Quotable Quotes that Deserve to be Shared

Actually, most of these are a follow on to the fabulous compliments section....

J was told to write about the most memorable part of his school year:
A memory of mine is when my class and another class and I went to Sun and Sand...then when I go into the bathroom there's a picture of elvis and when I walk by it it and it looks like his eyes are following you.
---
Teacher: Look D----, a square and a rectangle are like you and your dad. Like you and your dad are both from the "Jones" family. So (while drawing a square) here's your dad, E. Jones and here's you (drawing a rectangle). I can call either of you Mr. Jones, but I can't call you E, only your dad.

Student D----: Are you saying my dad is a square?
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M asks, "Is Rebecca really 108?" and hears, "No, she's 51."
He responds, "Oh! That makes more sense."
---
From a parent, as I tried to explain a note I'd sent home that day and apologized that she considered the writing on the note sloppy,
"Well, see there - you're certainly not perfect!"
---
From another parent, after he'd called in the evening and spent almost 45 minutes telling me how terrible a teacher I was for his child, "I hope there's no hard feelings or anything. I don't want you to be upset."
---
And in my summer pursuits, J tries to comfort me concerning some of my lacking skills in the cowboy world. "You're not that bad at heading. You just can't catch and you don't know how to handle. That's all heading is, catches and handles."

Fabulous compliments (or - why you don't depend on people for your self-worth)

They'd argued all day. I was tired of settling it, and was the motor mouth really complaining about the noisemaker; neither was sitting where they belonged. "I don't know what to do with you two, " I snapped. "I think I'll just tie you together!"

A---- looked up. "Miss Wells, you sound just like a therapist."
----

E---, now in 4th grade, walked up to me at a baseball game. "Hi, Miss Wells!" We chat. She says, "I still remember when you were my teacher in 2nd grade."

(Awwww.... how sweet! I made an impact on her life.)

"Yeah, I remember when you got all excited and you wrote on the white board with a permanent marker."

-----
"Miss Wells! M---- told the sub you were fatter than she was."

(I think that's better than telling the sub she's fatter than I.)

----
I'd just fixed green chile enchiladas and the sauce was perfect. There wasn't quite enough of it to make the tortillas and meat juicy, but the sauce was perfect. I set it on the table. T--- made a face. "Rebecca, I think you've done better than that."

Written in March... Still called true.

Today was the day of a happy heart. Wisps of hair brushed against my slightly sun-flushed face as I quickly walked into my house and realized that I was quite energetic enough to face grading papers, though I’d have rathered stay outside and water the tiny wisps of green and bloom peeking through the dry landscape.

My friend says that taking naps is the sign of a peaceful heart. She might be right. Another acquaintance mentioned her love of naps and as she and I chatted, I realized we were, in the words of Anne of Green Gables, "kindred spirits" of peaceful hearts.

I think the peaceful heart can be attributed to the joy of Jesus. Stress is a lot lower when one can let go and let God. And He gives His beloved sleep. I do realize, though, how blessed I am and I was surprised to realize that this day of a happy heart might be a rare moment.

I’m usually a pretty happy person, I think. I laugh with my students a lot. I love to visit with people I encounter along the way, I like my drive home most evenings, I smile at the smell of coffee, and I can’t imagine more fun than riding a horse and looking for cows. All of which events have happened in the week past.

But these completely happy heart moments? They surprise me. One came last week, when I curled up in my living room with my Bible. It was about 7:30 in the morning, the sun was streaming through the front door, glinting off the polished wood floor, the washing machine was running in the kitchen. I thought of my grandma, my beloved Grandma Wells. The moment reminded me of her and in my head, I think I felt I was like her for a moment. My house was in order.

Today the causes were harder to trace. It’s not like I don’t have plenty to do this weekend, and usually my heart faints at the thought of grading spelling stories (who assigned those, anyway?!). Still, I rested well last night, awakening to the sun rather than an alarm clock. I spent most of my day outdoors, in overcast, slightly breezy weather. I didn’t really work - I admit it - so I wasn’t tired. I visited with friends, but they are almost family, so I didn’t have to guard my every word, weigh the effects of every action, as I do most every other day. 

Maybe my happy heart today really is rooted just as the happy heart of last week. Today, all was right in my world. Today, I didn’t have to suffer the effects of sin on my world and my soul. Today, I could appreciate God’s creation. Today, my “house” was in order, but it was not my house. It was my world.

You see, we live in a broken world. Relationship with God is broken, relationships with others are broken, relationships with His creation are broken. Jesus is healing my broken heart, but sometimes my concern for people or my self-inflicted stress interferes with His grace. My job is to love my students, broken children, and my calling from the Lord is to love His people and people He is drawing - and these people are broken. We’ve broken relationship with God’s creation in our humanness and sometimes I live so far from it, I feel I’m completely removed. Today, I was in close contact with that creation. Today, by His grace, I lived in the fact that it is not my job to heal the broken. Today, I could revel in the blessings He’s given. Today, perhaps, I had a taste of the restored world, of a heaven full of His presence.

And tomorrow? Well, tomorrow, I might return to a more vivid view of brokenness, but perhaps my happy heart will instill in me just a bit more of a hope of heaven.

On happiness, holiness, and dreams that don't come true.

One friend said, “I don’t think I could take it if I lost my son.” Another, “I haven’t talked to God about my wedding because I’m so afraid He’ll jerk it away from me.”

Could I? It’s a question I ask myself. Would I be willing to trust God if He granted me a dream, then took it? Or can I trust God now? I’ve thought about it. What if He took my parents, that piece of solid rock that never changes for this girl who hates change? Or what if my dearest of dear friends turned on me? What if? 

Or what of now? I found a root of bitterness in my heart when I commented, “Well, no one wants to hear my testimony about trusting God with your love life ‘cause no one wants to wind up like me!” and that made me think...

Do we still love God when our dreams don’t come true?

----

His goal is not our happiness, it’s our holiness.

I heard the phrase somewhere and wondered if it held true to the Scriptures. Alert as I read, I realized...

He works all thing together for the good of those CALLED ACCORDING TO HIS PURPOSE. Did you get that? According to His purpose. Not our pleasure. And He grants the desires of our heart when... when our delight is in HIM. His Person. His Presence.  And He is holy.

----

And then I read Ezekiel. Chapter 24, verses 16-18. God told Ezekiel he would take “desire of his eyes.” His wife was not a burden, nor a negotiable. She was his dream. He was not to mourn but rather - to go forward.

What? How? We are not told, only that

[he] did in the morning as [he] was commanded.

Ezekiel trusted God when his dreams didn’t come true.

----

Scripture doesn’t say God explained to Ezekiel all of His plan before implementing it. It’s pretty clear that Ezekiel walked by faith, not by sight. He loved God not for his own happiness but for God’s HOLINESS. Holy. Set apart. Different. Outside humanness.

God did reveal His purpose. He was teaching the people not to mourn for their possessions or their families, “earthly treasure” if you will, but to

“pine away for your iniquities and mourn toward another..."  In that day Ezekiel would be a sign to them and they would know that He was the Lord. (v. 23, 27).

Ezekiel was laying up treasure in heaven. He delighted in the Lord, not in the desires held or granted. And God worked - all things together for good according to HIS purpose. 

We don’t know what Ezekiel got out of it, but we know the rebellious received the kingdom benefit. And we know that God does not forget a labor of love.

All things for good, for those who are called according to His purpose... to be conformed to the image of His Son (Rom. 8:29), to fill up the afflictions of Christ (Col. 1:24). To be like Jesus. And in Jesus is joy. Joy bigger, joy deeper, joy greater than happiness - in Jesus. And Jesus is - holy.

Do I trust God when my dreams don’t come true?

He is making me. Not happy. Holy.

He came to set the captives free

She came to me in January, quietly, slipping in unannounced except for a word from the secretary. She reacted to the kids, the kids to her, as if she'd always been with us. She turned in her work without asking for help and when I asked her questions she gave me a nod and a little half smile.

And looked at me with those haunted eyes.

I soon realized that the work was done without help because this was her way. It was not that she knew, or that it was easy. It was that she could not get hung up, she would not stop her life over something she did not understand. She was not careless, nor lazy. But she moved on. I think it was the way of her life to move on.

It showed in those haunted eyes.

She seemed to be happy. The girls played with her. No one complained about her. Who could? She was so quiet and never fussed, nor fell behind. A mom of her friend told me, though. Told me that some girls wanted to leave her out. Why hadn't I heard? It wasn't her way to complain. She just buried it all and faced the world.

Faced the world with those haunted eyes.

And sometimes she told me about home. -- Did you have a good weekend? No. --- Why's that? My mom is in the hospital again. She had seizures. ---Did you get your agenda signed? No. My auntie wouldn't sign it and my mom can't come home. She won't eat if she leaves the hospital and she will die. ---Oh, who's picking you up? My stepdad's mom. She will take us today and I'll go somewhere else tomorrow. But she never cried. She never even allowed a sad expression to cross.

Oh, what haunts those eyes!

There came the day I cried, I called out to the Lord in repentance for missing my opportunity to show compassion. I'd been lamenting class percentages and performance and perhaps begrudging that there was no way this little one would meet the standard within the time I had her. I ran the classroom as an assembly line that day, everyone in his place, every task done on time. They came over the intercom to tell her to ride the bus home. She turned to me, out of order, off her task, out of turn, and said, "Does that mean I have no tutoring?" Slightly irritated, I responded, "I guess not, since they called you." She turned back quietly and one of the boys asked, "What's wrong with her?"

I called her name. She turned again.

There were tears. Tears in those never-complaining, never-flinching, emotionless eyes. 
And the haunts overwhelmed.

I let her call that day, they rearranged, she stayed. The eyes dried, the half-smile and quiet manner returned. And so easy it was to lose her again in the hustle and bustle of each day.

Today she was gone. They called. She'd changed schools again.

She's gone. I've lost her, lost my chance to love her, to find her, to look behind the eyes.

Oh, Jesus, I pray for this child. This child that only You can save. This child that only You can fill. Break her free from the haunts in her soul.

Oh Jesus, clear those haunted eyes.

Psalm 68:5 A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling. 6 God sets the lonely in families, he leads forth the prisoners with singing; but the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land....

Once in a while, I have to post about a teacher moment

I wonder if anyone else would’ve found it ironic. Really, for the email to come, that week, that day, with that title... “Become a Model Educator This Year.” 

Of course, the human heart always dreams of being the best. I CAN educate all of my students to the level of proficiency required by the state - in my dreams. I CAN finish the paperwork to become a lead teacher or get a master’s - in the visions in my head. I CAN make a difference - so I believed.

And then there’s reality. .. There’s the week of testing, when only 45% of the kids rise to the bar and the others: two skip the last third of the test, one nearly passes out, and three just don’t perform. They’re the ones who are SUPPOSED to perform, though. This is messing up my dreams.

Everyone is tired. My patience is low (which means my tolerance rises because I can’t draw rational lines). The kids’ levels of self-control are low. We’re all sleepy and we combat it with activity and attitude. The volume in the room rises.

I decide we all need a break and we head outside. Walking down the hall I encounter the librarian and the school’s tech assistant. I greet them, “Long time, no see.” (I’ve been fixing my own tech problems.) One laughs and responds, “Do you know I can hear you every day, all the way at the end of the hall?”

I am sure I nearly cry. Any other day it might be a joke, as it was intended. Today, this day, it is beyond what I can handle. Here, too, the dreams of a quiet, orderly class are crushed. There’ll be no model class for this teacher.

And so I come home. I check my email. Become a model educator. Not today. Not this week. Not this year.

I read somewhere that Jesus, my Jesus, came to bind up the broken-hearted (well, I read that part in the Bible), and my brokenness might not be the popular sort. My brokenness, then, is this: my imperfections, my failed ambitions, my unrealistic dreams.

I’m glad Jesus loves me anyway. Even if I’m not a model educator. This year or any year.

Spanish poetry

Actually, let me preface this by stating that in using the phrase "Spanish poetry" I refer more to the country of origin, to Spain than to the language, as one might expect in a blog based on travels in Colombia.

No, my friends, I only want to pass on a little bit of light that shone through culture today. We had an inservice for the "bilingual program" in our district, an inservice led by a educator from the Spanish Resource Center - an educator from Spain - and meant as a workshop on teaching techniques, particularly, of course, teaching Spanish. The activities: primarily reading, listening, and watching Spanish literature and media and discussing the view.

The first poem was entitled "Para que yo me llame Àngel Gonzàlez" (How I came to be called Angel Gonzalez). Our task? To determine the mood of the poem. It was a bit of a sad poem, the poem of a man looking back on his life and forward to approaching death. What struck me though were the lines of reflection: in journeys, in beatings, in shipwreck, in dangers, in weariness, in brokenness... my life has come to this.

Where else do we hear the echoes of tones of hardships? Where else has a man reflected on a life so full of the bitter?

Tell me the lines of the ancients do not influence this poem of our modern era. Tell me that you do not hear the echo of Paul's words in 2 Corinthians 11. Tell me things of Jesus Christ do not influence our world, just as Paul used the poetry of the Greeks to influence their world in Acts.

But then. Tell me how sad is it that this man had only the moments of his old age to reflect on what he'd become, while Paul could glory in the God and Father of the Lord Jesus Christ.