T is for Transition

Once, when I was a fifth grade elementary school teacher, our school was short on subs. I had a student teacher at the time, so I said I would help by filling in for an hour in the Kindergarten class. When I arrived the students were coloring quietly at their desks. The teacher had left on a personal emergency, so there were no written plans. The principal introduced me to the students, and told me to let them color for about 15 more minutes and then call them to the circle rug. She said that I should pick out a story and read to them. After the story I was to let them out into the yard so they could run and play until it was time to go home.

I glanced at the clock when the principal left, noted the time, and began walking around the room. After five minutes had passed, I announced to the class that in 10 minutes we would clean up and have story time. I continued to walk the classroom, smiling at the children, asking them about their pictures, complimenting them, and keeping an eye on the clock. Five more minutes passed and I made the second announcement. "In five minutes, boys and girls, we will clean up and have story time!" I said with as much five year old excitement in my voice as I could muster. And I continued my stroll around the room.

Finally, it was time to transition from coloring to story time. All teachers know that the transition time, the time in between one activity and the next is a critical time. If the students do not move quickly, orderly, and quietly to the next task then all discipline can be lost and mayhem can break out. If a teacher is going to lose control of a classroom it is most likely going to happen in between lessons.  Now, being a fifth grade teacher, I wasn't at all frightened of a bunch of 5 and 6 year olds. Besides, I had done exactly what you are supposed to do with students when transitioning from one activity to the next. This was going to be a piece of cake.

"Alright boys and girls, it's time to come to the rug for story time!" I declared. "It's time to put your crayons and drawings away and clean up so we can read a story!" With that statement, all of the children began putting their crayons away and placing their pictures into their cubbies. All of the children except Joey. Joey did not stop when I asked the children to stop. He kept right on coloring. I moved over towards Joey and placed my hand softly on his shoulder. "Joey," I said quietly. "It's time to put your crayons away. You may color later." Then I walked over to the teacher's chair by the rug and sat down.  As each table finished, I called them to come sit on the circle rug to wait. As they were called they came quietly and sat criss-cross-applesauce with their hands folded in their laps. I looked over towards Joey's table and saw everyone seated and ready to be called. Everyone except Joey. Joey was still coloring. "Joey," I said from across the room with some firmness in my voice. "You must put your things away now." The three little girls at Joey's table began frantically putting away his crayons and encouraging him to stop. But Joey didn't want to stop. Joey took one of his arms and folded it across his paper and hunkered down. He had no intention of stopping.

All eyes were on me. "Joey you need to put your coloring away and come to the rug," I said with authority. "Or you will be taken to the principal's office." The girls at Joey's table gasped. The children on the rug became wide eyed with fear (Apparently being sent to the principal's office is just a tad more traumatic as a five year-old than as a fifth grader). Tears began to run down Joey's cheeks. He tightened his arm around his drawing as the concerned and panicked girls tried to make him stop.  He began coloring harder and faster.  "Joey!" they pleaded, "You have to stop!" One girl managed to pry the paper from underneath him and ran it to his cubby while the others put away the last of his crayons. The girls came to the rug and I began the story, leaving Joey to sit in his chair.

After the story, all of the children went out to play.  All except for Joey.  Joey still sat in his chair.  Alone - alone and sad.  I watched Joey from the door - never leaving him out of my sight, while I also kept an eye on the other children who were laughing and playing outside.  I realized while standing there, reflecting on what had transpired, that Joey didn't know me.  He didn't know he could trust me.  He had no prior experience with me to know that I had something good and wonderful planned.  That following me would make everything better.  Instead, he chose to cling to what was past- and that resulted in him missing out.  Instead of running around outside, playing and laughing with his classmates, he was sitting inside sad and alone.

Several years later, I found myself on the verge of numerous changes. My husband had been laid off from his job.  I was being moved from one school to another, our children were all changing schools, the pastor of our church had resigned, and my parents were moving 1500 miles away.  I was not happy.  I did not want a new school - for me or my children.  I did not want a new pastor, nor did I want my parents to move 1500 miles away from me or their grandchildren.  And I was most certainly not happy that my husband did not have a job.  And, I let God know.  Repeatedly.  Over and Over again.  I was not happy. 

And then, one day, while I was whining to God I remembered.  I remembered Joey.  I saw him with his arm stubbornly laying across the table holding tightly to his drawing.  I saw the tears streaming down his face.  I saw the other children around him, trying to help, trying to keep him on track.  And I remembered my thoughts.  I recalled thinking how Joey didn't know he could trust me. He had no prior experience with me to know that I had something good and wonderful planned. That following me would make everything better. Instead, he chose to cling to what what was past- and that resulted in him missing out.  I started to wonder about the one in control of my life, and I had to ask myself.  "Do I not know Him?  Have I not experienced His working in my life?  Do I not believe that following Him would make everything better?  Don't I trust Him?" And then it became clear to me. I was Joey,  stubbornly holding onto my crayons, coloring my picture while God was calling me to come sit on the rug and listen to a story.  And I saw that it was time.  Time to put my crayons away and come sit on the rug.  Because I do know God and I do trust that He will make everything better.  Even when I can't see it for myself.

S is for Spiral

When I was a little girl, I loved going to the park.  I loved the swings, and the teeter totters, and the monkey bars.  I loved flipping and pulling and twisting and spinning on the pull up bars too.  But my most favoritest, funnest and bestest thing to do at a park, was to go down the slide.  And not just any slide, but the spiral slide.  I loved the thrill of climbing to the tippie top, standing on the edge, holding the bar and hurling myself down into the unknown.  Would I get stuck?  Would I crash into some clueless child playing at the bottom?  Would I go flying off when I reached the bottom?  And just where was the bottom?  That was the best part of all.  In a spiral slide - you didn't quite know when the end was there.  It could be after the first turn or the second - or maybe not even until after the fourth twist!  Oh how I loved playing at the park!

There is another spiral that has always intrigued me.  A spiral staircase.  A spiral staircase holds so much mystery.  It is always a feature in the best detective stories, especially when the setting is the 1940s.  They are grand, elegant, sophisticated.  One can always 'make an entrance' on a spiral staircase.  Can't you just see Lauren Bacall or Ingrid Bergman, standing at the top, looking down at the reporters, the suitors, the adoring fans below.  Can't you picture her as she lingers at the top, one hand softly trailing on the banister as she gracefully descends to the doting crowds below.  Her dress, flowing ever so delicately behind her as she steps, pauses, steps, pauses, never breaking her rhythm as she circles down, down, down to the bottom.

As an adult, the word spiral does not have the same fun and sophisticated connotations for me as it once did.  Generally now, when I speak of spiraling, I am usually referring to the sense of losing control - as in, my life is spiraling out of control. If we are, metaphorically speaking, standing at the top of a spiral slide, it is because we are about be thrown into a project, or a problem, or a situation where we do not know how many twists and turns there are going to be, or how fast we will go through the curves, or where the bottom lies. And often, it feels like we are being shoved down the slide.  Perhaps there is an illness, a job loss, or a unwanted relocation - most of these circumstances I would not walk into by choice.  But, just as a child can throw herself down a spiral slide because she knows her daddy is there, ready to catch her or help her through the twists and curves, we too can enter the spiral slides of our life with the same confidence because our Father is there also.

But some spirals in our life aren't slides where the ride is short and fast and unexpected.  Some spirals in our life cause us to feel as if we are on the top of a staircase, about to descend into a long, dark path that may take years to travel.  We could be facing the death of a child, or a divorce or a life altering illness.  These kinds of spirals of can be devastating and destructive.  Standing at the top, wondering if you can make it without falling head first and crashing at the bottom of the stairs has to be foremost in any one's mind who waits at the top of these kind of spiraling stairs.  But just like Lauren and Ingrid, we can descend the stairs with confidence- slowly, carefully, pausing with each small step to pray, to and make sure our footing is secure, keeping one hand on the scriptures for support just like we would cling to the banister, knowing that our friends are there, waiting and watching and encouraging us every step of the way.

So when I feel like my life is spiraling out of control - perhaps these images will serve as reminders that no matter the circumstances, no matter the path, I can make it.  With prayer, scripture and friends, spiraling never has to be done out of His control.

I is for the God of the In-between

Ask me if I want to go to Europe – and I will answer yes! Ask me if I want to visit my family in Texas – or friends in Colorado and I will also answer yes! Ask me if I want to go vacation in Hawaii and you will hear a most resounding yes!

But the truth is I don’t want to go to any of those places. The truth is I want to be in those places – but I do not want to go there. I do not want to be in the place in-between. I am all about ‘arriving,’ about being there, but not about the journey. The journey is hard. It has bumps and unexpected turns and it isn’t always smooth.

I HATE flying, and as I write this, I am waiting for a plane that will take me home. My mind is fixated on my destination – my home and how very badly I want to be there, not here. Not sitting in an airport while my anxiety level rises, while my heart begins to race and I try to block from my mind all of the devastating scenarios that can occur between here and there that will prevent me from arriving at my destination.

But our lives are not a destination. Our lives are not an arrival – they are a journey. And it is in our journey that God meets us, walks with us, hold us, laughs with us, and cries with us. In our lives, we are always headed somewhere - towards a wedding, the birth of a child, a graduation, a promotion, retirement, we are constantly moving from one place in life to another always on the move from where we were to where we want to be next. Then when we get there, we look around for the next project, the next stage and we are on the move again and we enter another land of in-between.

So while I watch the crew care for the plane that will take me on the first leg of my journey, and as I take deep breaths to calm myself enough so that I don’t run up and down the airplane aisles crying “let me out, let me out!” during the flight, I will focus on the one who ensures my life will be cared for. I will hold fast to the one who has ordained my days. And I will believe that he will care and love my family more than I ever could should he choose to take me home to his house today. And most important of all, I will learn to trust the God who lives with us in the land of the in-between.