I happened to be in Barb The Art Teacher’s classroom this afternoon when her last 3rd grade class arrived. At the beginning of each class period, her 3rd graders take part in a meditation moment during which soft music is played and students are asked simply to sit quietly, listen, and focus.
Today, though, something went wrong and the class found itself sitting in silence. After B unsuccessfully fidgeted with the speaker cord and volume buttons, she said, “I guess we’ll just have to meditate to the hum of the air conditioner.” The class moaned. I said, “It’s okay not to have music, boys and girls. Silence is actually good for you. I sat in silence a lot when it snowed because I didn’t have electricity and there wasn’t anything to make noise. It was actually very peaceful and calming.” I’m sure that my words meant very little to the class, yet they mean so much to me.
I began to appreciate silence when I worked as a camp counselor during college, but I didn’t begin to fully understand its importance until I was a student in divinity school. It was then that I started to understand two of life’s most profound contradictions: It is in silence that God often speaks the loudest and Doing nothing is often doing the greatest amount of something that can be done.
Last night as I talked to my mom, I told her that I’d really enjoyed my three days of winter weather. Thankfully, I had power for all but 10-12 hours of those three days, but I didn’t have cable or internet for most of that time so I didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for not doing any work. Instead, I slept on my own schedule, cleaned on my own schedule, walked and played with Bullet the Dog on his schedule, watched movies and DVDs that I normally don’t have an opportunity to watch, and enjoyed the absence of noise and activity that almost always fills my days. At the end of my unplanned winter vacation, I felt like I’d had a true Sabbath. For the first time in a really long time, I felt truly rested.
It’s no wonder, then, that I smiled when I read today’s devotion out of Sarah Young’s Jesus Calling (Kids Version). It read:
Take a moment and just sit quietly with me. Let my love surround you and fill you. Feel the light of my presence and enjoy my Peace. I am using these quiet moments to do much more than you can imagine. Give me this gift of your time, and then watch how I bless you and those you love.
Your friendship with me is changing you from the inside out. I am shaping you into the person I want you to be…
Friends, I must confess that when the power first went out on Friday afternoon and I realized that I could be spending days alone in nothing but silence, I sort of panicked. I began thinking of ways to change the situation, yet after I’d placed candles in each room and made sure that there was enough light for me not to be scared, I found that my heart and my spirit had already begun settling into the silence. Shortly thereafter I drifted to sleep and woke up feeling refreshed a few hours later, and throughout the new two days, and even today, I noticed myself craving silence over noise—desiring the beautiful sounds of rests over the beautiful notes of rhythm and melody.
“Take a little while to slow down and sit with me,” I hear God urging. “Let my presence surround you. Let me give you peace.”
Selah.
And peace.
Monday, January 25, 2016
Thursday, January 21, 2016
Strange
Has anyone ever said something to you that you found so strange that it took you a few days to comprehend?
Joe The Counselor did that to me on Tuesday night.
He suggested that I intentionally do something that I think will bring up feelings of anxiety and guilt so that I can pay attention to what those feelings feel like.
He said that when I start to feel guilty, I should say, “Oh, hey, Gil. You’re here a little sooner than I thought you’d be.” And then see what happens.
I looked at him like he was a bit strange, yet what he said has stuck with me all week.
This afternoon as I was discussing vacation plans with my mom, I heard myself saying something a bit strange:
I think maybe you and dad should just go on and drive to Florida. At least that way you’ll have some control over the situation. Because there’s not really anything you can control right now. The weather. The flights. If you make it to the boat on time. Although…you could just leave everything as is and use this whole experience as an exercise in feeling out of control. Pay attention to feelings that come up. Greet them and then feel them.
My mom didn’t say anything. I could tell she was thinking that I was a bit strange.
Yet, as strange as it sounded, I understood exactly what I was saying.
Every moment.
Every opportunity.
Every experience.
Good or bad.
Planned or unplanned.
Is a chance to learn and grow.
To examine life and observe habits that can be strengthened or let go.
To learn not to harshly judge or condemn but to accept what is.
Sometimes we just have to look at life through a non-traditional lens…strange as that lens may be.
Joe The Counselor did that to me on Tuesday night.
He suggested that I intentionally do something that I think will bring up feelings of anxiety and guilt so that I can pay attention to what those feelings feel like.
He said that when I start to feel guilty, I should say, “Oh, hey, Gil. You’re here a little sooner than I thought you’d be.” And then see what happens.
I looked at him like he was a bit strange, yet what he said has stuck with me all week.
This afternoon as I was discussing vacation plans with my mom, I heard myself saying something a bit strange:
I think maybe you and dad should just go on and drive to Florida. At least that way you’ll have some control over the situation. Because there’s not really anything you can control right now. The weather. The flights. If you make it to the boat on time. Although…you could just leave everything as is and use this whole experience as an exercise in feeling out of control. Pay attention to feelings that come up. Greet them and then feel them.
My mom didn’t say anything. I could tell she was thinking that I was a bit strange.
Yet, as strange as it sounded, I understood exactly what I was saying.
Every moment.
Every opportunity.
Every experience.
Good or bad.
Planned or unplanned.
Is a chance to learn and grow.
To examine life and observe habits that can be strengthened or let go.
To learn not to harshly judge or condemn but to accept what is.
Sometimes we just have to look at life through a non-traditional lens…strange as that lens may be.
Monday, January 18, 2016
A Kiss On The Forehead
On Saturday after Sir Henry Jump-ball Nephew’s basketball game, I hugged him and kissed him on the forehead. Then I told him this little tidbit of information:
I have a student who comes to hug me every morning.
He wraps both of his arms around me and rests his head just below my shoulder in a side hug.
He stays there while we talk.
He stays there if we say nothing.
He stays there until I kiss him on the forehead and tell him to have a good day.
Recently, I’ve started telling him that I love him.
I used to kiss him on top of his head but then his hair gel started getting on my face.
I moved the kiss to his forehead.
Evidently I did the right thing.
And evidently this ritual is very important to him.
Because it happens every day.
And it compels him to always do the right thing for me, even when he might choose the opposite with other teachers.
“Really?” Sir Henry responded.
“Really,” I said.
And I smiled.
I’m really grateful for the work of Martin Luther King, Jr., and other civil rights pioneers and workers who made the way and continue to make the way for people like me to have the opportunity to give side hugs and kisses and “I love you’s” to students of all races, ethnicities, and socio-economic levels. In fact, if I had to work only with like-kind, then my life would be woefully incomplete.
It is in diversity that unity most beautifully exists.
Now, friends, accept this kiss on your forehead and go have a great day.
I have a student who comes to hug me every morning.
He wraps both of his arms around me and rests his head just below my shoulder in a side hug.
He stays there while we talk.
He stays there if we say nothing.
He stays there until I kiss him on the forehead and tell him to have a good day.
Recently, I’ve started telling him that I love him.
I used to kiss him on top of his head but then his hair gel started getting on my face.
I moved the kiss to his forehead.
Evidently I did the right thing.
And evidently this ritual is very important to him.
Because it happens every day.
And it compels him to always do the right thing for me, even when he might choose the opposite with other teachers.
“Really?” Sir Henry responded.
“Really,” I said.
And I smiled.
I’m really grateful for the work of Martin Luther King, Jr., and other civil rights pioneers and workers who made the way and continue to make the way for people like me to have the opportunity to give side hugs and kisses and “I love you’s” to students of all races, ethnicities, and socio-economic levels. In fact, if I had to work only with like-kind, then my life would be woefully incomplete.
It is in diversity that unity most beautifully exists.
Now, friends, accept this kiss on your forehead and go have a great day.
Thursday, January 14, 2016
The Fight For Light and Truth
I know that Martin Luther King, Jr. wasn’t an absolute flawless. Who is?
And I know that there were many other people involved in the Civil Rights movement and that those people stood on the shoulders of countless others.
Yet I still find myself excited to teach about Martin Luther King, Jr. every year.
I like the songs that the textbook series includes. My students do, too.
I like the picture books that the textbook series suggests. My students do, too.
I like the moments when my students realize that they have heard Martin Luther King, Jr.’s voice.
I like the moments when my students get upset about the blatant, legal segregation that used to exist.
I like the fact that my younger students have no concept of skin color—that they are terrible at seeing themselves any different than the classmates around them—and my classes are diverse.
I like the fact that my older students are starting to realize that while segregation is no longer legal, it still exists in how people treat one another and we still have a long way to go if we want equal rights for all people.
One of my classes informed me today that a certain political candidate wants to stop people from coming to America by building a wall to keep people out. They didn’t think that was right or fair.
I said, “When we don’t think something is right, it’s up to us to fight against it. That’s what Martin Luther King, Jr. did. It’s up to us to keep his dream alive. It’s up to us, every day, to make decisions to treat people the same. No matter who they are. What’s the opposite of rich? (Poor.) What’s the opposite of black? (White.) What’s the opposite of man? (Woman.) MLK, Jr. believed that people were people, regardless of any of these things. I hope that on Monday you’ll think about these things. And that maybe one day you, too, will grow up to fight for the good in people.”
Then we watched kid president challenge us to dream and sang Free At Last, and I silently prayed the prayer of my desk calendar for today:
“Send out your light and your truth, that they may lead us…O God my God.”
Amen.
And I know that there were many other people involved in the Civil Rights movement and that those people stood on the shoulders of countless others.
Yet I still find myself excited to teach about Martin Luther King, Jr. every year.
I like the songs that the textbook series includes. My students do, too.
I like the picture books that the textbook series suggests. My students do, too.
I like the moments when my students realize that they have heard Martin Luther King, Jr.’s voice.
I like the moments when my students get upset about the blatant, legal segregation that used to exist.
I like the fact that my younger students have no concept of skin color—that they are terrible at seeing themselves any different than the classmates around them—and my classes are diverse.
I like the fact that my older students are starting to realize that while segregation is no longer legal, it still exists in how people treat one another and we still have a long way to go if we want equal rights for all people.
One of my classes informed me today that a certain political candidate wants to stop people from coming to America by building a wall to keep people out. They didn’t think that was right or fair.
I said, “When we don’t think something is right, it’s up to us to fight against it. That’s what Martin Luther King, Jr. did. It’s up to us to keep his dream alive. It’s up to us, every day, to make decisions to treat people the same. No matter who they are. What’s the opposite of rich? (Poor.) What’s the opposite of black? (White.) What’s the opposite of man? (Woman.) MLK, Jr. believed that people were people, regardless of any of these things. I hope that on Monday you’ll think about these things. And that maybe one day you, too, will grow up to fight for the good in people.”
Then we watched kid president challenge us to dream and sang Free At Last, and I silently prayed the prayer of my desk calendar for today:
“Send out your light and your truth, that they may lead us…O God my God.”
Amen.
Monday, January 11, 2016
A Light In Darkness
We didn’t have a teacher’s meeting today.
But I worked late anyway.
Cleaning my room, preparing for tomorrow,
Giving away random gifts.
When I walked into the building at 5:00,
The lights in the hallway were already off and
Some of the doors between buildings were already closed.
As I looked down the dark hallway,
I saw just one light.
Yet that one light literally radiated in the midst of darkness.
Before I could stop myself,
I caught myself thinking:
“That’s what I want my life to be.
A light in darkness.
A place where people are drawn.
A room in which others can clearly see.”
Now, as I write this brief post,
I find myself once again thinking about that light and
expanding the afternoon’s simple prayer:
Dear God,
Let the radiance of your light and love
scatter any gloom in our hearts tonight.
As daylight fills the sky, oh God,
fill each of us with your holy light, and
help us always to follow that light and live in truth.
May our lives mirror your love
whose wisdom has brought us into being,
whose care guides us on our way,
and whose presence restores us.
In you, we are born again as sons and daughters of light.
In you, we have the ability to be witnesses of love in all the world.
In you, we have freedom from desires that belong to darkness.
Fill us with your light.
Fill us with your hope.
Fill us with your peace.
We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
the Prince of Peace and Light of the World,
Now and forever,
Amen.
And amen.
But I worked late anyway.
Cleaning my room, preparing for tomorrow,
Giving away random gifts.
When I walked into the building at 5:00,
The lights in the hallway were already off and
Some of the doors between buildings were already closed.
As I looked down the dark hallway,
I saw just one light.
Yet that one light literally radiated in the midst of darkness.
Before I could stop myself,
I caught myself thinking:
“That’s what I want my life to be.
A light in darkness.
A place where people are drawn.
A room in which others can clearly see.”
Now, as I write this brief post,
I find myself once again thinking about that light and
expanding the afternoon’s simple prayer:
Dear God,
Let the radiance of your light and love
scatter any gloom in our hearts tonight.
As daylight fills the sky, oh God,
fill each of us with your holy light, and
help us always to follow that light and live in truth.
May our lives mirror your love
whose wisdom has brought us into being,
whose care guides us on our way,
and whose presence restores us.
In you, we are born again as sons and daughters of light.
In you, we have the ability to be witnesses of love in all the world.
In you, we have freedom from desires that belong to darkness.
Fill us with your light.
Fill us with your hope.
Fill us with your peace.
We ask this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
the Prince of Peace and Light of the World,
Now and forever,
Amen.
And amen.
Thursday, January 7, 2016
Trails of Love
It’s Fabio Napoleoni’s fault. Or maybe Linus from Peanuts.
But as I was walking through Hobby Lobby the week before Christmas,
Impossibly stealthily,
Dangling a set of wind chimes from each hand,
I found myself imagining that a trail of music notes was behind me,
Gently floating as bubbles blown into a breeze.
I mentioned this image to Barb My Art Teacher as we moved from aisle to aisle, but, honestly, I forgot about the experience until Allison My Guidance Counselor and I hung the wind chimes outside my classroom on Monday afternoon.
As the wind chimes once again dangled from my hands, I caught myself imagining that same trail of music notes—
Only this time I wasn’t absent-mindedly walking through the aisles of a large, retail store.
This time I was intentionally walking around my classroom,
Hoping that those music notes would subconsciously sink into my students’ lives and influence them for good.
Each Wednesday night before choir practice, I read a scripture passage from the week’s lectionary readings and offer a brief devotional thought. Last night as I read the passage, I noticed my mind once again returning to that trail of music notes—only this time it wasn’t just a trail of music notes that I imagined being left behind—it was a trail of freely given love and grace.
“For surely you have already heard of the commission of God’s grace that was given me for you… Of this gospel I have become a servant according to the gift of God’s grace that was given me by the working of his power…So that through the church the wisdom of God in its rich variety might now be made known.”(excerpts from Ephesians 3)
How powerful is this passage, friends? God has commissioned us—called us—given us the task—of sharing grace with the world—the grace given each person who believes—the grace that allows each of us the wisdom to see and know and believe in the vastness of God, the variety of God’s expression in this world, and the wisdom that exists around us!
So I shared my music-note-trail image with the choir,
Only I challenged them not only to leave music notes behind them
But also to leave notes of grace—
Nuggets of love—
So that everyone who walks behind may be subconsciously
affected by love
freed by grace and
changed for good.
May it be so with you, too, friends.
And may we, together, fill this world with trails of love.
But as I was walking through Hobby Lobby the week before Christmas,
Impossibly stealthily,
Dangling a set of wind chimes from each hand,
I found myself imagining that a trail of music notes was behind me,
Gently floating as bubbles blown into a breeze.
I mentioned this image to Barb My Art Teacher as we moved from aisle to aisle, but, honestly, I forgot about the experience until Allison My Guidance Counselor and I hung the wind chimes outside my classroom on Monday afternoon.
As the wind chimes once again dangled from my hands, I caught myself imagining that same trail of music notes—
Only this time I wasn’t absent-mindedly walking through the aisles of a large, retail store.
This time I was intentionally walking around my classroom,
Hoping that those music notes would subconsciously sink into my students’ lives and influence them for good.
Each Wednesday night before choir practice, I read a scripture passage from the week’s lectionary readings and offer a brief devotional thought. Last night as I read the passage, I noticed my mind once again returning to that trail of music notes—only this time it wasn’t just a trail of music notes that I imagined being left behind—it was a trail of freely given love and grace.
“For surely you have already heard of the commission of God’s grace that was given me for you… Of this gospel I have become a servant according to the gift of God’s grace that was given me by the working of his power…So that through the church the wisdom of God in its rich variety might now be made known.”(excerpts from Ephesians 3)
How powerful is this passage, friends? God has commissioned us—called us—given us the task—of sharing grace with the world—the grace given each person who believes—the grace that allows each of us the wisdom to see and know and believe in the vastness of God, the variety of God’s expression in this world, and the wisdom that exists around us!
So I shared my music-note-trail image with the choir,
Only I challenged them not only to leave music notes behind them
But also to leave notes of grace—
Nuggets of love—
So that everyone who walks behind may be subconsciously
affected by love
freed by grace and
changed for good.
May it be so with you, too, friends.
And may we, together, fill this world with trails of love.
Monday, January 4, 2016
Love's Broken Record
I’m afraid that sometimes I sound like a broken record.
I get a word, phrase, or thought in my mind and then share it aloud to whoever will listen. Sometimes the word, phrase, or thought will become part of my everyday vocabulary and/or belief system. Other times the word, phrase, or thought will pass after the record is changed.
I fear that my few faithful note readers and choir members receive the brunt of these mental skips—these recurring themes that I can’t easily let go.
I know that the choir heard one such skip as we prepared for December’s Christmas cantata. “Once you’ve found the love of Christ,” I’d say, “you can’t un-see it. You can’t un-know or un-feel it. Once you’ve experienced the peace of Christ, no matter what else happens—no matter how hard things may get—no matter how dark they may become—you can’t forget it. Because once you’ve experienced the light of Christ—really experienced it—you truly are changed.”
I’m pretty sure that I said something like this every time we practiced the song, “Once You’ve Seen The Star.” And I’m pretty sure that I got goose-bumps (also known as Holy Ghost Bumps) every time we sang it.
I suppose it’s no wonder, then, that I found my eyes filling with tears as the choir sang during worship yesterday morning. After a two week break during which the choir took a much-deserved break, we came together and remembered the song that connected to my heart two months ago and created a broken record that very well may never leave my mind.
Once you’ve seen the star lighting up the sky of a cold dark night, hope cannot be far
Once you’ve seen the star, like the dearest friend you have ever known, it bids you come, it leads you home…
Once you’ve heard the song of an angel choir, heaven touching earth, singing peace has come
Once you’ve heard the song, when it’s in your heart and you know it’s true, it lifts you up, it carries you…
Once you’ve found the child, every fear and doubt—come and lay them down to be reconciled
Once you’ve found the child, oh you can’t un-see, un-know, un-feel—for life is new and love is real.
Once you’ve found the child…
For better or for worse, there are many things that we can’t un-see, un-know, un-feel.
The birth of a baby.
The death of a loved one.
The moment of receiving joyful news.
The moment of receiving terrible news.
A successful achievement.
A frightening fall.
There are many things that change us.
There are many things we cannot forget.
Yet none is so powerful as encountering the
Pure, deep, unconditional love of God
Through the peace of Jesus Christ.
Friends: I hope that you’ve experienced this Love.
And I hope that you will forgive me when
Love’s Peace is my broken record.
I get a word, phrase, or thought in my mind and then share it aloud to whoever will listen. Sometimes the word, phrase, or thought will become part of my everyday vocabulary and/or belief system. Other times the word, phrase, or thought will pass after the record is changed.
I fear that my few faithful note readers and choir members receive the brunt of these mental skips—these recurring themes that I can’t easily let go.
I know that the choir heard one such skip as we prepared for December’s Christmas cantata. “Once you’ve found the love of Christ,” I’d say, “you can’t un-see it. You can’t un-know or un-feel it. Once you’ve experienced the peace of Christ, no matter what else happens—no matter how hard things may get—no matter how dark they may become—you can’t forget it. Because once you’ve experienced the light of Christ—really experienced it—you truly are changed.”
I’m pretty sure that I said something like this every time we practiced the song, “Once You’ve Seen The Star.” And I’m pretty sure that I got goose-bumps (also known as Holy Ghost Bumps) every time we sang it.
I suppose it’s no wonder, then, that I found my eyes filling with tears as the choir sang during worship yesterday morning. After a two week break during which the choir took a much-deserved break, we came together and remembered the song that connected to my heart two months ago and created a broken record that very well may never leave my mind.
Once you’ve seen the star lighting up the sky of a cold dark night, hope cannot be far
Once you’ve seen the star, like the dearest friend you have ever known, it bids you come, it leads you home…
Once you’ve heard the song of an angel choir, heaven touching earth, singing peace has come
Once you’ve heard the song, when it’s in your heart and you know it’s true, it lifts you up, it carries you…
Once you’ve found the child, every fear and doubt—come and lay them down to be reconciled
Once you’ve found the child, oh you can’t un-see, un-know, un-feel—for life is new and love is real.
Once you’ve found the child…
For better or for worse, there are many things that we can’t un-see, un-know, un-feel.
The birth of a baby.
The death of a loved one.
The moment of receiving joyful news.
The moment of receiving terrible news.
A successful achievement.
A frightening fall.
There are many things that change us.
There are many things we cannot forget.
Yet none is so powerful as encountering the
Pure, deep, unconditional love of God
Through the peace of Jesus Christ.
Friends: I hope that you’ve experienced this Love.
And I hope that you will forgive me when
Love’s Peace is my broken record.
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