So, how many states have YOU slept in?

The grey states are the ones I’ve left to visit. Not as far to go as I thought… If only you could win points by sleeping in airports! There, there, Jack, you can make your own map @ http://www.world66.com/myworld66/visitedStates

… From A Mighty Long Way

It’s funny how a simple sound can take you all the way back to a place and time long forgotten. This morning I heard a sound that reminded me of glass against the post of a cyclone fence and was immediately back on my block, 95th Street, in Astoria, Queens. I was able to see it from an entirely different perspective - three views at once, actually. I was on the corner of the small 4×4 square yard Mrs. Samms kept that was separated from the same plot of neglected earth in Foogie and Windy’s folks’ yard by our shared driveway. I was upstairs in my parents’ bedroom window, looking down, from the chair in which my grandmother used to sit waiting for me to round the library corner coming home from school when I grew old enough to walk home myself. She must have been in her mid 70s by then. I was also on the carpeted stairs in the next door neighbor’s house on the other side, body facing upward, head looking down and back over my left shoulder. It was rare that I climbed those stairs to visit the elderly women who lived there and tended the rose garden Mr. Wernham, Dora’s dad, allowed. If I remember correctly, they gave piano lessons but I would not take such lessons until I’d moved away from that block foreever, beginning with a shortish trip to the long journey that became boarding school and its aftermath - a trip from which I have yet to entirely return.

I was then also, instantly across the street or, in the middle of it, noticing as if for the first time, the difference between our yard and theirs. The choice in fencing said it all. Their roses poked through well-maintained black wrought iron while our clumps of grass and the occasional plastic to-go cup cover with straw sticking through was protected by the nation’s best, that is to say most common, Cyclone fencing. Mr. Wernham, a limousine driver, owned his brick-front home, and the ladies upstairs who grew the roses in his yard were his tenants. Our family were the Samms’ tenants and likewise lived upstairs. I imagine Keitha’s mother, Mrs. Samms, had been overwhelmed long before her fourth and fifth children were born and somewhat before we moved in and eased the strain of so many mouths to feed.

I capture this and other memories to admit and admonish myself as much as anyone in gratitude for everything that has been called to my remembrance. To remind myself of precisely how very long a way the Lord has brought me, through the trials and through the tears, through the triumphs and the years, He has brought me yes, a mighty long way.

Pic of the Day

Pic of the Day

Click on it to enlarge

Offered by www.whatatop.com

S/He who knows the end of a thing…

…knows s/he has the means to conquer it.

John Maxwell: A difficult time can be more readily endured if we retain the conviction that our existence holds a purpose - a cause to pursue, a person to love, a goal to achieve.

Quotes on Overcoming Adversity

Showing Up

Waking from the feature-length teaching-related nightmare, I come to consciousness thanking God for preparing me as a teacher. If you noticed I did not say for teaching that’s the point. I woke with a deeper than ever, first realization really, that the Lord has used teaching to prepare me for kingdom purpose. This became patently obvious at the Democratic caucus Saturday.

First, there were no signs posted around the high school letting anyone know where to enter. Being your typical, prison industrial model, this one was vast with many entrances. People tried the several doors, grumbling their ways around to the rear pausing, from time to time, to complain, threaten to quit the process or to let someone hear about this! For me, so accustomed have I become to students’ self-disqualification at the starting gate, that the absence of directions or point-people barely even registered as an obstacle. You just keep pushing until you find a way in.

Next, there was the line that snaked out the one open door, as you rounded the bend and made it to the promised land; a way in! Did I mention that after so many years of developmental English I can barely discern when to use a semi-colon? If the chill in the air while pacing the approximately .85 of a mile from the Pennwood entrances to the Sirius entrances didn’t undo you the view of that line would, and did have more than a few would-be registering voters do an about face.

If, by some miracle, you did hang around say, long enough to catch your breath, and overheard one of the desperate, campaign-specific caucii announce, in stage whisper, to a suspected comrade that your precinct was inside and you don’t have to wait on this line, you could enter these gates with thanksgiving in your heart, enter His gates with praise, only to find true chaos in progress within. For this teacher-by-faith, a teeming mass of humanity, hopped up on caffeine, sugar and lacking leadership was a familiar, and frankly, welcomed sight. I mean, honestly, where would we be if everyone persisted in the falsehood that they in fact know what’s really going on?

My response? I did precisely what I’d expect each of my students to do in such Matrix-like circumstances: I made myself the best definition of useful I could muster given my strengths and struggles and grasp of the challenges reality had placed before me. I grabbed someone wearing a sticker I could support, asked for additional stickers, and assigned myself the job of greeter, and marched back outside, to the far end of the building, sharing what little information I had gleaned along the other direction with those just entering the vortex. It was in fact quite amazing how much I had gleaned just by showing up. But then that’s what Woody Allen and others have been going on about for centuries, right? Isn’t showing up more than half the definition of success? I mean, what else was I going to do, knowing full well that I couldn’t register or vote as a permanent resident. After all, more than on behalf of any candidate, I’d come in support of democracy; that big little notion whose time may be just around the corner if a handful more of us takes heart and hope in hand and begins walking the talk of true change, starting at home.

I’d appreciate it if someone drew these threads together and wrote a conclusion. My students, even in this, have taught me extremely well!

Socratic method: The Remix

Why waste an opportunity to get closer to God? is the answer that comes to me as I get out of bed. It was along some indirect line of thought that it arrived. But it was the answer supplied to any number of questions past and future that are put to me. Now I understand that even I do not have to find an ‘answer’ but turn the seeker back to prayer – an opportunity to get closer to God!
Among the revelations I most enjoyed during lunch with Yvonne on Tuesday, was the image of faith as a pilot attempting to land her craft in thick, low clouds. She has done everything she is trained to be accountable for, now, she must simply, or not so simply, admit that the task itself, and not just the conditions, are far beyond her abilities, and let God take care of the rest.
Revelation is akin to landing that plane. We become witnesses only after being faithful stewards. I expressed it far more simply at lunch when I remembered – noticed aloud – how one can read the same scripture and not penetrate its meaning until the soil of our lives has been prepared for its planting, cultivation and harvest. As we abandon all to His power we increasingly witness what has always been true.
Nothing actually changes: the clouds do not lift, it is we who descend (in our own self-opinion perhaps?) below the clouds to find the familiar territory the landing strip, fully lit in expectation of our arrival. The weather does not change: the storm is still swirling, but now, we realize it cannot thwart our mission. It is indeed a thing apart and all it’s bluster cannot change a single atom of our being or God’s plan for us! I like the image so much because it came readily and remains etched in my mind’s eye. I see the view as the clouds part. To explain the situation further begs the storms’ reality. For the clouds themselves do nothing and, the closer we get to them, the more their nothingness is revealed! It is our forward movement that makes room for us! The clouds simply cannot exist wherever we are truly on target – much in the same way Pastor House was explaining at Bible Study last night: If you look down at your feet and over to your neighbor’s, each pair is distinct, separate, unable to occupy the exact same space at the same time, even if that neighbor were to sit on your lap! Once you agree (not that God awaits your permission) imagine the possibilities! What would you do, if you knew God could not fail?

God Uses Hangers

What if infinite supply were as simple as they say? Some have asserted that everything we need we already have and we have simply to recognize it. A lesson from the closet: This morning, after arriving at an idea interesting enough to get out of bed for, that is to say, conceiving an idea compelling enough to rival the softness of the t-shirt flannel of my sheets and the feeling of physical exhaustion not yet abated after more than 10 hours horizontal, I begin my leg extensions and invisible punching bag aerobics on my back, roll onto the floor and into the plank position, say the Lord’s Prayer and head for the bathroom, then the kitchen.
Vocal warm ups begin, predictably, in the raspy lounge singer range, as I attempt a rousing chorus from Jesus, What a Wonderful Child. I resort to humming as I feed Mr. Rogers, the inherited Betta I began the night beside in order to have some company while I slept. Funny, the things we do that are opaque until later. At least choosing the couch was a less costly option than say choosing a spouse.
Once again, Mr. S.P. Rogers, flutters his tail at me in what I presume he has been biologically conditioned to consider (if fish may consider) a threatening way, and misses the point that his food grains have been scattered above him and slightly behind until I walk in a direction that will draw his attention thereto. After feeding him, I rinse and put in the dishwasher the empty containers that have been in the sink for at least 48 hours and have finally caught my attention.
I go into all this grueling detail to illustrate my point, at least five of them, and refer you to an essay on Og Mandino’s take on procrastination. A spiritual take on the theme actually. These small details are taken care of in an effort to avoid, in my case, addressing the BIG IDEA which is, in the grander scale of things, itself a small detail.
Though the ten-minute commitment to write was satisfied four minutes ago I will simply say this. In order to wake up, and before getting to my formal prayers – the official start to each day, and delaying what I now admit is an unavoidable trip to the gym – I now putter. In decades past I simply decided to wake up and get about the day’s business. I wish students would make decisions as swiftly as I used to. But that’s a subject for another practice writing session.
The foregoing being point five, I’ll get to the gist of points four through one in more concise fashion.
4: Infinite supply may be seen in the closet experience many, though not all, of us have had. I have two things to hang up and one available hanger so I consolidate a velour sweat suit onto one hanger and free up a second hanger for today’s need. The supply was already there. I simply had to notice and employ it. I’d wager this law also works when mortgage payments are due or a peace treaty needs to be negotiated.
3. The idea that got me out of bed – a way to combine and publish service learning activities for my roles as grad student, college worker / writing instructor, and community advocate / LVAC member – is not likely to be the reason God got me out of bed.
2. God laughs. After all, at this point in history, after the Flood, the warnings of the weeping prophet among others, and in the context of the HIV/AIDS pandemic, there is little point in holding one’s Holy Breath. Very few are likely to see You turn blue, though many of us do rise each morning to watch what You do next.
1. I share the laughter and, perhaps like God, daily begin again.
How do you get out of bed?

ProEnglish?

A friend sent me the link to a website where we can communicate with legislators on any number of action items. While I am NOT a pro-English advocate, as are the website sponsors, I appreciate the notion of democracy for and by the people, and find the website’s features well-suited to communicating the pro-social values that I support. I am not afraid of losing my identity or this great nation’s loss of national identity should we live out the true purpose of our creed and welcome those accountable for and willing to work for better futures in liberty and justice for ALL.
What concerns me is the loss of character embodied in such gestures to organize people’s desperation, play on their fears, and the resulting abandonment of the very founding principles such well-intentioned individuals seek to preserve. I submitted the following via email.
Dear Congress People, I pray daily for your closer walk with God. For once right relationship is established, we are more than conquerors, walking in the spirit and fulfilling the true laws of the kingdom.
If you made it through that, and have an ear to hear, I write to suggest a formal apology be made not only for killing First Nation languages but children when we ‘pioneered’ this land some now seek to ‘unify’ under the English language. Genuine apology and restitution (not just tuition and license to self-destruct) will set a good example for families and leaders worldwide. Truth and reconciliation should be taught in every classroom and every pulpit, every legislative session. Thank you for all the good you continue to strive to do, seeking your own in another’s good. May you be positioned for victory and have your names written in heaven.

Taking the Shackles Off

Went out to Red Rock Canyon this afternoon to bring in the New Year with dance and praise. Mandisa’s Shackles made a great triumph song to usher in a new season, a new day. 

What’s Wrong With This Picture?

So, I’m sitting at my desk, waiting to tuck into a steaming hot and late afternoon lunch, noticing the piles of projects absolutely everywhere, answering email, coaxing the space heater into service, yet again, and recommitting myself to a life worth living even if infrequently examined when, all of a sudden, the hilarity of it all tickles my funnybone and I start laughing out loud. Never mind there are people, academics even, outside who know A) I’m in here alone and B) I’m not on the phone. Never mind that the laughter has caused my feet to slip off the local phone book that has been pressed into service as a foot rest and the chair to back into the outlet where the temperamental space heater is tenuously connected. Only the laughter matters. It is long overdue. As I wrestle the chopsticks out of their wrapping and pry them apart, being careful to create enough friction between them to dispense with any splinters, it occurs to me that now, at the butt end of the semesters that I am taking and giving, at the end of my 78th day of fasting - but who’s counting. (Not in a row, mind you, once a week for the past year and a half or so, give or take the days I’d forgotten I was fasting and stuffed the closest thing to a food group in my gullet, or the weeks before each Thanksgiving where my entire church takes the cure). Yep, now’s the perfect time to start that book I’ve been meaning to write. You know the one: The diet for a simple idiot, a.k.a. Everything I Know About Dieting I Learned From My Chopsticks and it’s equally enlightened prequel, Chew.  Well, I thought it was the perfect time to put on what I’d been putting off but then I looked at my desk, got distracted by the noodles falling through my chopsticks and a student knocked on the door.