Drops Like Stars

On Thursday night I and about half of southern California went to LA to hear Rob Bell speak. I was like a little kid waiting in line to meet Santa Clause. Now I know Rob Bell is not in fact Santa Claus, but that same childish excitement and giddy feeling was present as we waited to enter the Wiltern Theater. I've read RB's books and listened to his podcast for years because they offered a different voice, a new perspective and sometimes a radical understanding of the gospel. In some of my darkest and most painful seasons his writing and words offered Hope, when everything else seemed silent.

And in case you were wondering, he is just as good live. Articulate. Creative and Down Right Funny. He somehow connects Will Farrell and Jesus in the same sentence- pure brilliance. He's the kinda guy you'd want to have over to your house to hang out with your friends. And yet he seamlessly connects faith and pop culture and art and politics and the bible into a canvas that leaves room for mystery and honesty.

Obviously, I don't really like him.

The best part about Thursday was that Rob Bell acknowledged right off the bat that bad stuff happens- pain, heartache, loss, suffering, and grief- and yet, we don't know why. Our lives do not unravel the way we expected. Some things never, ever make sense! But instead of trying to give simplistic answers that many Christians to do, he invited us to see pain, heartache and loss as a complete disruption to our lives-which it is. But "The Art of Disruption" as he says, also plants seeds of creativity. When we suffer we are challenged to re(create), (re)imagine and re(define) parts of our life that will never, ever be the same.

I think about some of the times I have cried out in anger or heartache and how I often feel like the sadness and loneliness are the roots of my pain, but RB said often the root of our pain is actually mourning the loss of the expectation.

Aren’t these some of the thoughts that often go through our heads?
This is not how I thought life would be. I expected him to be here forever. I never thought we would lose our house. I expected to be married by now. I never imagined my mom getting cancer. I never thought we wouldn’t be able to have kids.
I never planned on this. And the list could do on.


RB said something that stuck with me-- Pain has a way of making us honest.

He didn't justify the pain, gloss over it or simplify it. No, he just said, it has a way of making us honest. And I think he is right. Pain forces us to look deep inside and cry out with questions. Pain forces us to admit I can't do this alone. And the God that I believe in meets us right there in our pain. He meets us in the empty places. Some of the most beautiful, honest and genuine people that I know have experienced deep pain and loss, but somehow they've taken the art of disruption and let it shape and change who they are.

RB obviously describes it better, but this is the best I could do at quick synopsis. If you’re inclined to fly to the UK or Australia you still have a chance to see him! Click here for tour dates. For the rest of you, you can settle for buying the book.

Next post, bar soap and “The Art of Elimination.”

10,000 ways to say i love you

Last week I was strolling through one of my favorite bookstores trying to ignore all of the sentimental, and yes slightly cheezy, valentine books that are so conveniently placed on the table right by the checkout stand. I am still a firm believer that Valentine's Day is a hallmark holiday that was created to boost greeting card and flower sales in between Christmas and Easter, but nonetheless I still happen to like this day of love. Maybe because cute cards and handwritten letters are my love language so any excuse to receive one or give one is well worth it.

On the table that day at the bookstore I saw this book, 10,000 ways to say i love you by Gregory J.P. Godek. Apparently this guy is some kinda of love master because I don't think I could come up with 10,000 ways to say I love you, but I did come up with 10. So, whether you are spending today with the love of your life...or wishing you had a love in your life, enjoy these 10 little nuggets. And know that they can be done any day of the year, not just Valentine's day.

10 ways to say i love you
1. do your _________ (fill in the blank: husband's, roommate's, sister's, etc) dishes in the sink, even though they're not yours.
2. give a foot massage
3. be a good listener
4. every now and then when you're out to dinner with friends, take the check and say "i got this one" instead of diving it up 5 ways.
5. call. sometimes it just means more than sending a facebook message or having a texting conversation
6. learn someone's favorite coffee drink and bring to them. just because.
7. let him choose the movie. and don't complain about it after.
8. buy her flowers. and put a handwritten note inside. trust me on this one.
9. take your daughter out to breakfast- just the two of you.
10. Give good hugs- often.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Asking Good Questions

It's hard to beat an afternoon at home, on the couch watching the Superbowl. I guess I should clarify "watching" football for me is synonymous with multi-tasking. I really do really like football, but I what I like even more is that I can simultaneously "watch" a game while also painting my nails, grading papers, updating quicken, folding laundry and shoveling steamed edamame into my mouth! I know it's a skill- don't be jealous. I think I’ve learned this fine art of football-watching-multi-tasking from my mother, who is the queen of getting things done during football games. She has given me both an appreciation and understanding of the game of football, as well as a high aptitude for being productive while watching the game. Thank you, mom.

Mondays

For as much as I enjoy a relaxing and productive Sunday at home (and no, those two words are not mutually exclusive in my book) I actually look forward to Monday.

One of the reasons I love my job is that I honestly look forward to going to work on most days (not just Mondays). Each morning I am greeted (and when I say greeted I mean just stared at blankly) by twenty, sleepy-eyed teenagers. And these groggy, sometimes socially awkward, inquisitive students are the reason I love my job.

The Reciprocal Relationship

This is my fourth year of teaching and every year my students impart some new knowledge on me. I think one of the keys to being a good teacher is admitting that you always have something to learn from your students. Sometimes teachers get mixed-up and assume that the teaching-learning relationship flows in some linear fashion; going from teacher to student and then just stops. But I am a firm believer that the teaching-learning relationship is much more reciprocal.

Some of my students teach me about being resilient— many of them have encountered deep pain, loss and neglect in ways I can't even imagine. Others teach me about creativity— their unfiltered, creative words* send me scurrying back to urbandictionary.com to make sure what they’re saying is still relatively appropriate for the classroom. And this semester my students have been teaching me about curiosity— their hands raised with genuine and thoughtful questions shaped by their own sense of wonder.

Asking Good Questions

I start off each new semester with a lesson about the importance of asking good questions. I tell my seniors that for the past 12 years of their lives they have learned how to give the right answers, but I want them to know how to ask good questions.

To discuss different types of questions I use the metaphor of a tree. When you look at a tree "on the surface" you see the obvious…the trunk, branches, leaves, etc. These represent the simplistic, one word, literal questions. The "When did the war start?" and "Who is the author of the book?" kinda questions. Important questions, but simple nonetheless. The answer is often obvious, right there in front of you.

Then there are the "under the surface" questions. Back to the tree metaphor-- I ask, what can't you see under the surface of the tree, but you know is there? The roots, dirt, soil, etc. These are the things that are harder to see and understand, but there is a richness and necessity to their presence. These are the more complex questions, the "why?" and "how come" and "do you think" questions of the world.

For one of their homework assignments I gave my students a rather simple task of asking 15 questions.

Here are some of questions they asked:
"Would the world be more peaceful if all of us had the same religion?"
"Why do people take advantage of other people?
"Why does the government spend more money on prisons than schools?
"How long can the average person hold their breath?"
"Why do teens these days not seem to care about their education and future?
"Why is school so hard for some people?"
"How come we can't stop wars and all get along?

I have given this assignment before, but usually, I get the same, pretty standard questions. Questions such as "Why do teachers give homework?" or "How many days 'till school gets out?" or "Do you like teaching?" But this group of students is different. They asked complex, curious, and creative questions; questions that I don't always feel prepared to answer or even discuss.

It’s Not About the Answer

I am learning that inviting someone to ask a question is like asking them to share a small piece of who they are. We are a culture that likes to spout off facts and megabytes of information in easily digestible chunks, but we don’t often pause to ask questions. Asking questions implies that you must be humble and vulnerable enough to admit that you don't know the answer. And sometimes I think I shy away from asking questions out of fear that the answers won't make sense. If someone gave me the assignment to write down 15 questions, I am honestly not sure what I would ask. What would you ask?

I believe questions are like a mirror that reflect the scattered doubts and musing of our hearts. They don't realize it, but when I invite my students to ask questions, I am actually getting a glimpse into the kind of things that swirl around inside. And hopefully this inside glimpse allows me to be a better teacher and a better learner.


(*note: thanks to the help of my students I've added a wealth of words to my vocabulary. Words like kick back, chillin, lets book it, nah, not eeeven, aww, that's a mission, don't tripppp and..oh, I could go on. Sometimes these words even slip into my every day speech...which lends itself nicely to the occasional raised eyebrow from my peers, as if to say "Do you realize what you just said?")

Being the Same

Henri Nouwen is one of my heroes. His perspective on people, faith and life is inspiring. However, I often find myself experiencing this internal tension when I read something that he wrote- first there is pure amazement at the eloquence and honesty of his words, but then envy creeps in and I immediately become jealous and wonder why I can't write like that? This is not one of my finer qualities.

So with that disclaimer, read this because he says it far better than I can or ever will:

"At first sight, joy seems to be connected with being different. When you receive a compliment or win an award, you experience the joy of not being the same as others. You are faster, smarter, more beautiful, and it is that difference that brings you joy. But such joy is very temporary. True joy is hidden where we are the same as other people: fragile and mortal. It is the joy of belonging to the human race. It is the joy of being with others as a friend, a companion, a fellow traveler."

I find it humbling that in so many areas of my life I strive to be different. I think we all do. We all want to be unique or set apart. We want our writing style or our blog or our fashion sense to be set-apart and special. I like it when my friends compliment me on something that I've made or praise me for some random fact that I’ve shared simply because it was different or unique. It feeds some part of me that seeks to be known and viewed as one-of-a-kind. But in reality, I think Henri is right-- these compliments and shorts boosts of self-esteem for not being different from other people only brings temporary joy.

And who wants temporary, or fleeting joy, right? What I long for in life is real joy.

Perhaps this joy comes from admitting to each other and ourselves that we are all really the same?

We come as broken and fragile beings, who actually need each other. Maybe we should stop striving to be different and instead try acknowledging that there is joy in being the same.

Quote Credit (and basically all thoughts and inspiration goes to): Mr. Henri Nouwen.

I believe

Lesly is a friend of mine from Westmont and a fellow blogger, who creatively started writing these "I believe" posts. Her writing is marked by a sincerity that captures both the simple and complex moments of life. You can read more of her blog here.

So, in the spirit of capturing the simple and complex moments of life, here is what I believe--

i believe remembering peoples' name is important and that's it's ok not to finish every book you start. i believe in farmers markets, reading the newspaper and reusing tea bags. i believe washing my hair is overrated. there is nothing wrong with honking. and people would be happier if we hugged each other more often. i believe writing is healing and car naps are essential. i believe in post-it notes and not putting syrup on my pancakes. i believe in a God that can handle my questions, even when I am too afraid to ask them. i believe war is not the answer. i believe "I'm sorry" and "I love you" go hand-in-hand. I believe good-byes are important and that the little things matter. i believe in leftovers, teenagers, and creativity. i believe eating outside makes food taste better. i believe in not always following the rules. i believe fabreezing and washing are almost interchangeable. dark chocolate makes everything better. and grace and generosity cover a multitude of sins. i believe in still using old fashioned maps. i believe teaching makes me a more patient person. i believe in good jokes, beach days and campfires. i believe in listening to what kids say. i believe saying yes, means saying no to something else. and i believe that sometimes not being in control, is a very good place to be.

what do you believe?

Just one

According to my reliable sources at Real Simple most people give up or simply forget about their new years resolutions by February 17th. Well, it's January 6th and I am happy to report that I have kept my one, yes, just one, new years resolution:

I will floss my teeth everyday.

You would think as a fairly responsible, healthy adult I would naturally floss everyday, but truth be told-- I don't. And it gets worse. I am also am one of those people who causally lies to my dentist every 6 months or so. (oh, just confess, I know there are others out there who do it, too!)

"Are you flossing every day? uh-huh. I mumble, nodding my head to convince him, just as much as myself.

Because new years resolutions often dissolve into new years ideals that seem to either get forgotten or broken by the 3rd week of February I've decided that my new years resolutions should be 1) simple and 2) shared. Cassie, a friend of mine who has this way of bring simplicity and joy to just about everything in life, told me that she only has one resolution each year-just one thing, however small or practical. One year she decided to stop biting her nails and for a whole year that was her goal.

I was inspired by the "just one" rule because so often I tend to over do it. I tend to create unrealistically long lists of every hope and goal imaginable for the coming year. Now there is nothing wrong with dreaming big dreams and writing out hopes for the year ahead- I still do it, but my lists are too long and far too personal to publish on the public-sphere of the blog world. Nonetheless, there is something significant about having a very tangible, measurable new years resolution, however small or practical it may be.

Last year my one resolution was to not use a plastic grocery bag for the whole year.

And thanks to my handy-dandy, reusable chico bag that was compacted and stuffed into in my purse, I did pretty a good job keeping this one. And now we will all breathe a little less CO2. Thankyouverymuch. I plan to keep this one up, only because every little thing helps. And I am convinced that a world with less plastic bags will be a much better world.

So, dear twenty-ten, this year I will floss my teeth everyday.

Please ask me about it. And remind me that although the world may not be a better place because of my diligent flossing, I am convinced that my gums and teeth and my future children will thank me for it. And if nothing else, I will not have to lie to my dentist anymore.

letting go and hanging on

Last night I celebrated the end of 2009 with my two, wonderful sisters, all dressed up and out for a night on the town. So it seems quite appropriate that I welcomed the beginning of 2010 with a lazy morning in my uggs, all curled up on the couch with absolutely no plans for the afternoon.

I am convinced that one of the reasons this time of year with all of its' fancy festivities and holiday traditions is so hard for many people is because it comes with a lot of expectations.

Sometimes there are expectations that I call the "keep it the way it is" expectation. These are the desires to keep things the way they are simply because this is the way it's always been. These are the people who hang on to the tradition and the routine just because. It's seems a bit ironic, but expecting things to stay the same, the way they’ve always been, is still an expectation.

And then there are the other kind of expectations, the kinds that hope and imagine what it could be like it if only…(fill in the blank). I call these the "wouldn't-it-be-great-if-it-could-be-like-this" kind of expectations. These are the people (ahem, yes me) who constantly are on the lookout for how to make things better or improved. These are the expectations that long for something new, something different.

But regardless of which camp you fall in, the reality is when there are expectations, there are also disappointments. Expectations lock you into a stand still and don't leave much space for change or flexibility or…surprises.

I have been thinking a lot about expectations lately. I have always been one of those people that holds high expectations for myself, my job, my family and basically, for everything else in life. But often these expectations leave me just a tad bit disappointed and discouraged because nothing seems to quite measures up to my expectations, even myself. I honestly think sometimes it's easier to go through life without having any expectations— and then anything that happens is better than you expected!

But I know it’s not quite that simple. At least not for me.

A friend of mine gave me this passage a few weeks ago. It's an excerpt from Helen Cepero's book Journaling as a Spiritual Practice. She describes the tension and limitations with expectations far better than I can:

“Understanding the difference between hope and expectation is critical if we are to allow our future to be shaped by God. Hope longs for good but is able to be flexible about how that good might appear. Expectation grasps at solutions and becomes easily attached to outcomes. When we are hopeful, our imagination and creativity flourish. But when we are locked into expectations, it is easy to turn our pictures of the possible future into an idol."

"Expectations assume that everything will turn out as predicted…but sometimes our expectations must die in order for us to live in hope. When our expectations are dashed our prayer then needs to look toward the God who is not only with us but also is in front of us, forming a future that we cannot yet imagine happening out of our own effort"

I have started to ponder what expectations in my own life need to die in order for me to live in hope. It's a humbling process, but one that I want to embark on during 2010.

This is my prayer for the year:

Lord, in my pride and insecurity I often take matters into my own hands. I try to create and build my future by my own effort, littered with my own expectations. I can become so attached to specific outcomes that I miss your mysterious presence walking with me in the process. I want my expectations to die, so I can live in hope.

May you too live in hope during the coming year.

Happy New Year!