomes, sans her admittance, real love but she dumps him to live a conventional Indian life, as if baring her skin modeling led us to believe she would do such a thing. In the meantime Schmidt has to learn to move on, and begins dating an old friend. What bothers me most is that CeCe calls off her wedding plans and immediately expects Schmidt to dump his fun girlfriend and be with her. How conceited. Likewise, she uses Jess as a buffer. CeCe seems more put-together in light of Jess and is constantly reminding her of the status quo while Jess remains loyal, even at the cost of her own life goals (refer to CeCe's wedding episode). Maybe the characters in her world sometimes deserve to be given reality checks, but if she doesn't like their behaviors so much then she needs to find new friends and learn to be less rude.

Hannah Horvath from Girls

I've read many reviews of Lena Dunham's HBO series because the fresh-out-of-college-and-aimlessly-searching thing really hit home. It is a time when twenty-somethings are trying to grow into adulthood behaviorally, relationally, spiritually, financially, etc, and they don't generally do a very good job of it. Hannah Horvath embodies this type to the nth degree. She is careless, impressionable, and selfish. She rarely picks the better of any two decisions. 

But I'll soon tell you why she is also on my list of favorites.

Pam from the 7th and 8th seasons of The Office

Again, another selfish character. In these later seasons Jim builds a company, because of which he must travel to Philadelphia and spend part of his time away from Pam. It is a big professional improvement from working in sales at the Scranton branch of Dunder-Mifflin Paper Co. There, he was content but not challenged or happy. Pam, without her full consent, lets Jim work on this new company. Their marriage falters, Pam feels lonely, and so Jim comes home and turns down bigger opportunities in Philly to support her and their children. Pam is happy at Dunder-Mifflin and in Scranton, and it isn't until a long time later that she finally allows Jim to have his dream. 

Pam can't see beyond her unhappiness or that Jim has talents that exceed the mundane office life that led him to use his creative energies playing tricks on Dwight instead. Did she think they would all be 60 and doing that very same thing? Things change, Pam.

Stephanie, Michelle, and Danny Tanner from Full House

Danny Tanner raised brats, and Stephanie and Michelle Tanner are proof. Michelle meddles in her big sisters' business constantly, makes excuses for herself, and father Danny rarely has a reprimand for her behavior. Stephanie lies perpetually, mostly to compete with her big sister DJ. Her middle child syndrome surpasses even mine. 

Chris Harrison from The Bachelor and Bachelor Pad

His most noted line is, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the last rose of the night." As if we can't count, Chris. He only reinforces the contenstants and never gives real advice. "Whatever the circumstance, you gotta do what's right." Duh, Chris. "Look, we've spent some time together, and I know that you're here to find love...".

If I were hosting the show, I would antagonize the contestants a little more, maybe give them a smaller budget for dates, like $15, introduce other bachelors and bachelorettes that have nothing to do with the original casting, introduce family members sooner, hold the show in the dead of winter, take away the tanning beds, make the bachelor spend money on the ring from his own pocket (then we'd see how serious he was), have contestants attend church together and raise their own money to go to the Bahamas and Switzerland. Other than all of that, I'd stay the heck out of the bachelor/ette's business and make them choose for themselves like real people do. 

Big Bird from Sesame Street

Seriously, talk about the puppet that gets the most air time and doesn't deserve it. It was this big guy (girl?) and his skinny ankles and rotund tummy that led me to start questioning how valid these animals were. I couldn't figure out what he was--maybe a grown-up chick that never developed into a chicken but instead had a case of giantism? And how were the real people on set okay with this? Was it an adult thing not to question these important matters? I don't know. He had a way of talking down to kids like me, too, like we couldn't learn our ABCs without his high-pitched voice and association words. With him, every situation became a proverb. I never felt fully safe in the hands of his teaching skills or the way he sang and danced, and he led me to believe that you could get to China through a drainage hole. You can't, Big Bird. You just can't. 

Characters I love, coming soon. 

"I now walk into the wild"

At twenty the idea of wandering intrigued me. That was the year Into the Wild came out in theaters and that I read John Krakaur's book. That summer I worked at a camp in Alaska, probably to feel what it was like to get away, which is what Chris McCandless did. Scenes of golden skies in South Dakota and Montana, the red dirt of New Mexico, and the vastness of Alaska lured me in. I was hooked and felt reinforced that the conclusion of my life would not be an image of me at twenty-five and married with a child on the way; rather, it would be that I would keep discovering places and the people those places held. That notion is scattered all over the early parts of this blog. I'd be a fool not to point it out.

When you're 20 and a Romantic (unknowingly) a film like Into the Wild reinforces your ideals. It did for me. I saw beauty in vast open lands. Beauty in truth. Beauty in raging waters and de-cinching yourself from society, which McCandless proclaims is evil. Set in 1990 with a soundtrack from Pearl Jam's lead singer Eddie Vedder, the story intrigued me. Grunge corresponded with teenage angst and rebellion. I wished to embody those ideals. For many Christian Reformed folks, it would be a sin to revere these people. But I agreed with McCandless. I wanted not to be bothered by bills or by my need to be noticed or by hating inadequacies in people who were supposed to teach you well in life and to provide a little wisdom. Like McCandless, I wanted to be free of the rat race, the failing economy Americans so readily believe is their foundation.

But I think I lied to myself a little. McCandless renames himself to Alexander Supertramp to strip himself of all connections. He burns his money and leaves his car in the desert and intends to cut ties with his parents forever and to cut ties with his beloved sister. He may have had reasons for leaving society - fine - but to leave his sister, that is very sad to me.

Maybe I can say it is sad now because after my travels to Alaska and New Mexico and after seeing life on my own terms, I moved in with my sister and her husband for a spring and a summer. Kearsen and I laughed about our kid stories, and Josh became a friend who understood my kind of humor and had a humor of his own. We took their dogs out on walks together, we cooked, we garage saled, we sat out on their deck, all of us adults and able to talk about the past and our perceptions of it. By the time I left them I had just turned twenty-three, and my whole family chipped in and bought me a bookshelf. I thanked them all, but probably not as well as I should have.

There is a world of difference in two years for some people. Twenty might as well be twelve, and twenty-three might as well be eighty (well maybe for some...not for others). My point is, I knew I wanted to keep travelling, but I could never - ever - say goodbye for good to people I really loved. That would be callous.

The love Kearsen and Josh showed me, though they may not know it, changed me. One other event cemented this notion. That summer, my family lost our cousin Brandon to a storm in the Tetons. I don't deserve to recount his memory because others knew him more intricately than I, but I'll never forget Uncle Bob telling us in his own way not to disconnect, to "tell [our] parents [we] love the Lord." To see his family mourn and to see them comfort another of our families after their son Josh passed away, that makes a McCandless-type decision unfathomable.

I am embedded in a culture of young people, many of whom glorify getting away. I see high school students question authority because it is their time to do so, only to realize adulthood a few short years later. The point is that they will get to realize it, because they have chosen to let their lives continue and to cope with more simple answers to some of life's hardest questions. They will become another version of generations before them, which is not something to dismay, I keep reminding myself.

I once considered McCandless brave to become a "leather tramp" because he proclaimed that "Jack London is king." He quoted authors that most high school peers and 90% of college peers wouldn't care to consider.  For me there is so much appeal in that, in investing time into the lives of people who have felt more deeply and who have the intellect and education to communicate what they're feeling. There is appeal in taking their words as your own because these authors want you to, but that is another post for another day.

McCandless thoughtfulness appeals to me, but I do not wish to separate myself.  Christ already suffered the greatest loneliness one could ever feel. Choosing that loneliness it is not even something I would request. And I can't believe McCandless did. Or maybe he didn't. He fantasized it, but wasn't truly persuaded, and by testing the limits he ended up in a place he didn't really intend to be. He died out in the wild.

His story reveals two conclusions. One, that societal immersion is inevitable but comes with unrecognized evil. Two, that definite departure might also be evil. McCandless was so distraught by the workaholic lives of his parents that he sought another extreme.

I love this story because it has led me to this: my life is not my own. I belong body and soul, in life and in death, to my faithful savior Jesus Christ. And secondly I belong to my neighbor. Either way, I am not my own.


To read the 1992 article from People magazine, follow this link: http://www.people.com/people/archive/article/0,,20108737,00.html

All those things

I'm proud of my new apartment. I'm also proud of my Internet now. And my car. And my job. And my cell phone. And all the furnishings that make up the atmosphere for the life I'm in.

I know that biblically speaking, pride is not something we're supposed to place high on our list. But I am proud of it. I'm proud of a God who provides physically.

It's an outer layer and maybe shallow, but I'm happy to use all these things. And I'm happy that I have been given responsibility for them.

Yes.

I am blessed.

Housing Decisions

Last night I told Jim and Cherie that I was searching for apartments and that I looked at one earlier in the day and mostly liked it. It will be a fund-stretcher, though.

Me: Yeah, so I was looking in the listings and saw this one and the price so I thought I'd check on it.
Cherie: My fried once rented a trailer. It was like $500 a month.
Me: Oh really? [considers for a moment]
       Well, they did have a listing for a trailer to rent for $450 in the paper.
Jim and Cherie: No.

And then I apologized. There's something embedded in my brain that makes me think it's fine to live in a trailer. After three years of being taught some class via Jim and Cherie, maybe I haven't changed. Maybe I'm still that same girl who took one step in this house and looked around and said, "Hot dang!"

But I suppose they have my best interest in mind, one that doesn't permit me to live too close to sex offenders.

Changes

Change is coming. I can feel it. It's the difference between getting a good night's rest or letting my mind take over.
1. Jim and Cherie are moving south. :( I'm sad to see them go, but they deserve to be near their family and to be happy with them.
2. Andrew and Heidi are going to have a baby soon. I don't want to admit that things with them will change, but they will. A very good change, though. They are going to be excellent parents, and that baby will be blessed to carry on qualities that are very rare among people today.
3. I'm moving, too. Apartment searching has me realizing that my budget will be stretched thin.
4. James and Tera are getting married, and that will be an exciting change.
5. I am looking at grad schools.
6. My sophomores are going to graduate soon and my freshmen will be seniors.
7. A couple friends are getting into more serious relationships.
8. School stuff is constantly changing, but there are some bigger changes happening this year. Merger potential, accreditation...
9. There has been a definite switch from TV to shows broadcast on-line that I've been consuming.
10. And one that I'm very excited about...Beth and Jacob are moving back to the US! I don't care where they move (but can I say that it would be nice if they were in my part of the country?). It'll just be nice to text her again.
11. I'm going to hike in Indiana this summer. That's a change, because I'm excited about hiking in Indiana this summer. Remember, it's not about what you do. It's about who you're with ;)

Happy changes to you all.

Note to self

Not all of my opinions need to be heard. If someone else with actual life experience says something different from my preconceived ideas, I could stand to listen instead of speak.

Note to self.

Blogging Success

You should read AprilMary's blog. She is a student of mine and a blogging success:
http://aprilmary22.blogspot.com/

She writes about her family - their dialogue is so funny - and about school and her friends and what inspires her or makes her upset.

I love it.

5k

Today I ran a 5K.

Sort of. It was the Knights 5K, the first our school has ever hosted, and it got a surprising amount of participants. I signed up for it a while ago, believing it would motivate me to get in shape after taking a self-extended break from volleyball season. I knew I was out of shape because at volleyball open gyms one night a week, running for my loose volleyball was difficult, and I had to catch my breath before spiking it again - sad. Just sad.

"I'll run over break" (last week) is what I said to myself. It didn't happen. I've been eating like a horse ever since my body started absorbing the food like it's supposed to. I hadn't been feeling that well for a while, so exercising seemed nearly out of the question. I could barely go to work.

Sob story aside, I finally began feeling better a couple months ago, but was still in this "I don't feel that well" pattern of living. Don't ask me how. It just happened. Anyway, this 5K needed to happen, and I needed to participate, so I asked Tera if she wanted to do it, and she asked her dad, and a couple days ago, we both agreed that the running part of the 5K might be a little rough.

"I'm going to walk a little."

"I think I'm going to walk a lot."

"That's fine."

Yeah, okay, so it was agreed upon then. Tera and I would run just a little and walk a lot. No big deal. This was the sort of thing I could wake up 10 minutes before to do. It would require a little extra exerted effort than the 4 miles I walked about 5 days ago, but that was fine. Surely there would be a couple older people behind us and a good amount of housewife walkers, too.

This morning I stood just off to the side of the dining room at the school while Tera and her dad went through a series of more professional stretches. So I stretched my calves and my quads a little, not really believing I'd run that much.

"They clear the signs or you have to get picked up by a squad car after 45 minutes, so you know," someone had said.

That's 15 minutes per mile. Oh yeah. I've got this. I'm a pretty good fast walker.

In the cold we walked. It was pretty breezy this morning. They played music. We had our numbers on, Tera and her dad put their iPod earbuds in, and I jumped a little like I saw some of the other runners doing, and then I got a little nervous.

It had just hit me: a 5K is a race, not a stroll.

And I hadn't run in about 4 months, much less done much rigorous walking.

So when the fog horn went off, I paced myself by Tera's dad until I had to tie my shoes, which had to be done 2 other times. The third time I tied and double-knotted them, a guy with his kid in the stroller passed me and Tera had been done with walking and had begun running more now.

I had perfectly planned to (excuse my language) half ass this race.

Tera wasn't half assing it like she'd agreed. She was working toward whole-assing. So I picked up my pace, too, even though my deceptively tall and more slender body hadn't been through it in a while. Vince Vaugn once said, "I'm the flabbiest thin person" and I totally understand what he means.

My students cheered at water stations, and I sped a little to pass them, but stopped to walk until there was a hill that would kick start my ambling jog to Ks 3 and 4.

I at least decided that I should leave the baby stroller guy behind as well as the fast-walking woman about my age. She was very good at fast walking. So I passed her and slowly crept back up to Tera, who began to whole-ass this 5K again.

And then the end came, way too long after the part in the last stretch when I told my self that, yes, people can see me, and in front of large crowds I would not walk, so I would just keep it up until it was done. I heard a couple students yell out good work and some other people say it, too, and then I realized that some real racers were at this 5K, but I wasn't one and neither was the really good fast walker or the moms that were walking almost just in front of the squad car. And maybe without the stroller that guy would have been a racer, but really it was just more about completing it.

I'm not really a runner, but I could probably do better. In fact, it was an exciting first 5K experience, and I learned that next time, and there will be one, I'll be in better shape for it.

Note: don't sign up for a RACE if you're not planning on racing. Or do, because it might motivate you to step it up a little, especially if your body is healthy and you are capable.

Wait for the Lord

Wait for the Lord. Be strong and take heart and wait for the Lord.

That's the verse on my mind this morning. I don't plan my future very thoroughly, though I probably should be a little more mindful of it, but when I do and those goals seems like a long time coming, this verse always takes me back and resets perspective.

More importantly, it assures me that a day will come where every knee will bow to Christ and that in the time until then, I shouldn't be wasteful with it. Grade papers, walk hallways, call family, write, heed relationships, shop at the store all with heart because it works for a greater purpose.

Time is invaluable.

An Easter Prayer

Easter 2013

A prayer

Lord, focus my heart and help me to reflect on your Grace, not just just by cultural protocol but by sincerity. It was I who nailed you to the tree. It was I who hated you, who so quickly cried out "Hosanna!" when you were comfortable to me and shining and clothed in white and when everyone else was cheering, too. But it was also I who turned you in and denied you in a quest to save my own neck. You were scorned physically by the world and by me and separated spritually by your father, encountering wrath that I'll never know.

You know what injustice is.

I scorn you in the times when I think that certain choices have no bearing on me. I scorn you when I mock my neighbor. I scorn you when I try to amplify my ego. I scorn you in trying to be known when all the people of this world really need to see is you. These disastrous qualities alone would be enough to turn anyone else away.

Today, though, we remember that you rise. You bore hell, a complete separation from God, and yet you rise.

So I'm going to wear white and maybe a little blue, and I'm going to go on with my simple life eating cadburry eggs and then ham for dinner. Maybe I'll go for a walk, too, or more likely play a few games on my iPad.

But today and in the days following I want to reflect on your Grace. It is all-encompassing. And if it wasn't enough, Lord, like you say to David, you would have given even more. I deserve misery, but you have given me Grace, and for that my petty words are few, but my heart is yours.

Amen.

Sister

By now I hope I have clarified that I miss my sister.

Sometimes I wonder what I was thinking deciding to move away from her and her family. She has been a constant friend, one in whom I can confide, and I could search for a many years and not find the love and respect that we have shown each other.

She is a forever friend.

Here I come, sister. Thanks for preparing me a room :)

Teens and twenty-something's, just curious

What is going to happen when your kids someday become even more savvy than you at using the Internet, and discover that you had 1000+ tweets and were highly followed

What is going to happen when they figure out your Facebook password because you haven't changed it in 19 years and use the same password for everything else too...and then they search your inbox and discover tell-all messages you sent to your college friends during Spring Break 2013

What is going to happen when they realize that through Yahoo you were  andymuffin09 and trolled hundreds of other commenters and YouTube videos

What is going to happen when they scroll so far back in your Instagram that they can't unsee photos of their dad with a fohawk making out with their mom who wore too much eye shadow and headbands only to discover about 100 pictures further back that he was doing this very same thing with the girlfriend before Mom

What stink-eye face will they make when they uncover hundreds of duck face and selfies

What will be their reaction when they see 81 likes and 15 comments about the first time they went potty

What are they going to say when they discover your blog

And how will your parental authority override their abundance of knowledge about you?

Just curious.

Baby Kitty

I am house sitting. They have a cat. When he was younger he used to attack my legs with his teeth as a result of having been declawed.

The cat has since grown up. He's more interested in treats and going outside and being let in the exact second he meows at the door. Just like his owners do, I pet him while he eats. I fill his bowl with water and let him rub up against me as I walk. He no longer darts through the halls at my legs, and that has made the experience more fun.

It seems like there's still something I can't trust about him, though. It's not that his fur is clumping up or that his meow is louder. It isn't anything really. There is no proof. I jump a little when I see him coming around he hall. That's it.

Well, that and this. At 5am he pawed thoroughly at the door. He'll go away, I thought, but he didn't. He's a cat. He can't open doors. It was at this thought that the door creeeeeeeked open and very soon his booming meow came from on top of me, and his grey-orange eyes flickered in the sunrise.

Tuesdays with Blogger

I couldn't imagine not having my job.

I wonder too much who I would be if teaching hadn't consumed the pores of my life for the past two and a half years. I think that's how we think about our lives. We attempt to compare it to something that could have been. And from that comparison we make assumptions about this parallel reality.

By cause and effect, if I didn't have this job, there would have been consequences. Say that my interview for CCHS didn't go that well, and I was turned away. I would have continued working at Casey's gas station making donuts and picking up volunteer opportunities at the library to build my resume a little. From there, I'm not sure. Maybe I would have substitute taught at PH middle school until I got my foot in the door.

Maybe.

And maybe at 25 in this parallel, would-be story, the state of my heart would be similar.
Maybe I would have learned to listen carefully to people before butting in with my own ideas. Maybe my teaching methods would still be the same. Maybe I would have had students in similar situations, or I would have worked with administration all the same or developed a similar fondness for my place of work.

I don't know.

What I do know is that the wouldbes and the whatifs matter only so far as your imagination says it's okay to go. We can always dream that contentment is better in another place or another time, but that is not true. I value imagination, and in fact I stress myself more over what-if situations than I do over real ones, and daily I let waves of my brain take me other places altogether, but I am where I am for a reason.

I couldn't have dreamed a better discussion about film manipulation with my Media class today. I couldn't concoct students so complex as these ones, whose stories have intersected since they were in kindergarten. My whatifs and couldhavebeens couldn't hypothesize how addictive it is to know that the mind of a student has been opened by what it is you're discussing.

There are few moments similar to remaining in the heart of discussion that you barely even hear the class bell ring.

Those moments are perfect.

The other day I read about Jonah and how he ran away from God's will, which was to deliver a message to the Ninevites. He ran and people warned him pretty seriously that it was not good to ignore God's call. They tossed him to sea and there he was placed in the belly of the whale to reflect on his duty.

I couldn't help but trace my steps back. I look at purpose and realize that I've been called to it this whole time. I cannot deny being a child of the Covenant. Attending Sunday school as a child, going to GEMS, receiving my first New Testament, doing youth group, missions trips, talking with friends about what it all means, choosing Dordt and New Mexico and SF and now DeMotte, I can't help it. God has been calling me this whole time. I have nominally professed my Christianity, which is great. It's wonderful actually. Please tell your family you love the Lord. But please, don't let these phases roll by unnoticed and unevaluated.

I remember Sunday school so well because I was taught to say "This is the day that the Lord has made" meaning that God made even the sun, and the sun was far bigger than me, and that "I will rejoice and be glad in it" meaning exactly what it says.

I remember GEMS because it was the first time I realize that there were adults other than the ones in my family who cared about my spiritual development. I remember youth group, because before that I didn't know what it was to study the Bible, and before those bus ride discussions with friends I didn't know what it meant to apply the scriptures to life. Before Dordt, I didn't understand doctrine and calling and how invaluable friendship is, and before service trips I didn't know what it was to humble myself even to those lower on the capitalistic scale than what it was to live in a double-wide trailer.

Before counseling in Alaska I hadn't invested in the lives of youth who needed even incompetent me to help them along like the Ninevites needed Jonah. Before New Mexico, I didn't know what it was to be a minority and to understand how privileged I am to be white in America. Before SF, I didn't understand what it was to value family and how important it is to let your family see you grow.

Before D-town, I didn't thoroughly understand consistency in a walk with Christ, as modeled by Cherie and Jim, and I didn't understand what it means not to let your past dictate who you are, and I didn't understand that transformation and forgiveness doesn't happen all at once, and I didn't understand how to function in this weird stage called adulthood (and still don't, to be honest).

I find great joy in working with my students, with those who really want to succeed. I take joy in watching them do well in other areas, and truth be told, that joy wraps itself through the things with which I'm not so savvy. I wasn't the best at management of a classroom two years back but now I can tell it's improving. I no longer desire to turn right and head east and instead I faithfully turn left every morning, which is the way to school.

I am not sure if I've heard God's call clearly but the thing about retrospect is that you get to see your situation a lot better from its viewpoint. Sometimes I think it's a matter of making a decision, sticking with it, and living Christly where we are and not so much about comparing our lives to how things could have been.

I just want to appreciate the 25 I'm in.

80s Candy

My sister sent me a box of 80s candy. It is fully quipped with Tootsie Rolls and candy necklaces, candy cigarettes and Milk Duds, Sugar Daddys and Sno-Caps.

I didn't want to unpackage the box right away because it had been arranged so nicely. Plus, this candy was for the keepsaker. Was it okay to eat it? Is this like the old baseball card you give away only to find that ten years later they are worth millions, possibly billions, of pennies? If I ate one, was it okay to eat them all?

All these thoughts crossed my mind as I started with the Smarties and moved on to the Chewey Sprees. Today my energy is a little lower than normal. It's strange. It's like I need a little 80s candy to kick start my day. The box is a third gone. Okay, it's half gone.

Oh I just realized something.

They left out Pez.

Sunny Deceptions

Today is deceptively sunny. I mean, the heat is deceptive. There is an absence of it, and as the sun shone through my heavy curtains, I woke up thinking, "It is a lovely day, everyone!" I nearly hummed away the morning while scrubbing my bathroom floor and wiping windows. Just call me Cinderella. I texted some friends, read Thought Catalog, and continued reading a current book that I'm too ashamed of announcing here. It's one my book club students wanted to read. I tried to persuade them differently: "Are you sure you don't want to read Night Circus this month?"
They didn't.
Anyway, my room looked like a glorious place, beams illuminating strips of my blue wall. I tied the curtains back and let it shine full force. I even danced around to the Beatles' version of "And Then I Kissed Her."
My joy escalated, and soon I was putting on a light spring jacket and tennis shoes. I pondered by my door for a moment. Should I bring my thin mittens or no? Mmmmm. Nah.
Before I left I ran into Jim. "Hey, what's the weather like?"
"It's freezing."
"Yeah right. The sun is shining, Jim." He is sometimes hard to read, sarcastic as they come.
"Nope. It's 20 degrees out there."
But it's sunny.
I guess it's also still February.
But the groundhog saw its shadow.
I guess that was only a couple weeks ago.

It was a frustrating battle. I shouldn't have even tried to go outside. Ignorance is bliss, right?

Okay, one last thing. I realize that 20 degrees isn't that bad and that I've been acclimated to Indiana weather.

At 25

Mom, age 25

Kearsen, Mikey, and Laurissa
6, 4, and 2
On our way to Montanta
Colorado didn't work out
The army didn't at least
And besides, Spencer needs help
On the farm

And I? Well
There's an opening at Bears
Flying J
I won't mind that work I think
Kearsen'll go to kindergarten
Mikey to preschool
Lissey to the babysitter

It'll work out just fine
I'm sure of it




I couldn't have been the loving mom that you were, Mom, not at 25.

Problems

Having problems is like using leach therapy to change your health. Problems drain you, emotionally or mentally or however, but in turn they change you in little ways, and hopefully you become a healthier and more understanding person. Likewise, if you let the problem/leech fester too long, then you've got more problems.

At this point in the conflict plot line the housewives of New Jersey would probably flip tables to get attention, or they would halt all conflict/resolution by saying, "Blood's thicker than wata." And very soon after that they would go back to their own lives and find other ways to prove themselves, like writing a tell all book or procreating and signing those children up for acting lessons.

Confession: I know too much about Housewives of New Jersey.

Don't be like those people.

Allow yourself to have problems, but move past them quickly because you will have them everywhere you go, big or small.

While laying in bed, I was thinking of stuff and then I was thinking of things, and then I realized that, wow, if I wasn't thinking of this stuff and these things, then I'd probably fret over other little things, like how I never mailed a letter back to that camper from 4 years ago (but really, someone has to stop the letter writing at some point. Right? No? Should I write her back?).

And so I hope you can see the never ending cycle. Society says, yes, beat yourself up for not meeting that other person at a certain status. But the Lord says, you will screw up. You sin. It's what you do. "I am the way." You can either spend your life trying to pay a penance for it or you can accept forgiveness, forgive yourself, forgive others, and move on.


Note: Self help books weird me out. So does Dr. Phil.

A More Perfect Union

Public communication in the US in recent years has been a little tense. You hear it everywhere. "The Republicans are stuffy..." or "The Democrats have a plan destined to fail...." and thus a number of Americans, regardless of their political beliefs, seem to be fed up with the bickering. As am I.

Bickering doesn't solve issues. It irritates them. It festers and wounds more fully. I understand that for adequate change to occur in this country, parties have to be kept in check. Policies are never perfect. Americans have to keep questioning the man. I would cry if we stopped sticking it to the man. If you are the man, then that's what you get, naturally. 

However, we should not deduce our communication to passive aggressive Twitter posts and eye rolling. I get that we are fed up and that nothing seems solved definitely and that promised tax rebates may not happen this year, but my goodness, let's vie for something instead of nothing. 

I feel very privileged to be living in this country. I have a voice. I have a heart. I have a good church and job and home, and I can't foresee any of that being taken away immediately by money being cut a little short. 

Maybe if some money is taken away from Americans we'll look a little more to our neighbors. Or better yet, maybe we'll BE the neighbors people need. 

How about we don't get to bicker and complain if we don't do anything for our neighbor. 

The moment you start doing is the moment you get a voice. 

Disclaimer: I understand this post presents a very idealized perspective...utopian almost...and I don't expect news sources to tone down sensationalism or the average American to change in a day, but maybe we don't have to be such a pain to get a more perfect Union.