Coming Home

After a year, almost to the day, I have reentered the blogosphere with a curious calling on my heart. I don't know what it really means, but I know that I'm supposed to write, to share. I'm sorry for those of you who are faithful readers who have lost interest because of my absence, but I'm back now, with a different outlook on life.

Much has happened in a year. I have survived student teaching and graduated from college. I have learned I am going to be an aunt (literally within the next few days as yesterday baby was due). I have travelled to another country where part of my heart will always reside. I have read many books that have overwhelmed my soul. I have lost cats and gained others. I have been blessed with a part-time job which transitioned into a full-time job. I have students whom I adore and constantly challenge me.

But the biggest challenge and blessing came in this past week. I can't share details, nor do I really want to, but let's just say that I experienced something that will (Lord willing) only happen once in my teaching career. I know that's frustratingly vague, but to protect my students, I'm gonna keep it that way.

Because of this moment, this outpouring of emotion, my eyes have been opened to the pain of some of my students. And my heart aches. Instead of wanting to run away, I feel so much more anchored to the floor of my classroom. I have come home.

Some of you chuckle because I literally did come home. I am working at the school that I graduated from. But this is different. Because of this moment of utter pain and unguarded emotion, I don't think there is anywhere I would rather teach.

Yes, I probably will teach at another school at some point. Most teachers don't stay at the school they begin at. And especially with the Masters I plan on getting, my chances of staying at my school are little to none.

And yet. And yet I am overwhelmed. I feel a certain togetherness in my classroom that can only come from God. Instead of a splintering of souls, I feel like there is a coming together, a support system in a room of four cinder-block walls and posters.

Perhaps a little dumbly, I am going into this next week with high hopes. I know my students will not always be fantastic. I know that I will fail to teach them or be patient with them or plan something for them to learn. I know that the togetherness may not last, and maybe it's just an illusion that my soul wants to cling to, but I want to keep it.

I have hope. "'And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?'"(Esther 4:14).

Pliable

God is teaching me, once again, to be pliable.

"Pliable" by Brooke Fraser

Meat and Potatoes

This semester has been filled with surprisingly busy things. Some wonderful and amazing, others a little less so. But Jesus still manages to be present in my days.

I was reading Hebrews 5 this morning, and the end of the passage really hit home:

About this we have much to say, and it is hard to explain, since you have
become dull of hearing. For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you
need someone to teach you again the basic principles of the oracles of God. You
need milk, not solid food, for everyone who lives on milk is unskilled in the
word of righteousness, since he is a child. But solid food is for the mature,
for those who have their powers of discernment trained by constant practice to
distinguish good from evil. (Hebrews 5:11-14)

This passage made me pause. I really feel like I can only handle milk some days. The basics are all I can handle. I need to be able to handle and understand that which is milk before I can learn to eat solid food.

But I want to eat solid food. I want to savor meat and potatoes. I don't want to be complacent and just drink my milk. I need to be able to handle the milk and really be nurished by it, but I want to eat it in conjunction with those meat and potatoes.

For His glory I want to eat solid food.

Cooking Through Potholes

So for those of you keeping score, I have now made a few dishes toward my cooking goal.

I have successfully made an Apple Tart Bread, a Country White Bread, Chicken in Creamy Pan Sauce, and brats. To be honest, the hardest recipes were the white bread and the brats. The brats were hard possibly because they were not a recipe. And bread is just hard to make, but ooooh-so-good when finished. Thank you to my beautiful sister-in-law for help with the bread, and to my patient parents who eat what I make and help when they can.

Cooking is a struggle for me. Brats were very difficult for me to make just because I didn't have specific directions to follow. My need for directions, concrete directions, seems to be catching up to me. Because I don't understand cooking, I want everything to be laid out for me. But it's a science, an art-form. And who can write down perfection?

Growing up is hard, but I'm learning. Cooking is just an avenue to feeling like a real adult. I just wish the DOT of life would smooth out the potholes.