Gift.

I just received one of the most greatest gifts I've ever received. A student of mine, beautiful bright-eyed perky-smiled kid, came in at the end of the day and handed me a Christmas bag. I asked if he wanted me to open it then, and he nodded with glee showing on his face. I grabbed the paper on the top and was struck. This kid (and his family) donated funds in my name to send an AIDS orphan to school for a year in Zambia! Wow. I have never received a more thoughtful gift; I just kept looking at the paper and looking at him, over and over again and didn't know what to say. Wow. Along with it, I unwrapped a jar of Fair Trade Organic tea [hence from my stint on Fair Trade and my constant plug with the kids] and A Long Way Gone, the book of a memoir of a boy soldier that I have spoke of in class but never completed the whole thing. Wow. What a gift. What a thoughtful gift. And he picked it out knowing me and just how deeply those things would mean to me. I am proud. Proud of my message sent to him on these issues, but proud more so of his glee in jumping on this train and passing the baton on. Wow, what a great, wonderful gift.

Shake Its Fist.

"Her underpinnings had been ripped away with such regularity that she had often been tempted to settle into a life that didn't shake its fist into the Enemy's face."

~ Though None Go With Me by Jerry B. Jenkins

Capture Me Beautiful.

There are several instances where I am posed in a moment of distinct blessing and beauty that I wish it could be captured on film. It really has nothing to do with me, but with the essense of all that is taking place. And perhaps a picture would not be able to portray all that is held within its lense, but there are still these moments.

Moments when a members of my church are bowed over another in prayer.

Moments when I stand next to a friend with our arms outstretched in worship.

Moments when friends curl around a bride with prayers poured out over blessings.

I had one such moment yesterday. I went to a baby shower for a friend; a rather new friend at that. And I just wanted to pick up all the pixels sprinkled around us and put them into film in only the way an excellent photographer can. It's women gathered around with coffee or punch, the smell of sweet baked goods and goat cheese marina sauces spindling the air. Of our hugs as we greet, the pearls on the hostess thin neck. It's the blessing of conversation about books that have blessed us, and boyfriends that bring out the best. It's the blessing of hearing these women really love the Lord with their heart, their lives, their children, and their husbands. These women who make me want to be the best me that I am, who pull out the beauty of that worth.

So it was in these moments, at the end, we circled our blossomed friend and the baby growing inside her. Kneeling around her, we blessed her with our prayers. It was at this moment that I wanted the film to partake in what I knew was so special, so sacred, at that moment, in that place. These friends and mothers laying hands and bringing this radiant beauty to a place filled with glowing embers of fire and brewed hazelnut. This was a moment that was so beautiful, it's one I would capture and frame in my heart.

"And Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart..." Luke 2:19

I Paint A Cynical World.

I grew up a dreamer. A visionary of all things good. Of the great person I could be come, of the things I could accomplish, of the difference I could make. I grew up envisioning the beautiful things that would one day enamor my life, fostering its ability to blossom and give life. I grew up hopeful of the world at its best, believing in the good of people, of systems, of cultures.

Now I see the other me staring back.

Somewhere in the last five years, my idyllic worldview shifted.

When I think of my next teaching job I no longer paint hope, but prepare myself for the hardships of state testing, uncooperative coworkers, low pay, straining parents, and lesson content I'll never be able to know. I can still remember my teaching papers for Taylor... all starting out with "Teaching is not a job for me, its my calling. Its my mission..." and from there rambling on about the great good and hope I had, the love for children, etc. Now I see it as much different. I hate that in me.

I used to grow up praying for a godly man. Envisioning us praying for Rwanda together, chasing and laughing with a four year old in the backyard of our country home, and that feeling of contentment that rests when two people love and care so deeply for each other. I dreamt about cooking beautiful dishes, volunteering in schools, and blessing my children with my collection of children's books. Now instead I warn myself that I'll probably be exhausted from getting groceries, making meals, driving kids, and getting woken up every morning by needy kids. I'll probably be annoyed with my husband, feeling like he doesn't care, Again, this is not me; and I hate this root that grows in me. Deeply choking out everything else.

Its like I've warned myself not to hope for too much, or I will surely be disappointed.

On my bookshelf, I treasure a little blue-binded holder of words called Keeping a Princess Heart in a Not-So-Fairytale-World. I bought it in North Carolina when all this jadedness began. Now and again I pull it off my shelf, line myself with candles and pink and other things feminine. And I try to recapture that innocence that was one in me. But now seems so lost.

The world has fed me spoonful of cynicism, and I swallow(ed) it. I don' t know how to get it out or keep it from choking me. I try to see and say the good things. To capture the beautiful moments. To tell their stories.

But sometimes, in the thick of it all, I see this odd me staring back in the mirror. Instead of the gleaming face of innocence, of Faith Hills "Fairytales" song, of bright eyes ready for adventure and the world and God's blessing... I see this haggard, worn out, leave-me-alone face staring me down.

This other face tells me lies. It tells me marriage will probably end up hurting me so deeply. It tells me good, amazing, godly men don't exist. It tells me jobs can't be fulfilling and beautiful. It tells me children are a bother. It tells me the lines of the nightly news, the jaded women in clusters talking about their families, the worlds measure of success, the comparison games, the woe-is-me... It tells me Satan. And that he is the sin that is choking me through these lies.

I remember the year after Taylor driving with two college friends and having this conversation. Me so strongly resisting this cynical spoon but seeing it so darkly. And them instead remarking that I was too idealistic and a romantic dreamer of life growing up. And that instead of being cynical, I was becoming better because I was becoming more of a realist and it was making me stronger.

In that case, I don't want to be stronger. I want to see the world as God created it to be. I want to live in Eden. I want to hope for a man like David. I want to see the earth sustained. I want to hug children so close their warmth seeps into my chest. I want to teach as if the Holy Spirit flowed from every word and leaked out as a ministry. I want to notice flowers and light candles and wear beautiful sundress'.

Today I paint a cynical world. But as in all things, I ask and pray that God redeems even me, even this.

Somebody Elses

I sat in my car last Thursday, Thanksgiving Day, and watched through the windshield as an elderly woman struggled to balance the bag in her hand.

She was had stopped about 6 inches from my door.

And I didn't move. I pretended to be digging in my purse for something. Because it was too cold and I was early for church and didn't want to go in yet.

The selfishness spews like hot lava from this story, embarrassing and humbling as it is to tell. But it reminds me of the sinful nature inside of me.

As I have grown older, I have taught myself this "its somebody else's" behavior. I grew up a server, a people pleaser, a "yes" girl. But over time, I have needed to [rightly so] develop some boundaries. I can't do everything for everybody. I can't lead every program, clean every room, manage every child, and be everyone's cheerleader. There is a limit to my humanness.

But at the same time, I see this learned behavior at times go way too far over the opposite fence. Where rather than simply setting boundaries, I've chosen to stop serving my neighbor and treating them as Christ. I've chosen to turn a blind eye. To let the yard grow. To draw lines in the sand of "my responsibilities" and someone elses. Again, part of this is healthy... but at times, part it is definitely not.

All I know is, the next time I see an elderly woman struggling with her Thanksgiving gift to the church donation center, I will open my door and smile into the cold with open arms toward her.