Portraits of Perspective: Rainy Days (Week 5)

If you don’t live in the upstate of South Carolina, it would behoove you to understand before reading this that it has been raining here for the past 84 days (or so it seems). It’s been weeks on end of wearing my L.L. Bean duck boots, whether they match my outfit or not. I promise, dear reader, I’m normally fashionable enough not to wear navy shoes with black pants, but I’m running out of outfit options and I’m not about to have soggy shoes.

Rain brings the bane of my fellow teachers’ existence: indoor recess. It’s getting bad, y’all. At least I don’t have to supervise said ludicrous activity; I just have to figure out a way to channel all that pent up energy into learning (ha!). My heart goes out to all the classroom teachers who have to convince their students that yet another day of playing Uno is a grand way to spend their break time.

And then there’s my philosophy regarding grocery shopping on rainy days, namely, not doing it. Something about wet plastic bags seems deviant from sanity. And with your hands full of them, forget about an umbrella. You pull up your hood and hope for the best, knowing deep down there’s no hope for your bottom half. Your jeans won’t dry for hours. But when we find ourselves eating breakfast for dinner for the third time in a week because grits and pancake mix are about all we have to make a meal out of, it’s time to suck it up, buttercup. At least my fellow shoppers share my woes, and they usually get discussed if the line is long enough.

I find it so fascinating that weather is the topic of small talk more often than not. No matter if you’re standing in line at Wal-Mart or conversing casually with a coworker in the break room, we can always strike up a conversation remarking on the extreme temperature, commenting on the beautiful sunshine, complaining about the persistent rain. And I think that’s because no matter who you are, we share that. As long as you’re in the same geographical location, it’s a connection point.

But that’s about where it stops. I’m really good at small talk for about thirty seconds before I withdraw back into my turtle shell. With as many mini conversations as I’ve had about the rain lately it makes me wonder… what else do we share that we’re not talking about?

I think it’s healthy to be occasionally overwhelmed by sonder, “the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own.” No, it’s not a real word, but it’s an internal reality we all experience and it’s included in Urban Dictionary, so I think it’s on the table for use (maybe not judgment-free use, but use nonetheless). Regardless of age, social status, or even beliefs, we come in contact with fellow image-bearers of our Creator everyday. They too have thoughts, emotions, fears, goals. Some might even be the same as our own.

I’m not proposing that we all turn into hyper-extraverts and become best friends with the lady in the aisle with us at Target, nor am I advocating for total disregard of the privacy of your acquaintances. It doesn’t require you to pry tactlessly into places where you don’t belong. But what if, just maybe, we have more in common than simply the current state of our atmosphere? And what if we got out of our heads for long enough or paused our schedule for long enough to find those commonalities?

Whether it’s a coffee date with a friend or politely engaging with a stranger for just a few seconds, I think we’ll find intentional connection is good for the soul. We can do it introverts, I promise. Besides, it’s not like we’ve got outdoor plans today.

Portraits of Perspective: The Front Yard Surprise (Week 4)

I had every intention of writing about a completely different topic this week, but when I was pulling out of our driveway this afternoon and saw that little spot of yellow, I knew there was a reason for it.

My mom always says that daffodils smell like sunshine. There’s nothing quite like the arrival of these bright blooms after a cold winter. They’re our precursory indications of a soon-coming spring. But I didn’t plant any bulbs this past fall. That’s why this little one was such a lovely surprise.

Since buying our house last April, my husband and I have quickly realized what we were missing by living in an apartment for two years, namely, yard work. Don’t get me wrong, we are so very thankful to live on a fairly big lot. I just didn’t realize those hedges out front would grow so dang fast. And those oak trees that we adored for their shade when we bought the house in the spring? They produced about a gazillion leaves in the fall. Fingers crossed that we can mulch the remainders and that they decompose quickly…

All this to say we’re not winning yard of the month anytime in the near future. And yet here’s this daffodil. I didn’t plant it. I didn’t put the effort into buying the bulb, digging up the earth, and placing it in the right location, getting dirt under my nails in the process. But here I am, enjoying its beauty, reaping the benefits of labor that I did not perform. It was an obvious picture of grace for me today.

My 1^st grade students are right in the middle of a unit all about Jacob in the book of Genesis. Naturally, this part of God’s story leads us to talk a lot about the concept of grace, which we define as getting something good when you don’t deserve it. But God’s grace goes even beyond granting favor in the absence of merit. It grants favor in the presence of demerit. There’s absolutely nothing about this deceptive, manipulative, polygamist family where women have made their fertility a competition that you would consider worthy of God’s blessing. And yet God remains faithful to His promise to Jacob: “Your offspring shall be like the dust of the earth… and in you and your offspring shall all the families of the earth will be blessed” (Genesis 28:14).

And indeed we are blessed. Through the lineage of this ridiculously messed up family, grace would come in the form of a person. God Himself would take on flesh to bless those who would never, ever deserve it. It is while we were still sinners, treasonous rebels against the sovereign King, Christ died for us (Romans 5:6-8).

Little graces throughout our day reflect this ultimate story of God’s good gift to undeserving recipients. So this week, delight in daffodils that you didn’t plant. Savor food that you didn’t cook. Take pleasure in houses that you didn’t build. Enjoy experiences that you didn’t earn. But most of all, rejoice in a salvation that you had nothing to do with.

 

 

 

Portraits of Perspective: The Laundry Basket (Week 3)

Most people would recognize “shalom” as a customary Jewish greeting meaning peace. But what we often don’t talk about is the connotation of fullness or completeness found deep within this Hebrew word. If you think about it, though, the ideas go hand-in-hand. It is when a task is complete that we can rest in true peace.

At this point in my life, there is literally nothing that gives me a greater sense of shalom than an empty laundry basket.

There is something immensely satisfying to me about not having dirty clothes in the hamper… for the three minutes that it lasts. Somehow I feel like I’m doing laundry constantly just for our little two person family. Add some children in the mix one day and I might start considering a nudist colony.

And even when you get your big loads done, you have those straggling delicates who pretentiously demand the washing machine all to themselves. Snobby delicates. I’ve actually found myself checking tags on dresses and blouses to make sure that they don’t need to be “hand washed separately” before I buy them. It’s an effective deterrent.

Even before I started this project of reflecting on the mundane aspects of my life, laundry was something that I thought about frequently on a philosophical level. I don’t think there is a more accurate depiction of the futility of our work. Because at least when I dust, the dust doesn’t come back the next day. At least when I finish grading tests, my red pen is off duty until the next unit is over. But as soon I finish folding the last load, there will be a pair of dirty socks back in the hamper. “What does a man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?” (Ecclesiastes 1:3) Another load, that’s what (I’d like to think that Ecclesiastes was written on ancient laundry day).

But the discouragement that this chore brings makes the rare conclusion of it that much more glorious. For just a brief moment, I am overwhelmed by shalom. Fullness. Wholeness. Completion. Peace. Only for a fleeting, temporary second, but it’s there.

It makes me think of C.S. Lewis’ concept of “stabs of joy.” The fact that instances of utter joy pass so quickly ignites a desire in us for a world where that joy is the norm. He writes:

“[Joy] produces longing that weighs heavy on the heart, but it does so with precision and coordination… It dashes in with the agility of a hummingbird claiming its nectar from the flower, and then zips away. It pricks, then vanishes, leaving a wake of mystery and longing behind it.”

I think shalom works in a similar manner. We are given mere snapshots of a future reality as we walk through these Shadowlands. We know we were made for wholeness and fullness. God Himself has placed eternity in our hearts (Ecclesiastes 3:11), but the day-to-day cycle of constant roadblocks in our work confirms that something has gone extremely wrong since Eden.

But God is not leaving us in our state of pointless labor any more than He is leaving us in our state of wickedness and sin. He is working on a cosmic restoration project through His Son, Jesus. He is implementing a plan to redeem our labor. It’s not that there won’t be work to do in God’s restored world. Work is an integral part of what we were designed for, but I do believe there will be an absence of frustration surrounding our work when we’re with Jesus that is currently completely foreign to us.

This type of true shalom only comes through Jesus. Those who trust Him are promised a future with Him, and in His presence “there is fullness of joy” (Psalm 16:11). We might get that fullness in microscopic doses when our laundry basket is empty, but He is returning to bring it to every aspect of our lives forever. Or as Paul puts it, “For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known” (1 Corinthians 13:12).

I don’t know where you get the best glimpse of shalom in your life, but I pray today that tiny moment propels you towards hope of a day when peace is fully realized. Christ is coming. He is making all things new. And He is bringing a shalom that can never, ever be taken away.

Portraits of Perspective: The Classroom (Week 2)

I get this view of an empty classroom once a day. Since I don’t have my own classroom, my day consists of floating from one room to the next, always filled with children awaiting my arrival. As soon as I walk in the door, I have to be on, ready to go. But every afternoon I walk into a math classroom where I’m greeted by the silence of half-zipped backpacks and stray mechanical pencils strewn on the desks. It’s a moment to take a breath and pull up my lesson slides not in front of the kids for once.

Then at 1:24, chaos erupts. Fifth graders who find their second wind after their PB&Js (perhaps some who never lost their original energy from the morning) bound in from lunch. And so it begins.

“Awww, man! I forgot to do the reading homework for today!” (It’s only been on the board for the past week and I’ve only reminded you of it every day.)

“Mrs. Hughey, I forgot my Bible in my locker. Can I go grab it?” (I’ll give you grace, but what class is this again? And what materials might you need for BIBLE class?)

“Wait, I forget… when’s our verse test again?” (Again, board. Every day.)

Forgetful little minds. So prone to lose the daily reminders in the hustle and bustle of their 11-year-old worlds.

Had you told me when I started college that I would have been a teacher, I think I might have visibly winced at the thought. It’s not that I hated school or kids; in fact, I’ve always loved school and loved my participation in children’s ministry all through high school and college. But Anderson University’s education program is highly renowned, and for goodness’ sake, every girl I met seemed to be an aspiring teacher. I’ve been bitten just enough by the millennial hipster bug to feel the effects of the poison called individualism. I wasn’t going to fall into the trend. No, I was going to be different and do God knows what with my Theology and Communication degrees.

So when I started to seriously consider teaching during my senior year, it threw me for a loop. This wasn’t what I wanted, was it? Was this really the road I was going to take? Still, I enrolled in a one-year Bible teaching degree program in Columbia. Then once I got an email from a former Bible teacher asking me to apply for a newly established elementary Bible position at Mitchell Road, my doubts started to subside. It really couldn’t have been clearer if God had placed a billboard on the highway. This was the path He was leading me towards.

The Lord in His goodness and sovereignty has led me to a job that I absolutely adore. My school has flaws, my students can be frustrating, and my class load can be overwhelming, but most days I wake up excited to do my job, and that’s a really good gift from my Heavenly Father.

You would think that after God has led me on this unexpected journey to a place of joy and blessing that I would have learned to trust Him for the road ahead. Yet I still find myself questioning His ability to guide me in the next seasons of life. It’s like I don’t remember how I got to this point.

And what I come to realize is I’m not so different from my sweet 5^th graders. I have a forgetful little mind. I become inundated with the responsibilities and worries of my 25-year-old world that I don’t recall His daily reminders. And next thing you know I’m asking questions like “Wait, I forget… are you really working for my good?”

Before the new generation of Israelites went in to conquer Canaan, Moses emphasized the importance of remembering YHWH’s faithfulness:

“And you shall remember the whole way that YHWH your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness… And He humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna… Your clothing did not wear out on you and your foot did not swell these forty years” (Deuteronomy 8:2-4).  

Our Lord knows how forgetful His people are. He knew that if the Israelites didn’t dwell on His merciful acts in the past, they would take credit for the conquest themselves. He knows that if we don’t meditate on His work in our own lives, we too will lift our hearts up in pride (Deuteronomy 8:14). We’ll start thinking that we’re the sovereign ones. We’ll start believing that it’s our job to plan the perfect life, and then we’ll try on our own to execute that plan.

The classroom is a place of daily remembrance for me. It’s a place where I’m forced to admit that God’s plan is infinitely better than mine over and over again. I hope that whatever your perspective is today, wherever you find yourself, you remember. Remember that an oh-so faithful God is ultimately the One who led you here.