Crocodile-like Skin

     I confess that I envy the crocodile. With that Birthday Suit not much could faze or damage its skin-type. Harpoons maybe. Maybe bazookas, but I mean the day-to-day stuff: insects, unsanitary water, rude hippos etc. It seems that tough skin and grit are what you need to get by in this world. But after some mild soul searching, I am starting to conclude that I am cream-filled and the skin holding it all together isn't as deep or strong as I would like.
     I was one of the few souls who managed to skip the middle school experience when I was younger. I have fairly cheery memories of that time in my life, blissfully floating through my education as an awkward homeschooler. But now I get to live middle school everyday as a public school orchestra teacher. I teach 5 different orchestras, plus two other classes, and this year my 8th grade orchestra has given me a run-for-my-money. I've tried most of the tricks I know to get them to focus and to be engaged. I want to teach them something worthwhile, but it feels like I have to fight them for every inch. No, not just every inch, every millimeter! Every so often I exhort them to show respect to the discipline of playing a stringed instrument, and show it to whoever is on the podium "Whether you love or hate your director you still show them respect." I spend a lot of time planning what I am going to do next for that particular class, and I admit tears have been shed as I've penciled in lesson plans and silently conducted through the scores for our next rehearsal. Sometimes at night I contemplate how I am going to respond to kids being rude, or not acknowledging my greeting, or just showing attitude. Certain names come to mind. I can feel myself getting upset at these times, and sometimes losing sleep over these things. "Go to sleep! Stop being anxious!" I tell myself. The brain doesn't easily shut off. I am aware that I can cast my cares upon the Lord. And I do. And sleep does come. Eventually. It just hasn't been easy-peasy. Did I mention that I wish I had tougher skin?
     In the last few weeks I have experienced some heart break. I cannot go into detail, but it was at some level the death of a dream. Something I really hoped would happen took an unexpected turn, and now I am healing from this train wreck, thinking "I never saw that coming." Even if I had seen it coming, would I have done anything different? I have no answer to this. For this. However, if you have advice on the best flavor of ice cream to consume while in the middle of a train wreck, feel free to comment below.
     Maybe praying for tough skin isn't the way to go. I have heard that there is a load of good in being pliable. Teachable. One of my students in the previously mentioned 8th grade class wrote a note at the end of an assignment, and I read it for the first time today. She said she enjoyed and respected my class, and thanked me for making her last year at middle school amazing. This caught me off guard. It is one of the most encouraging things I have received for some time. Maybe some of this investment is worthwhile. Maybe not all of my 8th graders hate my guts. And maybe, if I really had crocodile-like skin, this note would not have the same value to me. Just a thought. And I will leave it here.
    

An Evening at Helzberg

I went to the Kansas City Symphony last week, and walked away thinking "I should do this more often!" The program was all Saint-Saens, cradled in the belly of Helzberg Hall whose wooden insides reverberate like a musical instrument. Noah Geller did an outstanding job performing on the violin; at times his solo was as sharp as a knife cutting through a sea of symphony, and at other times it was alluringly allusive. And that was the beauty of it. At times Geller would strike a high harmonic that was enshrouded within the auspices of the orchestra, and then the orchestra would suddenly fall away, leaving that note resonating, clean and clear; simply earth shattering. The Saint-Saens Organ Concerto was also remarkable in its own way. At times I was struck with a returning motif that left me frantically sorting through snippets enfolded within my music memory. Where had I heard that before? I started grinning like a simpleton as soon as I realized it was part of the soundtrack to Babe. Who says that movies about talking pigs are not educational?

Hallmark Landmarks

    

     When visiting landmark locations one is willing to undergo levels of discomfort in an effort to see whatever makes that place famous. When exploring Paris with a friend, I remember walking for miles to make sure the Louvre, Eiffel and Arc de Triumph were adequately checked off my list. By the end of the day it felt like I was walking on glass due to cheap shoes, and unbeknownst to me at the time, a broken bone in my foot. When traveling in China, I went to see The Great Wall in the middle of Winter. Getting there in an unheated vehicle was toe-numbing cold. But was it worth it? Absolutely. Traveling within Turkey was the same way. Three buddies and I rode for 13 hours in a bus through the night to get to Ephesus. We explored the ruined city for a day, and then rode all through the next night to get back to Istanbul where we were staying with a friend. Exhausting; not the most cush trip of my life, but definitely worth it.
     I finished reading through the Bible today. With blushing cheeks I will admit it took me way longer than the ambitious three month reading plan I ventured out upon, but something weighing on my mind is an exchange between John and an angel in the book of Revelation. The angel says to John "Come, I will show you the bride, the wife of the lamb!" (Rev. 21:9, NET). You can almost hear the excitement in his voice. And then they did that. It's recorded that they scoped out the new Jerusalem together and it was awesome. Brilliant like a precious jewel; a city with walls of jasper and gold, and with a foundation of sapphire. Sounds like something that leaves the highlights of France, China and Turkey in the dust. And then it goes on to describe the saints within the city. Those with the name of the lamb written on their foreheads. So there is the real bride! As powerful of a sight to behold the new Jerusalem in all its shiny-amazingness, the real landmark sight was the bride itself; Christ and his bride. I find this wonderful. Earlier today I was dwelling on the disheveled state of church, and my own imperfect state, but it won't always be this way. Someday, the bride of the lamb is going to be a fearsome thing to behold; so much so that the tour guides will be advertising her as one of the main attractions. It's not just about what is going to be in heaven, but whom. Transformed; redeemed and perfect.

Paths

What if... something good was on its way the split moment one foot broached on the threshold of another path. A pathway that led down more arduous trails and lightening attacks that leave one shattered? What would you miss? Who would you be denying? Yourself? Your God? A crushing blow to your identity; a lessening in the ability to hold your head up. To make enemies with your own conscious. Your God knows your hunger; your thirsts; how your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. The inward cries. The minor keyed songs left unsung. Don't fool yourself. Don't look down that way. Take heed of the wrecked ships and desperate souls. Keep yourself from straying. Be a haven to those who are desperate, not a refugee yourself, except to the one whose wings are outspread over you even now.

Passover with Strangers

This year I celebrated Passover with Chabad, KU’s Jewish Life Center. I’ve been to Seder dinners before, but this year I wanted to experience something a little more authentic and… well, more Jewish. I have also been on this kick since I have been back from China to try to get out of my comfort zone, and this fit the bill. I was nervous the entire drive to Lawrence- that’s how I know it met the requirements for Comfort Zone Abandonment.

It took me a while to find the house that the dinner was held at, but when I actually spotted the place I was like “How could I have missed this?” It had a large Menorah situated on the front lawn.

I felt that it wasn’t really the kind of place that insisted you knock on the front door before entering, so I just walked in, which took some chutzpah. Inside, there were long tables arranged in a giant “E” shape and I sat down in one of the empty plastic chairs. It took some coaxing to break the ice with the strangers around me, but eventually I was able to draw them out by pelting them with questions.

The Seder took about 3 ½ hours. It was overseen by a joke-loving Rabbi, and we didn’t eat until the tail end of the event. I was sent an e-mail before I came that encouraged me to grab a bite ahead of time, and afterwards I was glad that I followed the advice. At the beginning of the evening I tried to mumble Hebrew along with the rest of the group, but I gave up on this endeavor after the first two minutes- realizing that I had been “reading” the script backwards. Throughout the meal I washed my hands twice, both times in special ways. I’m not sure why, and the girl next to me didn’t know why either. In addition to this, I clapped my hands during the songs, ate beef brisket, swayed in a circle, was blessed by the Rabbi, and danced to Jewish songs with a group of women.

I don’t know if I’ll run into these people again; KU’s campus is fairly large, but I’m grateful that they let me catch a glimpse of how they celebrate the holiday of Passover. And even though we were strangers, we did have a common bond. We both wanted to remember that God saved His people Israel from the hand of Pharaoh in Egypt, and performed miraculous wonders in the process, including providing a covering from the death angel through the blood of an innocent lamb. Even though that common bond doesn’t entirely unite us, it makes a solid start. And overall, I view it as having been a successful evening.

The Most

The most beautiful thing I've seen today took place on Gage Street. As I was running errands this morning I passed "The Phelps People" holding their many signs to offend practically every category of people out there, and as I was averting my eyes so as to keep my emotions in check, I spotted an older man holding an American flag on the opposite side of the street. It took me a few seconds to realize that he was a Veteran and that the decorated vest he wore probably was linked to his previous military experience. As I finished going to the bank, I looped around the same path, and tried to spot the man again. He was gone, but so were the Phelps gang. They had moved up the street a few blocks. Here's a "Hurrah!"for the gentleman who was willing to stand by himself across from approximately 30 people with radically opposing viewpoints, and to the man who intimidated that group enough that they had to move down the street.

The most uncomfortable thing I saw today was along the same lines. It was a young police officer shouting across the street and making exaggerated hand gestures to 10 skateboarding teenagers. I could tell the skateboarders had the upperhand.

The most profound thing I read today was in a book called Kisses from Katie by a gal named Katie Davis. This girl went to Uganda straight out of High School, and continued on there, helping to establish an NGO that lifts up the impoverished children of her neighborhood. It's an inspiring read; convicting at the same time; a great example of what God can do with someone who has an open and willing heart.

Michaela's Wedding and Xi'an

 I came at the tail end of Chinese New Year. The last day of this was the Lantern Festival.

 Tara- one of the teachers at Sias University where I stayed

 Lamb on a skewer and milk tea. Yum! Yum!

 Michaela ordering some street food

 The view while we hiked up a mountain called Shizu

 Headed to the highest possible point on the mountain

 Michaela all dressed up for the wedding

 Headed to the church in a limo

 Michaela and Jonathan

 At the reception

 The Muslim Market in Xi'an

 The Terra Cotta Warriors

 A sign inside Xi'an's subway. Notice Top Center

 In front of our hostel at Xi'an

Chinese babies are pretty cute.

Beijing, China

 My friend Michaela introduced me to Emily through e-mail, and I was able to spend 2 days with Emily in Beijing, and went with her to see The Great Wall.

 It's kind of like taking a picture of the Grand Canyon- it really doesn't do it justice.

 While we were touring at The Wall and at a tomb, we met an Australian named Emma and spent most of the day together. The upside of going to touristy spots is that it is an opportunity to meet people from all over the world.

 Proof that I was at the wall. :)

 The Bird's Nest built for the 2008 Olympics!

 Street food. This is a biscuit with an egg in the middle. Not a bad breakfast for lunch on the go!

 The Forbidden City

 These girls invited me to a feast at their apartment. The menu was tofu wrapped pork, mushroom chicken soup and cowboys and indians served Chinese style.

 This is Andy, another one of Michaela's friends. He took me ice skating and to some famous shopping district that I don't know the name of. Beijing's Drum and Bell Tower are in the background.

 Every country has its polar bears. Yes, that's ice by the side of the lake.

Saul, Winston and Other Individuals

It’s a shame about Saul! You know what I mean? Here is a guy who had everything going for him: the right looks; the right height; a kingdom established by a sovereign God; the anointing; even a few short stints prophesying, which turned out genuine enough to puzzle writers about how he should be categorized (Prophet or no?). But then things started to go downhill from there: Saul trying to take on the role of a priest when he wasn’t one; not following directions 100% in the midst of warfare; trying to repeatedly hunt down and kill shepherd-boy Dave, an innocent man; willing to put Jonathan to death over eating a bit of honey, and seeking out witches to help him make major life decisions. It’s just plain sad when you think of it! Isn’t it? He had potential, but his end was inglorious, and his royal line died with him.

We know plenty of stories of individuals who started well, only to fall into infamy: Benedict Arnold, Robert Lundy (the Irish version of Arnold), Martha Stewart, Darth Vader, Gollum… just to name a few. Right? Chapters from history books, media and the fictitious versions of these stories should douse cold water on us. Wake us up! Whisper to us the need to “keep on keeping on” (as GT and the Halo Express so eloquently defined “endurance”). It should remind us to walk in integrity; to love to God; to tidy up those priorities; to keep our minds and hearts set on things that don’t spoil, fade, rot and/or burn.

“Never give up!” Those were the carefully chosen words of Winston Churchill. He used them to encourage his countrymen while earth and buildings were exploding around Great Britain. And how crucial those words are to the weary heart; to those growing weak and weary in the trenches. We’ve come this far, let us not lose hope now; let us not fall victim to the sinister darkness around us.

This is getting a bit preachy, isn’t it? But I preach to myself. My muscles are tired; my heart is sad; I’m at a crawl. But there is a death that comes with halting; with pilgrims who tire of arduous trails. My anemic pace isn’t much, but I take comfort in the fact that there is a certain school for those who are feeling spent. I don’t know what I’m supposed to learn at this place, but I’m guessing it will be an important lesson. After all, I’m all ears if nothing else… and really, I don’t want to share the same fate as Saul.

Another Song

“I want to run, it’s my nature to run, and I want to fight, it’s my nature to fight, and I want to live but You tell me to die. I have resolved that I’m much better off in Your hands then mine…

I want a crumb, but You are a feast. I want a song, but You are my symphony, I want a star, but You are a galaxy. And I have resolved that I’m much better off in what You have for me. 

–Bebo Norman, exerpts from his song “The Only Hope”

Josh Garrels-Farther Along

I really love this song.

Around the World in 18 Days

It is difficult to pinpoint what I love about travel. Perhaps it is the fact that no matter how many places you visit, there will always be new places to go or else something you haven’t seen at a previously visited location. There is also the aspect of meeting new people that fascinates me (says the introvert). The challenge of adjusting to a different way of doing things or thinking about things is also interesting. This process can be pleasant, and sometimes painful, but you can hardly walk away unscathed by what you experience during an expedition.

This month I bought a ticket to China. I have been telling my friends about it, and have found myself saying things like “I’m nervous about going to the airport in Beijing” or “I’m nervous about [insert whatever here].” It isn’t too much of a surprise that I’m saying these things.  I’ve heard similar things come out of my mouth right before venturing to other places. When I first went to Ireland I was concerned about living a whole year away from my family and friends, and when I first went to Switzerland I didn’t know if I would be able to find the proper train to get on, and when I went to Colombia I was anxious about Bogota being the Kidnapping Capital of the world (among other things). I am now realizing that I’m not just “nervous” about these things; I’m voicing fears. "Fears that I don’t totally want to admit are fears.

I just recently finished reading Numbers and Deuteronomy . The Israelites had plenty of fears, and usually didn’t mind voicing them. “You led us out here to die” they told Moses. “We’re going to starve to death; we’re thirsty! What I’d give for a good meal of leeks!" There was a lot going on with those folk. The fact that Numbers records an 11 day journey taking 40 years is quite sobering (I hope my journey to China just takes 18 days, as planned!). And then, as you probably know most of the Israelites still didn’t REALLY get it, and ended up dying in that sandy wasteland- except for Caleb and Joshua. And then what mighty warriors they turned out to be! I think it’s interesting how Joshua’s career started out. God told Moses to tell Joshua not to be afraid but to be courageous, and then God told Joshua that directly on several occasions, and then later on Josh was able to exhort the rest of the Israel not to be afraid, but to be courageous. What a journey for that man! What a kind of an epic journey for the rest of the nation! To finally go in and conquer the land; THEIR LAND, and to joyfully claim it. Now that's the kind of expedition I'm talking about- one that leaves the imprints of indelible ink.

Deut 5:29 Oh that they had such a heart in them, that they would fear Me, and keep all My commandments always, that it may be well with them and with their sons forever!

Dialog With a Six Year Old

He came to his lesson last Saturday with a beautifully wrapped present. The tri-colored bow was ingeniously twisted at the top, and the paper of the gift bag shouted things out at me, like “Joy! Joy! Joy!” and “Merry Christmas!” I uttered my surprise at the lovely gift, and let out an “Ooh!” and “Ahh!” as I lifted out the chocolate covered pretzels and a bottle of foamy soap- the kind whose delicious scent lingers on your hands long after you’ve washed them. After I discovered what was in the bag he explained the gift “Well, I didn’t buy it. My mom bought it, and then she gave it to me so I could give it to you… I have Eight Dollars!” I smiled at his frankness; not every kid gives credit where credit is due.

We worked on some Christmas music. Before we started, he protested: “I can’t do this! I don’t know how to play on the E string, or how to use my 4^th finger yet!” I assured him that he could play the song I had in mind for him, and flipped to one that was at his level. His eagerness to be where his older sister is on the violin shines through during every lesson.

As he swings his feet back and forth in his chair he asks “How old do you have to be before you can be a violin instructor?” I told him there wasn’t really a certain age that you had to reach to start teaching, but if he kept playing he would be ready in no time. “You know what?” he said “When I’m a teenager you’ll be a grandma!” I eagerly tried to adjust his math calculations by explaining that I would be in my thirties when he becomes a teenager... but I can understand how 7 years would seem like an infinite span of time for a 6 year old.

Getting this boy to focus on his assigned music is tricky. The music ahead of what we are working on is always much more tantalizing to practice than on what is assigned on a weekly basis. As I wrapped up Saturday’s music lesson he said “Oh yeah, by the way, do you recognize this?” He then proceeded to play a few measures of Ode to Joy from memory. I was surprised; impressed that he was working on something more advanced than what we were struggling to play through just a few minutes earlier. I replied “Yes. Yes I do!” and secretly thought: “Will wonders never cease?”

Isaac

I’m not sure what I would do if I found myself on an altar, with my father’s hand wrapped around the handle of a knife ready to slit my throat. But that is exactly the predicament Isaac found himself in. Let’s say it is a safe bet that Isaac knew what was going on. He knew they had not arrived at that mountain carrying a lamb (or any other four legged animal). He knew the fire was pipin’ hot ready to go! He knew what usually took place on top of carefully stacked stones. But there seems to be something missing from the story. The chapter doesn’t give any detail of a dramatic struggle between Isaac and his father Abraham. It just says that Abraham bound Isaac. Does anybody else find this strange? I mean, Abraham was no spring chicken, and Isaac was what, a teenager? I’ve seen plenty of 2 year olds quickly outdistance their parents, I’m sure Isaac could have …but… he didn’t. All we know is that his father bound him, and that Isaac would have been a goner had it not been for the LORD’s intervention: an angel who spoke and staid Abraham’s outstretched hand.

I wonder what the walk back down the mountain was like. I wonder if Isaac resented being bound and almost killed; if dinner conversation was reduced to “Please pass the salt.” Or maybe he was impressed that his father withheld nothing from God. Nothing… not even him! Not even his son whom he loved.

More Notebook Notes

In the midst of my notebook sorting and purging, I came across a few quotations that made an impact on me several years ago. Here is one by Amy Carmichael from her book Thou Givest... They gather:

God- let me be aware,
Stab my soul fiercly with another's pain;
Let me walk, seeing horror and stain;
Let my hands, groping, find other hands.
Give me the heart that divines and understands-
Give me the courage, wounded, to fight;
Flood me with knowledge, drench me with light.

Here is a quotation from C.S. Lewis from the same notebook:

...behind all asceticism the thought should be, "Who will trust us with the true wealth if we cannot be trusted even with the wealth that perishes? Who will trust me with a spiritual body if I cannot control even an earthly body? These small and perishable bodies we now have were given to us as ponies are given to schoolboys. We must learn to manage; not that we may someday be free of horses altogether but that someday we may ride bareback, confident, and rejoicing, those greater mounts, those winged, shining and world-shaking horses which perhaps even now expect us with impatience, pawing and snorting in the King's stables. Not that the gallop would be of any value unless it were a gallop with the King; but how else- since He has retained His own Charger- should we accompany Him?"

High School Poetics

I have been digging through old notes and books from back when I was in High School. This process is part of a new effort to widdle down and condense what I own. Flipping through a few notebook, I came across some poetry that I wrote back in the day. It definately has a sober and darker tone to it. I don't think it was because I was perpetually depressed; I just think writing was a way for me to vent at the time and handle difficult experiences. Most of the poems are not particularly special or well written, but for what it's worth, here are two poems from the High School Heather. 

Silent Music

I shed the tears that weigh me down,
So that I can walk lonely halls.
Here, with head held high, I smile,
While frozen faces slip by, I sigh.

Is there an art to learning art?
I train my hands, but my eyes cannot focus.
I play music that most people cannot hear.
I hold my best on a platter,
only to look down and see that it is broken.
But I'll give what needs mending,
And I'll smile as they pass me by,
Here is where darkness cries for light,
And I'll carry a candle gladly.
I'll carry a candle gladly.

Here is another poem that was written shortly after a friend died in a car wreck.

Adrian

Black road
Silence
Crunching gravel
Tempo increases
Racing wheels
Laughing voices
Breathing souls
Spreading tree
Crunching metal
Brief cries
Burning flesh
Answering silence
17 years old
Peircing eyes
Man forever young
Mother's tears
Friends' disbelief
Silence
Black road      ...questions

Being Unbreakable and Getting Shot

I just recently watched the movie Unbreakable. I like this movie, but because of its serious treatment of the storyline and my preference for comedy, I’ve only watched it 2 or 3 times. The movie is slightly depressing to me, but I enjoy stories about super heroes. The cinematography is dark hued and cleverly manipulated; pieced together like illustrated panels found within a comic book.

One of my favorite scenes in this movie is fairly intense. The son of the main character wants to prove that his father is a super hero, and so one day he confronts his dad in the kitchen pointing a gun towards his chest. The boy believes that his father won’t die if he shoots him, thus proving to the world (and to his father) that there really is something ridiculously strong about him. Up until this point in the movie we have a hunch that the boy is right (to some extent), but we don’t want him to shoot his father because we don’t believe it will bounce off of his chest like a rubber bullet. In this nail biting scene the dad starts shouting at the boy to put the gun down- the mother as well is standing by helplessly, every-once-in-a-while saying a few words to try to diffuse the situation. Finally the dad says something to the effect of “I thought we were friends. Friends don’t shoot friends.” And then the mother affirms his words “Yeah, friends don’t shoot friends.” I’m not sure why this cracks me up every time, but I think it has something to do with the absurdity of the situation, and that the parents pick such an obvious truism to say to the boy. It helped calm down the situation, so I guess the son needed to hear it. In his head, the boy had thought through everything semi-rationally, but there was an obvious flaw in his thought process. If he was wrong about his theory, he would lose more than proof of his father’s super hero abilities; he would lose his father.

I believe, every now and again, we need to hear truisms. Sometimes they come in the form or clichés like “It’s not the end of the world.” or “Ya gotta get back on the horse.” or “If you keep doing that to your face it will stay that way.” And sometimes words just need to come in the form of truth. 100%, non-diluted unclichéd truth. We need reminded of the truth because we either forget it, or we haven’t really thought things through. We have somewhere, somehow, left something vital out of the equation.

I was reading 1 Peter this evening with a group of women in a Bible study, and in the middle of reading it dawned on me that it was really important for me to read some of those verses. They hit home. A little bit like bitter medicine; and at the same time, a little bit like a warm blanket. There wasn’t a gun in the room this evening, but I think I just got shot.  

Set on Pilate

Towards the end of summer, I had a taste of what it is like trying to pacify a mob. I was at Kansas Bible Camp, and acted out Pontius Pilate’s role during Christ’s trial. In order to disguise the fact that I’m the wrong gender to portray Pilate, I penciled in a quick unibrow on my face with eyeliner around 5:15 in the morning, and soon found myself staring down from a second story balcony, viewing a sea of bleary eyed High Schoolers, most of them with sheets haphazardly wrapped toga-style on top of their jammies. No decent trial should meet at this time of day!

Being Pilate, I had a few lines to shout to the mob. It seemed like I kept coming back to the fact that we were on the verge of killing an innocent man. Why would Barabbas look good in comparison to this man, Christ? The crowd shouted up to me “If this Man were not an evildoer, we would not have delivered Him up to you.” But the tone and look of the crowd did not necessarily reflect bunny-eyed innocence. What is the definition of “evildoer,” anyway? It was a situation so perplexing that I could see how it could make friends out of enemy rulers.  Another question that weighed on me:  I asked the camper who was portraying Christ, “What is truth?” I wonder if it occurred to the real Pilate that he had posed this question to Truth Himself. During the reenactment I washed my hands in front of the crowd, trying to show either them, or myself, that I was innocent of “this man’s blood;” I wonder if Pilate, in real life, had witnessed a tinge of red in the water, as torchlight flickered and played on the water’s surface.

It is common practice to act out Shakespearean plays in order to better understand what is taking place. I wouldn’t say the literary works are on the same plane, but I think it’s a worthwhile practice to apply to the Bible as well.

What's in a name?

When I think of the name Victoria, I picture the British monarch who reigned over England and Ireland during the latter part of the 1800s. This queen’s portrait comes to mind, as I envision her pursed lips and British reserve; surely anyone named Victoria would have to carry about the same grandeur and starchiness as this woman did… or so I thought, that is, up until the beginning of last week. It was last week when I met another Victoria at Grade School camp. This Victoria was a wild child, with loose unkempt curls, distracted, energetic grey eyes, and a resolve not to listen to adults. This Victoria wasn’t extremely regal, but she definitely livened up the atmosphere. Mid-week, as I was tuning up my violin to help lead music, she told me “Sometimes, when I hear music, I JUS’ GOTTA DANCE!” And dance she did, in the aisle, or in the small space in front of her seat! Maybe it was an outpouring of being a grade schooler who marches to her own beat, or maybe it came from being, as I learned, a Victoria. As I played the music up front, I was able to catch a glimpse of her abandonment- a lack of conscientiousness that she was in a fairly conservative place. It made me glad that the music I played helped give rise to this demonstration of brimming joy and merriment. I was also a little envious. I was too grown up; carried too many inhibitions; had too many reservations; I was too… well, British, to fully connect with the dancing fun. Perhaps, when everything is weighed out, my OWN name is more closely related to that 19^th Century British monarch.

Falling Trees

     A tree almost fell on my car. Nothing life-threatening; nothing while I was driving, but I almost parked in my usual spot at home last evening, and in the middle of the night a Bradford Pear tree in the front yard decided to split from the rest of the Bradford gang.

Actual Front Yard Footage

      To sweeten the situation, I almost, ALMOST, parked in my usual spot, but last-minute was like “Nah, I’ll pull up into the driveway instead.” I’m glad I did, because I might not have a side mirror or windshield in my car right now. I’m lucky, right? I want to bask in this thought for a while, because the last few days I’ve been feeling anything but lucky.

    

     I am guessing you know how these things go. Sometimes feelings of being less fortunate than others can sneak in stealthily, and sometimes hand-in-hand with the sulky tear-stained face of self-pity. Often these feelings come because of circumstances, or simply because we left the back door unguarded and wide open.

     I’ve been reading a few books for the literature class I’m teaching this Fall. One of them is The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis. Reading through it again, I am reminded why it is one of my favorite books. I will try not to give it all away if you’ve never read it before, but one of my favorite parts in this book is when one of the main characters, Shasta, is riding through some fog on a horse, and he is thinking about how unfortunate he is. A majority of what he sees as misfortune were encounters with numerous lions throughout the long journey that he has just taken. In the middle of this fog he encounters Aslan, the Christ figure in the book (who also happens to be a lion), and the conversation he has with Aslan changes everything. Shasta realizes that he has not encountered many lions along the way, but one, Aslan, and all for important reasons. During this time Aslan walks with Shasta through the fog, and the next morning when the weather clears and Aslan is gone, the boy realizes he had been walking along the edge of a cliff, and it was the lion who kept him from careening over the edge. You could say he was a lucky boy, or you could simply say it was Aslan in his life all along.

I'm not going to attribute the tree limb missing my car to luck. I want to be as wise as Shasta, and realize that lions are not always what they appear to be.