Friday, October 30, 2009

Fall break

Like all weeks off, I have high expectations for what I will accomplish. I will paint everyday, write a novel, get ahead with my school work, clean out my room, deep clean my apartment, see everyone that I haven't connected with in a while, write letters, finish incomplete projects, take naps, post photos, spend time in silence, listening to God. The gist is that I would do things that I wouldn't normally do. This week did take on that shape, but in a way different than I could have expected. I did spend time with my family and we dined at fine establishments and biked over the Golden Gate Bridge. I saw my pregnant cousin for the first time since she told us she was pregnant. I got a new makeup look with my mom, fixed my bike, found my lost keys.
For some reason, it's Friday and I'm the slightest bit disappointed that I didn't finish all that I had set out to do. I watched more TV than read books, got less sleep than I planned, and still fill disorganized come Monday.
I think that's how life works: when we set these expectations that are impossible to meet, we will never satisfy all of the requirements for us. I set a reminder each day for noon that said "God is showing himself to me by..." Each day, there was something incredible happening at noon- whether it was an engaging YUTES conversation, a view of the San Francisco bay, looking at powerful art, or getting my makeup done sitting next to my mom. That's what I will take away from this week, that everyday God chose to reveal his love to me in a unique way.

Monday, October 19, 2009

The Decemberists wrote a song about me

They didn't really, but I would like to think that they did. It's the first time that I've liked my real name, Margaret, hearing it in their Hazards of Love performance yesterday. Sometimes when I'm at festivals with huge groups of people, staring up at the stars, sober as can be, I feel God most. Amidst all the craziness, he's there and he's maniacally dancing along with me. Even as I shove my way through the crowd, hand out Clementines, and laugh with my friend Matt, He's there.
For a long time, I've been having a hard time feeling like He is around. When I'm overwhelmed by kids crying and unable to write their name on a piece of paper, I don't know where He is in that. I don't know where He is in helping me to get all of my homework done. Or trying to get to counseling at twenty to six, only to realize that the MUNI downtown has been flooded and there's not a cab to be flagged down in sight.
But He's there, just not in the way that I think He is. He's there by surprising me with Papalote burritos at community group, when I was resisting going. Or when one of my fifth graders tells me that she is going to be Michael Jackson for Halloween and I can't keep it together by not laughing. He's there when I get told I'm pretty by a six-year-old because my eyes are like saucers.
He's in the community, the sermon about complaining, spending time with new and old friends at a music festival. The new Sufjan-sponsored Shannon Stephens album. Me planning my "Where the Wild Things Are" lesson tomorrow. In San Francisco, on 7th and Harrison. At French-American, on Oak and Franklin.
He's with me, as near as my next breath.

Monday, October 12, 2009

I learned a lot last week.

They say that teachers are the best students. In that case, I'm doing pretty well for myself.
I not only single handedly led a class of squirming first graders who told the teacher they learned "Nothing" when I was teaching, but I learned how I'm feeling will erupt all over the place unless I take care of it sooner.
I also learned that these hard times are refining me and bringing me closer to God. I'm writing a good story for myself, according to Donald Miller.

It's interesting that in the Bible, in the book of Ecclesiastes, the only practical advice given about living a meaningful life is to find a job you like, enjoy your marriage, and obey God. It's as though God is saying, WRITE A GOOD STORY, TAKE SOMEBODY WITH YOU, AND LET ME HELP.

Before I learned about story, I was becoming a fatalist. I was starting to believe you couldn't find meaning in life because there wasn't any meaning to be found. But I don't believe that anymore...

I don't ever want to go back to believing life is meaningless. I know there are biochemical causes for some forms of depression, but I wish people who struggle against dark thoughts would risk their hopes on living a good story- by that I mean finding a team of people doing hard work for a noble cause, and joinng them. I think they'd be surprised at how soon their sad thoughts would dissipate, if for no other reason than they didn't have time to think them anymore. There would be too much work to do, too many scenes to write.

Although I've dealt with giving up, recently. I've become disillusioned with my part in the story and I don't know where I fit in. I don't know what my small piece can do to affect change. But it's a small jigsaw piece that the greater whole can't be complete without.

I think that this is when most people give up on their stories. They come out of college wanting to change the world, wanting to get married, wanting to have kids and change the way people buy office supplies. But they get into the middle and discover it was harder than they thought. They can't see the distant shore anymore, and they wonder if their paddling is moving them forward. None of the trees behind them are getting smaller and none of the trees ahead are getting bigger. They take it out on their spouses, and they go looking for an easier story.*

*Taken from A Million Miles in a Thousand Years, Donald Miller (in italics) with my own insights interspersed.

Monday, October 5, 2009

I'm feeling...

Clarity for the first time in a few weeks. I'm finally going to try and process feelings when I feel them instead of letting them pile up over time, culminating in a breakdown after Bluegrass on my friend Pryor's couch.
Guilty after setting the boundary to not go to my public school today, I saw one of my fifth graders on the street on my way home in the Mission.
Sweaty from riding my bike home, I did even the Fell part of the Wiggle at night.
Nervous to have my supervisor come tomorrow and observe me in the classroom and then talk with me about it.
Hopeful about people learning who I really am.
Excited to learn more about myself and how I cope best with the stress that I'm facing daily.
Unsure of how the kids will be tomorrow; if they will stage a coup as my friend Joe says.
Validated in how I feel at school, after one of the teachers wrote me an email and told me when she's free in case I need a listening ear. That's never happened to me at FAIS before.
Sad that my friend Pryor is on her way back to Tennessee now.
Overwhelmed by injustices in the world.
Scared about future relationships, how I will inevitably mess them up.
Confident that I am who I am today, growing in grace, dealing with my feelings and emotions.