only.

word of the day: only \ōn-lē\ unquestionably the best

I am Martha. 

I realized it the other day. I was reading The Good and Beautiful God by James Bryan Smith and it hit me.  I suppose it’s our tendency to relate to Martha when we read Luke 10, but for some reason it struck a nerve this most recent time.  The story is familiar.  Martha was busying herself with chores.  She became frustrated when her sister Mary, rather than help her, simply sat at the feet of Jesus.  Luke says,

But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to [Jesus] and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”

“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”

                                     -Luke 10:40-45

I think the key word for me is “distracted.”  That’s what I am.  Distracted by all the preparations to be made.  Distracted by the dirty dishes on the counter.  Distracted by the lesson plans to be written.  Distracted by the spare bedroom that is littered with things yet to find a space.  Distracted by anything but the only thing that really matters. 

The thing that is unquestionably best.

Martha tried to serve Jesus before she abided in Him.  Mary had it figured out.  She sat at His feet and soaked Him in.  I think my approach is similar to Martha’s quite often.  More focus on serving, less focus on abiding. 

It’s all sort of falling into place in my mind now.  Martha didn’t do anything wrong; the chores needed to be done.  Service was necessary.  However, the service wasn’t necessary at that very moment in time.  Mary understood.  She recognized that there was nothing more important than listening to the teachings of Christ. 

So often I try to go straight to service.  I see now that I’m skipping a crucial step.

As of late, our Sunday sermons have been focusing on giving our lives away.  Our pastor has been encouraging us to find ways to give of ourselves each week.

I’ve been focusing on asking God to show me ways to give people my time.

It’s a funny thing asking that question.  Funny because He answers really clearly.  In both big and small ways. 

But He can’t show you those things if you’re not abiding in Him. 

I had this great blog worked out in my head initially where I wrote about all the ways God has provided me opportunities to give my time as of late.  But then I realized that I hadn’t really recognized any opportunities this past week.  I see now that it’s because I stopped listening.

I put the service ahead of the abidance.

What a great reminder it is for me to slow down.  To leave the dishes on the sink tonight and assure myself that my lesson won’t fail miserably tomorrow. 

It’s a great reminder that few things are needed—or indeed only one.

And that one thing is unquestionably best.

resolution.

word of the day: resolution \re-zə-lü-shən\ a.) something that is resolved b.) the point in a literary work when the chief dramatic complication is worked out

I made a resolution to write more in 2012.  So far, not so good.

I've never been very good at resolutions.

When I think about it, "resolution" is kind of an interesting word.  In one context, it is a beginning of sorts. A resolution is synonymous with a goal when the New Year hits.  It's also an end; it's the point at which the conflict of a story ties up all its loose ends.  As I like to say in 9th grade, it's the point when the boy across the street pulls out the folded piece of paper and finally admits to the nerdy version of Taylor Swift, "You Belong With Me."

A resolution is the end.  But it’s also a beginning.  Further proof to the theory that life is a story and we hold the pen, but I guess I’m getting ahead of myself.

2011 ended in a whirlwind of complications.  We moved out of the pool house a week before Christmas only to find that we couldn’t move into our new apartment until New Year’s Eve.  The resolution to that complication was to be roommates with my family for a week and a half.  While it wasn’t how we planned to spend our Christmas break, it was nice to spend some extra time with my family.  We’re beyond thankful for their hospitality even though they convinced Ginny that their home is her home. 

We moved out of my parents’ house and into Jake’s parents’ house for the next five days.  I’m now in my fourth year as a Flinkman, and I’m finally starting to fully appreciate the hustle and bustle that is Flinkman.  Going from a family Christmas of four to a family Christmas of fourteen takes a little getting used to and a few sessions of locking yourself in the bathroom to escape the noise, but I’m realizing that that is becoming something I look forward to before visits each year.  And I don’t lock myself in the bathroom anymore.  That really only happened once…

We shot guns…

We sat around the table…

We played “The Newlywed Game” and officially took away Jeremy and Kelly’s bragging rights for (let’s face it) forever…

Then we came back to reality which was a New Year’s Eve spent unpacking, rearranging, and wearing layers (the heat in our apartment hadn’t been turned on yet).  As we watched the ball drop surrounded by boxes and to dos yet to be checked off, “overwhelmed” was an understatement for the state of my mind. 

The only respite I found was my vacation to Dillon, Texas.  I’m thankful to the Panthers (and ultimately Lions) for letting me vacation to their town for hours at a time.  Tami and Coach Taylor were great hosts and I find myself slowing down my visits in order to prolong our relationship. 

Clear eyes.  Full hearts.  Can’t lose.

In any case, we’re mostly moved in to our new apartment.  By mostly moved in, I mean that the spare bedroom is a disaster and there’s a pile of stuff in the bedroom that needs to be sorted, but I just can’t bring myself to unpack anything else for the time being.  It’ll get done.

Our porch door looks directly at Des Moines University, and Jake and my’s face time as dramatically improved.  Ultimately I know the move has been a good thing because I haven’t yet eaten Ramen Noodles alone on the couch for dinner.

Ginny’s adjusting.  We’re pretty sure she spends her entire day face glued to the window anxiously awaiting a sign of one of us.  Her new bark collar isn’t her favorite accessory, but unfortunately she wouldn’t listen to reason. 

So here we are.  Back in the swing of things with a completely new swing of things.  My resolution to write more has already failed, but really, when have I ever made good on a resolution past January? 

I suppose that’s why I never really pay attention to New Year’s Resolutions.  Why set a goal I know I’m going to fail? Why create an expectation I’m never going to live up to?

Resolutions always seem to bring conflicts.  The goal to go to the gym more means you actually have to make going to the gym a priority.  The goal to run that half marathon means you actually have to get off the couch and run.  The goal to write more means you actually have to take time to write. *

The story doesn’t write itself.  I’m learning a lot about myself already this 2012, and I’m realizing that my desire to be more like Christ (a resolution I suppose) always comes with complications.  Challenges to overcome.  Stress that threatens to consume you.  People who are difficult to love.  An apartment that needs unpacking.  A to-do list that doesn’t seem to ever shorten.  The student who pushes all your buttons. 

Challenges exist, but the resolve to be more like Christ overcomes.  And with that resolve, I’m learning, comes resolution.  It’s all part of the story, the good and the bad, and we’re better people when we resolve to fight through it. 

Maybe that’s my real New Year’s resolution.

irony.

word of the day: irony \ī-rə-nē\ the opposite of what is expected

In ninth grade, we read “The Gift of the Magi” by O. Henry.  In case you’re not familiar with the story, let me give you a short synopsis.  Jim and Della are a young, married couple with very little to their name.  The story begins with Della agonizing over the $1.87 she has saved for Jim.  She makes a quick decision to sell her hair and is able to buy Jim a gold chain for his prized pocket watch.  The irony enters with Jim as he returns home from work to see Della without her beautifully, long hair.  He had sold his pocket watch to buy combs for her hair, and thus, both gifts are rendered useless.   

O. Henry has something to say about that, though, and he closes out the story with his own words of narration.  He says,
Our Christmas Eve service tonight was centered on irony.  The theme was carried throughout the night as we looked at all the events surrounding Jesus’ birth.  It is ironic that the birth was foretold to a simple, peasant girl.  It is ironic that the baby was born in a dirty stable.  It is ironic that the angels announced the birth to outcasts of the town.  It is ironic that the Magi weren’t even Jewish. 

The magi were wise men--wonderfully wise men--who brought gifts to the Baby Jesus. They invented the art of giving Christmas gifts. Being wise, their gifts were wise ones. And here I have told you the story of two young people who most unwisely gave for each other the greatest treasures of their house. But in a last word to the wise of these days, let it be said that of all who give gifts, these two were the wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.  

That’s not the irony that stood out to me though.  I was reminded multiple times throughout the service that the birth of Jesus actually happened.  An angel really appeared to Mary.  She and Joseph literally couldn’t find room in any inns.  Barn animals actually surrounded Jesus in his first moments on Earth.  The shepherds and the Magi are not just characters in fictional tales.  They are purposeful people in God’s story. 

It seems a silly epiphany to have.  Of course the birth of Jesus is real.  I just don’t remember the last time I really stopped to think about it, and to me, that seems especially ironic. 

O. Henry says Jim and Della are the wisest.  They loved the other more than their most prized possessions.  Because of the sacrifices they made, O. Henry likens them to the Magi.   My prized possession is time, and I know that I don’t sacrifice that as willingly as Jim and Della.  The irony is that I’m not willing to give up something for the One who gave up everything for me. 

And so, this Christmas I find myself especially thankful for that silent night so long ago.  For a night that actually exists in history and paved the way for the future.  I am thankful to be reminded of the irony of it all and the reality it plays in my life on a daily basis. 

purpose.

word of the day: purpose /ˈpərpəs/ something that one hopes or intends to accomplish

I taught my ninth graders about author's purpose today.  We talked about how every writer has a reason for writing, and that every writer brings a unique perspective to the craft.  We talked about word choice and the fact that writers very deliberately choose words to extend their tone.

I always love a good discussion about words.

So, here I sit, five hours after my discussion on purpose has ended as a writer seemingly without a purpose.  There's not a coherent plan in my mind, just the desire to let my fingers tap, tap across my keyboard because the rhythmic sound is therapeutic to my ever-buzzing mind.  The tap, tap reminds me that it's ok to slow down. 

It's quiet in my house right now.  Jake's headphones are plugged into his ears while he listens to the latest med school lecture, but every now and then he'll whistle whatever song is playing in his mind.  I don't really notice the whistling anymore--white noise I guess.  I'm not even sure he notices.

Jake and I are really good at appreciating breaks.  Last Christmas break, we watched two entire seasons of Parks and Recreation in three days.  We didn't reach such an impressive feat this year, but we did manage to get through twelve episodes of "Friday Night Lights" in four days. 

I'm a sucker for drama.  There's something about watching what seems to be another person's real life that glues me to the screen.  The pilot episode of FNL (what real fans call it apparently) had me crying already.  And apparently that's not even the most emotional episode. 

Good grief.

I've been trying to look at my world as Jesus looks at my world.  I've been trying to take a moment each morning in my classroom to ask Him to let me see my world through His eyes.  I'm learning that my lens and God's lens are often very different.  I'm also learning that they don't have to be.  When I look through my world through God's lens, ultimately the tone and purpose of my day becomes drastically different.

There we go.  I wasn't sure if I was going to make it full circle this time. 

My lens is clouded.  It's clouded most often, I'm learning, by pride.  Pride affects the way I look at my world because it inevitably focuses the lens on myself. 

When I view my world as Jesus views my world, the people who frustrate me are the people who need love the most.  The people who aggravate me are the people who need grace the most.  The people who would generally go unnoticed suddenly become placed at the forefront of my mind.

Because God notices the unoticeable.

It's a scary prayer to pray, "Let me see the world through Your eyes," but I'm glad my pastor encouraged me to pray it.  It reminds me on a daily basis that it's not enough to simply go through my day hoping God uses me in some form or another. 

It involves me in the purpose, it provides me with perspective, and it reflects the tone of my heart.

carry.

word of the day: carry \ˈka-rē\ to move while supporting

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                      i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

                                      e e cummings

We all carry with us someone else's heart.  And when we carry with us someone else's heart, our own heart becomes vulnerable.  My friend, Laura, always says that your heart resides outside of your body when you bring new life into the world.  While I don't understand that statement firsthand, I am reminded tonight that there are many people in my life whose hearts are aching.  They carry the heart of someone who is not with them.  Someone they long for or pray for or just can't quite reach.

I'm reassured that e e cummings isn't the only one who has something to stay about carrying someone else's heart. 

“Like a shepherd he tends his flock: he gathers up the lambs in his arm; he carries them close to his heart; he leads the ewes along.”

                                      Isaiah 40:11

And, here is the deepest secret that isn't really a secret(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than a soul can hope or mind can hide)

God carries us in His heart(He carries us in His heart).

musings.

word of the day: musings \ˈmyüz-ing\ to become absorbed in thought; especially : to turn something over in the mind meditatively and often inconclusively

It's a stream of consciousness sort of night. 

Actually it's an I-should-really-have-been-in-bed-30-minutes-ago kind of night, but writing beckons for no other reason than to still my mind.

There are three glass containers on my coffee table.  There is a cold mug of coffee, a warm glass of wine, and a small, empty, glass bowl that, not long ago, housed a handful of chocolate chips.  Clearly my priorities are in order.

If you could measure the rate of speed that a mind can move, I feel as though mine would measure off the charts.  Like as if it's already completely unmeasurable, mine would be even more completely unmeasurable.  Even my musings are having a hard time taking form because the thoughts are so densely embedded in every free space of my mind. 

I have rediscovered my love of learning.  Lately, I have been spending my weekend nights with a highlighter in one hand and a book on some sort of Educational topic in the other.  Grading practice.  Inquiry Circles.  School Improvement.  Alternate Assessments.  Homework.  You name it.  I've been reading it. 

Sometimes I get lost in the cloud that is my thoughts.  All the aforementioned topics float around begging to be put into practice and I find myself having to remind myself that I don't have to solve all the world's problems in a day.  Kids are learning.  I'm closer than I was yesterday.

Viruses attacked my computer this week and all those times I said to myself, "Just back up all your files next week," turned into a very real regret. 

I introduced the concepts of theme and symbol to my ninth graders today, so I suppose a current theme of my life could be, "Don't wait until tomorrow what could be done today."  The symbol, then, is probably all the perfectly organized files that are now lost in cyberspace.  What do they symbolize? For lack of a better word, laziness, I suppose.

I've been reading through Philippians sporadically this week.  I find myself continually reminded of the following:

Do nothing from rivalry or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.  Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.
                                       - Philippians 2:3-4

#thatonehitclosetohome

I'm getting pretty good at Twitter.

The clock just turned 11.  That means if I don't take a shower in the next ten minutes, I'll be awake when Late Night with Jimmy Fallon comes on, and it's nearly impossible for me to go to bed if I stay up almost late enough to watch his show.  Because almost late enough is basically late enough and then I might as well just stay up through the opening monologue. 

But really, I-should-have-been-in-bed-an-hour-ago, so shower it is. 

Happy musings!

why.

word of the day: why \ˈhwī, ˈwī\ reason, cause

I finally understand what a hashtag is.  My ninth graders tried to teach me awhile back, but I couldn't quite wrap my mind around the concept.  I actually had to see one in practical use before I could grasp the purpose (how's that for a classroom parallel?).  

Thanks to my recent immersion into the world of Twitter, I'm seeing hashtags everywhere.  #assessment.  #lamemathjokes.  #lovemesomecomfortfood.  #edchat.  #leadership.

The one that really got me though? #whyiwrite

Today happens to be National Writing Day, and the going thread in hashtags is an answer to the question "Why do you write?"  Some common responses I've seen today are:

Because it's the little moments in which I find a little piece of my soul.

It saves me from doing useless things.

Because I know it's what I was meant to do.

Because I discover myself while doing it.


To tell stories, hear stories, see stories, to share the stories I see behind my eyes

Because it's cheaper than therapy.

I write to reflect, learn and grow both professional and personally.

It's hard for me to think of an answer to that question because the answer changes so often.  Some days I write because it's the only way to make sense of the listless thoughts spinning around in my head.  Some days I write because all I want to do is hear the rhythms that words can make when you put them together just right.  Some days I write because I feel like my voice is powerful.  Some days I write because it's easier than talking. Some days I write because it quiets my soul, eases my mind, and slows my pace.  Some days I write just because.

Looks like I just created a few more hashtags. #whyiwrite

In any case, I can't help but overlook the fact that words come with great power, and as a writer, I suppose I have willingly become a steward of that power.   When I think of the sphere of influence this blog has, I'm reminded that I have the ability to influence at least 22 people with even the slightest word.  Shoot, maybe even more when you take into account all the people who couldn't figure out how to become a member.  Here's to the 6 of you.  #justkidding.

While we're on the subject of writing (to roughly transition), in honor of National Writing Day (or not since I only found out about it today), I have officially submitted something to be published.  I ran across a children's story publishing contest via Twitter (the common theme here apparently) the other day and decided I didn't have anything to lose.  So, "Carter, Ty, and the Rainy Day" is officially "out there."  I could care less if it wins--I'm just thrilled to have taken a baby step.

To continue today's theme, I promised a writing think aloud and I'm going to make good on that.  So if there are any teachers reading this blog, this think aloud script may be of interest to you.  I'm thankful to have been taught the value of a composing think aloud.  After only one attempt, I'm no expert, but I'm definitely a believer.  One of those personal 'aha' teaching moments I guess.  The script is a rough version--it worked more authentically than it reads because it changed with every class as I typed straight through the projector.  I only wrote the script because I wanted to get a handle on what exactly I really was thinking.  

In closing (because everyone knows that's the best way to end a piece of writing), I'd like to wish you a happy National Day of Writing (or what's left of it at least).  I'd also like to know why you write.  Even if the only answer you can think of is because you don't want to forget your grocery list. #leaveacomment.