I'm teaching a Bachelors-level course this quarter called Written Analysis. The whole purpose of the class is to get students thinking "on paper." To think through a complex and complicated issue, with no clear or easy solutions, but to write out the thinking process. (Even if you're an internal processor, this is far from easy. Getting lost in your own thoughts is common and difficult to get out of. Trying to prevent that linguistically can be a nightmare.)
At any rate, here's the thing: the more I study and, dare I say, "think" about this class, and the deeper into the quarter we go, I find myself becoming fascinated with the critical thinking process specifically and obsessed with thinking in general. For about three hours each week, a group of about 30 of us hold up in a room and do nothing but think. We think about complicated issues, issues that some of the smartest people in the world are thinking about and then we propose our best-guess solutions to these problems and try to think about whta the ramifications of what we've proposed might be.
Here's what I've learned about thinking so far:
1. It's hard work.
2. The value lies in the progressive sophistication of the thoughts.
3. I am not the sharpest tool in the shed. (Okay, I really already knew this, but still, it's good to be reminded.)
4. It takes time.
5. Concentrated focus on thinking in this class, helps me think quicker and better throughout the other days.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Playtime
A couple of weeks ago I helped out with the Recreation part of VBS (that's Vacation Bible School for all the older ones reading this who still remember felt board Bible lessons and macaroni crosses in crafts), and one of the days I was in charge of keeping an eye on the kids playing in and on the playground. I'm always struck watching little kids play together because I learn so much from them.
As soon as they got going sliding, running, and expending copious amounts of energy, one of the little girls ran up to me and asked, "Mr. Noah, will you play with me?" I smiled and told her how much I appreciated her asking but that I needed to keep an eye on all the other kids and maybe she should ask someone else. I watched as she proceeded to approach a group of three girls timidly and ask the all-important question to them, "Will you play with me?" As I did, I realized that much as it is the make-or-break question for a kid on the playground, we as adults have similar situations throughout our lives.
Here's the thing: we come into social situations (high school, college, church, work, parties) with all our insecurities, all our frailties, all our perceived weaknesses, and we see all these already-formed groups of people having conversations, talking, laughing, and getting along. And in these situations of corporate monkey bars and social rope climbs, all we want is for someone to play with us. To find someone or a group of someones who will accept us into their game and keep us from being relegated to watching from the sidelines.
Thankfully, the group she asked willingly let the little girl in, and they laughed and played until it was time to move to the next part of VBS. But you and I both know this might not always be the case for her, and it certainly isn't always the case for adults. On playgrounds when no one will play with you it's okay to cry and be sad, and there are usually adults around to comfort you and make it all better, but in the adult world we don't always have those options available. Too often when adults aren't included we smile, pretend it's no big deal, and bury the hurt or whatever emotions are conjured up.
I hope and pray that I will be someone who is ready with a "yes" whenever anyone, no matter what they look like, smell like, act like, etc. asks me if I'll play with them. After all, isn't that what Christ did for me?
As soon as they got going sliding, running, and expending copious amounts of energy, one of the little girls ran up to me and asked, "Mr. Noah, will you play with me?" I smiled and told her how much I appreciated her asking but that I needed to keep an eye on all the other kids and maybe she should ask someone else. I watched as she proceeded to approach a group of three girls timidly and ask the all-important question to them, "Will you play with me?" As I did, I realized that much as it is the make-or-break question for a kid on the playground, we as adults have similar situations throughout our lives.
Here's the thing: we come into social situations (high school, college, church, work, parties) with all our insecurities, all our frailties, all our perceived weaknesses, and we see all these already-formed groups of people having conversations, talking, laughing, and getting along. And in these situations of corporate monkey bars and social rope climbs, all we want is for someone to play with us. To find someone or a group of someones who will accept us into their game and keep us from being relegated to watching from the sidelines.
Thankfully, the group she asked willingly let the little girl in, and they laughed and played until it was time to move to the next part of VBS. But you and I both know this might not always be the case for her, and it certainly isn't always the case for adults. On playgrounds when no one will play with you it's okay to cry and be sad, and there are usually adults around to comfort you and make it all better, but in the adult world we don't always have those options available. Too often when adults aren't included we smile, pretend it's no big deal, and bury the hurt or whatever emotions are conjured up.
I hope and pray that I will be someone who is ready with a "yes" whenever anyone, no matter what they look like, smell like, act like, etc. asks me if I'll play with them. After all, isn't that what Christ did for me?
You Think?
This quarter, I'm teaching a class titled "Written Analysis." The point of the class is to challenge students to think creatively and critically about issues related to their fields of study and then propose solutions to these problems based on the thinking they've done.
Last night, we had the first class, and we started with a discussion about worldviews and how our worldview affects (deeply affects, in fact) the way we approach the act and exercise of thinking and decision-making. Here's the thing: it occurred to me as we were talking, or rather as the students were talking and I was listening, just how little most people think about what they believe and how what they believe influences their behavior. As we laid out some of the bigger categories of worldviews (e.g. nihilism, existentialism, post-modernism) it was fascinating to see little cracks in some of the students as they realized that their behavior in certain situations actually cross a couple or even several different worldviews.
I don't know exactly where this discussion will ultimately lead, but it gave me great confidence that these students are going to be able to handle this class and anything I throw at them this quarter. I also walked away more convinced than ever, that we as humans need to do more thinking about what we think.
Last night, we had the first class, and we started with a discussion about worldviews and how our worldview affects (deeply affects, in fact) the way we approach the act and exercise of thinking and decision-making. Here's the thing: it occurred to me as we were talking, or rather as the students were talking and I was listening, just how little most people think about what they believe and how what they believe influences their behavior. As we laid out some of the bigger categories of worldviews (e.g. nihilism, existentialism, post-modernism) it was fascinating to see little cracks in some of the students as they realized that their behavior in certain situations actually cross a couple or even several different worldviews.
I don't know exactly where this discussion will ultimately lead, but it gave me great confidence that these students are going to be able to handle this class and anything I throw at them this quarter. I also walked away more convinced than ever, that we as humans need to do more thinking about what we think.
Monday, May 31, 2010
2010 Summer Reading List
It's summer time, and at least in theory, things will slow down a bit to give us all a chance to catch up on our reading. Here are four suggestions to throw in your backpack or beach bag and spend some time with this summer. With the exception of one book, this year's list is for those who want to have fun reading and get a little mental exercise in as well. Enjoy!
- The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon. Written from the perspective of a little boy who has autism, this book will entertain you in ways that are both surprising and heartwarming.
- The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. This one makes the list almost every other summer. The language isn't so much challenging as it is just a little dated at times, but it's an American classic, and you just have to read it at some point in your life. As a follow-up, if you want a little more challenge from Fitzgerald, try The Beautiful and the Damned.)
- Everything Is Illuminated by Jonathan Safran Foer. Get ready for this one. The small size of the book is very deceptive, as the writing and plot for this one rank with the likes of A Clockwork Orange.
- A Star Called Henry by Roddy Doyle. This one throws in some Irish history intertwined with a terrific story. Warning: read it on a sunny day!
Who Cares?
This article from MSNBC.COM caught my eye yesterday. If you know anything about me, you know that I'm constantly fascinated by generational trends, those specific and sometimes unique qualities that give generations characteristics and qualities nearing personality traits. In the article, Jenna Bryner cites a major study done at the University of Michigan which found that currently enrolled college students are 40% less likely to feel empathy toward their friends than those of previous generations did.
To be sure the interpretation of this research is subjective, but the main determinative statement as to whether students show empathy was, "I sometimes try to understand my friends better by imagining how things look from their perspective." The data seem to suggest that students are less likely to agree with this statement than those of the late 1970s were.
I don't know if I really think college students today are less empathetic than those of previous generations. In many ways, I feel as if my students tend to be more empathetic and want more empathy than I was at their age, but I do see (and hear) a trend among my students that seems to support the research. The students I teach today tend to have a "if it doesn't affect me, I don't care about it" mentality about a wide range of issues and problems. One of the things I strive for in my classes is to pick issues for discussion that my students can directly relate to, and if they don't, it becomes my job to help them see how what we're discussing directly affects their lives. So, it makes sense to me, that the "who cares?" mentality they have about the economic crisis in Greece, because it seems so removed from their everyday lives, could translate to their interpersonal relationships as well.
One of the traps of suburban life, is that it's easy to think that what happens to someone else doesn't directly affect me. We can drive into our garages, close the doors, draw the blinds or curtains, and in effect, hit the Ignore button with our actions the same way we do with our mouses to a "friend" request on Facebook. In apartment buildings or small towns where "everybody knows everybody" this is harder to do. Not that the Ignore button can't be hit, not that people who live in these places don't have the same capacity not to care about their neighbors, but the above mentioned scenarios do seem to make it harder not to care.
For me this article just reinforces much of what I already thought about teaching. That part of my job is not only to present issues to my students but to also help them see why the issues we're discussing in class matter, even if the issue doesn't fall on my students' pre-made list of issues that directly affect their lives.
To be sure the interpretation of this research is subjective, but the main determinative statement as to whether students show empathy was, "I sometimes try to understand my friends better by imagining how things look from their perspective." The data seem to suggest that students are less likely to agree with this statement than those of the late 1970s were.
I don't know if I really think college students today are less empathetic than those of previous generations. In many ways, I feel as if my students tend to be more empathetic and want more empathy than I was at their age, but I do see (and hear) a trend among my students that seems to support the research. The students I teach today tend to have a "if it doesn't affect me, I don't care about it" mentality about a wide range of issues and problems. One of the things I strive for in my classes is to pick issues for discussion that my students can directly relate to, and if they don't, it becomes my job to help them see how what we're discussing directly affects their lives. So, it makes sense to me, that the "who cares?" mentality they have about the economic crisis in Greece, because it seems so removed from their everyday lives, could translate to their interpersonal relationships as well.
One of the traps of suburban life, is that it's easy to think that what happens to someone else doesn't directly affect me. We can drive into our garages, close the doors, draw the blinds or curtains, and in effect, hit the Ignore button with our actions the same way we do with our mouses to a "friend" request on Facebook. In apartment buildings or small towns where "everybody knows everybody" this is harder to do. Not that the Ignore button can't be hit, not that people who live in these places don't have the same capacity not to care about their neighbors, but the above mentioned scenarios do seem to make it harder not to care.
For me this article just reinforces much of what I already thought about teaching. That part of my job is not only to present issues to my students but to also help them see why the issues we're discussing in class matter, even if the issue doesn't fall on my students' pre-made list of issues that directly affect their lives.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Multiple Personalities
One of the things I've learned this quarter has to do with the personality of classes. Let me set this up a bit: last quarter, I taught four sections of Comp 1, and each section had a distinct and fun personality, which was good for me as teaching four sections of the same class during the week could get pretty boring. But I came to know what would work and what wouldn't work in each class because I knew who they were as a group. I knew what they responded to. One class responded to a fast-pace, pack as much in as possible approach whereas another one really responded well to group activities. The one thing all four sections had in common was that the students in each section just gelled together and worked well. Even though I had to change my methods depending on the group's dynamics, it wasn't difficult to teach them because they were a cohesive unit, working together each class.
This quarter, I'm teaching two sections of Comp 2, and about 80% of my students are ones I had last quarter in Comp 1 sections. It's basically as if four sections of Comp 1 were combined into two sections of Comp 2, and it's honestly been one of the biggest challenges to teach. The well-formed, easy functioning classes of last quarter have gone. For some reason, four sections that separately were so gelled together have not mixed well at all, and knowing how to teach them and what they'll respond to has been almost impossible.
Here's the thing: I've always known that as a teacher I'm very sensitive to the feel of a class. If the students are rockin', so am I. If they are really getting the material and having a good time with it, teaching becomes unconscious for me, and I simply join the party. What I didn't realize until this quarter was just how meaningful and powerful the personality of a class can be and just how much I do respond to it. I also never dreamed that combining four really fun sections into two could take away the magic and adversly affect them that much.
This quarter, I'm teaching two sections of Comp 2, and about 80% of my students are ones I had last quarter in Comp 1 sections. It's basically as if four sections of Comp 1 were combined into two sections of Comp 2, and it's honestly been one of the biggest challenges to teach. The well-formed, easy functioning classes of last quarter have gone. For some reason, four sections that separately were so gelled together have not mixed well at all, and knowing how to teach them and what they'll respond to has been almost impossible.
Here's the thing: I've always known that as a teacher I'm very sensitive to the feel of a class. If the students are rockin', so am I. If they are really getting the material and having a good time with it, teaching becomes unconscious for me, and I simply join the party. What I didn't realize until this quarter was just how meaningful and powerful the personality of a class can be and just how much I do respond to it. I also never dreamed that combining four really fun sections into two could take away the magic and adversly affect them that much.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
And Reach!
I've never been much for stretching before or after a workout. Stretching always seemed optional, something that you could do if you wanted to, but not really necessary. And, in one sense, I was right. When I was younger, I could set out cold on a 5-mile run, or leave a round of weights in the gym, hit the shower, and go on with my day without much problem. Plus, stretching hurts. It's painful, and it's time-consuming: two things, neither of which I'm too fond of. The older I get, however, the more I'm realizing the importance of stretching. Without stretching, my muscles hurt worse when I workout, they become stiff, hardened, and inflexible. If I don't stretch knots in my neck and back come easier, and my shoulders get a little hunched. My muscles also find every way they can to cheat during workouts. They "remember" the routines so they can do the least amount of work possible. Stretching forces them to move, to bend, to change, to grow in ways that even weights can't.
Here's the thing: the principle that works in the gym, also works in my Christian life as well. Stretching is essential. It's imperative that I'm constantly finding ways to be stretched in my walk with Christ, especially the older I get. Just like my muscles do in a physical sense, it's so easy to find myself becoming hardened and inflexible, it's so easy to live on past spiritual insights, doctrines, and the things about this life that I already know how to do, so that I end up doing the least amount of "real, new work" possible and still give the appearance of fighting and running and lifting and growing. And, yes, just like in the gym, stretching hurts, and it is often time consuming, which is actually a blessing. It is the thing that will make my workouts more effective on the front end, and put me in the right frame of mind as I go out into the world so that people meet someone soft and flexible, not hardened and unbending.
Here's the thing: the principle that works in the gym, also works in my Christian life as well. Stretching is essential. It's imperative that I'm constantly finding ways to be stretched in my walk with Christ, especially the older I get. Just like my muscles do in a physical sense, it's so easy to find myself becoming hardened and inflexible, it's so easy to live on past spiritual insights, doctrines, and the things about this life that I already know how to do, so that I end up doing the least amount of "real, new work" possible and still give the appearance of fighting and running and lifting and growing. And, yes, just like in the gym, stretching hurts, and it is often time consuming, which is actually a blessing. It is the thing that will make my workouts more effective on the front end, and put me in the right frame of mind as I go out into the world so that people meet someone soft and flexible, not hardened and unbending.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Between the Lines
I have to pass the college where I teach on the Interstate to get to the exit, so I can wind my way back around to where it's built. As I've made the drive almost daily for the past eleven weeks, I'm struck by how small and unassuming the building looks. Even though it faces the interstate and has the name of the school in large letters on the front, it sits behind some trees, lower than the interstate, and at 70 (or more) miles per hour, it can be easy to miss. In fact, I'm not sure before I started teaching there I even noticed it. And yet, it's a place that's full of activity. Hundreds of cars come in and out of its parking lot every day. Vendors come, deliveries are made, and it functions like buildings do, whether anyone notices or not. Not only that, but it's a college. It's a place where learning happens. It's a place where ideas are formed, batted around, discussed. Where opinions are strengthened, broken down, changed, and then remade into something, hopefully, stronger and more thoughtful. Quietly, sitting there by the interstate, with the traffic of life speeding by, a really fascinating story is being written, "inside the four walls."
And, here's the thing: that's how it is with a lot of my students as well. See, where I teach, many of the students don't come from society considers ideal backgrounds for pursuing higher education. They work hard to make it to class each night after working all day. They fight to stay focused on their goals, sometimes without much encouragement from their families or friends. They are there, sitting in class, trying to focus on computer programming and thesis statements, when their minds are wandering to thoughts of paying for babysitters, or where the gas money to get home will come from. And sometimes, because of circumstances or preconceived notions that many people have, they can be easy to miss, easy to look over, easy to pass by and think, much like the building that houses the school, that they're "just another group of Tech School students."
And yet, that's not the case at all. As I've walked the halls every day this quarter, interacted with them, and listened to what they have to say, I've learned so much about the stories that are being written "within their four walls." Stories of courage, grief, sadness, tremendous happiness, and hope. Stories that deserve and need to be told, even as they are still being written. Stories that shouldn't be overlooked, because the traffic of what passes for "normal life" is speeding by at such a rate that it becomes necessary, for efficiency's sake, to develop file folders to put everything in ("just another building," "just another student"). Stories that are sometimes hard to see in the midst of the trees. Stories that leave you changed.
And, here's the thing: that's how it is with a lot of my students as well. See, where I teach, many of the students don't come from society considers ideal backgrounds for pursuing higher education. They work hard to make it to class each night after working all day. They fight to stay focused on their goals, sometimes without much encouragement from their families or friends. They are there, sitting in class, trying to focus on computer programming and thesis statements, when their minds are wandering to thoughts of paying for babysitters, or where the gas money to get home will come from. And sometimes, because of circumstances or preconceived notions that many people have, they can be easy to miss, easy to look over, easy to pass by and think, much like the building that houses the school, that they're "just another group of Tech School students."
And yet, that's not the case at all. As I've walked the halls every day this quarter, interacted with them, and listened to what they have to say, I've learned so much about the stories that are being written "within their four walls." Stories of courage, grief, sadness, tremendous happiness, and hope. Stories that deserve and need to be told, even as they are still being written. Stories that shouldn't be overlooked, because the traffic of what passes for "normal life" is speeding by at such a rate that it becomes necessary, for efficiency's sake, to develop file folders to put everything in ("just another building," "just another student"). Stories that are sometimes hard to see in the midst of the trees. Stories that leave you changed.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Partying Like the Pagans
If you buy into this whole idea of God not only allowing but actually commanding his people to stop, in the middle of the desert, and take time to celebrate, the next question should be, "Okay, but how?" It's a good question, and one that I think followers of Christ are pretty confused about. I grew up in an environment where Christians were encouraged to be different from the world in the hopes the world would take notice and begin asking questions about what made us different. And, while I don't think this is a bad attitude or tactic to take, it does seem to create in many believers' minds (mine being one of those) the idea that we can't or shouldn't do anything the world would see as fun: we, prayed in the New Year, instead of having parties; we had wedding receptions in the fellowship hall instead of at clubs; we had Fall (or Harvest) Festivals instead of going trick-or-treating.
Now, please understand, the heart and intent behind all these things are good, and there's even a lot about the methodology that I think is right and missing from grace-driven ministries. (There are many times when I worry I'm becoming too much like the world, and this is something to be warred against just as much as the legalism and pseudo-piety of the previous examples.) The problem came, not in what we did, but in the fear that seemed to lay constantly under the surface that we were going to end up being "just like the world." That no one would be able to tell a difference between us and them, and everything we did was evaluated by this method.
Here's the thing: I don't see as much of a concern about that in the celebrations and feasts God instituted for his people as they wandered in the wilderness. Now, to be sure, there was a major difference in the object of celebration for the Hebrews and the pagan cultures that lived around them, and this did permeate into certain areas of the parties, but if we were to walk into the Israelite camp during a festival, I'm not sure we'd be able to tell that much of a difference between their celebrations and those of say, the Canaanites. There was lots of food, lots of loud music, lots of dancing, yes, lots of drinking, and a spirit of raucous and chaos that would make most believers uncomfortable. In fact, the practices of the celebrations were so close to what the pagans did, that Israel actually crossed over into sin on several occasions of pagan worship, slipping away from the original object of their celebration. God didn't like it, and he punished them greatly for that, but he never took away the festivals. He never changed the methods. He never said, "The risk is too great for them to slip into idolatry, so therefore, no more celebrations." Instead, he seemed to want them to party and celebrate with more than enthusiasm and yet still hold on to his command to have NO other gods before him.
What a different viewpoint than I tend to have! Instead of trying to stay as far away as I can from "the line" of sin, God set up a system in which the Israelites seemed to constantly flirt with it. Why? Was he testing them? Maybe. Was he setting them up to fail? Doubtful. Instead, I think he encouraged this kind of celebration because he knew better than anyone else just how worthy he is of as much exuberance as a human being can muster, and then some. Besides, the pagans didn't create joy and fun and the spirit of celebration, God did! So often, as believers, I think we're just kind of content to let the world have what should be ours, what was ours to begin with. If the message of the Gospel is really true, if we have been given all that we claim we have, if we really are looking forward to what we say we are, Times Square on New Year's Eve should become like a high school pep rally compared to the party we would throw.
Just like the desert didn't change, neither did God nor has he. The commands to holiness and discipline and watching out for weaker brothers and sisters are still there. But could it be that he's encouraging us to risk those in an effort to praise him, to enjoy celebrating him? Certainly it's not about having bigger and better parties, but it might just be about trying to redeem partying in an effort to worship and celebrate our God in the way he deserves, and letting the accusations of being "like the world" get drowned out by the music.
Now, please understand, the heart and intent behind all these things are good, and there's even a lot about the methodology that I think is right and missing from grace-driven ministries. (There are many times when I worry I'm becoming too much like the world, and this is something to be warred against just as much as the legalism and pseudo-piety of the previous examples.) The problem came, not in what we did, but in the fear that seemed to lay constantly under the surface that we were going to end up being "just like the world." That no one would be able to tell a difference between us and them, and everything we did was evaluated by this method.
Here's the thing: I don't see as much of a concern about that in the celebrations and feasts God instituted for his people as they wandered in the wilderness. Now, to be sure, there was a major difference in the object of celebration for the Hebrews and the pagan cultures that lived around them, and this did permeate into certain areas of the parties, but if we were to walk into the Israelite camp during a festival, I'm not sure we'd be able to tell that much of a difference between their celebrations and those of say, the Canaanites. There was lots of food, lots of loud music, lots of dancing, yes, lots of drinking, and a spirit of raucous and chaos that would make most believers uncomfortable. In fact, the practices of the celebrations were so close to what the pagans did, that Israel actually crossed over into sin on several occasions of pagan worship, slipping away from the original object of their celebration. God didn't like it, and he punished them greatly for that, but he never took away the festivals. He never changed the methods. He never said, "The risk is too great for them to slip into idolatry, so therefore, no more celebrations." Instead, he seemed to want them to party and celebrate with more than enthusiasm and yet still hold on to his command to have NO other gods before him.
What a different viewpoint than I tend to have! Instead of trying to stay as far away as I can from "the line" of sin, God set up a system in which the Israelites seemed to constantly flirt with it. Why? Was he testing them? Maybe. Was he setting them up to fail? Doubtful. Instead, I think he encouraged this kind of celebration because he knew better than anyone else just how worthy he is of as much exuberance as a human being can muster, and then some. Besides, the pagans didn't create joy and fun and the spirit of celebration, God did! So often, as believers, I think we're just kind of content to let the world have what should be ours, what was ours to begin with. If the message of the Gospel is really true, if we have been given all that we claim we have, if we really are looking forward to what we say we are, Times Square on New Year's Eve should become like a high school pep rally compared to the party we would throw.
Just like the desert didn't change, neither did God nor has he. The commands to holiness and discipline and watching out for weaker brothers and sisters are still there. But could it be that he's encouraging us to risk those in an effort to praise him, to enjoy celebrating him? Certainly it's not about having bigger and better parties, but it might just be about trying to redeem partying in an effort to worship and celebrate our God in the way he deserves, and letting the accusations of being "like the world" get drowned out by the music.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Porch Swings
Here's the thing: I found this great summertime drink, thanks to a buddy of mine who lives in Atlanta. Read my two previous blog posts, click here, make the drink, light some citronella candles, sit outside, gather some friends, and reflect on the goodness of God in your life. (You might even start to celebrate a little!)
One hint, the cucumbers are a must!
One hint, the cucumbers are a must!
Celebrating in the Sand
So, this is the next stop in my thinking about joy and the Christian life. If you missed the first post, just click here.
The Israelites have been brought out of Egypt, liberated by the Lord, on their way to the land that he'd promised them long ago. A land, according to Exodus 3:8, "flowing with milk and honey." And yet, to get there, they had to pass through the desert. Reading the book of Exodus, there's no way for anyone to confuse that it was God who brought them out of Egypt, nor that it was his decision to take them through the desert, the "long way" as it were, to get to their destination. He had a purpose. Actually, he had several. He wanted them to learn to trust him. He wanted to teach them his ordinances and his laws. He wanted to test their faith and their obedience. He wanted to "fit them" to inherit the land that he had set aside for them. Much of the books of Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy are the accounts of this "fitting," of God sanctifying his people for the new life he had prepared for them. The really cool thing about these accounts is that none of them try to make this process sound like anything other than what it was: hard. The Israelites were in the desert, it was hot, there were a lot of them, and they had to move in this sort of cumbersome herd. They needed water, they needed food. They didn't know where they were nor where they were going, and in the midst of all this. In the moments of testing and sanctifying, God instituted festivals and feasts, times when he instructed his people to stop and party.
Depending on how you count and what you count, there are anywhere from 10-12 times every year that God told his people to stop working and party. Sometimes these were more solemn: Passover (Exodus 12:1-14; Leviticus 23:5; Numbers 9:1-14;28:16; Deuteronomy 16:1-3a;4b-7) and Firstfruits (Leviticus 23:9-14), but other times they were just loud expressions of joy: Feast of the Tabernacle or Booths (43; Numbers 29:12-34; Deuteronomy 16:13-15; Zechariah 14:16-19) and Trumpets (Leviticus 23:23-25; Numbers 29:1-6). Times designed for people to be joyful, happy, and in a mood of celebration. Times when music was played, when the entire camp would be filled with the aroma of animals being given as burnt offerings. Times when no "ordinary" work should be done, but instead the work of celebrating was the order of the day.
Now, here's the thing: if I'd been there, I probably would have been that guy saying, "Wait a minute, we're in the desert! Don't you see all this sand around you! You know as well as I do how hard it is to grow grain here, to keep our bulls alive and fed, and now we're gonna just burn them. What about if we need them tomorrow? What will we do then? God has already tested us before by having us wander over hard and difficult paths, what if he does that again? Besides, partying and celebrating are for those who don't really understand our God. He's a serious God. Not some frivolous thing to just blow trumpets at." To use the modern day vernacular: every party has a pooper, that's why we invited you!
The interesting thing about these feats and festivals is that God commanded the people to celebrate, and for hundreds of years, the morning after each celebration, they woke up still in the desert. The sand hadn't magically disappeared, and the daily grind was still there. And yet God commanded praise, he commanded celebration. And, lest we think these were anything subdued or quiet, just imagine over five thousand people shouting, laughing, blowing trumpets, and in a party mood. It was loud, it was chaotic, it was (dare I say it) fun!
How does this look practically? Well, I've got some thoughts about that coming soon. For now, I'm just simmering in the idea that celebration isn't just okay, it's commanded, and that I have been far too disobedient for far too long.
The Israelites have been brought out of Egypt, liberated by the Lord, on their way to the land that he'd promised them long ago. A land, according to Exodus 3:8, "flowing with milk and honey." And yet, to get there, they had to pass through the desert. Reading the book of Exodus, there's no way for anyone to confuse that it was God who brought them out of Egypt, nor that it was his decision to take them through the desert, the "long way" as it were, to get to their destination. He had a purpose. Actually, he had several. He wanted them to learn to trust him. He wanted to teach them his ordinances and his laws. He wanted to test their faith and their obedience. He wanted to "fit them" to inherit the land that he had set aside for them. Much of the books of Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy are the accounts of this "fitting," of God sanctifying his people for the new life he had prepared for them. The really cool thing about these accounts is that none of them try to make this process sound like anything other than what it was: hard. The Israelites were in the desert, it was hot, there were a lot of them, and they had to move in this sort of cumbersome herd. They needed water, they needed food. They didn't know where they were nor where they were going, and in the midst of all this. In the moments of testing and sanctifying, God instituted festivals and feasts, times when he instructed his people to stop and party.
Depending on how you count and what you count, there are anywhere from 10-12 times every year that God told his people to stop working and party. Sometimes these were more solemn: Passover (Exodus 12:1-14; Leviticus 23:5; Numbers 9:1-14;28:16; Deuteronomy 16:1-3a;4b-7) and Firstfruits (Leviticus 23:9-14), but other times they were just loud expressions of joy: Feast of the Tabernacle or Booths (43; Numbers 29:12-34; Deuteronomy 16:13-15; Zechariah 14:16-19) and Trumpets (Leviticus 23:23-25; Numbers 29:1-6). Times designed for people to be joyful, happy, and in a mood of celebration. Times when music was played, when the entire camp would be filled with the aroma of animals being given as burnt offerings. Times when no "ordinary" work should be done, but instead the work of celebrating was the order of the day.
Now, here's the thing: if I'd been there, I probably would have been that guy saying, "Wait a minute, we're in the desert! Don't you see all this sand around you! You know as well as I do how hard it is to grow grain here, to keep our bulls alive and fed, and now we're gonna just burn them. What about if we need them tomorrow? What will we do then? God has already tested us before by having us wander over hard and difficult paths, what if he does that again? Besides, partying and celebrating are for those who don't really understand our God. He's a serious God. Not some frivolous thing to just blow trumpets at." To use the modern day vernacular: every party has a pooper, that's why we invited you!
The interesting thing about these feats and festivals is that God commanded the people to celebrate, and for hundreds of years, the morning after each celebration, they woke up still in the desert. The sand hadn't magically disappeared, and the daily grind was still there. And yet God commanded praise, he commanded celebration. And, lest we think these were anything subdued or quiet, just imagine over five thousand people shouting, laughing, blowing trumpets, and in a party mood. It was loud, it was chaotic, it was (dare I say it) fun!
How does this look practically? Well, I've got some thoughts about that coming soon. For now, I'm just simmering in the idea that celebration isn't just okay, it's commanded, and that I have been far too disobedient for far too long.
The E-vite
I have long understood and lived with the mindset that the Christian life, at least my Christian life, is like living on a clock pendulum, constantly swinging from one side to the other, rarely spending much if any time in the middle. I'm in one of those times right now, specifically as it relates to God's sovereignty and our joy. As I've grown in my understanding and belief in the absolute sovereignty of God, one of the things I've had to deal with is the fact that bad things happen to Christians living in a fallen world, and that this has nothing to do with a lack of faith, or unconfessed sin, it's just the reality of life, even to the point of accepting (which I'm very ready to do) that God ordains suffering and trials and "bad" things in my life for days, weeks, and even seasons to accomplish his will. As I've become more comfortable with this doctrine, which I really do believe is Biblical, two things have happened: I've begun to see trials and suffering as a natural, normal thing, and expect that they will come, and it's become harder for me to rejoice in the good things, the relief, that are also a part of the normal Christian life. The first one is healthy and right, the second one is not.
As far as the issue of trials and suffering being normal and being ordained by God, I'm there. I've long since given up on the hopelessness that comes from seeing suffering and trials as somehow my fault for not having enough faith or not confessing my sin fast enough. I played that game for a long time, and trust me, you don't want to go there. Not only is it unbiblical, it's also exhausting, defeating, and puts a lot of the burden for living this life on me, a very scary proposition.
On the other hand, I'm more and more troubled by how my mind has moved--and I see this in others around me who are understanding these truths for the first time as well--from an acceptance of a suffering and trials to a "grit-your-teeth-and-bear-it" mentality that too often views the Christian life as something to suck it up and get through, while waiting on the next Providential shoe to drop. (In many ways this is no different than those Christians who view this world as utterly and completely evil, without hope, and who wait for Christ to come back and snatch them out of the mess.) And, when there are those moments of blessing and joy, I find myself enjoying them reservedly, not because I don't think God wants me too, but because I don't want to take my eye off the trail, in case I get distracted and step on a landmine.
Here's the thing: this has been the recipe for a resistance to joy in my life, and that scares me. I worry about what it says about me, my view of God, and my misunderstanding of Scriptures. Surely there's got be a way in which I can live the Christian life, not as some naive Peter Pan, thinking life is all about being happy, and then when trials and sufferings come my way, being totally devastated because I think it's my fault somehow, and that I need to work harder to get God's blessing about, and yet at the same time, not be so consumed in accepting the trials and sufferings of life, that I can't "rejoice in the Lord always" (Philippians 4:4).
The world needs to know that Christians aren't perfect, that we struggle with things, and we don't expect the Gospel to "fix" us and make everything fine and dandy, but they also need to see us having joy in the midst of the pain, otherwise, why would they need to accept it? After all, they've already got the pain.
I think the answer lies in the Old Testament. In God's instruction of Israel, while they were in the desert. Sand for miles around. No food. No water. All apart of his plan in leading them out of bondage and into the Promised Land. He told them to pray, he told them to sacrifice, he told them to obey, but he also told them to party. There's something here, and I need to explore it more.
As far as the issue of trials and suffering being normal and being ordained by God, I'm there. I've long since given up on the hopelessness that comes from seeing suffering and trials as somehow my fault for not having enough faith or not confessing my sin fast enough. I played that game for a long time, and trust me, you don't want to go there. Not only is it unbiblical, it's also exhausting, defeating, and puts a lot of the burden for living this life on me, a very scary proposition.
On the other hand, I'm more and more troubled by how my mind has moved--and I see this in others around me who are understanding these truths for the first time as well--from an acceptance of a suffering and trials to a "grit-your-teeth-and-bear-it" mentality that too often views the Christian life as something to suck it up and get through, while waiting on the next Providential shoe to drop. (In many ways this is no different than those Christians who view this world as utterly and completely evil, without hope, and who wait for Christ to come back and snatch them out of the mess.) And, when there are those moments of blessing and joy, I find myself enjoying them reservedly, not because I don't think God wants me too, but because I don't want to take my eye off the trail, in case I get distracted and step on a landmine.
Here's the thing: this has been the recipe for a resistance to joy in my life, and that scares me. I worry about what it says about me, my view of God, and my misunderstanding of Scriptures. Surely there's got be a way in which I can live the Christian life, not as some naive Peter Pan, thinking life is all about being happy, and then when trials and sufferings come my way, being totally devastated because I think it's my fault somehow, and that I need to work harder to get God's blessing about, and yet at the same time, not be so consumed in accepting the trials and sufferings of life, that I can't "rejoice in the Lord always" (Philippians 4:4).
The world needs to know that Christians aren't perfect, that we struggle with things, and we don't expect the Gospel to "fix" us and make everything fine and dandy, but they also need to see us having joy in the midst of the pain, otherwise, why would they need to accept it? After all, they've already got the pain.
I think the answer lies in the Old Testament. In God's instruction of Israel, while they were in the desert. Sand for miles around. No food. No water. All apart of his plan in leading them out of bondage and into the Promised Land. He told them to pray, he told them to sacrifice, he told them to obey, but he also told them to party. There's something here, and I need to explore it more.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
More Summer. . . and Fall Reading
Newsweek published a list of "Fifty Books for Our Time." I love lists like this. I scanned through it, and am sad to say that I haven't read any of them and haven't even heard of most of them. Here's the thing: I'm thinking about working this into my reading time, and going for the challenge. Why not, right? Certainly some of them will be duds, but what's a better use of my time than this.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Summer Reading List
Looking for a good book to catch up with this summer? Here are three suggestions:
The Pursuit of God by A.W. Tozer -- It will grab your heart and never let go. I was never the same after I read this book, and I re-read it every couple of years to be reminded of the truth that's there.
1776 by David McCullough -- I know it's a few years old now, but in the midst of the times this country is going through today, it's as relevant as ever. McCullough writes for the non-history buff, so don't be intimidated.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson -- File this under the category of "Books I Should Have Read in High School but Never Did." Also count it as one of the best examples of the dual nature of man ever to be written down. You will understand yourself (and everyone around you) better after you read this one.
If you get a chance to read any of them, let me know what you think.
The Pursuit of God by A.W. Tozer -- It will grab your heart and never let go. I was never the same after I read this book, and I re-read it every couple of years to be reminded of the truth that's there.
1776 by David McCullough -- I know it's a few years old now, but in the midst of the times this country is going through today, it's as relevant as ever. McCullough writes for the non-history buff, so don't be intimidated.
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson -- File this under the category of "Books I Should Have Read in High School but Never Did." Also count it as one of the best examples of the dual nature of man ever to be written down. You will understand yourself (and everyone around you) better after you read this one.
If you get a chance to read any of them, let me know what you think.
Monday, June 22, 2009
There Was a Farmer. . . Who Was a Father
Once upon a time there was a man named Bill. He was a dairy farmer in a small town in Alabama. If you were writing a book or short story about the life and adventures of a small town farmer, he would have been tailor-made for the part: honest, hard working, someone who knew his stuff, a war vet. Not that his life was storybook. From what I hear, there were times when folks tried to take advantage of him, and looked down on him. But, if the stories they tell in Florette are true, he met each hardship with grace, choosing never to reciprocate any of the negativity thrown his way. I met him later in his life. After the farm was officially closed, the barns starting to fall apart, and the cows long gone, and yet it wasn't hard to see that in fact the stories they tell in Florette about Bill are in fact true. There was an underlying sweetness about him that seemed to defy the conventional farmer stereotypes of the hard men who became stoic after years of hard work and uncertainty. This farmer didn't have that. This farmer was also a father. He had a daughter and a son, and he raised them along with his wife. They grew up, learned how to do chores, and experienced all the things kids enjoy and remember about life on the farm.
Then, circumstances and life being what they are sometimes in this fallen world, later on, this farmer became a father again. This time to another son. Yes, technically, it was his grandson, but if the stories the guy who lives in the other room at my house tells are true, Bill was a father to him in every sense of the word. He loved him, cared for him, looked after him, provided for him, and gave him a sense of place and purpose in the uncertainty this new son found himself in. Genetics helped by giving the new son his grand-father's smile, but it was on long walks, those times of riding around the farm in the truck, those moments so private, that the young boy was given his father's heart, his tenderness, his love and concern for others.
Another chapter of this story played out recently, as Bill died, and as I've been thinking about and walking through this part of the drama with my roommate, I've been struck at how once, long ago, another father had a son. In fact, they'd been together since before there was even time, and they were closer than any father and son has ever been or will ever be. This father and son were one, distinct, and yet the same. Then, circumstances and life being what they are in this fallen world, this father became a father again. This time he did it by adopting people like me, giving us a purpose, a sense of place, a future and a hope. Creation helped by giving us his image, but it's by spending time with him, and his working to conform us to the image of his first son, that we are given his heart. And, much like Bill waited with anticipation, at the end of the long driveway that runs from the road to the farmhouse (and later from inside the farmhouse when he was too weak to be out) for his new son, his second son to come home, this other father waits as well for his adopted children, his new sons and daughters to come and be with him and enjoy him and sit together and learn more about his heart, and leave with more stories to tell.
Then, circumstances and life being what they are sometimes in this fallen world, later on, this farmer became a father again. This time to another son. Yes, technically, it was his grandson, but if the stories the guy who lives in the other room at my house tells are true, Bill was a father to him in every sense of the word. He loved him, cared for him, looked after him, provided for him, and gave him a sense of place and purpose in the uncertainty this new son found himself in. Genetics helped by giving the new son his grand-father's smile, but it was on long walks, those times of riding around the farm in the truck, those moments so private, that the young boy was given his father's heart, his tenderness, his love and concern for others.
Another chapter of this story played out recently, as Bill died, and as I've been thinking about and walking through this part of the drama with my roommate, I've been struck at how once, long ago, another father had a son. In fact, they'd been together since before there was even time, and they were closer than any father and son has ever been or will ever be. This father and son were one, distinct, and yet the same. Then, circumstances and life being what they are in this fallen world, this father became a father again. This time he did it by adopting people like me, giving us a purpose, a sense of place, a future and a hope. Creation helped by giving us his image, but it's by spending time with him, and his working to conform us to the image of his first son, that we are given his heart. And, much like Bill waited with anticipation, at the end of the long driveway that runs from the road to the farmhouse (and later from inside the farmhouse when he was too weak to be out) for his new son, his second son to come home, this other father waits as well for his adopted children, his new sons and daughters to come and be with him and enjoy him and sit together and learn more about his heart, and leave with more stories to tell.
Poison Ivy and My Selfishness
Over the weekend, a group of us went to help a friend's grandmother clean up around the house of the farm she lives on. It was a massive undertaking, and our energy gave out long before the list of things that needed to be done did. We were warned to be on the look-out for snakes, poison oak, and poison ivy, as all three are summer residents on the farm. I started out with the weed-eater, acutely on the look-out for snakes, but not too worried about poison ivy and/or poison oak, since I've never been allergic to it. At one point, a couple of buddies and I finished throwing limbs we'd cut onto a pile to be burned, and immediately one of them said, "Okay, let's go wash our hands, 'cause there was poison ivy all over those limbs." I hadn't even noticed the poison ivy, and as I thought more about it, I realized that I didn't even know what poison ivy looks like (poison oak either, for that matter.) Then it hit me, that I've never bothered to learn how to identify poison oak or poison ivy, because I'm not allergic to them. They don't pose a threat to me, and so I just go about my business, not too worried, unaware. Certainly, I wasn't looking out for them like I was the snakes, something that had the potential to harm me. For most of the people I was working with, poison oak and ivy can lead to days of discomfort, even potentially shots, but for me, it's a non-issue, so I'm happy to live in blind ignorance to it most of the time.
Here's the thing: through this little episode I was reminded of just how selfish I am when it comes to living life. I mean, so much of my life is lived in a state of "if it doesn't affect me, then I won't worry about it." Not allergic to poison ivy? Great. I won't even bother to learn what it looks like. Who cares if I might be able to point it out to someone else that is allergic to it. After all, it's their struggle, not mine.
Over and over again, the Bible talks about the church as a group of people who look out for one another, consider one another above themselves, put their own needs and desires on hold for the good of the group, refrain from things they have no problem with if it would cause another to struggle. In other words, it's made up of people who learn what sin--all sin--looks like, whether it affects them or not, and they are on guard, always looking out for others who might experience days, weeks, months, or even longer of problems if they were to get wrapped up in whatever it is. I'm so thankful that I'm in a church with people who look out for me and are on guard, on the lookout for potential sins that could entangle me. I pray that God will continue to take my eyes off myself and make me more into someone like that as well.
Here's the thing: through this little episode I was reminded of just how selfish I am when it comes to living life. I mean, so much of my life is lived in a state of "if it doesn't affect me, then I won't worry about it." Not allergic to poison ivy? Great. I won't even bother to learn what it looks like. Who cares if I might be able to point it out to someone else that is allergic to it. After all, it's their struggle, not mine.
Over and over again, the Bible talks about the church as a group of people who look out for one another, consider one another above themselves, put their own needs and desires on hold for the good of the group, refrain from things they have no problem with if it would cause another to struggle. In other words, it's made up of people who learn what sin--all sin--looks like, whether it affects them or not, and they are on guard, always looking out for others who might experience days, weeks, months, or even longer of problems if they were to get wrapped up in whatever it is. I'm so thankful that I'm in a church with people who look out for me and are on guard, on the lookout for potential sins that could entangle me. I pray that God will continue to take my eyes off myself and make me more into someone like that as well.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Little Marks
This week I began each of my Comp classes by having the students write from two different prompts. I made them for ten minutes. I told them I didn't care about grammar, spelling, even complete sentences. If they couldn't think of anything to write, I told them to copy (and re-copy, if necessary) what they'd already written. Some loved it, some hated it. Some just sat there, looking pitiful as if this was the longest, and most painful ten minutes of their life.
See, the school I teach at is a "technical school." Most of the students that attend this school don't have an affinity for writing, they don't enjoy it, they're even afraid of it. They will talk all day long, but there's something terrifying about putting their thoughts, feelings, and ideas down on paper, and that's what I wanted them to do. Without a lot of pressure, without a lot of stipulations about the "rules of writing," I just wanted to help them take a step toward not being so afraid or paralyzed every time someone tells them to write about "x."
Here's the thing: this is how I am when God tells me to try something spiritually, something he's designed for my good. There's just something about God telling me to do something that causes the knees to shake, the sweat to start pouring, and hundreds of excuses to come pouring forth. It's like I instantly become a reincarnation of Moses--standing before a bush that's on fire but not burning, hearing the voice of God, knowing that the Almighty God of the Universe is the one sending him to do something, hearing the promise that he'll be with him when he goes--worried about a speech impediment.
I can almost hear God saying, what I said to my students all week, "Come on, Jason, just try. I've got you. This is a safe place. I'm your Heavenly Father, and I'm not going to just leave you hanging if you screw up. In fact, I'll be smiling the entire time." So, I need to take a cue from my students, who picked up the pens and pencils in fear and started making little marks on the paper. Unsure of themselves the whole time, but choosing to trust me and my plan. Trying to believe that what I told them was true.
See, the school I teach at is a "technical school." Most of the students that attend this school don't have an affinity for writing, they don't enjoy it, they're even afraid of it. They will talk all day long, but there's something terrifying about putting their thoughts, feelings, and ideas down on paper, and that's what I wanted them to do. Without a lot of pressure, without a lot of stipulations about the "rules of writing," I just wanted to help them take a step toward not being so afraid or paralyzed every time someone tells them to write about "x."
Here's the thing: this is how I am when God tells me to try something spiritually, something he's designed for my good. There's just something about God telling me to do something that causes the knees to shake, the sweat to start pouring, and hundreds of excuses to come pouring forth. It's like I instantly become a reincarnation of Moses--standing before a bush that's on fire but not burning, hearing the voice of God, knowing that the Almighty God of the Universe is the one sending him to do something, hearing the promise that he'll be with him when he goes--worried about a speech impediment.
I can almost hear God saying, what I said to my students all week, "Come on, Jason, just try. I've got you. This is a safe place. I'm your Heavenly Father, and I'm not going to just leave you hanging if you screw up. In fact, I'll be smiling the entire time." So, I need to take a cue from my students, who picked up the pens and pencils in fear and started making little marks on the paper. Unsure of themselves the whole time, but choosing to trust me and my plan. Trying to believe that what I told them was true.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Hard to Love
Last night, I came home, and let Radley (my roommate's dog) out. I started changing clothes, and he did what he always does when we first get home, he came up to me, got as close as he could, and laid down in the floor. Clear signs that he was ready to be petted. I got changed, and decided to oblige. I got down on the floor and started petting him. Then, he did something that he's started doing more and more lately. He put his paw on my arm and started pushing me away. It's the most bizarre thing. He wants to be petted, he loves to be petted, he will interrupt whatever you're doing to let you know that he wants attention and love, and yet, when you try to do all things, when you try to give him the love he's wanting and asking for, he pushes you away. I almost don't understand. . . almost.
Here's the thing: this is what Christians do with those we're in community with all the time. We say we want true, close, authentic community. We say we want people to love us for who we are, and to get into our lives, and be close to us, and yet, so often when that happens, our first instinct is to put out our "paws" and push them away. It's like we're saying, "You can get close, but not too close," or "As long as your love and affection is on my terms, then we're fine. Just don't over do it." Maybe it's the fact that we know the closer people get, the more our sin will be exposed. Maybe we do that with people because that's what we do with God. I'm not sure.
My prayer is that I will always be someone who is always ready, when someone I'm in community needs to be shown love, that I will fight their attempts to push me away, and that I'll never tire of doing it all over again the next time they ask. And I hope I always have people in my life like that who will do the same.
Here's the thing: this is what Christians do with those we're in community with all the time. We say we want true, close, authentic community. We say we want people to love us for who we are, and to get into our lives, and be close to us, and yet, so often when that happens, our first instinct is to put out our "paws" and push them away. It's like we're saying, "You can get close, but not too close," or "As long as your love and affection is on my terms, then we're fine. Just don't over do it." Maybe it's the fact that we know the closer people get, the more our sin will be exposed. Maybe we do that with people because that's what we do with God. I'm not sure.
My prayer is that I will always be someone who is always ready, when someone I'm in community needs to be shown love, that I will fight their attempts to push me away, and that I'll never tire of doing it all over again the next time they ask. And I hope I always have people in my life like that who will do the same.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Too Much
About a month ago I came home on a Friday night to a horrible discovery, the freezer and refrigerator wasn't cold anymore, water was running everywhere, and the food was starting to thaw out. I called my go-to guy whenever there's a crisis like this (my dad), and he came over to have a look. The basic conclusion we came to was that the freezer couldn't defrost itself like it was supposed to, so everything had frozen up, and quit running. We thawed everything out, plugged it back in, and things have been fine ever since.
Here's the thing: the reason the motor in the freezer couldn't defrost itself was because air couldn't circulate on the backside of the freezer like it's designed too, and the reason air couldn't flow was because the freezer was too full of food. Did you catch that? The freezer was so jammed with food that there wasn't even enough room for air to flow! On Saturday, when I woke up to a functioning refrigerator and dry floors, my relief quickly turned to conviction. Here I was, the guy that's always wishing there was a little more money in the checking account, trying to make sure every penny is counted, and I had too much food for my freezer to handle. I couldn't help but think of the story in Exodus 16, when God gave the Israelites manna in the wilderness. Everyday the manna fell, and everyday the people were to gather just what they needed. God even commanded them not to gather more than they needed for one day, and those that did, woke up the next morning to rotting manna that stunk and had worms crawling in it. Somehow I understood as I was throwing out garbage bags full of food that had thawed and spoiled.
Now I'm not the kind of person who thinks we should feel guilty because we've been blessed by God with jobs, the resources to buy food, etc., but I was convicted and repented of my greediness, my storing away of food as if there wouldn't be enough, the fact that I just kept storing and storing and storing until the refrigerator and freezer said, "too much." Funny, somehow I feel like I should have known to say that long before.
Here's the thing: the reason the motor in the freezer couldn't defrost itself was because air couldn't circulate on the backside of the freezer like it's designed too, and the reason air couldn't flow was because the freezer was too full of food. Did you catch that? The freezer was so jammed with food that there wasn't even enough room for air to flow! On Saturday, when I woke up to a functioning refrigerator and dry floors, my relief quickly turned to conviction. Here I was, the guy that's always wishing there was a little more money in the checking account, trying to make sure every penny is counted, and I had too much food for my freezer to handle. I couldn't help but think of the story in Exodus 16, when God gave the Israelites manna in the wilderness. Everyday the manna fell, and everyday the people were to gather just what they needed. God even commanded them not to gather more than they needed for one day, and those that did, woke up the next morning to rotting manna that stunk and had worms crawling in it. Somehow I understood as I was throwing out garbage bags full of food that had thawed and spoiled.
Now I'm not the kind of person who thinks we should feel guilty because we've been blessed by God with jobs, the resources to buy food, etc., but I was convicted and repented of my greediness, my storing away of food as if there wouldn't be enough, the fact that I just kept storing and storing and storing until the refrigerator and freezer said, "too much." Funny, somehow I feel like I should have known to say that long before.
School Days
Here's the thing that's going on in my life right now: I started teaching a course at ITT Tech in Birmingham, during the Spring Quarter. After my last class, the Associate Dean offered me a full-time teaching position, starting in the Summer Quarter! So, I am now working at ITT Tech as the full-time English Comp. instructor. My first day was Monday, and so far it feels a little bit like I'm riding the rapids on white-water rafting trip: a little out of control, feeling like the boat could tip over at any minute, but having a blast! I have a full teaching load this quarter, six classes, so I'll definitely be getting my feet wet.
Most of the students who attend ITT are working full-time or returning back to school, so there are a lot of evening and night classes, and some tired faces when I walk in to start class. Add on top of that the fact that I'm teaching English and Writing, neither of which are typically held in high esteem at a technical school, and it's definitely a challenge. So far, though, it's worked, and the students are responding amazingly. (As students often do!)
I'm sure that lots of posts will come as a result of class discussions, so I wanted to give this as an intro. to what's to come. I have a feeling, I'm the one likely to get the most education in this deal.
Most of the students who attend ITT are working full-time or returning back to school, so there are a lot of evening and night classes, and some tired faces when I walk in to start class. Add on top of that the fact that I'm teaching English and Writing, neither of which are typically held in high esteem at a technical school, and it's definitely a challenge. So far, though, it's worked, and the students are responding amazingly. (As students often do!)
I'm sure that lots of posts will come as a result of class discussions, so I wanted to give this as an intro. to what's to come. I have a feeling, I'm the one likely to get the most education in this deal.
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