What we do not see

Just received a thank you note from a F.5 girl. She thanked me for the assembly messages, the Bible studies, the prayer meetings, for praying with her one time when she cried.

Somehow, this made me cry.

Has it really been such a grueling two years?

Perhaps not... it was tough in spots, I've been sleep-deprived and stressed, but it hasn't been terrible all the way.

Why did I tear up?

I think all through these two years I've asked the question - what difference does it make? The Lord is encouraged me throughout the way with little signs, but still, the thought lurks in my head, and again and again I return to a state where I believe none of the hard work really adds up to anything.

He didn't have to send another piece of encouragement, but today, He did.

Imagine what rejoicing there will be in heaven when God reveals the fullness of the fruit of His intricate planning and linking and weaving from time eternal!

That I would learn to welcome these things from afar, and not live in a disheartened state!


Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when he appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.
- 1 John 3:2

Stepping into March, and each day is a reminder that I'm reaching a quarter of a century old... I don't know when this began (I'm sure it was all too soon), but some years ago I started dreading my birthday, in stark contrast to the giddy anticipation of childhood birthdays. I don't think it's the usual fear of getting old, or anxiety about whether I will be remembered. It's the consistent gnawing feeling that I haven't done what I'd wanted to have done by the time I was this age.

It's all very illogical of course, because I can't remember a time when I sat down and decided what I would accomplish by what age. Yet somehow in the back of my mind, there is this murmur of discontent.

The temptation is to scramble to achieve something, or to talk myself into believing that I'm alright. Yet neither comes close to soothing the cry of 'everything inside me looks like everything I hate' (Switchfoot).

So what will it be? Another 25 years of guilt and frenzy and failure and disappointment and scrabbling for some crumb of self-assurance?

A colleague shared this poem with me this week:

Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.

'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here.'
Love said, 'You shall be he.'
'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee.'
Love took my hand adn smiling did reply,
'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them. Let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.'
'And know you not,' says Love, 'who bore the blame?'
'My dear, then I will serve.'
'You must sit down.' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'
So I did sit and eat.

- 'Love', George Herbert

'... because he first loved us.' (1 John 4:19)

I ran for the first time in weeks today. It was muggy, but the sky was perfect. As I started running the heavy cloud cover starting to break, and then there were glimpses of the sun. By the time I had turned round, the clouds were really parting and backlit by the setting sun. Breathtaking. I stopped running for a minute and just took it in.

Lord, You're showing me again that you're beautiful.

I listened to albums that I hadn't for a while during this run, and when Switchfoot's '24' came on, I realized it was the first time I was listening to the song as a 24-year-old... and I only have 1 month left!

Twenty-four oceans
Twenty-four skies
Twenty-four failures and
Twenty-four tries
Twenty-four finds me
In twenty-fourth place
Twenty-four drop outs
At the end of the day

Life is not what I thought it was twenty-four hours ago
Still I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with You
And I'm not who I thought I was twenty-four hours ago
Still I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with You

There's twenty four reasons to admit that I'm wrong
With all my excuses still twenty-four strong
You see I'm not copping out not copping out not copping out
When You're raising the dead in me

Oh, oh I am the second man
Oh, oh I am the second man now
Oh, I am the second man now
And You're raising these twenty-four voices
With twenty-four hearts
All of my symphonies
In twenty four parts

But I want to be one today
Centered and true
I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with You
You're raising the dead in me

Oh, oh I am the second man
Oh, oh I am the second man now
Oh, I am the second man now
And You're raising the dead in me yeah, yeah

I want to see miracles, to see the world change
Wrestle the angel, for more than a name
For more than a feeling
For more than a cause
I'm singing Spirit take me up in arms with You
And You're raising the dead in me

Twenty-four voices
With twenty-four hearts
All of my symphonies
With twenty-four parts
Life is not what I thought it was, twenty-four hours ago
Stil I'm singing, Spirit take me up in arms
I'm not copping out
Not copping out
Not, I'm not copping out

I would never have guessed that these lyrics would be so true of me at 24. I don't want to strive and scramble and be spent for just a feeling of being useful, for the cause of 'betterment'.

I've spent 16 months at DGS, and now I realize I might have lost my direction in there somewhere. So many voices, so many things I want to do, people want me to do, that I think people want me to do. I've failed in so many ways... in relationships, in work, in my walk with You. Lost sight of what was important, jumped from thing to thing, tried to fulfill various tasks, very few satisfactorily, fewer even wholeheartedly.

Where is the triumph I have been seeking?

Yet today You've reminded me, with the sunset and a song, that You are my hope of glory.

Sometimes I feel like a kid. I'm tired and then I lose my temper and I get angry at people. Work is overwhelming, so I want to yell at my parents, people around me, the system, whoever is in my way on the way home. I want to blame, blame, blame. My anger prowls for a target.

I'm tired tonight. Not too tired physically, but tired inside. Never thought the tears of teaching would come, not from frustrations with students, but sheer weariness. And, as unreasonable as it is, I want someone to be responsible for the way I feel. I want someone to apologize for how I'm tired and worn and upset.

Yet You draw me to you. You draw me to my knees, draw my heart up, lift my arms in praise. And I realize, though I run after love from man, applause from man or self, rest and comfort and freedom that I design and construct for myself, my heart and my soul truly and only pants for you. I can yell and scream and grasp and fight and complain and hold back, but in the end, I'm just Yours. I don't belong to my work or a person or a cause. Just Yours. Yours to love and use and be worshipped by.

Your grace is enough
I'm covered in Your love

Be exalted again, Abba. Will I draw a line to say, I will only give this much to you? Never! But only by Your grace.

At the altar of the cross, You made a covenant promise to me. And I've said 'I do' to eternity with You. Almost exactly two years ago I said 'I do' to this season of toil. Have I forgotten that one day I will stand before You and be accountable for and rejoice over the fruit of this season?

I know I've let it slip. Lord, tonight, again, 'I do.'

A mother's tears

Last year on Parent's Day, the mother of one of the girls in my F.5 class came in and talked to me about how her daughter refused to communicate. She started crying. I was in shock for a little bit. Was she aware that I was only 23? Why would a middle-aged woman who had gone through so much in life come asking for help from a kid like me?

I then realized God was giving me a chance not to offer my wisdom (what wisdom do I have anyway?) but to be a channel of His hope and comfort. I listened, I tried to comfort her, I listened some more, and promised to talk to the girl. I did talk to the girl, and it was a constructive conversation. And I prayed for them.

Earlier this year, the mother came to me and told me how much better their relationship had become.

So I thought the lesson was just that - don't be afraid to step out, because God is most glorified in our weakness.

It wasn't until about a month ago, when I was in the depths of busyness, too busy to sit down and pray, ploughing ahead on full auto-pilot mode, that God reminded me of this episode.

Remember the mother who cried because her daughter wouldn't talk to her? I was showing you my heart.

Do you think the mother wanted to talk to the daughter just to find out information?

I long to be with you. I long for you to talk to me.

How often do I just think about God in general without really talking to Him, without communicating with Him, without showing any sign that I need Him and that I love having Him in my life?

Inspired by Tuned In And Fire Up, I send the F.2 girls down to the field today to write.

To be honest, I did it as much for them as for myself. It was wonderful to watch them crouch close to the grass, turn leaves over, wander about, chat with each other.

A precious sliver of quiet watching in the midst of a city of madness and speed, in the midst of the relentless churning of a machine driven to pursue achievement.

I've taught for a month now. Though it's gotten busier (and will only get busier), I still love teaching. Here are three things that I've been thinking about.

Boredom
Anastasia prepped me on this - the monotony that can plague a teacher's life. So far it hasn't been too bad - I try to stick in fun stuff in the lessons outside of the set texts and grammar drills and listening exercises, like hangman or forced choice activities or watching movies or sharing songs.

But it really gets to me when I'm doing the marking. I'm not sure how math teachers do it... surely going through the same problems 70 times is worse than marking 70 reading comprehension exercises. But maybe they have more fun? Who knows.

Compositions are still fine, because they're all different (even though they take ages to go through). Grammar exercises are mindless, but I like mindless tasks. It's the reading comprehensions and short-answer exercises that get to me. They're not mindless, but the answers are all very similar.... and so I start looking for snacks to munch on or for ways to procrastinate.

How do some teachers do it for 10, 20 years? They must have built up a lot of character.

And why do I think I need so much variety and excitement in my life?


Winning
There have been times when students have given me attitude and my first impulse was to humiliate them in front of the class in some way. I can't say I'm too shocked with myself - I know there is that spiteful, vengeful piece in me. I want to have the last say, I want to win, and I want to come out on top, be the one in control, have power over the other person.

One day in class, earlier on in the semester, a girl would not stop talking to the girls next to her, even when they did not respond to her.

I had paused twice for her to stop talking already, and it was the third time.

I called on her to answer a question. She's a bright girl, and she stood up and gave a half-coherent answer. She sat down.

Ten seconds later, she was talking again.

I called her out and said, "____, do you have something to share with the class?" Everyone looked at her.

She had on her usual incredulous half-smile.

"No." At least she looked a little embarrassed.

At the end of the class, when we said goodbye to each other, she turned her head away and did not join in with the rest of the class. Part of me wanted to make her say it properly, but then I remembered being that age, and all the strange and strained emotions that come along with it. So I let it go, but I felt I had let that girl win.

Should I have disciplined her? Would I have done it for the wrong reasons? Is it better to build up a relationship with the girls first so that they won't turn away from me as they have turned away from so many other teachers who had humiliated them in one way or another? What would be the loving thing to do?

Sometimes I don't even have time to think about these questions. And at the end of some days, I wonder if I'm really too young to teach... every day I spend three or four hours with thirteen, fourteen, fifteen-year-olds, and I affect their days and weeks in some measure. I may be passing on good values or bad values, I may setting a good example or a bad one, I may have been condescending, or unfair, or inconsistent, or presumptuous - without realizing that I'm doing these things.

Which leads me to...


The more important lessons (and The Most Important Lesson)

It's become very easy to focus all my thoughts and time on coming up with a good lesson plan - something that will thrill, something that will solidify skills, something that will engage the students for 50 minutes. I think about how to polish up grammar, how the girls can be groomed to be brilliant writers, how the older girls can do well in the public exams.

And so it's become very easy to forget about why God called me to be a teacher, why He brought me back to this school in the first place.

In the course of my seventeen lessons each week, I'm sure to have passed on some knowledge, said something that will stick in their heads for a few months, and given them some exercises that can help review, sharpen, or even inspire. And I'm also sure to have missed something, made some logistical blunder, spelled something wrong on a worksheet, and dealt with a disciplinary issue in a hasty manner.

I'm giving the girls some good stuff mixed some bad stuff. And I keeping the best from them?

Of course it's important that the girls learn proper grammar and spelling, and it would wonderful for them to come to enjoy reading and writing. But at the end of the day, it's much more important for them to learn honesty, humility, and compassion. It's more important that they learn to treat each other and their teachers with respect, that they understand the value of a kind word, that they develop that courage to stand up for a girl being bullied, that they refuse to cheat or copy homework or lie about work undone.

But most of all, it's important that they come to know and love Jesus.

On my busy days, I need to be reminded of that.