Scrooge.

I'm Scrooge for Christmas. I'm embittered by a hardened heart, a sense of loss, a hallowed hurt. I feel like I should be giddy with joy. Joining the shoppers. Sprinkled with glitter. Marveling at lights.

But instead, I hold in breaths and pucker tears behind my eyelids and spread my lips in a grin. Not wanting to damper any one else's holidays, throw sawdust on their cheer, or dump my sorrow at their front door.

It's something about the holidays that just pushes every emotion forward. Even the anticipated punches have feeling. And no matter how much I try to disguise it all with cute little parties, decorated celebrations, close knit conversations, and

A box of ornaments sits still in my closet. I can't put the treasures on the tree. I can't look at what was, or what I would be. The daily reminders of love on a tree is more than I can bear. The childhood stocking lays packed between layers of old picture frames and dusty memories. The sadness lurks in those boxes, and I attempt to seal it there.

But it harvests instead, in thoughts and on paper, no matter how many times I try to keep it suppressed. What was, what should be, what couldn't be.

So Christmas drools with discontent and the hallow places of love that used to reside in my heart. It screams at me, and I try to hide from it. But it can't be evaded.

I missed Christmas. I missed it last year, wishing so bad for it by July that I wanted to throw my own party and capture the glamour and gifts and celebration of warmth that it brings. I missed Christmas this fall, and wanted it lining my mantel and streaming around trees this season.

But now that its here, now that it brings with it places and people and problems I can't cocoon from, I want Christmas shut away. Over with. Non existent. I don't want this kind of Christmas. Then I don't want Christmas at all. It isn't lights and glitter and carols and holiday cheer. It isn't brimming shopping and laughing children and falling snow. It's loss and hallow and hurt and fear and anger and disappointment and sadness and all the hardened heart emotions I'm embarrassed to find still reside.

I want Christmas to be renewed. To be healing and hope and heavenward.

But right now, I'm just sadness in my Scrooge.

Set Up For Disappointment.

J.D. and Sandy protect strong. They are fenceposts between me and the charging forces that tear away at my strength. And about Christmas, they have repeatedly said, "Don't go!' With force. With reason. Since June.

But I bought a ticket anyway this week. Because it had become a big ta-do in the relative circles... accompanied by hours of phone calls, layers people purposing guilt, and taunt conversations. So feeling like I'm the bad relative and guilty for not wanting to come "home" I booked a ticket anyway. The only measure that could be used as weight was my nephew, because I do really want to see him.

J.D. and Sandy look at me with concern written all over their faces, wanting to say so much but trying to protect my space at the same time. With stutters, J.D. says, "Well, we're just afraid you're setting yourself up for disappointment," because it happens, literally, every time. Left without a place to stay, a car to drive, a breakfast date, etc. etc. Family always give me such a hard time if I don't go home, yet don't care sh-- about if I do.

So I booked the ticket, guarded expectations, but still literally was told that I should "get a taxi" and that they will start Christmas dinner without me so I can get a rental car and such...

Always. No matter how much I try, or don't try, care, or don't care, family always leaves me set up for disappointment.

Billowed Love. Billowed Hope.

I've had a longing to have a family and children since... well, pretty much the day I was born. I was the girl with loads of doll clothes, baby bottles, and diaper bags wherever I went -- and I mean at age five, not twenty-five. My dolls - Thumbelina, Annie, and Blake - were my treasured pieces. My precious holdings, my loved hug. At dinnertime, a high chair resided next to me as I scooped applesauce all onto Annie's plastic faces and let it drool down onto her bib, caring for her messes afterward as if she really ate it all and just had the leftover messes on her cheeks...

I have been gifted with this nurturing heart. This heart that actually does love those "womanly" tasks of the 1950s: the cooking, cleaning, caring of the housewife. The decorating, table setting, and hosting. To be the volunteer mom and soccer mom would be labels I'd be honored to own.

About four years ago, I began to journal and hope about foster care, which more recently has turned into adoption. I'm pretty serious here. I've looked up the information, asked questions, thought through the realities...

But I long for billowing my love onto young ones. Not twenty five of them, or someone else's children, but my own. Creating this longing of love and heritage. Nurturing and guiding and protecting and giving vision to the gospel in the presence of a home and passing on my faith heritage to a linage of my own.

Again, I'm pretty serious. If Kenya would open up for adoption, I would be the first in line. The other option I've considered is seeking a teenage mom who wants to give her child hope by adoption.

It costs money. Lots of money. It also means a need a house and a place to "prove" I have the capabilities and physical responsibilities lined up to care for another human life.

I think it was always a distant hope and lingering, until recently, when I see the things I value in life want to culminate in the home. It also used to be "well, when I'm thirty..." but now, thirty is only a year and a half away. So what does that "when I'm thirty" look like for real, past the dream. I don't always want to wait and hope, and then one day see my life pass me by and wish I lived it purposefully instead of always wondering or living in fear of what it could be.

So now, the words flow from me, the billowed hope like love on a page, withstanding my shy and embarrassed self-admitance. I want a home. I want children. I want to share a linage of love. I don't know why it feels like an embarrassment as a single woman to say that; its as if I have to hide behind it to appear confident to the world. But this human longing is of the Lord, it what we as women are breed with. So single or married, it is there, the longing exists. I deny it no more.

Married women are allowed to hope and dream and gush about having babies. And shop and dream about decorating nurseries, filling carts with bedding at Babies R Us, and gather little bundles of hope along the way of dreaming and planning. They are endowed with everyone's blessing, with special words and cards and encouragements and baby showers and the formal badge of life as a woman -- a wife, a mother, a place in the Church.

Yet do acknowledge this day, that the Lord puts this love and longing in all of his daughters, all of his women. That he created all of us with reproductive hormones, caring souls, and a loving capacity for a heritage of faith through his created.

These days, this morning, I am billowed with love and hope. With reality. With dreams and questions and thoughts. With wanting. With a capacity to bless and nurture. With a backbone to fend of nay-sayers and to blockade my little dream. May the Lord look down on me with love and favor in my state of billowed hope.

Point of Breaking...

Laura Story "Make Something Beautiful"

Verse 1:

When Im at the point of breaking at the place where I resign,
And Im at the stage of shaking my head as I look back on my life,
When Im halfway through the grieving, but not quite through the ache,
When I cannot see the ending, Or which road Im supposed to take,
All i know to do is lift my hands to you..

Chorus:
Take all of my life, all of my life,
All I know to do is lift my hands to You.
And make something beautiful.
I open my hand, trusting Your plan.
Make something beautiful so all will see
Your work in me, as You make something beautiful


Verse 2:
When Im tired of pretending, and I cant recall my lines,
Do I say, Im barely breathing., or just say, Im doing fine.
I admit there is a yearning, for the hurting to subside,
But not at the risk of missing what Your doing with my life
All i know to do is lift my hands to you

Good Things.

Trees bursting with brilliant color, lining the streets of Rea Road and Colony, and sprouting out my morning window.

Tank tops, camis, layers, color. Frills, feminine etchings. The revealing of beauty through soft shoulders and silky necklines.

Writing. Process. Words. Bringing reality, the real, and truth through the love of language.

Coming heart to heart with friends. Being in their grasp and love, no matter the area, the distance, the time between talk.

The words my mother has given me, taught me, bleed through me. The example of nothing short of her goodness.

Snuggling children, quiet smiles, silly laughter.

Coming into a home smelling of wreaths and pine and cinnamon and mulled spice. Of Christmas and love and hope and joy all mixed in the form of trees and bulbs and candles and joy.

Music. Mellow or moving. Calm or chaotic. Joyful or joining. Whether it raises hands in worship or applause, in cheers or artistic expression. Music is good. Music is life.

Quiet mornings home. Nights out with friends. Invitations to dinner. Shared meals at the table.

Food. Thought out, set out, spread out. Gourmet with ingredients hard to spell, and tastes learned to discern. Good. Food.

Sara Groves. Lady Antebellum. Wailing Jennys. My urban mix of Shontell, B.o.B., Eminem, and Beyonce. The voice of Jennifer Knapp "Sing Alleluia" on the morning commute. And Colbie Calliet fluttering through date-night prep.

(more to come)

Uncover Hope.

"Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us." Romans 5:3-5

What if hope does disappoint?

What if hope does seem to 'put us to shame'?

Some days, I hate hope. I know, sounds critical and cynical, but lets be honest -- it's also hope that brings disappointment, discouragement, etc. Because we allowed ourselves to long, to yearn, to hope for better, for dreams, for life... and then, splat. Empty wallows, or unkept promises, or sadden souls at the luring loss of hope.

Now truly, I understand, it's a hope for all things better. A hope for eternity. A hope for heaven. It is hope that does develop perseverance, character, etc. But in the process, I find myself having to be also pruned of the jaded-ness that grows when hope comes up short.

Perhaps that is the development of character. Allowing to be pruned and still keep pushing ahead, hoping, rejoicing in all things.

Now, lets put this into perspective, so you, as a reader, can grasp what I'm getting at, and why this long entourage of cut thoughts bleed out... So I'll shift my perspective from my own heart eyes, like a zoomed in Google-map, to seeing the broader so others can see the map that's painted.

I hope. Deeply. For this portrait of home and life and goodness that is etched inside. It breeds from my own experience, living with candlesticks and boats and good-night prayers and encouragement at every turn. It breeds from my snuggle naps with Garrett, and my laughter with him at the park. It breeds from longings as a child, playing with dolls, setting tables, and knowing how much of my mom planted and grew in me.... And from life, from pregnant friends, from stories of cuddling kids in the morning, from books, Bible Studies, and the pulsing life-blood of the church aimed continually at the nuclear family, and coming through the lack there-of with displaced centrality.

I could sit and talk with Will for hours sometimes, feel his arms so strong and silky, lean into him on the couch, and laugh so hard under moonlit woods. It all breeds hope. Talking about houses and kids and cooking... and prayer and night and silent dreams. So many things about him brought me great joy; fullness; a fresh sense of color. Tired days, he refreshed me. Anxious days, he relaxed me. Hope blossomed out of good.

But because of so many other things, because of my need to self-protect, to stand back and see. To linger in what is real beyond the dreams. I closed my eyes and couraged to walk away.

Away from a slice of safety. Away from his strength next to me at the table this Frieday. Away from human approval - that I'd 'finally met someone' and no longer had to prove my feminine worth, or justify my position in life. Away, but now "put to shame" in the light of human eyes as I am no longer a "we" or talking about a "he". Instead, its just "me."

Where I find myself today, knowing the real and telling myself, listing it off in honest truth so that I can see the truest vision, uncovered by perspective. Feeling the good, but willing to state the bad. I stand in space, with mountains and valleys, flourish fields and fallen trees, and look back and forward, for what was dreams and what wants to be, hope.

I find it. I uncover it inside myself. I stand wishing and wanting, but knowing and being, in the strength outside society, but what is found from the Spirit within me. I beg, and ask, for in His goodness, that I find it. Hope.

Self Protection.

Self-protection is hard. It's real. It's necessary. It's important. But it's hard.

The last year and a half, I have learned the art of self-protection. I have learned to cut, to stop, to sway from emotions. To let linger, to pause, to walk away from relationships. To grow distance. To self-protect.

It's for me. It's for my heart. It's for my friendships and the love of people in my life. It's for the gospel, that it grows and flourishes in me, rather than being squelched by the hurt of harmful words, indecent deeds, or inconsistent relationship. It's to build trust in Truth, to honor what is Good, to grasp what is Noble. To let my heart grow in the "whatevers" of Philippians 4, so that I am aimed at what is good, pure, right, noble, excellent, and praise-worthy.

It is to give me life, so that I can also be and give life.

Self-protection is hard. It's the intentional tugging away from constraints in wishing and hope and dreaming of what was real or what can never be. It's keeping lids on expectations, and depriving joy from what good be to realize what is.

I've learned and taken lots of steps of self-protection. From people, from family, from jobs, from all sorts of things that could have the potential to be excellent and praiseworthy, but instead are calloused or cutting.

These days, I take on new self-protection. Stepping away from what could be, to see what is. Stepping away from what emotions in me are lured and laughing and playful, to see what underlying characteristics show underlying tone of life, being, future, love, and hurt. These days, self protection has a new form.

It still looks at it always does, this growing hedge around the garden of me, climbing higher like ivy trellis' on metal rod-iron wreaths. It may appear and look soft and sensitive, but it comes from the soil of spoiled hope. It strengthens, it hardens, it supports itself. It is still full of purposeful blockade, masked by smiles and simple lines, and words like "I'm fine." But the trellis of ivy growns over hopes, dreams, life, fears, stillness, peace. It covers the anger and hate and cynicism, but also the goodness.

I wish instead, someone would tend to the 'garden of me'. Carefully planting and pruning and watering the soil. Taking care to encourage it grow and blossom and flourish. And see the strength of roots that run through, and the beauty of the flowers that wish to bloom. I wish instead someone would lurk into the patches, seed the soil, and take great care in the garden.

But as it stands, I walk away; I self protect. I grow ivy. I quiet. I wither. I wish for blossom. I wish for hope. But I always now, self-protect.

Safety.

I was commenting on a friend's post today, and unearthed a big concern of mine, and a concern that lasts from childhood to adulthood.

Don't we all long to be safe? To be safe with a friend, to be safe with our home, to be safe with in the confines of work and play, love and leisure. Think how different life looks and feels when we feel safe in our personal space, in ourselves, in our relationships...

“Oh the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person; having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but to pour them all out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keeping what is worth keeping, and then, with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away. ~ George Eliot

Posting on my friend's blog:

I think the most important right of a child is safety. Safety in all sorts of forms. Safety in space — in feeling protection from the rain and cold, protection from animals and creatures, diseases, and untold other physical harms. Safety in emotion — feeling safe with the words that are spoken to them from parents, teachers, peers and retaining instead encouragement and places to grow. Safety from physical harm — from beatings and brutality, war and rage, sexual assault and hunger. Safety from fear — of school shootings, of beatings at home, of mangled rumors, of threats to their villages.

The sense of safety is one that can’t be conjured up. It can’t be temporarily distributed, because then fear would still be lurking. The need for solace in safety is universal, from African villages to Colorado High Schools to Bolivian homes. Safety also sets the stage for adulthood, and pronounces traits in us that will either grow and flourish, or die and wither with age — like confidence, motivation, strength, and care.

Safety is by far, the number one thing I would bring, give, and protect over all the children in the world.

Fear and Faith.

The Lord teaches me this lesson over and over again. About fear and faith.

Because fear is the opposite of faith.

And he comes to me, calling my name, and calling me out of fear, to walk in faith.

So let faith be my footing. Fear forgotten.

Prayer is the strength of me battle shield in faith.

Motherhood.

Motherhood is something you just long for. You just need. The presence of it in your life, and the presence of it to give to your life.

This week, I long for motherhood. I long for motherhood of my own, and the motherhood of the mom that I miss.

Except for the concept of motherhood, who do you ask hard questions to? Who else knows you so deeply an intimately that they can answer the questions? Or offer that insight of perspective that only they can have the place and platform to give? Except for motherhood, who lets you just cry and cry and fall apart over and over again, and still love you and hold you all the same? Except for motherhood, who dotes on you when you need life, when you need encouragement, when you need love? Except for motherhood, who holds your trust so strongly that you are safe under the grasp of her care? Except for motherhood, who connects you with generations and gaps and lines and lineage and love and heritage and covenant strings? Except for motherhood, who is your place, your space, your solace, your rest?

Motherhood trembles with in me. It beckons me to my own, and yearns from me for my own. I miss and cherish the place of Motherhood from my mom so much. She was the ultimate Motherhood. The ultimate place of questions, of life, of love, of rest. Of safety, of solace, of space.

Of love.

Because They Are His Plans.

I was reading from a Proverbs 31 blog today called A Widow's Might... and she wrote a response to someone who had written in on her blog, and the words grasped truth with such a strong vengeance and soft indignation, that I needed to claim them as my own today. But I too, share them with you:

I know His plans for your future are awesome,

because they are His plans.

The Lord Today.

I love that the Lord called me on an intimate date today. That he called my heart, that he knows my name. And that he yearns for me. The Lord calls and cares over me like warm love on my soul. He breaks me into his comforting hands and holds the wounds with love and tenderness. Like a lamb with a shepherd.

I don't take time off. I don't take sick days unless I'm beyond reaching across to pull the sheets off my bed, sick.

But the Lord knows my heart deeper. He called me today. He woke me up with yearning for his love and his word. For the deepest of intimate dates with him. And time together of solace.

I've been battling a cold and sore throat all week -- DayQuil and NyQuil are taken in double doses. Stress stopped my muscles from movement. Fainting took turn instead. Students clam over me like personal oysters, sucking the life from my bones and draining me until all that was left was hurting disrespect and a crinkled, soiled soul. And coming to terms with things with Will hurt and ache and fill and refresh and hurt and ache all over again.

And so with lots of tears yesterday over loss of heritage, generation gap, needing and wanting my mom so badly, and feeling like damaged goods, the Lord sent me to bed with another heaving bout of coughs. And I called in sick today.

So I'm strapped underneath a cozy blanket, a dimly lit lantern, and blogging with my Bible and my journal on my lap and fresh banana bread warmed from the oven, and called to be His today. Intimately, purposeful, loved, beneath the shelter of His wings today. To let Him hold my heart and be his, and his alone today.

Blessing Note: I rejoice in the Lord. I take such beauty in today because what has happened with teaching, is that Sunday ends up to be church and the work, and the Sabbath has lost its intimate time. And the week is pulling at life and schedule and teaching, and Saturdays end up a pulling of lists of errands and necessities, and I never get filled, or enough personal time with the Lord to really know him and draw near to him.

So the Lord blessed me and cares over my heart today as he draws me to himself. Pulling us closer and more intimately together, so that I am satisfied as his and he is the Lord over and within me I love the Lord. I love his unconditional pleasure and pursuit of me.

Intimately Delights.

The Lord takes great delight in us.

How differently we look at things when we know the Lord is loving and steadfast and fulfilling.

The Lord rejoices over us.

The Lord claps, he dances, he sparkles over us. He rejoices in us.

The Lord quiets us with his love.

He is our nurturer, our Father, our feeler. He quiets us with his tender heart. He strengthens us with his Warrior heart. He loves us.

The Lord loves us unconditional.

I have seen him showing and proving his words more and more in the last week. That he is unconditional. He gathers me in his arms when I am weary. He cradles me close to his chest when I am tired, heavy burdened, or feeling unloved. He comes at me in clarity and real, open, honesty. With only Truth in his words. He is always a safe haven.

Then, the Lord gathers those who are scattered, he rescues the hurting, he removes the sorrows, he carries off the burden and brings end to the reproach. Then he honors, he restores, he brings delight, rejoicing, home (paraphrase Zeph 3:17-20).

What a Lord I serve. What a Lord who listens, who draws near, who comes to restore.

And the Lord is intimate. The Lord is close. The Lord calls us by name. He rejoices over me, by name. He earnestly seeks after me, by name.

The Lord draws me to himself today. He quiets me with his love. He leans in deeper into my heart and speaks his words over me, so intimately, so unconditionally, so full of love and power. The Lord is so intimate. The Lord is so personal. The Lord is unconditional.

The Lord is so intimate, he delights in me. Delights.

This is the Lord I love. This is the Lord I serve. This is the Lord that breathes into the all of me. Deeply, personally, intimately.

Feels Like Home To Me.

Feels Like Home

Chantal Kreviazuk

Somethin' in your eyes, makes me wanna lose myself
Makes me wanna lose myself, in your arms
There's somethin' in your voice, makes my heart beat fast
Hope this feeling lasts, the rest of my life

If you knew how lonely my life has been
And how long I've been so alone
And if you knew how I wanted someone to come along
And change my life the way you've done

It feels like home to me, it feels like home to me
It feels like I'm all the way back where I come from
It feels like home to me, it feels like home to me
It feels like I'm all the way back where I belong

A window breaks, down a long, dark street
And a siren wails in the night
But I'm alright, 'cause I have you here with me
And I can almost see, through the dark there is light

Well, if you knew how much this moment means to me
And how long I've waited for your touch
And if you knew how happy you are making me
I never thought that I'd love anyone so much

It feels like home to me, it feels like home to me
It feels like I'm all the way the back where I come from
It feels like home to me, it feels like home to me
It feels like I'm all the way back where I belong
It feels like I'm all the way back where I belong

It scares me.

I met this guy, his name is Will.

He holds my heart.

It scares me.

It scares me because its so easy to be with him; it scares me because he so easily taps into the depth of me; it scares me because he's willing and sincere; it scares me because he knows me. He already notices when my lips show contempt, when my eyebrows drown disagreement, when my eyes shimmer delight. I can try and hide it from him, but he reads right through. It scares me to be known, unveiled.

It scares me because it's all new. And it's hard. And it's too easy. All at the same time. It's hard to be in relationship, because I'm an all-or-nothing girl, 100% or out, and relationships can't be that way. They're slow, yearning, deep, riptides that take in the wake and bring it back out with lots of ebbs and flows, uncertainties, and rare clarities.

It's too easy because it's so natural with him. It never feels awkward to talk to him, to sit by him, to walk with him. When I reached to hold his hand the first time, I didn't even realize it was the first, because it was so natural. It's just so utterly 'normal' to be with him in every way, that it scares me.

It scares me because I don't know what I'm doing, and don't want to see warning signs and not pay attention. It scares me because I don't know what warning signs are big enough to ponder, and what are simply life and human. It scares me because you can't marry someone to change them, yet I wonder what changes are important enough to wait to marry someone for.

His name is Will. He holds my heart. He also makes me tender and caring, sarcastic and funny, safe and challenged. He's complimentary and careful, courageous and confident, cocky and combative. He doesn't let me get away with fear; he challenges me to the core about my dad; he prays for me with school. He's a tender warrior.

But at the same time, I'm still afraid. Afraid of dating, afraid of falling without knowing, afraid of his ideas and unsaid expectations and pressures of what a woman should be. Maybe that's natural, maybe that's a yellow light. Maybe it's just me.

My sister says to be bold with him, to let my guard down, to call him out on his s---, and to let myself be with him. My friends say caution, caution, caution; that I am a precious jewel and sacred treasure and to be careful with myself and save myself for the one who sees me this way.

Part of me says he does now, but part of me is scared that that will eventually fade away.

I'm not good at dating. I'm not good at half-way. I'm good at freedom or independence and the flare of life I capture with that, or living in full commitment and creating a life with someone out of that. But this being, this half-way, is hard on my tender heart and scares me. Even with someone so confident as he.

I met this man named Will.

For right now, he holds my heart.

And it scares me.

I Ignite.

Today, one of my kids said, "You should be a motivational speaker!"

It was one of my eleventh grade honors students, usually a kid who goofs off a bit and jokes around, but with good humor. Today, his eyes were alive with seriousness and inspiration.

There's a fire in my bones.

It's about Africa, and social justice.

And in it, I ignite.

I got to speak today about both, and it grabs me and slingshots me into this whole other world where my mouth cannot be silent, my speaking and lessons not arbitrary, and my vision and mission in the classroom not blown off.

It's the light in my fire, the passion in my bones, the thread of fabric that makes me come alive, and ignites something in me that just spews of love and justice and goodness, and a joyful and energetic cry out to bring forth that in others.

Jenelle asked how school went today. I shrugged about a few student behaviors, then light up like dyanmite and was like "But, I got to teach about Africa today!" and even to her, my words could not be stilled.

At 10:30 at night, I still sat up researching facts, pictures, you tube and video clips, ideas that may spur others to form a life line of hope and justice from the hearts of my Porter Ridge Pirates to the hands of people everywhere.

So it was a new unit on Africa today in World History. A brief unit in our book, which all the other Social Studies teachers just skip over and jump into Exploration and Expansionism (which, let me break and be honest -- I kinda hate teaching European stuff, especially ancient history, which basically means anything before 1900 to me -- don't tell! -- and that's about 90% of the World History that is taught in public schools...) But I decided to stop and study Africa. Because I think it's important that kids gain a global perspective, and see that history interlocks and civilizations everywhere were existing in different capacities at the same time.

So... we're studying Africa, from early civilization until modern day, a mini unit. And I lit up like fire. The facts ramble from me like common knowledge, not like the rumbling teacher digging through the Middle Ages for something to say. The stories and the people are alive, real, and glow like paintings coming off a page. The music, the air, the red dirt... it all surrounds me and embeds itself into my chest like a good whisper of real... of home.

So we got on tangents - purposefully - about Ishmael Beh and boy soldiers, about malaria and cyclical poverty, about civil wars and blood diamonds. And, we're not done, we've only just begun. The next week brings regions and geography, history and tribes, newspaper snippets, Skype calls, and an assortment of movie trailers for life (Blood Diamond, Hotel Rwanda, Tears of the Sun, I Dreamed of Africa). And I bring... my heart, passion, and life-blood.

And that's not all... in US History Honors today, we plunged into Industrialization/Immigration and its effects on life and working conditions. Which spurred stories of child welfare, slave labor, human trafficking, child soldiers, forced prostitution, and microeconomics. It was incredible. Its one of the reasons why I always love teaching this unit - because its so central to our lives and society and justice today. And I love seeing their face and hearing their reactions to the cruel treatments of children and the fact that slavery exists still today -- and that they care enough to do something about it, and are hungry for more. That they leave class, surprised at how fast it went, but spilling sentences still of class content/discussion as they cattle their way into the hallway.

I ignite. I light like fire and find my strength here. In this mix of motivation and mobilization. Of classroom teaching and challenging what's been taught. Of perceiving students as information takers, to informed do-ers. Of life and love and learning.

I ignite. And in these moments, in these discussion, I know that I am doing, EXACTLY WHAT I AM CREATED TO DO.

Building Empathy.

Sometimes I have these life experiences, that immediately afterward or already in it, I already know it's because, or at least going to, help me relate to someone else in a way I couldn't before.

I feel like that about this past week. About knowing now what it feels like to be in the situations and experiences that I've been in, with the emotions and feelings and questions and thoughts and conversations that all flow all in and out of it...

And I'm thankful. Protected by God's love and His sincere and deep compassion over me, that protected me from guilt or sin or a level of emotional intensity I couldn't recover from... But at the same time, taught me. What it was like to be "that girl" or in that scenario or situation or space. And I'm thankful that He loved me enough to bring me to it, into it, and through it, with His great love and compassion over me. I love Him. I love His love and his discipline and his empathy over and building within me.

And I love His people, as they are kind and tender and compassionate and listening and patient with me. And that beyond my choices and scenarios and thoughts and ramblings, they still always choose to love me and linger with me and lift me up in this unconditional love that I'll never know nor understand, except for that He's given it to me.

The Lord is Good, I say to myself, and in Him, I too, and left knowing that in me is the Lord, and He is Good.

Falling...

I wrote a response post to my cousin/friend Jill's blog... and decided I wanted to share it... as I lingered over her words and voice, as well as the crispness of fall... So here is her web address -- and here is my comments and lust of fall...

http://jbusscher.blogspot.com/

My Comments:

oh, I love this! I feel like I'm writing with you when I read your words... like a rambling of thoughts and language and emotions and feelings and perspectives and pictures all wrapped in to one... and I can feel your voice scream and linger and meander and ramble all the way through it. It's awesome!

I'm falling all over here. Some times flat on my face with students when lessons are horribly thrown together. Sometimes in love and then out of it. Sometimes in bloom with the lust of fall -- the pumpkins, the corn mazes, the crunching leaves, the crisp of air...

I remember "fall" in the Philippines every autumn since. Because it was 90-some degrees and I missed fall in MI/IN; I remember specifically look at these pictures one boy I liked sent me and he was walking and hiking in crunchy autumn leaves in November, and I wanted to be there, because I missed it in my tropical climate. Fall is everything cozy and yet still fresh and live before the earth breaks into the barren of blank winter.

I'm falling... always into new and fresh and thoughts and love and emotions... and into your writing. Because I love it; and I love you!