28. (eight) : "I Miss My Ant."

F., at naptime, spoken low to me with the air of imparting a universal truth: “Did you know what the number of the day is? The number of the day is 18.” I assume he is talking about the date, since we talk about that frequently in Kindergarten. The date is, in fact, not the 18th, but I’m interested in his thought process. “Really?” I say. “And the letter of the day is B.” “How do you know?” I ask. “It’s on the Sesame Street,” says he. Of course it is. First it takes me three days to hear about the swine flu, and now I’m out of the loop on this too. So in case you were wondering: 18. B. Now you know.

I take them outside this morning for a little fresh air, and after a few races back and forth in the street, I discover that their latest obsession is ant-finding. It’s surprisingly difficult. This is New York City. I must confess, it’s a little pathetic to see them clustered around the slimmest sliver of semi-earth, just a line of dust between the sidewalk and the side of the school building, really, peering down in an intense search for the tiniest sign of life. For any living thing. Five heads clustered around one black dot that may or may not be an actual ant. J.-girl is the ant-hunt champion, with a grand total of two today. She lets her ant crawl along her arm as other girls run and scream in mock terror. “Wait for it, wait for it,” she says.

I go ant-hunting but have no success. I tell them that when I was little I made a twiddlebug house out of a milk carton. I want them to do it too. I want to do that with my own children someday. O. finds an ant and clutches it in his fist. “It’s his house,” he says in his sweet little voice. “He likes it.” I make them find a new outdoor home for their ants before they can come back inside. “I miss my ant,” says O. back in the classroom. He says it about seven times. It tickles me to hear it.

This morning, they each made a second windsock, this time as a gift for a friend or family member who needs to hear about Jesus. I asked who they’d give it to, and so many instantly knew. “My dad. Because he doesn’t believe in God, and he needs to hear about Jesus, and I haven’t told him about Jesus.” “My sister, because she doesn’t know about God.” “My brother, because he comes to church, but after the singing, he leaves early.” “My brother, because he doesn’t know nothing about God.” “My mom.” One writes “Papi” on his windsock. I’ve met most of the people they’re speaking of. And I know some of the stories behind it all. These kids are perceptive. We pray for those who will receive our gifts. We pray for boldness, for the Holy Spirit’s help in telling His story. Oh how I pray that all this really sinks into them. That it’s not just pious activity or empty words. How I need help to learn to surrender and trust in the Lord’s redeeming power.

Market Day 2. Notable additions today include artificial flowers, bananas, (uncooked) rice by the cup, and little green votive candles from Ikea. “I brought candles,” J. said to me earlier in the day. He pointed to the various warnings in multiple languages on the bag. You’ve seen stuff from Ikea. You know what I mean. “You have to listen to the rules,” he said. “This is from Europe?” he asks me. “Yes!” I reply. “Actually, they are!” “My mom said that,” he affirms. I love the resourcefulness of that mom. The letter says your child has to bring something from Europe (at least in spirit), and you think Ikea! Delightful.

My floppy, funny F. has a very loose tooth. He thinks he should go home because of it. “Can I go to the office?” “Nope. But I can try to pull it out for you.” He agrees. I try. He tries. It’s not quite ready. It’s at that can-be-twisted-almost-all-the-way-around stage, but has a strong root. I remember the feeling of loose teeth so vividly. On our way out the classroom door to go downstairs for market day, F. calls to me in his special, spacey way: “If my teeth fall out, can we sell them?” “Sure,” I reply before I really know what I’m saying (this happens frequently, me speaking before I really know what I’m saying. Teachers have to speak a lot.) “Yessss!” he exults. I can’t wait till he brings ‘em in.

As a closing activity for market week, I bring up the idea once more of thinking about where things we buy come from. I start checking shirt labels again and announcing their places of manufacture. I can’t see my own shirt label, so I decide to check my shoes. (China.) Wouldn’t you know it, before long, every Kindergartener in both Kindergarten classes (the other class has by this time come out to sit with us in the afterschool waiting area) is crowding around me with a musky black sneaker in hand. “What about mine?” “What about mine?” “Where do mine come from?” All but one pair are China-made. (The exception is Indonesia.) I can only imagine how tired parents will be by the end of the weekend of having every label in their houses checked by their Kinder-consumer-reporters. Whatever message got across about ethical trade practices, I can at least be sure that curiosity about where stuff comes from has been firmly instilled.
And I
have smelled
a lot of Kindergarten feet.

29. (seven.)

Today we made windsocks. This I love. It’s so easy, too. Some ribbon for the tails, construction paper for the cylinder-body, some string and tape for the handle… everyone wrote “and you will be my witnesses…to the ends of the earth” on the papers before rolling them into ‘sockses.’… and then we wooshed out the door to go proclaim the message of Jesus to the world, by the power of the Holy Spirit.

We ran with the windsocks a little first. Up and down the sidewalk. Red, yellow, purple, pink, green construction paper…blue and yellow tails. “God made the world!” we call out to the neighborhood. “People messed it up! I sinned! God came into the world and He died for me! Hallelujah! He’s alive!” No door can stop the Spirit. No window can stop the Spirit. No man can stop the Spirit. We hear the story of Peter and John healing the crippled man at the Beautiful gate by the Spirit’s power… how surprised the officials were; those who thought they’d rid the world of Jesus were shocked to find He’d come back in an unimaginable, unprecedented, unstoppable way. In every one of His people. The Spirit of God! … I wonder what the kiddos will remember from all of this.

Our first ‘market day’ today. I lay out one of those classic parachutes that gym and preschool teachers use for wacky and magical games with children (games that degenerate into wild chaos. I know this because I decided to use our extra time at the end of the market to use the parachute for its original purpose. Won’t be trying that again anytime soon.). Each color-space on the parachute will be a market stall. We set up shop. I ‘sell’ apples. A. sells an Ecuador t-shirt, a vase from Chile, and a drum of unknown origin (good job, A.’s parents! You actually read the letter about our activity. Thanks for that.). A2 sells her Barbie dolls and a stuffed pig. J. sells pictures gathered from our classroom. S. sells various and sundry objects gathered from our Pretend Center.

I kick it off by juggling my apples and calling out ‘Apples for sale! Come buy my apples!’ and… bam. Our market is off and running. Watch the trading instincts of humankind whir into action. Soon we’re wheeling and dealing like pros, and our market really is bustling with activity. I start with two designated shoppers at a time, but before I know it, everybody’s in, and the sellers are even selling to one another. How proud they all are of their purchases.

And today, the question. It’s an all-year question. How do you deal with righteous anger? I don’t want to feel angry. I don’t want to act angry. But darn it, they make me angry sometimes! The perpetual, repeated disrespect. I know they hear me the first time I give them a direction. Sometimes I ask them what I’ve said, just to be sure. They heard. Am I just hurt that they treat me like dirt or like a machine there for their entertainment, to be ignored whenever what comes out of my mouth doesn’t suit their purposes of the moment? I don’t know how to bear this happening all day, day after day; how to repeat myself so much. “A firm hand at first,” some would say. “You’ll prevent it from becoming a problem.” I want to answer back: Have you tried?

I want to show mercy. I seek to show mercy. Love. Grace under pressure. To model the courtesy and politeness I want so much for them to catch. But how do you...

How much God bears from us. How much God bears from me. How perfect His balance of righteous anger and merciful patience. How do I, I as a human, limited and fallible and oh, so LIMITED, die daily for my children, yet also firmly rebuke them and train them in ‘right from wrong?’ Age old question, right? With 13 children, it’s an intense one. It never stops.

30. (six.) : What thread weaves ... all this ... together ?

Lots of short peoples’ tears wept into my shirt today. Various little accidents, injuries, disappointments. Also extremely red allergy-eyes and a vomit incident. (Not both from the same kid.)

My favorite words of today: “Holy Spirit, please help the lady who got the hole in her head. For she can live, and her family can live…” This from J. the reluctant saint. Who, I would also add for background, is the most “I am not a morning person” kindergartener I have ever seen. Grumpy like an old man, I tell ya. Reticent, silent. Not awake. Cracks me up. We’ve been learning about the day of Pentecost, about the Holy Spirit. I’ve told them about the Trinity. But I hadn’t told them, really, that they could pray to the Spirit. So it blessed my heart that J. did.
His prayer was for the subject of a rather gruesome neighborhood story related by J.-girl about an elderly woman who fell and is now in the hospital.

“We need to have a talk,” says I, I says. It is a moment of rather intense frustration. “It is your job to make sure that your brain is getting exercise when you are at school. Can I open your head and pour things into your brain?” “No,” comes the fascinated response. “Even when it is someone else’s turn to talk or to read,” I go on with this somber lecture, “you can be getting smarter. If you are playing and talking instead of trying to read along and exercising your brain, then you are missing a chance for your brain to grow, and to get stronger. You can be getting ready for first grade. But it is your job to do it! I can’t make you learn what I am teaching you. I am trying my very best, but it is your job to catch it. Don’t let it walk by you.”
How many times do you have to say this to five and six year olds for it to have any effect whatsoever? A million? A trillion? Lately the title of a book I own, I Won’t Learn From You, keeps coming to mind. It’s been my goal to make learning feel like a breeze. Feel like fun. Feel like games. Delight. And yet sometimes I wonder if my doing this has made them totally clueless that they have a responsibility and an accountability in this process.

For our social studies unit on markets around the world, we practiced bargaining today. Hilarious. “Hmm. 20’s a little steep,” I say. “I’ll give you ten, though.” Kindergarten minds (most of them) are not real swift with the number-relationships. “How about… two,” says the seller. I draw the numbers in order vertically to try to clarify the process. Mostly it’s just fun to hear them haggle. Even more fun with nonsensical numbers, really. A couple of them don’t bargain with me at all. They accept my lower price without countering. The wheeler-dealers among the group call out in frustration. “Oh, man! She didn’t even do anything!” they moan. I bargain for a guitar, a seashell, a horse and some chocolates. The former two real, the latter two imaginary. I got the horse for a dollar, the chocolates for fifty, the seashell for ten, and the guitar for two. The Kinder-economy.

Note to all Kindergarten teachers and would-be Kindergarten folk: Telling your class that they have to be a “secret Kindergarten class” as they walk in line behind you actually works!! Keep turning around dramatically to see if they’re still there. Exclaiming “I don’t even know there’s anyone behind me!” is also helpful. As is “I can definitely tell that ____ is behind me, but everyone else is being so secret!” I’ve tried “We have to be as quiet as spies” before, and that works pretty well, but my dramatic gang can get overzealous with the tiptoeing and dodging about. I wish I’d known about “secret Kindergarten class” in September. Although maybe it wouldn’t work for a whole year. Few things do. . . .

31. (five.)

35 works of art,
continued.

(Some works of art
are harder to walk through than others.)

Elements of today's installation:

• teaching on Pentecost. Enjoyed telling the story. For most, their first exposure to any teaching about the Holy Spirit... the idea of the 'wind', the 'breath,' of God, blowing where He will. The fulfillment of Jesus' promise to be with us always, to the end of the age, and His promise to empower us to be His witnesses -- to the ends of the earth. Can be seen as a reversal of Babel, or at least as the inclusion of all nations in God's plan, His desire to have all peoples hear the message, meaning and merciful offering of Jesus.
  I made a lot of blowing-of-a-mighty-wind-into-the-room sounds this morning.
  
  They drew pictures in little "windows" that open -- symbolic of the wind, the Spirit knowing no boundaries, the opening up of the message... pictures of the story we'd heard. G. was determined to draw people of many nations inside. "How do you make Chinese?" she asks. I think at first that she means writing in Chinese. But she clarifies by frustratedly pointing to her eyes. "Like Chinese in the eyes," says she. She wants to know how to draw a person who looks ethnically Chinese. We work on it. She is pleased. She goes on to declare her determination to draw someone from Chile. I give her my 'Children of the World' UNICEF book to peruse. She is satisfied.
  
  J.'s people are "all from Turkey." M.'s picture includes God in the background, with a (pink) crown on. "He is there. He is invisible, but He is watching it all." M. asks. "Tongues, like this?" He holds his own tongue with his fingers. "Yep. They appeared to be tongues of fire," I say. He draws an orange U-shape with a line down the middle. The classic tongue drawing. Like a Mister Potato-Head tongue. Above the tongue, he writes two letter 'Z's.' "Zzzz," he says. "For sleeping." I am confused. "Because they are sleeping on their heads," he explains when I ask about it. Aha! He listens well. He heard me say as I read the story from Scripture, "tongues of fire resting on the heads..."... I like the sleeping orange potato-head tongue with crowned God in the background.
  
  J-girl's picture has many heads, all saying "God loves you" or just "God" in speech bubbles. I like this. The Spirit comes for the purpose of empowering us to spread the Word. She got that. A's picture has the wind, the fire, and someone with "1, 2, 3" in their speech bubble. "They're speaking Chinese!" she says. I beam. Because I know she is so proud of remembering how to count to three in Chinese (we learned it from a dear Chinese friend who visited our class last fall.). Pentecost begun. To be continued tomorrow. Holy Spirit, enable me.
  
  
• Deep frustration at what they have not learned. What just bounces off the walls of their brains, no matter how many times I've tried to get it in there. Stuff they should know by now. Stuff they should know to graduate Kindergarten. They are so resistant!! How long it takes us to get through a simple task that should, according to curriculum, be easy for them by now. ARGH. A generation and a culture that it is very, very, very hard to teach. How do you pour water into a vessel that has a lid on it??
  
  
• Market week. I'm teaching about how the world shops and trades this week. Trying to tie together all the continents we've learned about as well as our math lessons on money, plus hoping to instill an economic conscience/awareness. We acted out a supply chain, with motions for each actor. From a garment shop worker (a little girl) in India (and her family), to her boss, to the shipper/middleperson in their country, to the middleperson in the U.S. who seeks out the lowest-priced manufacturer, to the 'big boss' of the selling corporation in the U.S. Plus the cashier at his store, for good measure and connection to our daily lives. And finally, an American consumer. The big boss starts with all the money. A rectangle o' construction paper. He tears it up, piece by piece, to pay the players -- or they pay one another...
  
  First we acted it out with greed in full sway. The girl in India ends up with virtually nothing. Her boss takes as much advantage of her powerlessness as possible. The 'big boss' ends up pretty well off. The American consumer buys a shirt that says 'made in India.' Then we switched it up. American consumers wrote to the big boss and asked him to make sure the products he sells are made with fair conditions for workers. He thinks about and decides to give it a try. His ethical stipulations are passed down the line until the garment shop boss in India has to either comply or lose business. He complies. The little girl has fairer conditions and a better life for her family. The American consumer buys a shirt that says 'made under fair trade conditions in India.' Tomorrow we'll talk about child labor. And then the more nitty-gritty of bargaining and buying and selling directly.
  
  We're also reading "Market," by Ted Lewin. A good picture book about different outdoor markets around the world. Then we'll have our own little market days on Wednesday and Thursday. Bringing in stuff to 'sell.' I haven't thought out all the logistics of how to make that fun and non-disastrous yet. Sigh. Sometimes I just hope these things come to me in the moment, or just a few minutes before. Today's lesson did. I was fairly happy with the attention they paid and how into it they got. They were proud of the roles they played. When J. was the 'big boss,' he came to the end and wanted to give all his money to the girl in India. I was proud of him.
  
  I must say, I feel rather like a hypocrite. I try to avoid being a consumer, period. But I know that I don't know the background of much of what I do own. Well. Teach a lesson, wake yourself up.
  
  
• In all of this, in all of this, it is a fight. A fight for their attention. To get them to sit up, face you, look up, wake up, get engaged. 'Come on, please!', you think. 'If you'd only give me a minute, just a minute, just listen long enough for me to catch you. It's good stuff! You will be caught! Just please, for one second, stop playing with the lint on the floor, whispering to the person next to you, fussing about position..."

31.

32. Or: Four.

Some highlights:

A discussion of the weather this morning results in a split vote between "partly cloudy" and "sunny." There are two clouds in the sky!" the ardent defenders of p.c. assert. The two clouds in question were very small, streaks of cirrus against a brilliant and otherwise cloudless blue.
Sunny takes it by two votes, but the sunny faction graciously asks that "partly cloudy" be put up on the weather board, too. I am impressed with their diplomacy.

A worship and prayer session is our follow-up to the Ascension story this week. Just like the disciples returned to their quarters to pray and praise God after they saw Jesus ascend, we took our cardboard disciples off the wall where they stood under our cotton ball clouds. "Men of Galilee, why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven."
We sang the chorus to 'He Reigns' --
"It's all God's children singing glory, glory, hallelujah, He reigns... It's all God's children singing glory, glory, hallelujah, He reigns.
And all the powers of darkness tremble at what they've just heard.
For all the powers of darkness can't drown out a single word....:
It's all God's children singing glory, glory, hallelujah, He reigns..."
They sing with gusto. They hold their cardboard disciples. We worship with the great cloud of witnesses who have gone before us.

Later in the day: Two boys come up to me beaming with pride: "He asked me to open the refrigerator for him, because he needed help, and I did it." "And I said thank you!"
I love that this was report-worthy.

Next came: Friday, parent-teacher conferences. A strange step into the world of 'what if'. what if the day didn't start so early... what if we talked more to one another... everything changes, then suddenly: Wham. Back to the routine. A bit like waking up and then being slammed back into the strange and heavy dream you were having before... but I'm thankful. The meetings I did have went well. The folk who were not able to come... I hope I get a chance to talk to when I have the kind of energy that is rare on full days of teaching.

Friday evening: Sara Groves, in person, and the amazing kids and staff of New City Church bless me richly. With memories, hope, and rest in Christ. In Almighty God. Thank You.

33. or: Three.

Pieces of
today.

---A practice evacuation (or Tsunami Drill) walk. Entire school. Buddied up -- big kids with little ones. Up the block. Halfway across the bridge. U-turn. Back to school. When was the last time you had a tsunami drill? It felt like a merry parade.---

---They colored Picasso's 'Three Musicians.' Tomorrow they'll attempt their own cubist-ish portraits of one another. Thankful for their interest, I am, I am.
---

---"How do people get powers?"
this the deep, whispered naptime question of the day from my Wheels-Always-Turning J.-boy. He got up in the dark and walked around his table to come ask me this where I was sitting.

Me: What kind of powers do you mean?
J: You know, like doing stuff with your eyes, or flying. Superhero powers like that. How do people get those?
Me: Well...not all the powers you see in stories and movies are real. Birds are made to fly, but people weren't -- but it's fun to pretend! And God can do all those things when He chooses to... And hey, you have powers, you know.
J: Like what?
Me: Thinking power, talking power, walking power...
J (scornfully, a little disappointed): Those aren't powers.
Me: Ah, but I bet if a carrot looked at you, he'd say to himself, "I wish I had the super powers he has! Walking power, talking power...those are amazing super powers!"
J: Oh! (dawning realization of perspective making a difference).... But carrots have powers too. Like talking to their carrot friends. The other carrots.
Me: Interesting point. Have a seat now, bud. It's rest time...

Many interesting things about the dialogue above. Not least of which is why I would choose to use a carrot as the example of a less-powerful creature, as opposed to a thinking being, like a dog, say, or a mouse. A carrot.

I think you step rather far into the realm of the hallucinatory

when you live in reactive stream-of-consciousness performance day after day after day. ---
and that
is all
for now.

34. Or Two.

35 Works of Art. in process.

Learned more about the ascension of Christ through teaching it. We talked about how the disciples would feel. I thought about the promises -- "WAIT FOR THE GIFT THAT WAS PROMISED" and "I WILL BE WITH YOU ALWAYS" -- bookending the event. The question asked by the disciples just before -- "now, Lord? Restoring the kingdom now?" And the answer: "It's not for you to know the day or the hour...but you will be empowered to be witnesses to me. To all you've seen." (paraphrase. excuse me.)
And I see that I ask the same: now, Lord, now? Won't you come back now? Won't you fix all this madness now?
And the answer is still: You will be empowered to be my witness.
That's it. And lo, He is with me always
even to the very end of the age.
The kidlings made 'disciples.' Cardboard ones. The point was to put an expression on 'your' disciple's face. How did he feel at the ascension of Jesus? "He's amazed," said one. "I would be nervous," said another. One drew a smile right on top of a frown. Mixed emotions.
and ours change, too, over our years of encountering the promise from a God we can no longer touch with our hands.

They cracked up at today's chapter of 'Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator.' I was yelling nonsense words at the top of my voice as Willy Wonka pretended to be a martian. That was nice.
Ah, but the headache was beginning then.
How is it that a headache can override so many little positives in a day to make it all feel too much? They are, after all, so loud. What kind of fool tries to play alphabet Bingo ("Sound-O") for a station during playtime? (this kind.)

We put on our 'color eyes' this afternoon. Put on your orange eyes. What do you see around us that's orange? Purple eyes. What do you see? We talked about warm colors and cool colors. And then colored a page of each. That was nice. I think I need to teach some vague, loosely monitored and defined Sensory Experience and Imagination class.

A friendly New York City policeman happened by during their recess, as I was out among my small people, and as J. was coming up to me tearfully to tattle on people not letting him play, or poking him... I forget all the details. But said policeman said "Who?" J. repeats the names of the offenders, as if NYC cop will of course know whom he is talking about. Policeman: "Point them out to me." I was too tired by this point in the day to play this out to its full potential. Wish I had. My thanks to that policeman for the moment.

incapacitated by the day. tasks after school that should have taken ten minutes took forty-five. Mind sloooooowed. Like moving through molasses. Fuzzy molasses. Blurry molasses. What?

Thirty-four.

Thirty-five. One.

35 Works of Art.
(the last child-peopled 35 days of Kindergarten; God bless them all.)

Installation (or installment) #1. Or #35 if you prefer to count backward. Which I think I do.

The plan: With notes on the realization thereof in red.

1. Welcome back from spring break. Review rules. Hope that this has some effect.
Rules review may have had some minimal effect. One kid went to Disney World over the break. I was very excited about this. Our class still struggles with calling out, which escalates into chatting at volumes so high so as to make the teacher inaudible. The teacher being: me. I do get tired of addressing this. How does one retain one's sanity addressing this again...and again...and again... ?
2. Calendar and Bible time. Bible: Review Easter, talk about the appearances of Jesus to His disciples after resurrection. ("Peace be with you," said He; loving the doubter Thomas; forgiving the unfaithful Peter; fellowship a priority; the beginnings of the Church -- "As the Father has sent me, I am sending you...") How did you celebrate Easter? Sing our latest song -- "It Was a Great Thing." Pray together.
Discussion took too long for singing to take place. But it was good talk. Surprising how many kids said they did nothing to celebrate Easter. General exclamations by all when Thomas put his hands on Jesus' wounds. I was proud of my roly-poly (in speech and body) G. when she turned to the memory verse of 3 weeks ago on the wall behind her and recited it with gusto: "For we know that our old sinful selves were crucified with Christ so that sin might lose its power in our lives. Romans 6:6." I tried to bring up limited atonement today. Those God has called into His family are those Christ died for. J.'s closing prayer included "and bless our food." Bless the boy. He's like a fifty-five year old boxer who's just been brought into a church for the first time and is trying to reverence the sacred.
3. Math: telling time. Reviewing parts of a clock. Workbook pages for basic 'o'clock' times. Playing with small demo clocks and giant clock hands and numbers on the carpet.
Surprisingly smooth. Every blessing You pour out, I'll turn back to praise.
4. Phonics: introducing lots of short 'e' words. Game played with the chart of words. Teams have Readers, Artists (to illustrate the word), Rhymers and Sentence-Makers. Work through different words as a team.
A liiiiittle chaotic. Hoping that we can repeat this and have it go much more smoothly now that they know how it works. One team was smooth and smart and open-eared. The other was wacky, didn't listen to each other, all over the place. The talking over my voice and instructions was starting to get to me by this point.
5. Their elective; lunch; free time (help! this needs more structure in order to avoid yelling, violence and chaos. We'll see what happens today. Maybe I'll give them more specific tasks). Story time (Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator) and nap. Recess.
The Great Glass Elevator is wacky. Way off from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. 60s political commentary (we're in chapter 4), puns that go way over a 5-year-old's head... I'm thinking I may need to hop over some bits in this readaloud. We got through today's chapter, but I may lose 'em if it keeps up this way. I think we all miss the chocolate and the wild machinery. Free time: we made birds by gluing fragments of tissue paper onto self-designed 'bird-shapes.' The normally unartistically-inclined J. got into how the tissue paper loses its color on the white paper when wet. I loved how his eyes gleamed when I told him it looked like he'd found the color of sunshine and captured it on paper. This made me glad.
6. I take the other Kindergarten class today -- art focus this week. Color! Rainbow day. We'll learn the chorus of "Look to the Rainbow", meet Roy G. Biv, and make rainbows with pastels, on mural paper, etc.
Messy. Fine. Didn't get to the song. They talked over me too much. But it's always good to see kids paint. I hope these parents aren't prissy about pastels all over white uniform shirts, etc. Blue paint in one kid's hair, on another's face, and all over several hands.

After school: tutoring one special lad on alphabet and sounds. He has a unique way of looking at the world. Quotes of the day from this dear alien: "I am an artist. I have art power stronger than other people." and "When I was a baby, I was good all day."

Lingering sense: Thankfulness for a day that did not sock me in the face, after a very rough morning, rough getting up, facing situation, fighting fear, inertia and other things. Hopefulness. Desire to not let the day keep talking to me negatively once school's over -- hoping to learn to let it go. Hoping the emotional frustration with being talked over will stay at a low-grade, keeping-it-in-perspective level. 35. There it was. There it is. Committed to the Lord of it. Gone and done,
and the color of sunshine on a very gray and rainy day.

Tonight I feel

...like a lost boy who's just realized that everyone else grew up.

a love as deep as hell, a love as strong as death.

from Charles Spurgeon. About our God:
"If He could grow weary of me, he would have been tired of me long before now. If He had not loved me with a love as deep as hell, and as strong as death, He would have turned from me long ago."
___________________________________________________

The mystery of God a man who bled, was whipped, who sweated and smelled and hung and whose consciousness faded into death;
A five-year-old girl watched a film of this happening yesterday and said, with small fists clenched and worry all over her face,
"Come on, God -- fight!"
And I said that He could have,
but He didn't, and why? For you, little one. For me.

Do you think He is tired of you?
He planned from before time to endure this for you. Outside time as He stands, it is still His very nature -- it will never stop being His heart, His heartbeat
...to do this for you.

It is a strange story. It is a real and living Lord we serve
when we say "Lord, Lord,"
when we say "I believe in God,"
when we say "Jesus loves you,"
it is a God who was tangible flesh, as touchable as your own hands are now. A historical reality
and a mystical reality, prophesied from the beginning of time, and known even before;
a Lamb to take your place,
a Love great enough to know what was coming and take it on anyway.
All true loves you see here on earth
are born of that love. are created in His image.

It is strange to us, this story, because
all that we clutter up the world with
tries to busy us away from the central elements of the story we see all around us:

Love, hurt, rejection and forgiveness. Justice, cruelty, help and Home. Life the gift and Death the anomaly. How it all comes together in His work, in His Word.
Sing to Him who authored the Story.
Trust in Him who authors it still.
Redeem, Lord Jesus. Come soon, Lord Jesus. Teach and forgive and consume us, dear God
on a cross.

Communion two.

Today I see the vine-juice that speaks to us of His blood -- not only speaks, but enters us, engage our senses: taste, touch, sight, and smell --
and a flash comes to me
of This Blood as the center of the universe. The Story at the Center of ALL THAT IS. I see a man on a cross.
A man in pain, blood pouring from his hands and brow,
A reconciling gift, my hope and home.
Friend on the streets, draw near and know this love.
Small sinner in a classroom, draw near and see this truth.
Lonely dweller of the great gray city, draw near and stand inside the waterfall of His so-welcoming grace.
God, increase my understanding of it all.

Communion.

Yesterday I saw my black-red blood
Flow out through narrow pipes to fill clear tubes.
So quick, so dark, so essential;
so mysterious -- to be allowed to see it so
exposed (!).

Today, I drink the cup,
Your blood.
I taste the bitter resolution.
And the color strikes me deep,
Echoing the flow that today I cannot see,
behind my skin
still running.

And I lift my hands in praise of how
You unify the Seen and Known,
the Now and Then. Of how
You honor the tangible.

You became the tangible.

Your blood,
poured out for me.I take, I taste,
again, again, this
Bitter beauty. Brightest mercy.
Washed without
By what runs within.
Washed within
By what flowed out.

Blood-giver,
Take all mine.

waiting. is active.

"I love you, gentlest of Ways,
Who ripened us as we wrestled with you."
(Rilke.) I love this because
He must be strong
to be a wrestler. Gentlest of ways, and mightier than that gentleness reveals.
Oh God, be OUR God. Be MY God. You are. You say it. The God who is protector, provider, who, for reasons we can never fathom, chooses to look out for our best interest.

You don't have to be erased. There is much in you that should be,
of course.
But He loves you. He loves you.

Looking back at old musings, scribblings, pourings-out of my mental and emotional adventures... I see how much the same I seem to stay,
always trying to Figure Things Out, so often sure that I am wrong for being what I am,
and crying out for more of God. . .

I find things in the old writings. And so,
since I have not much to say, or ability to say it, in these present days,
I think maybe I will put up some things from Ago. And see what stands forward and what fades, what is relevant in this season and what has not changed...and what has,
and where God has taken one person
in a few years of being and walking.

1. December 20, 2006. DFW Airport.


When I open my eyes
or turn around
or return from a walk through the far-off lands of 'E12,' 'E17' and 'E38'...
the lady in black jacket and baggy black pants with red racing stripe
has changed again, into a youngish Hispanic woman,
dark-haired, olive-skinned,
slouched and bored,
sloshing a newspaper around.
And then back again,
into a bulky old woman, grey-white hair slipping out of a wavy knot,
slouched and bored,
sloshing a newspaper around.
Same black jacket, same baggy pants, same chair, same shoes.
Airport agents,
presumably preventing people from slipping in where they shouldn't.

Grey-haired lady sometimes jumps into conversations of passing dazed families, to use her superknowledge, saying,
"No, it's right out here."
Sometimes they believe her.
Sometimes not.

Today I'm like this: in the restroom, in a line with two other women, a third washing her hands,
I had to stop myself from saying
"Hello, friends."

Because we are friends, we could be friends, we are compatriots and passers-by in the lifestream.
And there are times, so many, when I nearly say it, nearly welcome in with open arms
all the people
,many faces,
all I could have known,
that come across me.
Every face is a friend I love and want to help.

But what do I say to them that they will want
or understand...?

The Holy Spirit leads.
Today I know it, deep and sure and happily contented.

........

Salesmen,
salesmen,
always salesmen.
'field.' 'constituency.' 'consistency.' 'tractor.' 'see ya up there.' 'take care.' 'reservation.' 'take the job.' 'stupid if he doesn't.' 'knows the system.'

....

Television news voices are abhorrent. abhorrible. awful and horrible. terrible and sharp, false and vapid. sticky and meaningless. thoughtless and perky ...

Oblomov gave up on finding real bright light in the world through his own experience, through true and vocal and beautiful love, person-to-person... Quiet, news voices! Quiet!

"Relax." "Go wild." "Enjoy." "Indulge." Why do they throw imperatives at us? Why are they commanding me? Does that work better on people? Do we have some innate tendency to want to obey
such imperatives?
...

Bags make us all walk funnily.
Hunched or imbalanced, hulking or limping, panting and stopping.
What is all this we're carrying? What we 'need' to feel okay... are we meant to carry bags?
..............................
Minneapolis airport. same day.

in a chair.
coming off a red-faced conversation
on a plane
two tight seats and sporadic eye contact,
a middle-aged man all at sea in midair.
How do you help him?
a divorced man who talks about looking for someone...
you know Jesus would complete him
in a whole new way.
He drops hidden questions about your relationship status
and you get embarrassed for him
and rush past them.

I said JESUS
but it was hard to break through my own guard against his loneliness and his intentions...
a little boy who's grown too old for me to help easily ...
Lord, I'm sorry if I missed things I should have said
or ways I should have said...
did I come off as not as passionate about You -- as proud of You -- as I really am?
Or was I contextualizing for him, trying not to use Christian-ese?
Father, forgive me -- and now, Father, I pray for this person,
for revival and powerful, beautiful witness to enter his life.
Off he goes. I let those hours go,
sweeping off to You.

Thirsty for beautiful music.
crazy awful news voices are back again.
(how is 'celebrities caught doing ridiculous things' NEWS?)

Where am I going, again? Oh, yes. Saskatchewan...

You know
I scan the people for a kindred spirit
I imagine someone who would just sit down next to me, and we'd say
"It's you!"
and "Isn't it all...insane
,and full of color
, and full of life ?"
and it would be home.
That's You, though,
That's You.
.....
"CNN sends you best wishes for 2007."
What does that mean? Nothing. They don't know any of us;
and what are 'best wishes' -- and of what good?
A world in need of prayer.

Shall I go wash my hands, just for fun? Sure.
My seat will be taken. But I have hours to go before I fly
Yes, hours to go before I fly.

November here.

" I said to the LORD, 'You are my Lord,
apart from you I have no good thing. " (Psalm 16.2)

Dear folk out there. (Are you?)

My mother wrote to me
that God has all the gifts I don't
and will supply where I lack.

I was trying to keep Him out
of a world where I didn't want to be;

I believed He was terribly disappointed
with whatever I was and am.

Rilke wrote: "I love you, gentlest of ways,
who ripened us as we wrestled with you."

I don't know how this is going to happen,
I don't know how.
But I love the little people,
and somehow, yes, must train and shape them for a classroom life,
(though what I want is to take them out running in fields, where your feet get caught in mud, and your fingers grip the grass, and your eyes see only God-made things for miles and miles and miles.)

I am so weary, and changed by the weariness.

I wrote yesterday a small, imperfect song. well, two and some bits. Here
is one, because I don't know
what else
to say. :

Fire of holiness,
Are you neat and mild,
Are you stoic and sensible
Or raging and wild ?

In the sweetest sense, You're wild,
all the beautiful I have ever known.
Vaster than my mind can reach
wider than my vision's field.

Deeper is Your loveliness and juster is Your justice,
Sweeter is Your sweetness than a word can hold. ....

From your fire I draw mildness,
In your fire it is found.
In what appears to me as wildness,
Peace and steadiness resound...

Deeper is Your loveliness and just-er is Your justice,
Sweeter is Your sweetness than a word can hold.

Part of fire, yes, their calmness; part of fire, my heart's cry.
Do your work to shape me, change me --
only You know who am I.

Holiness higher than all our words,
Not 'calm' or 'lively,'
but both, and more,
Teach which,
and when,
and what
to be
to me, walking here bound in by either and or.

Deeper is Your loveliness and juster is Your justice,
Sweeter is Your sweetness than a word can hold.

Job. (In both senses of the word?)

"Then the LORD answered Job out of the storm. He said:
'Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge?....'"

It is I, Lord. I have darkened your counsel with words without knowledge.

"Brace yourself like a man; I will question you,

and you shall answer me.

Where were you when I laid the earth's foundation?

Tell me, if you understand.

Who marked off its dimensions? Surely you know!

Who stretched a measuring line across it?

On what were its footings set,

or who laid its cornerstone--

while the morning stars sang together

and all the angels shouted for joy?... "

"No human being can withstand the effulgence of kabod [Hebrew. glory. weight]... Moses' request to see the kabod Yahweh is denied. He is told to cover his face while the glory passes, watching only as God departs. "I will make all my splendor [kabod] pass before you," says Yahweh, "and in your presence I will pronounce my name.... You canot see my face, for no one sees me and still lives" (Brennan Manning, quoting from Exodus 33, in Ruthless Trust, p.53).

"The manifestations of kabod -- the magnalia Dei--continue in an ever-expanding cosmos. Small wonder that ninety-four years ago the eminent biographer Canon Sheehan envisioned heaven as 'The never-ending unlocking of the inner chambers of God'" (Ruthless Trust, p.51).

A God with infinite chambers to unlock, a God of infinite beauty and wisdom and power and knowledge and understanding,
this God have I been questioning, as the way that I thought life and walking with Him should work
has been stripped away from me.

(I still don't understand.
I may not be happy with it.)
But I can be joyful in it
and persevere , if He will strengthen me,
and I can trust that He is still who He says He is,
that somehow that DOES incorporate Him loving me
and Him being all things beautiful.
I may not feel it
or see it,
but I can trust it.

Forgive me, Lord, for forgetting Your glory
, Your transcendent-ness

I know that you can do all things;
no plan of yours can be thwarted.
You asked, 'Who is this that obscures my counsel without knowledge?'
Surely I spoke of things I did not understand,
things too wonderful for me to know.

Melanie's assignment.

Dear friends. I'm not up to writing much about the details of here right now. But I shall speak praise for a sweet weekend, a weekend away in the fall, a remembering that there are other ways of life out there, and a reminder of my passion for weakness. Strange passion? Don't know.

But at any rate, here I am, being forced to live it out in unexpected, in washing-over, in exhausting, constant ways, day in, day out.

I love my friend Melanie. And she did this on her blog. So I will too. To remember beautiful and silly things. To fly a little. To reach out and touch her hand. Pardon the poor formatting. Here we gooooo...... off to neverland -------

Pictures of:

1. the age you will be on your next birthday

2. a place to which you'd like to travel

3. your favorite place

4. Your favorite person (persons.)

5. Your favorite food

6. Your favorite animal

7. The town in which you were born

8. The name of a past pet

9. The first name of a past love

10. Your favorite color

11. Your first name

12. Your middle name

13. Your last name

to train up a child...

Have you got any thoughts on discipline, love,
and the balance between them?
And how they should appear in the definition of childhood,
and whether obedience and boundaries
must be taught and learned before grace can be understood or received?

I'm tired of 'being consistent,' of catching every 'misbehavior' in order to remain in control,
of having to stifle their silliness in order to maintain .... order.

oh how i hope it's not a horrible, harsh environment for them.
oh how i never wanted to be part of making such a place for children
oh how i miss just loving and being with.
I see the reasons for what I'm doing.
I know everyone in their lives can't be 'the fun one.' And for now, I don't get to be.
But I miss it.

Words? Thoughts? Helps?

I have been given visions of each of them individually as a deep man or woman of God
someday ;
I pray that somehow, in spite of me, and in spite of the groupness of it all, I will get to be a part of shaping them
in that direction.
I pray that they will flourish
and grow
and choose
and blossom
in that direction.

Day 3. And Abraham.

" So how do we fit what we know of Abraham, our first father in the faith, into this new way of looking at things? If Abraham, by what he did for God, got God to approve him, he could certainly have taken credit for it. But the story we're given is a God-story, not an Abraham-story. What we read in Scripture is, "Abraham entered into what God was doing for him, and that was the turning point. He trusted God to set him right instead of trying to be right on his own." If you're a hard worker and do a good job, you deserve your pay; we don't call your wages a gift. But if you see that the job is too big for you, that it's something only God can do, and you trust him to do it—you could never do it for yourself no matter how hard and long you worked—well, that trusting-him-to-do-it is what gets you set right with God, by God. Sheer gift. "

Romans 4:1-5 in The Message. Thanks, Mom.

I sat in the park on the way home tonight,
and wrote, to God, before coming home and reading these verses from my mother,
something strangely parallel. :
That though I have trouble seeing anymore how I could one day be useful or apt in any way, in any thing, in any place...
it couldn't matter less. Because this is not about me. This whole
Life thing.
My job is to have eyes on Him, and to stay close to Him, and to follow after Him and worship Him. Not to look at myself.
I will not focus on my inabilities OR on my abilities, if there be any,
no, because I will not focus on me.
(Forgive me, Lord. For I have focused on me. )

This job is too big for me, by far. This job is so different from where my mind naturally and usually wants to go.
We will not be the Academically Best Kindergarten Class ever (unless that's the miracle You want to work). I will not be the Most Organized and Naturally-Gifted-at-Devising-Perfect-Smooth-Systems Teacher Lady ever. But I will love Jesus. And I will try hard. And then I will stop, and surrender. And I will trust Him to work miracles through and despite and within me.
Amen.

"It's better to have cold," (food, that is) said husky-voiced, matter-of-fact, bundle-of-energy, mini-Julio-Iglesias kindergartener Michael, "because when it's hot, everybody can win you." He means that if you have hot food, as I do at lunch time, you will always lose the food-eating race (which I engage him in to try to get him to finish his sandwich) to those who have cold food. "That's true," I said. "Good point." It's fun to see them draw conclusions and make logical pronouncements based on the ridiculous things you do each day.
You never know
what's going to stick.

How funny. How strange. Day 1 of Kindergarten.

You know things like "The First Day of School,"
so mythologized,
so anticipated,
so... almost hallowed in the halls of life experience and life stories?

I feel like I just gave a bunch of children a fake one.
A fake First Day of School.


I feel this way because it's me who made it all, and I know myself.
I don't feel Official like the teachers of my youth felt to me.
I feel like they can see through me, the little ones,
that I am just a Person,
not a Teacher.
But so it is.


Today was.... chaotic.
Five of my children were absent. And this led me to discover that one had been moved to pre-K just the day before, and I hadn't been told yet.

School lunches arrived in our classroom 50 minutes late. I tried to fill time while they moaned about being starving. I asked if they knew what 'whining' meant and taught them the valuable fact that complaining to the air does not make things come any faster. I read them a story. We played the 'raise your hand if...' game. Finally we got up and played. And then the lunches came.


When we went down to recess, another class was in the play area. We waited again.
When we went to the bathroom, other classes were already in the bathroom.

Some children brought ten tons of supplies that I had to dig out of their backpacks. There is no storage space in my classroom. Some children brought no supplies.
I can't really remember which were which. A more Effective Person would have made an instant checklist.


I began to wonder if a gift for teaching, in the elementary and middle school levels at least, is really a gift for winning attention and for effective crowd control. Neither of these do I have naturally.


My favorite part of today was when we prayed for my friend Wesley, who lives on the streets of Rio de Janeiro. We looked at his picture and at a picture he finger-painted for me, of the concrete arches of Rio under which we Word Made Flesh folk met with the people of the streets.
"Please give him a bed," said Jemimah.
"Please give him a lot of people and a lot of money so he can buy food and a lot of love," said Julia.
"Thank you for..." and Daniel proceeded to recount all the things he could remember that we'd done today.


Please pray that the need for behavior-molding and crowd control and correction
would not take over;
that by the miracles of them learning to pay attention,
and me becoming a better attention-getter and keeper,
we will have the space for me to really look deeply at them and love them,
and deal with them as the individuals that they are,
to love as Christ loves
each member of
my motley band.


Being a one-on-one sort of person
May be the reason I've felt so ill-suited to all of this. To teaching.
Please pray that that gift would be used somehow even in the midst of all this.
And that all this
wouldn't drown out that gift
by drowning me in discipline routines
and details.


Here is our room (now with two largeish carpets and with names on the door, not in the photographs :-) ). Thank you, brilliant Liz, for making it so.
They knocked on the door of the Crazy House today, and called to the people inside whom we cannot see... tomorrow we put the first bird on what I've decided is, among other things, a Birthday Tree.

i live in the bronx.

This city,

New York City,

makes me cry.

The forms upon forms upon forms of lostness and Christlessness,

the hard faces, the weight that seems to press down on every pair of shoulders. Weight weight weight weight weight. . .

like everyone has all the bills they owe and all the family and job responsibilities and all the anger and loneliness and resentment and hardship of a lifetime

hardened into a mask

which they wear all day long,

and no longer know how to take off.

Today I was down at the bottom of Manhattan,

and in the middle, and here in the Bronx. Today I walked a lot. And took long subway rides. And carried heavy groceries.

And how strange this place is. Unlike any other, in the way it feels to me.

And there is noise

and there are a thousand different worldviews

all clashing into a cloud of chaos

until the only value left that everyone believes in

is survival,

is: not physically hurting someone else;

and, maybe, if you're rich enough, environmentalism.

May I tell you?

This is a hard place to be poor.

and this is a hard place to be alone.

Was Rio like this? And I just didn't feel it,

because I was surrounded so closely and supportively

by a community that shouted out "KINGDOM" and refused to be hopeless

and was determined to see the world in light of God's promises

and character?

(Did I not feel it also

because it was 'foreign'?

Because of the layer of outsider's perspective that a different language adds? The alien-planetness that gives me the privilege of contemplation and analysis ...

Because of the hundreds of little words and conversations I missed

that here, I hear without trying?

And because I was not plugged into, aware of, the mass media culture there, hearing the messages people there hear...? )

Which way is the truth?

Rio was -- is -- a city full of violence, full of problems, darkness, spiritual oppression,

of course.

But I did not feel there

like I feel here.

Please pray for this city. Please come to this city

and help to transform it with the salt and light of Jesus.

Please pray that it does not step on me and squash me,

that it does not form for me a mask

as well;

that I do not lose

(most precious, precious) Hope.

I am in a job now. this is hard for me. i have been privileged to live a contemplative, fairly intuitive and improvisational day-to-day life these past years.

A life of being out and about,

walking around,

talking to people,

thinking about culture.

Praying a lot.

No human standards to live up to, few deadlines, loose schedules.

No spirit of competition;

a feeling of freedom

and joy. Easy to trust that God was everywhere and that He would fulfill His plans; all I had to do was listen

and obey...

I loved it.

I think that I thought

my crumbling-all-to-pieces days were maybe, just maybe,

behind me...

then this.

A job that is very structured

With people who seem to have, and enjoy, "Right way, Wrong way" labels for all things -- or at least "Better way, ineffective way"--

People who are very different parts of the Body than I. And sometimes I find that I've begun to fear that Jesus sees everything their way -- that it's right

and I'm so wrong. This systematic way of looking

and living,

the extreme busy-ness

.

I confess

I long for freedom.

I do not want to lose my belief that God loves and uses the foolish things.

I am not a person who is about

Achievement.

I tried, long ago, to be one of those people,

to keep up with those people. And I did.

And I was an empty shell,

and there was no depth to the world,

and no depth to God in my spirit.

Why would You take me back into such a land, oh Lord?

I do not understand.

And after giving and showing me a life that fit my heart

so well.

Please don't let me stop believing in that life's existence

and its reality and value.

Here, I am broken down to childlikeness,

not impressive in any way. Impressing no one,

by any stretch of the imagination.

not shining Jesus the way I know I want to,

and quietly ashamed

that so much could 'backslide' so soon

and so completely.

But You, O Lord, are my strength and my song.

But You, O Lord, are still You, and still died for me.

But You, O Lord, have lost none of Your strength, Your impressiveness, and Your power.

Whatever I once had

was completely by Your grace,

a gift for a time -- a miraculous work completely of God.

Whatever is gone now

is Yours to have, and to restore in Your time.

I am not in my element.

I have become last.

I need You to do this job

through me.

I need You to do this job through me.

I am humbled to the ground

I don't know how to get up

.

Please bless this place through me somehow

Please bless this place, these people.

Please bless and form these children somehow.

I do not know this place. I do not know what You want to do here.

Do it

please.

Break me down,

even those things that I thought You wanted and approved of in me,

those things I thought were permanent now, and to be joys longlasting.

If You want to take them down, and take them away,

they are Yours.

May I ask for them back

someday?

I do, Lord, I do long for happiness. For joy.

Give me, please, joy that sings louder than the suffering

, even though the suffering can still be heard.

Somehow.

I talked to you

years ago,

and months ago,

and weeks ago,

about becoming poor. About experiencing the life that so many live.

i think it is happening. I did not think I would have to be so alone.

But poverty is often loneliness.

I did not think I would have to do something so scary and so oppressive to me.

But poverty is often in scary and oppressive circumstances, and leads to having to take scary and oppressive jobs.

I loved our life in poverty in Brazil. Because we were together -- our team. Our small band

of 'new friars' .

I believe You call to loving community. I believe it's a good gift, and Your ideal for us.

I can't wait to work in it fully

again.

But for now you seem to have This Other in mind for me. Do Your will, oh Lord. Pull me through, oh Lord. Prove Yourself God in the midst of it all, oh Lord.

And please. Please wipe away the shame coloring my heart, shame for not handling this with a grin on my face and great hope pouring out of my mouth; shame for not being strong here;

did I think I was impervious? Super Transition Woman, able to leap between sin-struck cultures in a single bound, smiling all the while, never feeling, never broken ?

i am small and i am human

and i can't do this.

AND YOU CAN.

moment by moment,

carry me. and help me to trust

in Your love.

Can you, friends, help me to love this city?

Talk back. and pray. and come, please come.