New Beginnings

     I revel in fall, everything about the season.  This weekend Christy and I scattered fall decorations around the house; harbingers of beauty and riches to come. I derive great pleasure from watching football, even the preseason. When we lived in more northern climes the smell of burning leaves and frost drifted through the woods and parks where I walked, while soaking up rich hues of yellow, rust, bright red and orange. As a youth I looked forward to the annual unpacking of sweaters and other winter wear.  Even today the smell of moth-balls generates warm memories of my mother getting things ready for colder weather that drift through my mind like so much smoke. I also enjoyed the start of school, and still do.

     Last week school started for us. All my students poured into class filled with anticipation of things to come. I’m privileged to teach seventh, eighth, ninth, and eleventh grades. I love all my kids, but the seventh graders bring a special joy with them as they pour into my room. For the first time they will change teachers every period as they’re big kids now. This is a special time for them filled with many new beginnings and challenges; just like my favorite football teams.

     Every fall we start the new season filled with surety and hope. We’re sure that the new additions to the team our will make us the best in the league and hope that everyone stays healthy.  Preseason games provide opportunities for new arrivals to showcase their skills in hopes of earning a slot on the final roster, perhaps even a starting position. These men play with intensity, knowing that coaches scrutinize everything they do and that their future in the NFL hangs in the balance. Each fall brings great hope, even for the Cowboys.

     I know that we generally consider spring the time of new beginnings, but I always thing of fall as the time of new beginnings. I love new beginnings. School generates a cascade of new beginnings. Which of my students will blossom this year? Which ones will seize the moment, living up to the promise of the new year? Will I improve as a teacher?  Will I strengthen those areas identified as needing improvement? What exciting things will happen within the confines of my room? What growth will I see as the year unfolds?

     God loves new beginnings as well. He loves them so much that He unfolds history as a continual series of new beginnings. God repeatedly presses the restart button, setting us up for new blessings and new successes. In II Corinthians 5:17-18 we read

“¹⁷ Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. ¹⁸ All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation;…”

     As my students file into the classroom, how will I see them; especially those whom I taught the year before? Will I look at them and see the all the mistakes from last year, or will I join the Lord in His ministry of rebirth. As a teacher this is critical for when I fail to discard the past, I force my students to carry all their old baggage with them. I need to develop the same ability the Lord has and cast any mistakes or offenses into the sea of forgetfulness. That way the year will unfold well, with great growth and advances.

My Room

     My room sits quietly, expectantly. Those with exceptional hearing might detect the near silent hum of the wall clock. New posters adorn the walls. The desks and chairs await occupants in a familiar “U.” Textbooks sit in neat stacks on the back table ready for stuffing into backpacks. My desk stands, neatly arranged for the last time until next summer. A soon to be replaced calm drifts with the dust motes in the slanting Sunday afternoon light. In a few short hours all will change. Students will pour out of cars into the halls; eventually spilling into my room bringing excitement, angst, and a certain amount of chaos. But for now, we all hold our breath in anticipation. Soon the clock will be off and running. The year will unfold like the rich maroon hibiscus in my backyard, gradually revealing intricate beauty. I wonder, how will things turn out for me and my kids?

     During the summer teachers prepare. I look at the list of things I intended to do and see far too many items still waiting action. Books I planned on reading still gather dust on the end-table. Lesson plans remain half-formed, needing fleshing out. The all-important sub-folder contains last year’s information. I did not complete these tasks and many others during the summer hiatus. In short, I’m not quite ready. Like my students, I look at Monday with a little dread. How will this all work out? What will my students think? Some, those I’ve had before, know what to expect. I spoke with a parent who told me their child was greatly relieved to find out that they were in my class again. I expected to hear about how I made history come alive or how my lectures and projects were great fun. Instead, she said, “Susie (not her real name) likes your class because she knows how you think and what she needs to do to make a good grade and does not want to learn another teacher.” Students view the world differently than teachers; however, we all share an interest in how the year will unfold.

     How will I make up the gap between what I intended and what I completed? If I let my mind wander, undirected, it will forage amidst the brambles of doubt, uncertainty, worry, and fear. Unfortunately it knows those paths all too well, as it has trod them frequently. Fretting does not do anyone any good. The last thing my students need is a worried teacher on the first day of school. Worry, the mental wringing of hands, wastes time and energy. Fear, the little hobgoblin that gibbers away in the dark corners of the mind, creates nothing; only consuming mental resources. So what is a teacher to do?

     I can put on a good face; the mental facade which hides inner anxiety. Unfortunately pretending all is well does not prepare me for challenges. Without necessary mental resources small events rapidly spiral out of control into unnecessary crises; calamities which erode student trust in their teacher. While a calm exterior in the face of classroom mishaps averts disaster, it must be based on a fortitude borne out of inner strength. So where does this well-spring of power come from?

     Paul tells us in Ephesians 3:20, “20 Now to him who by the power at work within us is able to accomplish abundantly far more than all we can ask or imagine, 21 to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations, forever and ever. Amen.” Paul the shipwrecked, beaten with rods, stoned and left for dead, penned those words. So often I see only those things that I know with my physical senses. Paul tells me that God can do more than I can imagine.

     More than I can imagine, I let that phrase roll around my mind for a while, savoring the possibilities. As a geeky, scify, signal officer, information operator, I can imagine a lot. Often in those few brief moments I lie awake in the dark, listening to the fan hum, I let my mind soar into realms of fancy. In my imagination complete worlds exist with all manner of possibilities. As one who imagines himself a writer, I see things not as they are, but as I want them to be. When I watch movies drawn from books that I’ve read, I leave disappointed. No budget supports the rich tapestry of colors and textures my inner director stages. At the age of 54 my imagination is one of the most exercised and developed portion of my brain. Yet, Paul, in very clear language, reminds me that the three pounds of gray matter between my ears does not hold a candle to God’s creative genius.

     God see possibilities that I have never even thought of. He looks out into my chaos and sees wondrous things, beautiful things, powerful things. God thinks on levels that would blow my mind. Where I see a lack of time, He views some sort of blessing that I have never conceived. I cannot even form the thoughts needed to properly ask for what He plans. In Isaiah 55:7-9 God reminds me that His thoughts are not my thoughts and His ways are much higher than my ways. And to top it all off, He often shapes His thoughts in ways that not only astound me, they benefit me! So, as I gaze upon the list of things left undone, I need not worry or fret. God shows up in my weakness. He will do things that I have not thought of. Now that will make a class and school year worth attending.

     

Sharing My Kitchen

     At the age of 54 and after 27 years of military service, I like things a certain way. I find comfort in

checklists and standing operating procedures; also known as SOPs. Backward planning suits me just fine. I brought so much of this home from work with me I tormented my kids while they were growing up. More than once Christy pulled me aside and reminded me that I could have a happy family or a Better Homes and Gardens house, but not both at the same time. Families, especially while they are blessed with children, generate fuss and muss. Thankfully, Christy is strong and very convincing. Her tenacity and wisdom probably saved my kids from growing up rigid automatons. For years it seemed as if chaos reigned in my house; however, those days passed. My children grew up and either moved away or are on their way out. Now Christy humors me, even encourages me and I enjoy it. Years of pushing back against the borders of chaos and darkness in my work help me as a teacher. I love lesson plans and outlines. They bring order to my day. At home I want things just so.

     I do the cooking in our house, enjoying the creative outlet. Today for Sunday lunch, we feasted on grilled pork-chops, brown rice, two types of homemade roasted Poblano salsa, grilled squash, Brussel-Sprouts, and ice-cream. By the way, Megan, helped put all this together; but more on that subject shortly. As a cook, I like things in their place. When in the midst of whipping up a marinade, I find search for the right implement annoying, seriously annoying. When the sauce thickens to just the right consistency, I do not want to waste time looking for the correct wooden spoon. I know where everything is in my kitchen; including how the spices are arranged. Good order and discipline enhance the cooking experience. Of course, once I finish and we sit down to eat; the mess I leave would make this hard to believe. But trust me, when I start I like to know where everything is. It really helps when more than one of us gets to slinging pots, pans, knives, and other implements of creation.

     Megan, Christopher’s lovely bride, and I share my kitchen now. They recently decided to return to Texas and are staying with us while securing work and all the other oddments of modern existence. A few weeks ago Christopher called and asked if we minded them staying with us for a while. Christy and I enthusiastically agreed. Christopher and Candace married well. We enjoy all their company and when Timothy graces the table, making a complete set, the conversation and laughter flows abundantly. Adult children bring great blessing. Megan is an excellent cook. Everything that she’s cooked that I’ve eaten has been delectable. She knows how to prepare meals that I do not, adding diversity to our fair. Soon she would be available to wield a spoon.

     How would I handle Megan’s presence in my kitchen? You see, none of my children are children any more. Somehow, somewhere they passed into adulthood and the relational dynamic changed. The last thing any of them want is for me to treat them like children. Christopher and Megan are fully formed, complete adults, able to make decisions on their own without my guidance or permission. Now, they would share a house with Christy and me. How would these days pass?

     Despite what Christopher and Megan think, this time will fly past. Soon, they will secure jobs, housing, and transportation. They will move on with their lives. More than likely Timothy will either secure a better job or a roommate and move out on his own, leaving us to live out organized lives. How I behave and treat them will color this precious time; and yes, it is precious. Christopher, Megan, Candace, Teagan, and Timothy chart their own course. As parents we still play a role, but any time we share is by their choice. Will my penchant for organization and love of my cooking toys outweigh my love for them?

     That’s what it comes down to, love. Do I love things or do I love my family? Order is good. Families do not bring order, they are messy. Jesus spoke about this when confronting the Pharisees. He reminded them, ““Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the law: justice and mercy and faithfulness. These you ought to have done, without neglecting the others.” Matthew 23:23. I normally think of this passage in the context of religious freedom; but, I believe Jesus wants me to consider this in all realms of my life. Like the Pharisees I seek to exert control in a sometimes tumultuous world, forgetting that people are worth much more than things or perceived order. If I claim to follow Jesus, embracing Him as my example, then I will lay aside my need for order and enjoy sharing my kitchen with Megan. After all, she brings much to the table and I will profit from this time.

Last Minute Jitters

     I do not care for the term, “summer vacation,” as applied to teachers. It conjures up visions of

teachers sleeping in with nothing to do all day except catch up on reruns of “Lost,” “Mad Men,” “Community,” “Blacklist,” or “NCIS.” While it is true that I do sleep in to the unholy hour of 7:00 A.M., I work all summer; especially this summer. All the teachers I know defer household maintenance to the summer. We read. I’ve read several different books this summer. I attended professional development, which was very profitable. Then there are those pesky lesson plans. I will be teaching a new class this fall. I read the textbook and a wide variety of outside sources for the class. A new class requires new lesson plans. Old lesson plans need review and updating. All this to say my summer is full. Fortunately I teach subjects I enjoy. I consumed the several thousand pages of reading with gusto. Examine the new books I read and you will find extensive annotations, marginalia. Now, the final days are upon us.

     In a few short days I will stand in front of my students and deliver. Only, I’m not quite ready. I still have lessons to create, books to read, a classroom to put together, and I did not finish all the household maintenance tasks. Each summer has ended this way in my short tenure as a teacher. As D-Day draws nigh my anxiousness grows. My students deserve my best and without appropriate preparation my classroom suffers. I fret. As a teacher, a professional, I imbibe in continual development. Each day articles or links to articles fill up my inbox. Facebook friends deluge me with links and articles. Of course I return the favor. Despite what popular media proclaims, as a group, teachers take their profession seriously and assiduously pursue improvement and excellence. This part of our profession takes place out of the public eye, behind the scenes as it were.

     So here I sit, a little over a week and a half away from show time and my apprehension grows; so much undone, so many good and helpful books unread, and so many chores left to do. As I sit, sorting through my “to do” list, feeling the pressure mount, I wonder what to do next? Christy, ever sensitive to my mood swings, asks, “Is anything I can do?

     I sigh lugubriously, “No. Not really. These are all things I must do.”

     Later, during breakfast Christy volunteered to pray, “Lord take all the heaviness away from Matt.”

     You see, I’d forgotten a key component of my classroom preparation, prayer. In my military trained mind, I’d backward planned, created a checklist, and completed a basic plan. However, as the summer progressed and events stacked up I got behind. Now, near the end I shifted into panic mode. I looked at the mountain of work I felt I needed to do, the time I had left to do it, done the mental math, and did not like the answer I got. So often in our lives that is the case. Our world presses in on us and needful tasks stack up. Our inbox fills up with responsibility faster than we can sort, file, and act. We approach our days as if on a treadmill and then wonder why we collapse, exhausted at the end of the day. All of this is not new. Teachers have not cornered the market on endless task lists. While not historically supportable, our age seems especially angered by white-space on a calendar. As usual, God provides some perspective on this problem.

     The psalmist reminds us in Psalm 55:22 to “Cast your burden on the Lord, and He will sustain you; He will never permit the righteous to be moved.” I grapple with this verse for two reasons.  One, I drank deeply from the non-scriptural well of, “The Lord helps those who help themselves,” a nice unbiblical maxim. Search high and low, you will not find that concept in scripture. Indeed, scripture teaches us the opposite. In II Chronicles 20:17 we read of God saving Judah. Through the prophet He told the Children of Israel that

“You will not need to fight this battle. Stand firm, hold your position, and see the salvation of the Lord on your behalf,…”

This is but one of many passages that remind us that God intends good for us and will help us in our time of need. He does not depend on my good work, not for salvation, not for daily life. Second, I lack faith. Jesus reminds us that God cares for us. In Matthew 10:28-30 Jesus tells us that even the hairs on our heads are numbered; a task of ever decreasing challenge in my case. God knows what’s going on in our lives and will provide us what we need.

     In Philippians 4:10-20 Paul speaks eloquently of God’s generous provision. He boldly states that,

“¹⁹ And my God will supply every need of yours according to his riches in glory in Christ Jesus.”

He insists that God is in the business of supply what we need. All this redounds to His glory. I need to trust more and worry less. Doing what I need to do and taking care of business is all good and proper; but, I need to place my faith, confidence and trust in God’s care for me. So as I wind up my summer, putting those final touches on early lesson plans, I should stop fretting. God knows what I need. He knows what my students need and is fully capable of meeting those needs.

Summer Lunch

     Summer brings teachers many blessings; sleeping in, BBQ, a chance to catch up on deferred maintenance to name a few. Teachers shoehorn these in among the various professional development tasks we undertake during the time without students. This summer I enjoyed attending a good seminar hosted by a local university, read several books on American History, yes my future students will profit from the books, and developed a new set of lesson plans. Yet all of these pale in the bright light of regular lunch with my daughter.

     Parenting is an odd experience. Someone hands you a squirmy, squally, slippery creature resembling a wrinkled red lizard and you’re off to the races. For years you attempt to guide them into

adulthood, informing, shepherding, cajoling, sometimes hectoring, and when required lecturing. For years you focus with laser-beam precision on all their decisions…at least the ones teenagers inadvertently let you in on. Then one day, they either move away or get married and the dynamic totally changes. The make all of their decision on their own. The little child is now an adult with all the attendant freedoms and responsibilities. Somebody up in the heavenly personnel division changed your job description and you missed the email.

     Candace and Teagan, her husband who is a great guy by the by, moved this summer and needed us to watch their cat for a while. Candace delivered Kimmy, who responded by romping around the house with reckless abandon. Each day Candace came by to eat lunch and pet her pet for a few minutes. I was amazed at the poised willowy young woman sitting across from me over leftovers or quesadillas. The hesitant, somewhat prickly teenager had disappeared, replaced by a confident thoughtful, unusually wise adult. Somebody shifted the ground underneath me and I found the experience profoundly disturbing and gratifying at the same time.

     Candace was never what I would term a rebellious teenager. Reasonably compliant and obedient she never caused great problems. That said; she, like her father, harbored a certain stubborn streak. As they say, “The apple does not fall far from the tree.” Consequently during the last couple of years she lived at home Candace and I did not communicate very effectively. This was not her fault. Christy often reminded me that I did not make things exactly easy on Candace. When we disagreed, which seemed to happen frequently, I found it hard to have a rational discussion with her. Now here we were enjoying meals while discussing a wide variety of topics, some of which we do not agree about. Now Candace was asking me my thoughts on subjects and listening attentively while I prattled on. What happened? How did this transformation come about?

     First of all, I stopped treating Candace like she was the little girl who danced in the sun at my change of command. Right or wrong, good or bad, Candace remains that little girl in my mind. During the change of command ceremony she wore her favorite multi-colored dress which lifted up when she spun around. Entranced by the dappled shadows cast by camouflage netting, she kicked off her shoes and danced spinning around until dizzy. That image remains, forever etched on the big-screen of my memory. Whenever I think of Candace, that memory pops up. That Candace no longer exists. She’s not that little girl anymore. Oh, the goodness of that age remains, but she does not need that kind of parent anymore. She can cross the street without holding my hand. She’s found a new, better, hand for her to hold.  She needs a different kind of father now.

     I support more and shape less. She has the reigns of her life in her hands. She and Teagan do not need my shaping input. They need my support as they make the decisions. I’m not the responsible party. I like this role. It is more fun. Now, I do not bear the burden of decision making. I get to give input as requested, but mostly I get to encourage, build up, and embolden. I like this role. It suits me, and suits me well.

     Secondly, Candace matured into the ability to take input, keeping what she wanted, and discarding the rest. Now we sit across the table as adults. When I mellowed, she mellowed as well. We do not find disagreement quite so threatening any more. I trust that Candace will make a generally good and wise decision with predictable positive results. It may not be my decision, but it’s not going to be a stupid one. My relinquishing that responsibility freed both of us. Now I do not have to worry and make every decision for her and she does not feel pressure to comply with my dream or vision of her reality. She’s free to pursue her own. Now when she seeks my counsel, that’s what she gets, not my direction.

     Finally, Candace married well. She and Teagan make a great couple. They have a bright future stretching out in front of them. Oh, there will be bumps and potholes along the way, but together they will figure things out. Now, she has a husband, not a grumpy, worried, and worrisome father. They face their challenges together, seeking corporate solutions; consequently, when she comes to me for my opinion she feels no pressure to comply, she’s just asking what I think. If she doesn’t like what I say, she can disregard. I know that and am comfortable in the fact that as the writer in Ecclesiastes 4:12 says, “Though one may be overpowered by another, two can withstand him. And a threefold cord is not quickly broken.” And no, I do not think of myself as the “third” cord. That place belongs to the Lord. When she chose Teagan, she chose a Godly man.

     I love Proverbs 27:11 which says, “My son, be wise, and make my heart glad, that I may answer him who reproaches me.” I take the liberty to apply this verse to my daughter. Candace is making my heart glad. I do not write this as a reproach to either of my sons. I’ve just enjoyed time with my daughter this summer. It has been a blessing of my profession and my God.