In Gennesaret

I love my job. Really, I really, really do. But my place of employment has had a few rocky years. Every once in a while, we come to a point where I say to myself, Okay, time for a fresh start. The old issues are over. The people who were discontented have left or are appeased. Now we can move forward and have peace. Bu-u-ut no. There’s always something. I’m starting to come to terms with the fact that even though I love my job, there will always be stressors I’m dealing with. Because as my colleague says, it’s a very people-y job. And people are . . . well, people . People are wounded. Everyone has been damaged by someone and bears the scars. And that damage often bleeds out in our behavior toward others. People are fearful. They are afraid of making mistakes. They are afraid of saying the wrong thing. They are afraid of confrontation. They are afraid of burning bridges. They are afraid of being labeled and unliked. People are selfish. Even when they want to be self-less, they

Y’all, I’ve had two colds in the past three months. That doesn’t sound like a big deal, but for me it can be. If I don’t treat my colds early and effectively, they grow into monsters that do me in for a month or more. That’s what happened in June. I came home from a trip sick. I mean, sick . Sicker than I’ve been for a long time. And that cold progressed into a wicked chest cough that hung around for the rest of the month, even after my doctor prescribed an antibiotic and a heavy-duty cough suppressant (which wasn’t cheap, let me tell you). I mean, people, IT SUCKS. Then the first morning of the second week of school, I woke up with the inkling of soreness in my throat and felt a bit of panic. Thankfully, because I was home this time at that first hint of a symptom, I was able to start taking my Zinc, Selenium, and Vitamin C immediately. That’s my happy little cocktail that seems to kick these little infections out the door if I start it early. The cold came . . . but it was very m

This past July, I spent a couple crazy weeks working at Crystal Sea Drama Company (which I casually refer to as “my theater” because I've spent so much time there over the past decade). It was the year for our New Play Festival, which I’ve said many times is the best thing we do. CSDC students wrote the plays, CSDC alumni directed the plays, and CSDC campers performed the plays. Last fall, I taught the playwriting class preparing for this big event. There were six girls in the class – more than I’ve ever had for a playwriting class. They were all writers already. Most of them had novels in progress, and some of them had two or three they were working on. But writing a play . . . that’s a different kettle of fish, they learned. And it was a fun few months working with them in that endeavor. I was proud of the work they ended the semester with. Only three of them chose to have their plays performed in the festival, which was fine. But not until we were rehearsing this summer did

Y’all, God has blessed me with really good people in my life. People who love me, support me, appreciate me, and go out of their way for me. The gifts and kind words and all-day-long singing I received on my birthday last week were small examples of that. Seriously, friends . . . how do I deserve you? So many good people. So, I really shouldn’t give as much attention as I do to the one exception, right? One person. There’s just this one person . They are a constant burr in my saddle these days. They make my life harder – and if this isn’t intentional on their part, or at least passive aggressive, it is most certainly selfish. In almost everything they do, they seem to communicate a lack of respect for me.  It’s only one person. Why do I let this one person affect me so much? We’ve all got our baggage, you know. I’ve shared some of mine before here in this blog. One particular parcel I tote around unseen is an unspoken message I’ve heard in my heart since childhood – particula

Walk with me and work with me – watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. ( Matthew 11:29 in The Message) I taught a breakout session at my school’s Parent Conference last week about discipling our children. (Read that closely: not "disciplining". Discipling. ) One of my primary points was that discipling is not teaching. We disciple not through words but through actions – through living life together. When Jesus called his disciples, he didn’t say, “Come – have a seat. Listen to what I have to say.” He said, “Follow me.” When he told them to love each other, he didn’t give them a definition to write down and recite back to him later. He said, “Love each other the way I have loved you.” We learn more by example than we learn by words – from our parents and from our Lord. Walk with me . . . work with me . . . being a disciple of Jesus involves with-ness. It’s concerned with acting more than it is with knowing. But those last words – the unforced rhythm

I recently read The Cherry Orchard by Anton Chekhov. Being a director and a playwright, I’ve felt a bit of shame at my ignorance of this classic playwright and his works. I have actually seen this particular work of his performed . . . although I don’t remember anything about it (other than the fabulous set designed by my friend Alfy, which was the reason for my attendance). So, I ordered a copy of the play with an Amazon gift card I got at the end of the school year. And I wasn’t impressed. I felt the same way when I finished a long-drawn-out reading of Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina this summer. I will say that I at least knew what was going on most of the time in that novel; the play I had a hard time following at all. I appreciated the tragedy of Anna’s end and the joy of Levin’s enlightenment . . . but the journey to get to those moments was laborious. The Brothers Karamazov had a similar effect on me. Yay for the occasional glorious mountaintops . . . ugh for the long, winding

A friend of mine recently put her own birthdate on her son’s passport application by accident. A small, understandable error in the midst of the craziness that is a sudden, stressful, quickly organized move of a family of five to another country. But it had the potential of really messing up their plans, and she was, as you might imagine, quite distraught by it. During my daughter’s recent visit here, she had a car accident. She’s a good driver (she’s probably a better driver than I am). This was actually her first accident after nine years of driving. There were extenuating circumstances: it was pouring down rain, she was in a new car where she wasn’t yet familiar with the feel of the brakes, PLUS she was suffering a migraine. But the real kicker? We had yet to get her insurance adjusted for the new car, so the accident wasn’t covered. A brief period of our not being completely on top of things led to a misstep that has been an unfortunate pain in the butt for all of us. Small mi

Just call me Team Shmuel. I mean, Lord bless that boy. He’s a fictional character created by The Chosen to represent the Pharisaic opposition to Jesus. And as the series has progressed, I’m coming to the opinion that this character is one of the most brilliant things about the show. Yes, he’s a Pharisee. He is passionate about the law. He really frustrates us at the beginning of the story because he seems to be the stereotypical Pharisee we all have in our minds when we read the gospels. The antagonist, always in Jesus’ face and bashing him behind his back. He’s black and white with no grays, and he’s trying to bring our man down. But people, give him credit for being sincere . As the story progresses and he moves up to Jerusalem to join the Sanhedrin, he is increasingly dismayed by the politics going on there. That’s not what this man is about. Shmuel loves the Lord! Shmuel loves God’s law! Shmuel loves his people and wants to bring them back where they should be in their cove

I’m old, people. At least I feel old some days. You know when I feel most old? When moving is hard. Moving. Not moving from one home to another. Just moving . Moving my old, stiff body. Newton codified the principle in the law of inertia: “An object at rest will stay at rest and an object in motion will stay in motion – unless acted upon by an unbalanced force.” I’m a teacher on summer vacation, and the bulk of my body in any given moment is NOT in motion. And to make it move is more of a trial than it should be. But I have made a discovery. Starting to move is hard. But that’s the hardest part. Once I’m up and going, it’s just not that bad. Yes, that’s old news. That’s Newton’s law again – once in motion, it’s easier to stay in motion. The thing is, this is something we all need to be reminded of sometimes, don’t we? After my father passed away, my uncle told me a story about him. My dad was the first in his family to go to college, and my uncle was the second. About a

See this picture? I’m seriously considering posting it in my classroom this fall. That’s weird on a lot of levels – one being that I am not one to do much of anything visual or decorative in my room. I'm not artistic in that way, and I simply don’t have the time or energy to mess with it. My first year of teaching, I spent a good deal of my summer making a cute little bulletin board display that I don’t remember anything about at all other than the fact that I know it wasn’t nearly as cute or meaningful as I thought it was and it took way too much of my time to create. But I’ll admit that the idea of putting up this picture in my classroom is also weird because . . . well, just because it’s weird to display a big picture of an outdated farm implement. Like, what?? Here’s how I got to this place. I wrote a post here a couple weeks ago about rest – and that I had come to the tentative conclusion that rest is the laying down of burdens. (You can read  that brilliance here.) H

“It’s the future coming to meet us in the present.” That’s the gospel, according to N.T. Wright in the last chapter of Surprised by Hope . Sounds a bit sci-fi-ish, yes? And not at all what most of us think of as the gospel. Let’s be honest: for many of us, Christianity is primarily about where we go after we die. Getting into heaven . . . as opposed to suffering an eternity in hell. But in this challenging but rewarding tome, Wright tells me that Christianity (that is, the gospel, the Good News) is not just about the someday. It’s about things being different right now. It’s about us being different right now . That’s what the gospel promises us. Do we really believe that? But maybe here’s the more important question: do we really  want that? I dare say a lot of us don’t. Yeah, we’d love for God to fix all the problems around us, so we don't have to suffer from the sins other people commit. But boy, we love our own sins. We embrace our selfishness. Not so sure we really

Last week was my first week off of school. Yes, I know that’s really early compared to most of the rest of you. Don’t hate me because I have a sweet job. Last week was also the first week in several months that I did NOT drug myself to sleep any night. I decided that, now that I had no place I had to be by a certain time every day, I could afford to risk some sleepless nights in the process of detoxing my body of antidepressants and sleep medication. All to say that REST was a significant theme for my week. And all the more significant after listening (twice) to a podcast my daughter did on the topic. (The “You’re Cool With Me” podcast from FeatherTree Arts. Click here to watch that episode, or check it out wherever YOU listen to podcasts!) So, the question of the day is, what exactly qualifies as “Rest”? I think we would all agree that we require it on a regular basis, but how exactly do we define this thing that we know we need? Is it sleep? Is it merely physical inactivity? Is

I texted a picture to some friends and asked if they knew what these little white flowers are in my yard. I got a shrug emoji from one. “Weeds?” responded another. And yes, I suppose they qualify as a weed. But then how do we define “weed”? Basically, a weed is a plant growing in our space that we don’t want, right? And I decided I want this one. I sent the picture to the mother of the boy mowing my lawn (he’s too young for a phone, bless him) and said, “This may be weird . . . but I really like these. Can Javie not mow them down this week?” And he honored my request. So, I have a few patches of these little white flowers around the periphery of my backyard – along the fence and by the house. While I was sitting outside reading (which I have more time to do now that school is out and it isn’t raining every day), I realized that they were bringing me joy. So, no, they are no longer a weed in my book. But I still didn’t know what to call them. I am NOT into plants. I mean, I lo

Last week was one of the best weeks of the year: Teacher Appreciation Week. And y’all, my school does this celebration exceptionally well. Our parents fed us every day we were on campus – breakfast, lunch, and snacks all day. Students brought us gifts and cards with lovely affirming messages. We got to dress down in jeans. Food, words, and comfortable clothing: so many of my love languages happening there. I love my students. Some of them I like more than others, but that’s reality with any group of people you’re with all the time, yes? I really do love each of my students very much. Here is some evidence I have noted lately of spiritual growth in myself: I am not as concerned anymore about whether my students love me . That was a problem when I was teaching right out of college: I wanted to be loved and admired by the kids I taught. It’s to my credit, I suppose, that I don’t think I let that need of mine affect the way I interacted with them (at least not too much). But it prof

And my butterflies are here! See the pictures? Aren’t my babies pretty? I was planning to set them free this weekend, but it’s been too wet. Maybe later today. They seem anxious to get out and see the world, precious things. I didn’t get to witness the wiggling chrysalises before their emergence this time. Side note: I’ve learned that the scientific term for that emergence is “eclosion”. That's a fun one for a wordie like me.  (Another side note: I have a friend who is inexplicably creeped out by this adventure of mine. She got the heebie jeebies when I used that phrase “wiggling chrysalises” and called me a bug breeder . As if a beautiful butterfly could actually qualify as a bug. And y’all, she’s a scientist, for Pete’s sake. Yeesh . . .) When we did the butterfly thing with my young daughters, we saw a couple chrysalises wiggling. It was a cool thing. I was sorry to have missed that moment this time around. Nevertheless, I did see a couple of the butterflies pretty freshly

My father was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease when I was twelve (he was 57). He was diagnosed very early; a lot of people in our lives didn't even know for a long time, I don't think. But by the time I left for college, he was growing increasingly debilitated. Every time I came home for a summer break, I saw big declines in his functioning (in fact, family members would ask me how he was doing because for them, the decline was so gradual that they were sometimes not aware of the extent of the deterioration). The summer after my freshman year was his Puppy Dog season. Dad followed my mother around all day like a puppy dog. Always by her side. Always trying to be helpful but not sure what was going on or what to do. It was stunning to watch because my dad had always been The Man. He was a strong leader, in and out of the home. To watch him following my mother’s lead, literally tagging along at her heels minute by minute, was rather disconcerting. One day, on a hot weekday

I’m doing the butterfly thing, y’all. It’s my Eastertide theme.  It started when I was trying to think of ways to make Easter more meaningful for myself, the way Christmas is . . . and I thought, decorations! I decorate the whole frickin’ house for a month and a half at Christmas (or at least I used to). What decorations can I put up for the seven weeks of Eastertide? No eggs, please. And no rabbits. For the love. I hit Google to find symbols for new life. Butterflies popped up on the list . . . and that one grabbed me. So, I got on Amazon and found some foil butterflies that I’ve put up all around my house – everywhere that my eyes happen to fall in the course of the day. (See the picture of one here on my microwave.) That’s been fun. But I decided to do more. When I was homeschooling my girls, we did the butterfly growing kit, where you get some caterpillars, watch them form cocoons, and then see them “hatch” into butterflies in a net-like cage. It was a great experience. So,