Nature's True Wonders

Over the Christmas break, I took a road trip with a friend to Dinosaur Valley State Park in Glen Rose, Texas.  We did see some amazing tracks, but I saw a few other things there that day that amazed me and got me to thinking.  This is one.

 

I’m not sure if you can tell, but in the center of this giant rocky formation, there is a small tree growing.  My friend and I stopped to look at this wonder.  He, like me, is a metaphorical kind of thinker, so we had a grand time thinking about the symbolism inherent in this bit of nature.  But I’ve thought back on this picture so many times, I decided to share.

 

As you are probably aware if you are my FB friend, I’m home with the flu.  Of course the whole world doesn’t know, or my whole school, so I received a wake up text at about 7:30 this morning from one of my favorite English teachers.  He was texting to let me know that one of my kids was not in class.  I have an agreement with a couple of teachers about a few of my special case kids.  If they are not in class first period, I get a call or text.  Then I begin the process of tracking them down. 

 

This particular student has come to hold a pretty special place in my heart…who am I kidding…lots of them do!  But this one, he is something else.  He is a lot like this little tree bravely growing from a rock.  He shouldn’t be growing at all.  He has no soil and no water.  No nurturing gardener or regular rain.  He lives in his dad’s house but rarely sees him.  He lives alone.  His dad pays the main bills, but he has to come up with money for food, clothing, gas, and school needs.  No one checks to make sure he is up in the morning or that he has eaten a good breakfast or that he gets to school on time or even if he has clean clothes.  The only people he really has are a few buddies who aren’t in any better shape.  And together they have gotten into a lot of trouble over the years.

 

But something changed this year and he’s begun to work and to care about school.  He sees the possibility of graduation in the distance, and he wants it.  Unfortunately, the pattern of his life and choices have not landed him in a very good place to achieve the goal, so he is having to relearn.  And change is hard.  He’s trying to get caught up on credits and maintain passing grades.  He’s a smart kid.  But suddenly, he’s trying to keep up with homework and deadlines that he never cared about before.  That is a tough change to make.

 

And if that isn’t enough, there are adults in his life whom I work with every day, I’m ashamed to admit, who would very much like to see him fail.  They are like a strong Panhandle wind gust trying to blow him over.  They look at him and see a thug.  They see a kid who has been in and out of gangs.  A minority.  A kid who has had his share of trouble with the law.  A kid who doesn’t particularly care for authority.  And why should he?  Most of those in authority in his life have let him down in some way.  Why should teachers be any different?

 

But for some reason, against all odds, he’s growing. 

 

He shouldn’t even have survived this long.  He’s a little bitty sapling trying to sink roots into a rock.  But like this tree, he’s learned some things about survival.  He’s learned that if he’s going to make it, he has to do it himself.  He’s learned that fighting isn’t always the answer and that working a job is far safer than some of the other options for making money on the streets.  That’s why losing his job a few weeks ago has been so devastating.  He came right out and told me that there are plenty of ways for him to make money, but he wanted a job.  For the life of me, I can’t figure out why kids tell me these things.  Things I’m better off not knowing.

 

Today he wasn’t in first period, so I texted him.  His reply was that his mom had a heart attack.  So he lives on his own with no parental support.  Provides his own basic needs.  Goes to school.  And is making a ridiculous effort to graduate.  And now his mom, who has very little contact with him, has had a heart attack, and he was expected to step in and be the adult.  Again.  And he did.

 

I offered encouragement and let his teacher lifelines know.  Then he texted to let me know he was about to leave the hospital and head to school.  Really?  Where does that kind of resolve come from in a kid whose roots are growing into rock?  Why is school important today?

 

Maybe it’s the safest place in his life. I do know that while there are a few wind bags who don’t want to see him succeed, there are a few of us who do.  His English teacher waters him.  His math teacher tries to shine some light even though he resists.  His homeroom teacher provides shelter by making him clean up his language and be respectful so he doesn’t get in trouble.  And his counselor tracks him down when he doesn’t show up to class and makes sure his roots have a little soil.

 

None of that makes up for a lifetime of trying to grow out of a barren rock.  But I’m hopeful, that like this little tree, he’ll keep growing.

 

Everyone has the ability to be the water, the sunshine, the shelter, or the soil.  But everyone also has the potential to be the wind.

Luxurious Negativity

I went to mass tonight with a dear friend only to discover it is the first Sunday of Lent.  I really only discovered Lent a few years ago when I sought solace at a sweet little Lutheran church in Amarillo.  I was intrigued with the customs, and my friend with whom I attended was intrigued with my ignorance.  What can I say?  I grew up in a church of Christ where we didn’t observe Lent.

On the way home tonight, my friends and I talked about what these guys were giving up for Lent.  Later, the topic came up again with another friend.  It got me wondering why in the world people give things up for Lent anyway.  So, of course, I Googled it and found my answers in Wikipedia.  I feel sure that all of my information is accurate and reliable…

It basically says that it is a time when people fast or give up luxuries as penitence in preparation for the week leading up to the celebration of Jesus’ resurrection on Easter.  It lasts 40 days in commemoration of the 40 days Jesus fasted in the garden and was tempted.  The prayers in mass tonight were focused on resisting temptation during this time of fasting.

I find this idea of giving up luxuries sort of intriguing given the life I live.  I’m pretty comfortable.  I have a job I love, a beautiful place to live, plenty of food and clothes, a laptop, an iPad, an iPhone, a new television, and tickets to the P!nk concert Thursday night.  Yeah, I’ve got it pretty good. 

So I was thinking maybe I should think of something to give up.  I recently gave up meat and dairy for the most part, so that won’t work.  Chocolate is simply out of the question.  Television maybe?  But I don’t really watch it much during the week anyway. 

Then I had sort of a random idea that seemed a little silly at first but has grown on me.  What about giving up negativity and negative self-talk?  I wonder if I could give that up for forty days?  The more I think about it, the more I think that negativity and feeling sorry for myself is most definitely a luxury. 

Given all of the material things that I have, what right do I have to complain?  Given that I have the best job on the planet, what right do I have to complain about random, petty annoyances?  Given the amazing friends and family that I have, what right do I have to worry about what other people might think of me?

Negativity is definitely a luxury.  I don’t know if that makes sense to anyone else, but griping and complaining take time and energy.  If you have time to sit around and whine, then you are blessed.  There are many millions of people who work from sunrise to sunset and sleep in between who don’t have the luxury of time to sit around and complain to others.  And there are lots of folks who don’t have true and good friends to complain to.

I am ridiculously blessed.  If the purpose of giving up something for Lent is in preparation for the celebration of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection, what better thing to give up than negativity and self-pity?  It is because of Him that I have reason to celebrate at all. 

And if I am to spend the next few weeks preparing to celebrate His beautiful gift, I think a negativity “cleanse” could be just the thing.  And while I don’t consider myself particularly negative, I think the negative self-talk could be quite a challenge.  Changing the voices in your head is not as easy as you might think.  But I’m going to focus on my blessings and give it a shot.

Leadership

If you want me to follow

Lead with your heart

And know what makes mine beat.

 

If you want to be master

Teach me to serve

By washing dirty feet.

 

If you want my devotion

Give me a cause

For the poor or sick or meek.

 

But if you want me to go

Rule me by fear

Eventually I will leave.

Fake Mom

After school today, one of my kids called me on my cell phone because one of his buddies was looking for me in need of a registration card for night school.  I was in a classroom checking on another situation when the call came in.  I headed back to my office to find the caller had already gone, but his buddy was waiting.  This same student who called me has recovered a couple of credits this year, is on track to graduate in June, and is now regularly harassing his buddies about doing their homework and coming to school.  And for the record, he is the sole financial support for his home and has the only means of transportation.

Another of my kids texted me tonight while I was out walking.  He just wanted to let me know he had finished his night school course and is almost finished with another course in our online credit recovery program.  I’ll be giving him a registration card for the next session of night school tomorrow as well.  And then he too will be on track to graduate.  Incidentally, he became a father this week.

Another student I’ve been working with for two years recently found his motivation.  I’ve been speeching and harassing this kid for two years trying to get him caught up so that he can graduate in June.  Last Tuesday, someone told him he wouldn’t graduate.  That night, while I was at a basketball game, he began texting me and talking about dropping out.  I responded with my thoughts and encouragement but refused to get drawn in to his drama.  Saturday, shortly after my plane landed back in Houston, he texted me again.  Several others had talked to him, and he’d decided the only person keeping him from his dreams was him.  He had a renewed since of purpose and declared that if he didn’t graduate in June it would only be because of his laziness. 

I was very glad to hear (read) about his decision and began planning with him what needed to be done to get to the finish line.  After this texting exchange, he thanked me for being such a great “fake mom”.  He said that his mom didn’t care anymore, so it was all up to him. 

Tonight I checked in with him to see how he was doing.  He reported in his progress, and I offered a few words of encouragement.  He ended with “Thanks fake mom,” to which I responded, “You’re welcome fake son.”

Some people go to Africa.  Others to the inner city.  But I’ve found that the greatest ministry and call on my life happens to be the place I go every single day.  I currently have 711 kids that I claim as “my” kids.  But I’ve been honored to have a handful who have chosen ME to be their “fake” mom. 

Freedom

It was a startling, pull the car over and breathe deeply, savor it slowly, kind of realization.  I was not afraid.  I was driving around Amarillo.  And I was not afraid.  My heart was not pounding.  My thoughts were not racing.  I was at peace.  In Amarillo.

Years ago, I had a life altering realization about my fear of being a counselor (which you can read here).  It was life altering because it was the catalyst that lead me to begin walking into fear in a way I’d never understood before.  Now, I regularly walk into things that scare me to death simply because I have to.  The difference is that now I know what I’m doing, and it’s purposeful.

Now don’t get me wrong.  I am no fire fighting, coal walking, confronter of the fires of ALL my fears.  There are plenty of things I run from and even more that are so deeply rooted I couldn’t begin to know where to dig to even find them to face.  But a few things, I’ve begun to walk into with purpose.

I walked into one of my biggest fears this fall.  I was planning a trip to Amarillo and really wanted to go worship with my friends at Southwest.  So I messaged one of my praise team buddies on Facebook to see if I could sit with her that Sunday.  Her response was quick and fairly surprising.  She was happy for me to sit with her, but she wanted me to know that my ex-husband would most likely be sitting on the same pew.  With his girlfriend.

For about five minutes, I was hurt.  Not because I wanted him back or felt jealousy, but because I was so easily replaced.  I guess if I’m being honest, it was mostly a blow to my pride.

But that wasn’t the problem and had nothing to do with my fear.  My problem was in knowing I’d have to see him.  That made me afraid.

I was not physically abused.  But for the vast majority of the 13 years of my marriage, I lived in fear.  Fear of words.  Fear of silence.  Fear of rejection.  Fear of messing up.  Fear of being an annoyance.  Fear of indifference.  Fear of revenge.  Fear of sabotage.  The list goes on.

Leaving was the single most courageous act of my life.

But I continued to live in fear.  Fear of words.  Fear of rumors.  Fear of family.  Fear of church people.  Fear of judgment.  I looked over my shoulder every time I left my apartment.  WalMart was excruciating.  My first trip there I had to take a friend.  For months after, I went to get groceries with my headphones on and my mom’s voice in my ear.  If I were talking on the phone, no one would approach me.  Mom was happy to be my shopping security blanket. 

The fear did not end when the divorce was final.  It didn’t end when I moved back home.  With every trip back to Amarillo, I was afraid.  The fear lessoned.  But it was always there.  A slow, small burn that threatened at any moment to grow into a devastating conflagration fanned by the familiar winds of the past in the Panhandle.

After receiving my friend’s FB message, I very seriously considered not going to church after all.  Especially with the girlfriend there.  I really had no desire to cause trouble or drama, least of all for her.  I really just wanted to sit next to my friend so we could worship in song together.

I thought about it overnight and came to the inevitable conclusion that it was time to face my fear.  I had to go to church.  I had to sit with my friend.  I had to see him.  I needed to know that I could be in the same town, in the same room, on the same pew, and be safe.  My fear was allowing him to have power and control over my life.  And that wasn’t his fault.  It was mine. 

On the Sunday morning of battle, I put on my full Woman Armor…figure flattering outfit, coordinating sparkly jewelry, great hair, rebel bonus earrings, and  woman-on-a-mission lipstick.  I was ready.

The actual battle was sort of anticlimactic.  I went in and found my friend.  Sat down and worshipped.  I saw him.  And her.  And it wasn’t any big deal.  I sat with my friend and sang my heart out.  The songs and sermon were perfect.

About halfway through the second song, I started giggling quietly.  I was on the verge of losing it to loud laughter and barely managed to reign it in.  Why?  Because I was suddenly struck by my own silliness.  What in the world had I been afraid of?

He’s just a person.  With good and bad, strengths and weaknesses.  Just a person.  No better or worse than me.  Just a person.  Who no longer had power over me.

I left that service more free and joyful and unburdened than I had been in about fifteen years.  Glorious.

I went back to Amarillo this weekend to celebrate Darcie’s life.  While I was there, I realized I have much to celebrate in my own.