The Magic

I asked a four-year old today what he dreams about, and he said, “I dream of dragons and baskets and a poker and a arrow!”

Me? I dream of more sleep. And somewhere in there, I miss the magic. No dragons slaying bad guys, no flying away above it all – I get stuck sometimes in the mundane and the day-to-day and forget the glorious adventures that each day can bring. I mean, even today I got a phone call from my supervisor telling me that I worked today when I actually had the day off.

I’ll never forget Dr. Moye, professor of my 17th Century British Lit class, screaming at us, “WHERE’S THE MAGIC?!” as he tried so desperately to embody the voice of John Donne, metaphysical poet of all poets, who was (as best as I remember) so frustrated with a society that was persecuting its own people and creating a veritable massacre of mystery and hope. Where’s the magic, indeed?

Ask a four-year old what he dreams about, and he’ll tell you stories of conquerors and kings. Ask a forty-year old what he dreams about, and he’s likely to tell you about money and fame. While it is true that much knowledge brings pain and that ignorance is often bliss, I think this kid has something to teach us.

The NASB version of the Bible says in John 10:10, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” The Message puts it this way: “A thief is only there to steal and kill and destroy. I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of.”

More and better life than they ever dreamed of.

Where’s the magic? It’s in our hope.

June 26, 2012

On this day,
the heavens resounded with praise
to the Maker of life, and
oh, the dances! You should have seen them.

On this day,
our hearts were grafted in awe
of the gift of love, and
oh, the transformation! You should have seen it.

Yet this day,
in its glories and splendor and praise,
is but an atom in the depths of God’s heart, and
oh, His greatness! One day, you’ll see it.

“Rejoice with those who rejoice…” –Romans 12:15a

 

Written to mark the birth of Christofer, the son of a dear, dear friend.

Teaching Middle School

“Being in middle school is all about making calculated attacks look like accidents and vice versa.” — Taylor Mali

Check out his book here and his poem, “What Teachers Make”, here . Do it now. 🙂

I Don’t Believe In…

I don’t believe in
looking past people just because of past
decisions
because we all carry scars from where we’ve strayed.

I don’t believe in
hoarding light that could light
darkness
because one Light could set the world on fire.

I don’t believe in
sittin’ pretty when it’s pretty
obvious
that everyone else is just fighting to live.

I don’t believe in
keeping silence just to silence
conflict
when the struggle that results could heal a wound.

I don’t believe in
abandoning risk so as not to risk
failure
because butterflies’ wings don’t grow without a fight.

Faithful

I just finished reading The Autobiography of George Muller (see my review on Goodreads here ). When I was younger, I’d heard the story of how Muller woke up one morning, knowing that his orphans had no breakfast, and told them to set the table and sit down to pray for the meal. Just as they began to pray, someone knocked on the door and left a massive donation of rice for the children.

I’ve seen God work like that. I remember when my family was at language school, preparing for the mission field, and we didn’t have enough money to stay. We prayed and asked for provision, and that week, someone gave my father a check. Other times, as we traveled to share what God was doing on the mission field, people would slip checks into my dad’s hands or shirt pockets – all without being asked. I remember wanting a keyboard for Christmas one year so that I wouldn’t have to lug my teacher’s around, and late one night, someone knocked on the door and said that he was moving to Mexico and couldn’t fit the brand new keyboard in his trailer. God provided.

Just last night, I asked the Lord for something specific. (He likes when we are specific, by the way, just as we like when others are specific with us when we communicate.) Within twelve hours, He provided the means! Within twelve hours.

He is faithful.

“Truly, truly, I say to you, he who believes in Me, the works that I do, he will do also; and greater works than these he will do; because I go to the Father. Whatever you ask in My name, that will I do, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If you ask Me anything in My name, I will do it.”  John 14:12-14, NASB

Threads

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 Not one of us is completely alone. Not ever. There’s this invisible thread that ties us all together in one way or another, and it’s unbreakable. It might fray, but it’s always there. I see strands of it in my life connected to a painter in Australia, a gardener/worshiper in Kansas City, a writer in West Texas, a social worker in Houston, an art teacher in Western China, a medical student in Honduras, a mom-to-be in Iowa, a media specialist in my city, a First Sergeant in Atlanta, a quilter in an adjacent city, numerous teachers in the Pee Dee of South Carolina, an art therapist in Louisville, an Army Chaplain in Utah, a translator in Guatemala, an internet security specialist in Jersey, a homeschool family in Southern China, a teacher and mom-to-be in my city, a barista in Charlotte, a web developer in Northeastern Georgia, a Harvard student in Ohio – these among so many others.  This thread, though it may take on different forms and colors with each connection, links every one of us together, makes us responsible for one another, helps us come alive. Even when relationships shift and change and even end, the tie is still there.

Even more beautiful is the thread that takes on three strands – the Thread that binds brothers and sisters together as one. This Thread bound us together before the beginning of time and will keep us bound until time is no more.

No man is an island,
Entire of itself.
Each is a piece of the continent,
A part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea,
Europe is the less.
As well as if a promontory were.
As well as if a manor of thine own
Or of thine friend’s were.
Each man’s death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee. 

–John Donne

Sight

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Sometimes she just wants to wash her spiritual eyes out with soap. The things He shows her – the things she knows about others – they’re like tiny pinpricks of light, revealing hidden things, shining into the darkest of hearts. It is not for gossip or gloating, and she knows that. She knows that everything she perceives with the eyes of her heart are to bring her to her knees before the only One who can fix the brokenness she sees. And sometimes she sees things that mirror her own heart. It is in those times when no soap is clean enough to wash it all away. It is in those times when the weight becomes too heavy to bear on her own. It is in those times when only one Word will make the slate clean.

Sometimes she feels like the burden of silently knowing others’ pain is too great to bear. “Take this cup from me”, she says sometimes, and then she realizes that her cry is an echo of Someone who came before her. And His cup was not taken, either. But the same One who opens the eyes of her heart offers her a hand to hold as she walks. This same One calls to her, telling her not just to timidly offer up her burden, but to cast it completely upon Him.

When she said “Yes” to Him, He didn’t offer her sunglasses. He gave her sight.

Library Lunch Break, Part 2

(Image Source)

This post is in response to an earlier post, “Library Lunch Break“, in which a teenage boy with a problem enters the library and feels terrified of the librarian. After writing that piece, I felt the librarian begging for me to tell her side of things. You’ll want to read the boy’s side of the story first before continuing.

Shoot. He saw me watching him. I was trying to be discreet, but these glasses give me away every time. I’ll have to get new rims.

I’ve seen him around before. I think his name is Marcus or something like that. I’m intrigued about the fact that he’s in the library, though. The last time I saw him, he was hanging with the B-team football players after school. They were smoking, but he didn’t seem all that into it. He has that look in his eyes – the look that says there’s something more to him than partying and drugs and sex and skipping class. I’m just not sure if he knows that for himself.

He keeps staring at my food.  He looks hungry.  I’ve seen him in the cafeteria before, and he never has more than a bag of Fritos and a Gatorade for lunch. Should I give my spaghetti to him? Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve given my lunch away to a hungry kid.

Aw, man. He saw me again. Maybe I should act librarian-ish and shelve books or something. I’m told I look angry often, even when I don’t mean to. I want to ask if he needs help because I see that deer-in-headlights look, but I’m not sure if I should approach him. I’ve embarrassed too many teenage boys before by asking them if they needed help; for some reason, they act like talking to me will damage their reputation as the cool kid. I’ll wait a minute and see how things go.

The bell’s going to ring in a few minutes. He still hasn’t found a book, and he still hasn’t eaten. Should I ask him if he needs help? Two minutes. Oh! Here he comes! Come on, Mrs. G. Don’t embarrass the kid.

“Uh, Your Highness? I mean Mrs. G? I need a book ’bout how to make up to my girlfriend after tellin’ her she looks fat in her cheerleading uniform. You got anything like that?”

“Your Highness? Haha! Where’d you get that from? Hmm…Let me check on that book. Your name’s Marcus, right?”

“Wait, what? How’d you know my name?”

“Part of my job is to be observant. Now, I think I have a couple of books that might help you win back your damsel in distress. Have you eaten lunch yet?”

(Post dedicated to M.E., who was my high school English teacher and is now one of the coolest high school librarians I know.)

Library Lunch Break

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I’m such an idiot. Where do I even start in here? I ain’t read more ‘n five books in my whole life. Walkin’ in here’s like goin’ to a new country without no passport. I don’t belong here. And the librarian lady with them ugly red-rimmed glasses and the butt-ugly beehive ‘do (Sorry, librarians. I know you ain’t all like that.) keeps starin’ at me like I’mma steal somethin’. Lady, I ain’t gonna steal no book. Might steal your lunch, but a book? You gotta be crazy.

But seriously. I ain’t even know what I was thinkin’ comin’ in here. Can’t read half of the titles, so how’m I gonna read a stinkin’ whole book? But I gotta know how to handle this mess. After last night, I need answers. And I ain’t about to do no internet search ’cause then people can see what I been lookin’ for. 

Mama like to say the only dumb question’s the one you don’t ask. But I’ve heard some pretty dumb questions, and I bet Her Highness in the glasses’d probably laugh in my face if I asked for help. I wish the devil and the angel on my shoulders’d both shut up. Can’t think straight.

Deep breath. Okay. I can do this. Lady, quit lookin’ at me ’cause I’mma steal your lunch in a New York minute. Just you wait.

Keep it cool, Marco. Keep it cool. 

Her lunch looks really good. I can smell the spaghetti and meatballs from here. Mmmmmm….and she got garlic bread, too. Why did I skip lunch to come to the stinkin’ library? I’mma hafta come up with a good excuse when the boys ask me where I been.

Danggit. Bell’s gonna ring in three minutes. I gotta find this book ‘fore class. Ain’t no way I’m explainin’ to no teacher ’bout bein’ late to class ’cause I wanted a book. Might think I’m smart and then make me work harder.

Two minutes. Need answers. My whole life depends on this. Ugh. I can’t find nothin’.

“Uh, Your Highness? I mean Mrs. G? I need a book ’bout how to make up to my girlfriend after tellin’ her she looks fat in her cheerleading uniform. You got anything like that?”

 —————

I’m still working on the interior voice of the character, so if you have suggestions, feel free to share below.

Click here to read the librarian’s point of view.

In case you missed it, here’s the prompt: A student walks into the library/media center at lunchtime.  What is she/he thinking?  Worried about?  Dreading?  Hoping or wishing for? What are the risks/stakes for him/her? Show us in a paragraph or two.

La Cocina

I am standing in front of the kitchen sink, looking out the window at the vast, green mountains of Santa Lucia, Honduras. Directly in front of me are the strawberry bushes, and further on out into the yard are the mango, avacado, lime, and guava trees. At the farthest right corner is a lattice structure for pataste, a furry vegetable that looks like a combination of a pear, a squash, and the mouth of a grandmother without her dentures. To the left is the swing, where my brother, sister, and I swing high and dream that we are rising into the clouds (and during rainy season, that is sometimes possible because clouds come into our yard).

I turn around to see the white countertops and the red ceramic tiled floor. Doña Elsa has just mopped, and I am excitedly awaiting her famous, fresh-squeezed limeade. I could (and often do) drink that nectar of life all day. My cake is in the oven, and I’m hoping upon hope that I’ve finally mastered the art of high-altitude cooking because flat cakes are, well, pancakes. Dad has brought some pupusas from the German restaurant down the street, and all of us eagerly anticipate a fantastic supper – one better than the time we bought a chicken and realized that somehow, we’d purchased and cooked either a rooster or a buzzard.

I hear my brother and Miguel outside, “mowing” the lawn with their machetes and laughing at the stupid dog’s antics. The power goes out suddenly, as it does often throughout the entire country (sometimes all at once), and the generator kicks on. Sometimes it feels as though we are a city on a hill – the one light in the darkness – when this happens at dusk. I think about how that resonates so deeply within my heart because that’s exactly why I am here in this place. After the worst hurricane to hit this beautiful nation in decades, after the entire infrastructure of Honduras has been set back thirty years, after mountains have literally crumbled, our job is simple: We are to be a light in this world – a city on a hill. We are to bring hope.

I hear the aluminum roof above me begin to sing as the rain falls, first in scattered melodies, then crescendoing into a roaring symphony over my head. I’ve heard this song before, and I know I’ll hear it again tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that.