A Day of New and Old Blessings

Our students have spent the last 6 years in 5 buildings, one of those condemned. They have endured "rat day," toilets overflowing into downstairs classrooms, and lockdowns aplenty. I don't mean to make our school sound "less than." If you know me, you know I love my students and school more than nutella or pesto. (Again, if you know me, you know this is a BIG love.) Today, everything and nothing changed.

As they walked into our new building, they couldn't keep their eyes in one place. The stage. The brightly colored walls. The chic furniture. The new desks. The mezzanine. The flat screen TV's in every classroom. The turf outside. The patio. The classrooms. The bathrooms. The water bottle fountains. The internet cafe areas. And it was all for them. All for the purpose of growing them, challenging them and supporting them to become whatever they want, whatever they were made for.

Whatever they are made for. Many of them have no idea that they have a purpose here, a specific fitting for making this world a better place. And I get to tell them. I get to show them what they are great at. I get to help them become more confident in the areas that they have been told they were "bad" at. I get to remind them when they forget their goals and hopes. I get to praise their writing, their creativity, their pragmatism, their linear thinking, their non-linear thinking, their curiosity. I have been given the singular, incredible privilege of showing these students who they have been made to be, how valuable they are, how much they are capable of. I get to love them. This is my 3rd year and I still can't believe I have my dream job. I get to help them find theirs.

It's been a while. It took me years to finally start a blog and I never felt very comfortable writing my thoughts for all to read. When I started my teaching credential, my writing became a distance box on my checklist. So distant, in fact, I forgot about it until a friend started a blog to track her online dating escapades. So here I am. I hope to document this experience. Because I am realizing this is a miracle. This isn't a dream. It's a miraculous gift.

steam rising

I ran 2.5 miles tonight. If you know me, you know that 2.5 miles, without walking, is a feat. I have been running for 2 weeks now, gradually increasing from a mile, from 10 minutes of running to 30. Sunday nights are the hard ones, the longest runs. When I stepped up on the treadmill, all I could think about was how much I didn't want to do it. I was fighting myself the entire way.

After mile one was when it got really hard. Not the physical as much as the mental. Running is pretty simple; one foot in front of the other, no real skill required. Its the brain that does all the work. At least for me. It seemed Rihanna was not enough to keep me motivated today. As the battle in my mind egged me to quit, if only for a few seconds, I began to imagine the fortress Herod built in Israel; Masada. It was the Jewish people's last stand against the Roman empire. The giant fortress rests atop an enormous mountain. The mountain was surrounded for 3 years by Roman troops. On the southern end, there is a steep ramp where the Roman soldiers built a tower that was cranked up the hill, until the Roman soldiers fought face to face with the Jewish soldiers, defending their families and life as they knew it. And as I ran, there I was. On the cliff, facing the invader. I know it sounds dramatic. But it took every ounce of... something, to keep me going, to fight the urge to quit and walk. Something.

I finished. I went outside and laid down on the cold cement, face-up, looking at the stars. It was so dark and the sky was so clear. For a moment it seemed I was swimming in the stars. Until I noticed the steam rising from my face. Words came to mind from one of my favorite songs, "My love is over, its underneath, its inside, its in between" That was the something. Not my own gusto. Not my own strength. Not even perseverance had taught me how to withstand that doubting. His love has met me in places I wasn't looking for it. It met me when my friends disowned me Sophomore year because I wasn't as cool as their new friends. It met me when I failed my first college class. It met me when my dad left this world, left me half-orphaned. It met me when I found myself aching for home, 7,000 miles away. And it met me on a treadmill.

It met me on a treadmill.

Who is this God that refuses to be ignored? That must be recognized in EVERY area of my life? Who is this Savior whose forgiveness is unequivocally endless? Who is this Spirit that calls to me from the stars? I love when He is in the small things because it reminds me of how great His love really is.

Travel Blog

I am going to be writing about my travels on a different blog. In case you want to follow along, here is the site.

http://callantravels.blogspot.com

Identity

I am not good at a lot of things. Like basketball. And giving compliments. And hiding when I am frustrated. And then I am good at other things, like fender benders, making people feel small. Eating too much sugar. And that's my problem. My identity is all wrapped up in things that make me less than. What is that all about? I never thought I was like that. Until a project we were given at OSS last week. We were supposed to cut out images from magazines to make a collage of 3 things that represented our identity in God's eyes. Mine were the phrase, "Who is in the drivers seat?" meant to recognize the struggle I always have with being in control. The second was an amtrak train in motion meant to represent my ridiculous pace in life. And the third a bunch of watches. This one was about my obsession with time, efficiency and frustration with others' lack of these things. I didn't realize how negatively I assumed God viewed me until that moment, looking down at my sad, sad piece of paper. I mean, what kind of God/Father is it that I serve? The greatest earthly father in the world doesn't go around describing his children by their flaws. "Oh, my daughter Molly really has a temper. And Jack is the one with the pride issue." Why would my Father do that? And even as I type this... I think, "Yeah, but what else would He say?" I hate compliments. Always have. But why? I don't believe them maybe. I often think people are trying to manipulate me by getting on my "good side." It's been different these last few years. I guess since I moved to Santa Cruz. I am trusting people more, their motives. But the thing is, compliments, even when people mean it, haven't changed my view of what God thinks of me. And that makes since. No one knows me like Him. And He doesn't give compliments. Not in words at least. So here I am, wondering... What is it that You think of me? How would You describe me? Father, show me who I am through Your eyes.

Making a Wish... for Hope

I wish, I wish upon a star.... It's interesting the difference between wishing and hoping. We seem to hope for what is possible, or for what is likely to happen. We wish for things beyond our reach. And yet the Hope we have in Christ is even bigger than what we could ever think to wish for. He brought us life, He made us His children, He provides everything we need and heals the places in which we are broken. I am finding myself blown away at the lengths God will go in our lives. To be intentional. To bring joy, peace, hope. I don't need a dandelion to blow on to dream big. I have a Father who cares for me, for my desires, for my good. Who is willing to listen and guide. And sometimes He gives me what I desire. But most of the time He gives me more than I could imagine.

Freedom

This is Budward Jr. He was my pet parakeet for 3 and a half splendid weeks. He flew away. I am going to get Budward the third in September. For those of you living in the dorms this summer: You are welcome:)

Making Changes

I think the thing that makes me most excited when I imagine being old is, well, less change. Besides your body losing to gravity, life as an old person seems void of change. The old people I meet know what they think about life. And they will tell you. Because who cares what you think of them. They don't have these major life decisions to make. They don't have futures to plan. I don't mean that in a morbid way. It seems sweet. Heaven is just around the corner and life here has been lived. No change.

And to be honest... the only time I EVER agree with the previous paragraph is when change is staring me in the face and I want to run. Run from the pressure. Run from the doubt. The doubt in myself. The doubt that God won't show up. Because the truth is, when I don't feel overwhelmed by some daunting decision, I love change. I love that my future is still out there... waiting to be lived. I love that I will not be the same person in 10 years. Hopefully I will be different tomorrow. I love that what happens today will CHANGE what happens tomorrow and the next day and months from now. I love being able to grow. I love that God designed us to be spurred on in truth. And more than the change I love... I love that He does not.

But in crisis... or in my over-dramatic response to change... I find myself wishing I could sit in a rocking chair on the porch of my house, old and wise, looking back on this time. Laughing at my insecurities as a 20-something girl. Change is so hard. Duh, Callan. But it's only hard because I want it to be meaningful, to have impact.

I know you can relate. Because you are changing. You have a decision to make about something. You have big plans in the near future. You are changing jobs. You are meeting new people. You are praying for growth in an area of weakness. I know I will never be alone in my fear of the unknown. Because I have you. Because we are all nervous. And we have a God who is not. We have a God who lets us wig out, only to comfort us and bring us peace as we move towards Him. I don't mean to put a pretty bow on the issue, as if to say its going to be ok. Because taking a risk means it might not be. It might not be ok, but it will be good. He has a way of doing that...