goodbye job

I'm still trying to process the fact that I'm done with my job.  I knew it was going to be difficult to say goodbye to my kids and my coworkers, but I was surprised by how sad I was to actually leave this stage of my life behind and look forward to what's next for me.  The realization that this chapter is now over really hit me on the last day of school, and there were tears.  Lots of tears.  Luckily it was really only my coworkers who saw me cry, and they already know I'm crazy.  No surprise there.  Nonetheless, "crying in front of my boss" is definitely up there on my list of things I never, ever want to do.

Anyway, I was trying to figure out why my last day was so much more difficult than I'd anticipated.  Like I said, it is totally expected and normal to feel sad about leaving some wonderful kids and adults behind, but that is only part of the reason I was so sad.  This job was an incredible--and totally unexpected--blessing for me.  I applied because I just needed some sort of income, and as it turns out, the money was probably on the low end of valuable things I got from work.  In the past two years, I have gained an understanding of special education that will be invaluable in my profession; I made incredible friends; I formed relationships with some terrific kids; I learned from some of the best educators in the profession, including teachers, counselors, and administrators; I met a couple of wonderful Christians who were so encouraging to me; and I got to laugh and have fun at work every day.  AND my bills got paid.  The point of all of that gushing is simply that I have been blessed beyond belief, and to be honest, I don't have a lot of faith that I'm going to experience that same level of blessing in my internship. 

Here's the thing: I know that God has called me to move back to Oregon, and I can't wait to spend more time with the people I care about there (and there are a lot of them!)  It's just that I love Seattle so much, and I just hate change and transitions and feeling like my life isn't settled.  So I know that God wants me in Oregon, but deep down, I don't want me in Oregon.  And it has been awhile since I've had a major move/job change/life change that I wasn't excited about.  For awhile, this made me kind of panicky: "Should I really be moving?  Maybe I should figure out a way to stay here!"  Then I stopped and realized that I was being really, really crazy.  Um ... God called me to Oregon.  So I better go to Oregon.  If I'm sticking with Him, then I don't get the luxury of deciding whether or not it sounds fun to me today. 

As with any major decision, this whole experience is really about who I want in control of my life: I can decide to be obedient, or I can decide to cling to whatever fleeting plan appeals to me today.  A friend of mine posted a Facebook status this morning that said something like, "I'm so glad God has a plan for my life, because I can barely decide which bagel and cream cheese flavor to order."  Exactly.  I love Seattle, but six months ago, all I could think about was how much I wanted to move to Oregon.  Now that I'm moving, I've decided that I don't want to move!  I hate to admit it, but despite all the angst that this transition is causing me, it's exciting to know that I'm growing because of it.  Shameful confession: three years ago, I don't know whether I could have honestly told you that I cared about God's will for my life more than my own desires.  Obviously I still have a lot of issues with trusting that His plan, whether or not it is "fun," will benefit me in the sense that it will cause me to love and serve Him more faithfully.  Nevertheless, I feel so grateful that I have the words to (clumsily) articulate and explore and struggle with these issues, because that absolutely represents growth for me--even though (1) I obviously have a LONG way to go, (2) I clearly haven't learned these lessons very gracefully, and (3) a whole lot of this learning has occurred only by the grace of God and in spite of a whole lot of resistance from me! 

I don't really have a good wrap-up to all of those scattered thoughts, so I will leave you with Paul's prayer for the Thessalonians, which I have selfishly commandeered for myself as I get ready for a new job, new coworkers, and a new living situation:

We always pray for you that our God may make you worthy of His calling and may fulfill every resolve for good and every work of faith by His power, so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you, and you in Him.  (2 Thessalonians 1:11-12)

perspective

The other day, I had a wonderful conversation with one of the teachers at a school where I used to volunteer.  She is a terrific English teacher, and I have a ton of respect for the way she runs her classroom.  She also happens to be a Christian whose relationship with God spans four decades.

So anyway, we had a conversation about how we could pray for each other, and then we just talked about God for a little while.   I was enthralled by the way she spoke about her faith--she was completely honest, sincere, and unwavering in what she told me.  I walked away from our time together feeling totally refreshed and encouraged. 

I was trying to figure out what made this talk so meaningful, and then I realized something: I can't remember the last time I talked to a Christian over the age of 30 about faith.  I love the church I attend and the Bible study I belong to, and I have wonderful believers in my life who challenge me and keep me accountable, but we're all still weathering our 20's.  We're passionate and we care about truth, but we have some pretty severe deficits in perspective.  I think what stood out to me most about my time with my teacher friend is her description of what it has been like to live and doubt and love and struggle with God through multiple seasons of life.  She has been praying for non-believing friends for years and reading her Bible daily for decades.  To put THAT into perspective: I get frustrated when I've been praying about something for a month and nothing changes.

This isn't to say that I'm harboring any illusions about being perfected by the time I'm 60, just that I'm coming to realize that it's kind of laughable that I used to talk about the verses in Hebrews 12 about running the race with endurance as if I totally knew what I was talking about.  And as someone whose beliefs don't match those of her parents, I am really in need of some "actual" adults (as I like to refer to people who have left their 20's behind) in my life to keep me honest and remind me that trusting Jesus is a journey, not a one-time accomplishment.

ceding the battle

(Just FYI, this is a really long and self-indulgent post--skip to the end for the redemptive part!)

So.  For the past couple of months, I have been consumed with finding an internship for my last year of grad school.  I sent out a hell of a lot of resumes and letters of interest.  I waited around anxiously for follow-up phone calls.  I had two interviews.  I thought they both went really well.  One school district in particular seemed absolutely perfect: I would have to move, but I have a friend who lives in the same city who needs a roommate; it is one of only two paid internships I could find in the Seattle or Portland areas; the interview panel seemed really interested in me, and the director of special education told me I'd be hearing from them by the end of the next week.

Perfect!  I thought.  Despite knowing that this district interviewed a crazy number of applicants, including a bunch of students from other programs, I'd already awarded myself this internship in my mind.  I was literally thinking about whether I should sell my furniture or keep it in storage while I lived with my friend for the year (I know--super type-A of me.  It's just how I roll.)

All of a sudden, my crazy-specific plan fell apart.  My friend decided to move back to Portland, leaving me without a roommate option in a city where I don't know anyone.  And tomorrow marks three weeks since my interview with zero contact from the district.  I even phoned them last week to ask whether they were still making decisions.  No reply.

This was a pretty big blow to my pride.  All of my classmates got a "no" from this district two weeks ago, so a lot of well-meaning people told me not to give up hope until I got a formal rejection.  At this point, I'm pretty sure they just forgot to call, which (because I am overdramatic) feels like a special kind of rejection to me: "Not only are we not interested in you, but you weren't memorable enough for us to remember to let you know we're not interested."

I'm used to succeeding when I try something, and I've had a lot of success in my recent life decisions--getting jobs, getting into grad school, moving to Seattle.  And I am TERRIFIC at formulating a plan of action and running it by God briefly before I jump into action, as opposed to allowing my decisions to be guided by how He might use me.  Looking back at the last few years, I've been pretty terrible at "waiting on the Lord for guidance" and "trusting in His timing" (Christian-ese!)--partially because I am a professional worrier and partially because I often (shamefully) prefer to use the talents that God has given me for my own aims rather than for the encouragement of others or the glory of God.

I know this might sound really legalistic.  I definitely don't think God intends for us to sit at home and pray until He drops something into our laps.  Nor do I believe that God intends for us to divorce ourselves from the gifts He has given us.  But I do know that to love the illusion of my own self-sufficiency, to trust in what I can do instead of the One who gives me the ability to do anything at all--this is idolatry.  And in my case, the feelings of anxiousness and failure I've had are a direct result of a flawed belief that I am inherently capable of manufacturing my own success.

Back to the internship.  Am I saying that I think that God withheld this internship from me so I could learn this great spiritual lesson and then write a wordy, unfocused blog post about it?  Frankly, I have no idea (although let's be honest, the blog post probably wasn't in His plan.)  But in my recent prayer time, God has made it abundantly clear that He wants all of my life and my talents and my plans.  I am to let go of the reins and trust in Him.  Scripture even goes as far as to say that God is jealous for us.  This sounds condemning, but what a blessing it is!  The Lord wants all of us--wants to be our singular focus--because He loves us and He cares about our welfare.  He waits to be gracious to us (Isaiah 30:18), and he will grant me rest if I will just allow Him to give it to me!

This weekend, God brought me to a great verse from Jahaziel's prophecy to King Jehoshaphat and his army before an important battle:

Thus says the Lord to you: "Do not be afraid and do not be dismayed at this great horde, for the battle is not yours, but God's." (2 Chronicles 20:15)

My worries, my uncertainties, my struggles against sin: these are battles that belong to God, not to me.  It is still a scary feeling for a type-A-er like me to relinquish any faith in my abilities, but luckily, I am sacrificing only the illusion of control. And it is such a relief to know that God's kindness is undeterred by my shortcomings.

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end, they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. "The Lord is my portion," says my soul, "therefore, I will hope in Him." (Lamentations 3:22-24)

waking up

I have been in so much awe of the beauty around me recently.  It's music, words, people, images, colors, nature. It's like waking up to a completely different landscape, brimming with life, growth, possibilities--truth that I can see, hear and touch.

thankful

The more I live, the more clumsy I feel.  So frequently I am too much (too loud, too impatient, too insensitive, too judgmental) or not enough (not diligent, not attentive, not kind, not forgiving).  Recently my posture toward God has been one of shame: "What do You want with a terrible person like me?  I think I might be physically incapable of doing anything that would honor You."

I know - insanely self-pitying, right?

Which brings me to what I'm thankful for today.  First, I'm thankful for Christians who (unlike me) skip the whining and go out and worship God with their lives.  Luckily, I know a lot of them.  It's incredibly reassuring to watch teachers, cashiers, and doctors who work hard at what they do because they love the Lord and they believe that we should respond to the reality of God in a practical way.  I feel fortunate to have these people to look up to as I pray for God to teach me what faith looks like in ordinary times.

Even more importantly, I am thankful that God has already dealt with the sins and shortcomings that I can't seem to let go of for myself:

But when the time had fully come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under law, to redeem those under law, that we might receive the full rights of sons. Because you are sons, God sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, the Spirit who calls out, "Abba, Father." So you are no longer a slave, but a son; and since you are a son, God has made you also an heir. (Galatians 4:5-7)

existentialism in the library [first in a series]

So today I unexpectedly had an existential moment in a dimly-lit, poorly-soundproofed study room in my local public library (this was after I nearly backed my car into a cement pole and before I had a terrifying elevator ride with a guy with a creepy mustache.)

I was writing a paper for my intro to special ed class, and to be honest, I wasn't putting in a lot of effort.  The professor is the nicest lady you could ever hope to meet; she also gives everyone A's regardless of what kind of work they turn in.  The topic was inclusion for students with disabilities (should these kids be in general ed classrooms full-time?) and I was focused more on writing enough to meet the minimum page number requirement than what I was actually saying.

Here's where the existential part comes in.  I was writing something (pretty trite, I'm sure) about how inclusion should be more of a state of mind than a classroom assignment policy - in other words, kids in special education will be included if teachers and administrators really believe that they're an indispensable part of the school culture.

I wrote it, thinking, "Geez, this is cheesy."  And then I re-read it.  And I believed it.

The students I work with matter.  They matter.  Not because the law says that we need to take care of them, but because every single one of them is wonderful: engaging and funny and interesting and awe-inspiring ... and they're made in God's image. 

One of the students in our class is profoundly disabled (doesn't walk, doesn't speak, doesn't really even respond to stimuli), and for quite some time, I've felt like the work we're doing with him is futile, followed by feelings of guilt for thinking that way.  Today, for the first time, I realized how much he matters to our school.  He turns obnoxious seventh graders into nurturing, caring human beings.  He makes people smile.  He absolutely brings out the best in others. 

It was a small but profound moment I had today: instead of asking God why He would create kids who suffer from autism or intellectual disabilities, I thanked Him for such beautiful kids and joined Him in delighting in them.