Dancing In The Mine Fields.

Wow, what an anthem. Thanks to my dear friend, Bekah, for sharing the story.

Perhaps never have I heard the promise put such as this... I pray it... for dancing in the mine fields, and sailing in the storms...

Home.

I miss Charlotte already, and I'm still here. Over the past year and a half, it has become my.... home. Deeply. Engrained. My potted plant has found and put roots [reference Bekah]. It's the heartbeat of me. I love my home. I love my Charlotte. I love my Carolinas.

I heard a comment this week, "I can't believe you're not coming home for longer." But my immediate reply and peace was, "But this is my home." Charlotte is my home. Charlotte is me. It's the place that I love. It has been solace for me, safety, peace, growth, protection, trust, faith, space, love, cocoon. Home.

I am blessed. By this love, this depth, this peace, this presence of my soul that loves and is deeply attached to the soil and the people and the church and the family I have here. Home.

Blessed. Roots. Love. Comfort. Home.

~~~

Interesting enough, last year I listened to the Beth Moore's Believing God CDs at this time, and it was about your promised land, etc... And today, I was in the kitchen cooking for visiting Taylor friends and listening to the teachings again and thinking -- wow, this is my promised land... and I know it and feel it and have such depth of peace about it. My place at Porter Ridge is my promised land, my inheritance, my purpose. What affirmation - of belief, of faith, of scripture, of my purpose, of the Lord. This land of inheritance is.... Home.

Trying to Meet Someone.

"If I weren't trying to meet someone..."

Sometimes I wonder this. About my life. My heart. My energy. My time.

If I weren't trying to meet someone, how much energy would be left over to love deeply those I already know and love? How much energy would be left to pour into the circles I already stand in, and into him?

If I weren't trying to meet someone...

How would the patterns of my heart change? How would my motives look differently? How would the parts of me that need to nurture and love, be nurturing and loving, or be nurtured and loved?

If I weren't trying to meet someone...

How much of my time would be left to nights at home? To weekends cuddled under the covers or on the couch or being together? How much of it would be filled with greater purpose rather than the scant scatterings of filled spaces?

How much of my life, my heart, my energy, my time, is wasted in the wanting, the wishing, the hoping... the excess, of trying to meet someone?

~~~

But, if I weren't trying to meet someone, where would it leave me then? I've done that route, ended up with nothing. I've thought of hermitting too, but that doesn't help. I've lived countless times with blind eyes and a disciplined, focused heart, but that shows blank pages too. So, surely, how does one try and not expend themselves at the effort of meeting someone, but yet.... meet someone at the same time...?

Never Came Back.

Some things never came back. Somethings changed or disintegrated, or were shocked out of who I was. When April 17 came, it punched all of me, and a lot of things just never quite returned from whiplash...

Things that never came back...

* My memory. I can't remember things at all like I used to. Maybe never will...

* My planning. You wouldn't believe it, but I can't plan a thing. Everything is procrastinating because nothing is right, nothing makes sense, nothing clicks. It just never came back.

* My space of heart. My limited ability to love and care and feel for others was chopped in pieces, and never quite returned. It's not that I don't want it to, it just never came back in the capacity it once was. I wish I could care and love and pray deeply. But instead, that too is just thrown and chasing after the wind. My heart just never quiet returned from hiding and selfish care. It doesn't grow outside itself.

* My passion. It's just never come back the way it was for things I am/was passionate about. Like recycling, for example. I'm die-hard about this and making sure everyone else is too. And, I do recycle, but more flippantly than before... And that's just the beginning...

Somethings will never come back. Some things will never return from being broken. But, maybe, somethings will mend...

The Good, the Full, the Joy.

Glitter, glam, giggles. Spilled out over the table with shimmering glasses of wine. Our voices held joyous anthems - telling stories, sharing tales, adding smidgens into other conversations and jumping around from one to the next, as only girls can do. Tonight was a celebrated way of friendship. Seventeen girls chorusing together, an exchange of Secret Santa gifts and giddiness. We were beautiful, dressed in our best with eyelids painted, satchels in hand, and coats woven like classy color to our knees, peeking heels and stilettos beneath. Jewels and ribbons sparkled, wrapped around like adoring splashes and statements. We ordered like frivolous women, laughing aloud at our flippant release, enjoying gourmet pastas and bellinis, trailed by tiramisu and creamed coffee. The good life. The joy of flourishing friendships and good food and freedom at the table sounding like clinking spoons and echoing laughter. Joy. In it's full goodness.

Painting pictures with words rarely do justice. But sometimes, they also paint the elements a picture can't. They paint the sounds, the savorings. The memories loomed through the fabric of photos that are cherished deep in the heart. As some moments portray themselves like painted canvas, they still pull to be drawn in written form. These are the moments I capture today. These are the good, the full, the joy.

Three Times Today.

Three times today

God spoke

To me

About the

Desert Place.

Three times today

He said the

Words.

Three times

I heard His

Voice.

Three times today

I nodded

In reply;

Three times

I walked

Away.

Three times today

And yet

I still

Don't

Believe.

~~~~~~~~~

Postscript Notes: The Three Times

1) Morning Journal/Read time -- About Moses, the desert, manna, and time (The Land Between by Jeff Manion)

2) Church -- About the road to Egypt and Jesus as a child, kept hidden in that place, alive but away.

3) Jesus Calling -- About Jacob and the desolate place, but then saying "Surely the Lord is in this place."

And how, and why, do I still find myself questioning and angry, finding such desert place, when this gives such punctual and obvious manna and Presence?

And to add to that -- a "God Sighting" this morning in church -- as I had prayed specifically this weekend about my Tuesday night Bible Study and joining/staying/leaving, etc... evaluating its purpose and my purpose and intentions in going.... resolving neither to engage nor disengage, when but for the first time ever, I run into the leader at church and was reminded and encouraged that she wants me there and connections will come...

Oh Lord, strengthen my unbelief.

A Teaching Introvert.

NOTE: This is just the beginning of the messiest ramblings ever... not done, nor flowing nor connecting nor organized... but I had to start somewhere to get out my thoughts and concerns and question... and open it up for conversation....

I sit at Panera, my wavering time between teaching the hundred high schoolers who walk into my classroom and pacing around the packed stadium of the football game tonight. The day time brings constant activity -- rushing to copy machines, answering questions, responding to late work, answering e-mails, flourishing boring European Monarchs into interesting characters, leading service clubs and aiding with meetings, shuffling piles of papers between teachers, and avoiding the harping of the department chair. All this accompanied with a chorus of "Sit down, turn around, listen up.... I'm not telling you again to sit down....I already told you the directions.... Were you listening when I was talking?"

And wanting to either pull my hair out or someone elses'.

By noon I'm exhausted, with frazzled nerves and tattered professional respect. So I teach one more section of freshman before defeat completely rushes me.

And then, my saving grace of eleventh grade honors students lounge in. And when I say saving grace, I mean it. They walk in and the life comes back to me. The smile eases back to my face, the wrinkles release, and energy flows through my veins again. They care (most of the time), try (most of the time), and work together as a class and individuals to learn, be successful, and make class as fun and light-hearted as possible in the midst of it.

So, the eleventh grade honors kids keep me there. They keep me going, keep me trying, keep me coming back the next day.

But this week, I'm just looking around going, "Something has to change. Is it me? Is it them?" Because I can't keep being sucked dry emotionally from teaching. Last fall, my aunt told me I'm not mean to teach because I'm an introvert. My sister says she never thought I should be a teacher. My counselor last fall said I'm probably too introverted to teach, that I should look at new careers.

But my heart doesn't agree. I just need a new way to do it.

Because something also comes alive for me when I'm teaching. A spark explodes and I'm a whole different person -- full of charisma, life, energy. I'm a phenomenal public speaker, an actor, a wealth of creativity and still overflowing with care. I just have to protect myself enough that these traits that shine while I'm a teacher, don't also get abused while I'm a teacher.

I called my friend Kate this week. I was speaking about my depleted self and questioning how other people in the world, her specifically, can do so much more than I can. She could teach all day long, coach track, go home to her husband, grade work, head to Bible Study at night, and repeat the whole process again the next five days until Saturday, when they would volunteer with their church and still live this flourishing life. I was/am jealous. And asked her why, how, she could do it?

Let me be honest, I look at some of my friends or people I know, and I'm jealous! And embarrassed! I feel like such a fool, such a failure, when I come home at five pm and am exhausted. I spend my weekends recuperating, preparing lessons for the next week, and gathering myself inward a little bit... while they're out serving their neighbors or church, hosting great parties, lining up coffee dates, running 5Ks, and still finding time to write blogs, send personal notes, pray, and bake homemade treats. Seriously!? I'm invigorated. How do they do it? They're like perfect people, all wrapped into one, to everyone. (It seems, at least, from my perspective. I'm sure they'd argue differently.)

All this to say, I've been doing some work, some research, some reflection, on me, on life, on careers, on purpose, on gospel. What does it mean if I don't "serve" my church right now? Or my community in a formal way? Or mail every notecard I should write? Or participate in a Bible Study? Does it make me selfish? What does it mean that I get more relaxed in writing this blog than anything else, but that if I only write (like as a career), I get depressed and need people and structure, and teaching in some capacity or I shrivel? What does it mean to create and define my "home team" and how do I "push others away" to protect my personal space and deepen my closest friends, since I can't be best friends with everyone or have coffee dates with the whole planet? What does it mean to teach 100 students a day as a career yet be a person who needs quiet and reflection and thoughtful conversation in order to have the life-blood and energy to flow out into them?

I've been doing research. I've been scanning google pages and chatrooms and blogs. I've been asking questions, looking around, wondering, pondering. Wanting to pull myself forward through it, but learn and figure it out along the way.

I want to be purposeful as a teacher. I want to engage, create, entice, bring life. But I want strength and beauty and grace to remain inwardly at the end of the day.

I get paid once a month. Usually, in a job setting, that monetary reward helps ping you forward to the next. But when it's a once a month pay check, I forget that I even get paid, so that encouragement feels like a loss. Several mornings a week, I remind myself that this whole career means I get to travel in the summer, and that usually inspires me enough to put a smile on and lug my bag around with dreams in my head. Other days, funny moments from the past class day, or community project from the club I lead, keep me going. Most days, I look back to the inward depression and lull that comes from not teaching -- and that is more than enough to get my butt moving. Because no matter how frustrating it is some days, the opposite means depression, discontent, feeling useless and purposeless, and sunken. So I remember why I'm teaching, and keep pressing forward.

I remember that I'm a mobilizer. That no matter how much I care about AIDS or Kenya or anything social justice, I can do more talking to my students than by myself anyway. I mobilize them to be world-changers -- whether through IJM funds or listening to Dave Johnson on Silent Images or reading about modern slavery -- my little classroom becomes bigger in the midst of the whole world. And they can move us all forward by the discussions and actions in room F202.

I remember that they make me laugh, and they give me spark. And they sometimes surprise me, encourage me, learn from me, and bring life to me. So I keep teaching.

I remember the hearts I've connected with, the stories they've secretly shared, the moments where that connect part spans beyond class content and involves the personal heart. I remember the times the pull me into the hall to ask personal questions, or write me a letter to let me in. I remember these little big things that paperclip themselves like stars on the line, and I keep teaching.

I remember that I'm finite. In skills and personhood and energy and service and leadership and charisma. So at some point, there has to be an end to what I can do. Sometimes, that begins with admitting it: I'm finite. I have to stop sometimes. I have to relax. Release. Reward myself with that prophetic seventh day rest.

So in this quest, in this wondering and finding what it means to be me, what it means to be an introvert and teach, I come here to this Panera table and refuse to be defeated by me. Or by them. But I've got to find a way to make it work for me, for them.