The Gift You Are

I love receiving gifts.  I love the lone flower given by a child, plucked from their garden (or their neighbor's) just before coming to school.  I love the spontaneous cards my students make when spurred on by a strong emotion. And I love the more formal gifts, given on birthdays and other special occasions.  There is something about the hidden nature of a present . . .the moments right before you open it, the guessing before the unveiling.  There is something extra special about the gifts in boxes, wrapped in carefully chosen paper, with beautiful bows skillfully created.  Gifts bestow honor, they reveal the heart of a giver.  They are like a commercial break in the middle of a relationship that says "Wait.  Stop.  Let's pause for a second because I just have to tell you what you mean to me."  And then the show goes on.  

I love giving gifts.  It's kind of my favorite thing.  I love thinking about the person I'm gifting, I love remembering conversations, hearing wishes that have been given voice.  I love spying items a loved one would love 6 months ahead of time, and purchasing it for a future moment.  I love the opening.  I LOVE the opening.  I love when I've done my research well, and the gift fits the person just right or is exactly what they've been thinking about buying.

I've received some amazing gifts.  The luxurious, the sentimental, the unexpected, the kind that make you cry--not from what they are--but from what they represent---or that are given just when you felt like giving up.  

But the best gifts in my life?  Are you.

Every relationship has something to offer.  Every relationship brings a fragrance.  Every relationship gifts the other.

My lifelong friend Laura, whom I have so little in common with as an adult, gifts years and years of memories, arguments about which beach to play on, and an alternate perspective to consider while becoming myself.  Her family were nature-loving, tree-hugging liberals and owned stock in the only bookstore in town which I was not allowed to enter, because of my family's political beliefs.  She was the wild, loud friend who got my brothers all riled up when she visited, and I can't imagine how boring elementary school would have been without her. When we visit  now, she hopes for a 5-mile walk with the dog, I hope for a cup of coffee.  We couldn't be more different.  Her difference gifts me.  It taught me at a young age, that people with strong opposing opinions and world views can walk in harmony and find common ground.

My friend Diana and I had a year together.  She came unannounced into my world one Saturday night at our eccumenical youth group.  I was instantly jealous of her because on her first night she was breezy and seemed to own the place, while I belonged there, but with typical teenage angst, didn't know it.  But a conversation later, and we were inseperable.  Her personality fit mine like a glove, and together we had a year of adventures which included "fasting until death" for this young man we had a burden for (I got convicted and gave up after 2 days, she kept going much longer.)  Together, we braved a swim in the Pacific Ocean in February, we picked up hitchhikers and witnessed to them as we drove them to their party place, we kissed strangers on New Years.  She gifted me with adventure, with whimsy, with fun, with companionship.

I give past examples because if I were to start on present relationships, I'd never get done.   There are those who gift laughter, there are those who gift their ear, there are those who gift unmeasurable acceptance.  I have friends who provoke me to good works, and those who gift accountability.  Friends who would give me the shirt off their backs, and those who put me up when I've lost my keys.  I am fortunate.  

We are all a gift to those we come in contact with.  Who we are gives to those around us, even when we don't realize it.  The personality and gifts God has planted, and the character we've allowed Him to work in us give off a fragrance, one that is distinguishable to those we walk near.  

I have a friendship that I'm kind of insecure in, because many times it feels like I am the recipient, and I wonder how my life gifts this friend.  She tells me it's my peacefulness which ministers to her. This surprised me greatly (I was expecting my amazing wit, or profound beauty) but peacefulness is a quality I recognize about myself, so it makes sense that it's a fragrance others whiff.

A rose can only give the fragrance of a rose.  A cup of coffee will never smell like a rose, though many might (rightly) argue it's scent is just as lovely.  We can only give who we truly are.  

Some relationships in my life gift patience, because they build it in me, every time our paths cross.

When I give gifts, I give my best.  I take time to fit each gift to the person, I package it with care, so the recipient feels special.  If I am meant to be given out, I want my life to communicate the same. When someone spends time with me, I want them to feel as though they are unwrapping an unexpected treasure, I want them to wonder what God, the Giver has in store and to be delighted at the revealing.  I want to be used to gift many---and be exactly what they need at the moment.

I want my life to accomplish the wish of the Giver, and to bestow honor on the one He chooses.

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Photo credit: Leonardo Wong on Unsplash: https://unsplash.com/@nardoleo

A Different Way of Seeing

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Today, I was offered a fresh page in a relationship.  Imagine an ivory piece of stationery with nothing written on it.  Pure, crisp, clean.  

Imagine a favorite shirt coming out of the dryer, and it's warmth on your skin as you breathe deeply and smell spring left by a dryer sheet.

Imagine grace washing over you like a waterfall; water that is just right in temperature; as it cascades over your head, and you stand under the water for a long time, letting its hydration wash away pain, scrub away past mistakes.

Today was like that.

Relationships are tricky.  What I've learned? is that when friendships hurt--it is because I have something inside of me wrong or twisted, that fails to trust the good intentions of the one I'm relating to.

When I am insulted, it is because my friend has touched an insecurity.

When I am wounded, it's often because my friend has spoken truth, but it's truth I haven't told myself yet.

When I am incensed, I am often responding to a trigger, losing sight of the face and heart right in front of me, forgetting who they are to me, and all the acts of friendship which have preceded that moment.

When I feel controlled, I am deeply afraid and anxious---because what would life be like if I were not in control?

I'm not saying pain is not real.  I'm not saying others don't sin against us.  

But I find that when I clean up my heart?  There is less to hurt.  

If you knew the story? You'd know, I didn't deserve another chance.  

I'm glad my friend decided to try again anyway.

Tribute to a Fellow Sojourner

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Marco came into my life when I needed him most.  Life’s like that sometimes.  I had just landed my first teaching job.  In. the. South. Bronx.

It was where I wanted to be, and it was every bit as tough as you can imagine, and then some.  I rarely tell my teaching stories from those days, because they are conversation stoppers.  They can’t be topped, and it can make listeners feel like they can never complain again. 

Marco was a Teach for America chap and the technology teacher in a school known as the worst school in the worst district in all of New York City.  I taught second grade, though I learned more about people, teaching and life in those years than I was capable of imparting.

Somewhere during that year, Marco and I realized that we both lived in Queens and so began a year of commuting home each night together.

My Ford Escort, which I had driven across country hadn’t given out on me yet, so Marco would catch a ride home---and we would begin our arguments.

Our arguments were great fun.  We used logic and scripture and life experience.  Often, we would jump into an AOL chatroom when we got home, and continue the debate for another hour from our separate apartments.  The internet was brand new and our arguments awoken something in both of us.  Marco would say it was a spiritual awakening for him, but for me, it was the kind of intellectual challenge I had in Bible College, debating fellow classmates on the finer points of theology, while Brother Ken, our dean and hero, sat back and chuckled, thoroughly enjoying the struggle of watching caterpillars push against the chrysalis. 

Marco was an agnostic, and I a Christian.  I would share the gospel with him and he would try to convince me of his points.  In the in-between times we lived life, teaching and containing our charges. 

One of my best memories of Marco is the time he and I and, Bernard (the art teacher) took one of my kids to a Yankees game.  Lamont was an angry little guy, and one in need of great love.  I hope my student still remembers how 3 of his teachers took time, and chose HIM to hang out with at a Bronx Bombers game.  I hope he remembers how much we liked him, and how much hope we had for him.

It would take much longer than I can write here to say who Marco was, and what he meant to me.  His friendship brought life to me in the midst of the hardest job I’ll ever have.  He was a fellow warrior in a wasteland, the kind of comrade who understands your battle scars, because he bears his own.  But if he were here?  He’d tell me that’s corny, and to stop being so dramatic.  That he was just an asshole like everybody else.  And then we’d laugh and eat salted mangoes, and make each other watch thought-provoking movies and argue about their meaning.

Deep met deep that year and the year which followed, and today I miss Marco’s deepness.  There are friendships which you cultivate and tend to and hope to God they’ll eventually bear fruit.  And there are others you just fall into, and which meet deep places in your soul you never  knew even existed inside. 

Today I honor Marco Polo Villegas, and today I'm grateful to God for the friendships He has surprised me with and sustained me with when I've been oh so thirsty.  

The Lost Art of Thankfulness

My first year of teaching, I was overwhelmed by the number of presents I received from my students, who lived in one of America's poorest neighborhoods.  I wrote out thank you cards, and gave strict orders to students to share them with their families.  One mom told me later that it was the first thank you that she had ever received from a teacher.  I was mortified.  

Last week I was talking with a colleague about the Saturday school we had offered for students struggling in division.  We offered several hours of small group instruction with TWO 5th grade teachers, a chance to retake the test and better their grade, and some open gym time.  My colleague mentioned that not one parent had said "Thank you."  I couldn't recall any either.

It's no secret that we live in an age of entitlement, where it is socially acceptable to ask the masses on your Facebook feed to bring you a cup of coffee, or a meal.  Or where parents and children latch on to the word bully and use it every time their child experiences pain in a relationship.

Entitlement or greed can manifest in different ways.  It can be an insatiable need for material things, or an inordinate desire for attention.  It can be the hunger for recognition, or the isolating over-desire for personal space and downtime.  Sometimes it shows itself in wanting to make all the rules of the relationship, or in insisting on respect and obedience, not for the sake of the child, but because of a need to control.  It can be an insistence on justice at the expense of grace.  It can even be an insistence on serving when service is not wanted.  We all have to slay the giant of MORE in our journey.

A thankful heart is part of the antidote because it takes our eyes off ourselves and acknowledges the one giving to us.

I suspect most of us are good to great at being thankful to God.  We hear the parable of the one leper who came back to say thank you and resolve to be that one to our Heavenly Father.  And so we are.  But how do we fare with one another?

Jesus has been speaking to me how "Whatever you do to the least of my brethren, you've done it unto me."  How we treat others is how we treat the lover of our souls.  If Jesus invited you to dinner, would you send him a thank you card later?  If he showed up to your birthday party with a gift, would you let him know how much his presence and gift meant?  Oh, but He has, and He did.

How gracious and thankful are you to  your colleagues?  Do you let them know how blessed you are to work with them?  Do they know you like them, or would they wonder?  Do you acknowledge their contributions to the team? Would Jesus feel welcome visiting your job?  Because  He has,  you know, and He does.

What about your little ones, those God has given you to tend and give to?  Can you receive from those you mentor or raise?  Do you thank them for their efforts and their growth?  Do you show appreciation for their talents?  Do you ask for their input and allow them to teach you? Could Jesus be a child in your home?  Would he feel built up and cheered up to be in your care?  Because he is. In.Your.Care.

Jesus goes by 24 different names in my classroom.  Today he came in sad and weeping with grief over a lost family member.  He was supposed to take his state reading test.  Instead we dragged the special comfy chair for him to a non-testing classroom.  We let him read or write or just sit as he needed.  We honored grieving Jesus.

A different student made me mad today. As we were leaving, this student yelled.  Rather than have compassion on one who tested for 4 hours (including a demanding PE test)  I got mad because of  the noise. When I corrected the student, she began arguing disrespectfully.  In a show of power, I made her return to the classroom, change her card, and return to me.  I failed Jesus.This child serves me daily, doing anything that I ask of her, and I ask a lot. She has been my right hand.  Rather than gratitude and mercy, I demanded penance.

Would Jesus be at home in all of my interactions, in all of my relationships? Because however I act towards you, is how HE is treated.

OH.  And maybe write more thank you cards.  

Themes from the Lives of People I've been Reading

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Picture courtesy of Warrell.com  

I LOVE people.  And I love the idea which has been popularized in a lot of places lately, that every person around us has a unique and interesting story to tell.  I'm lucky enough to be surrounded with some amazing friends, and I wish I could share them each with those of you reading my words.

So on this last day of the year, I thought I would share with you, some of the themes of their lives.  These are the life lessons that I've read on the pages of their hearts and on the character God has forged in them.

In no particular order:

Erin:  Life is too important to live casually.  Live with great intention and laugh often.

Pete:  If you truly care about someone, you will have an eye to their long-term gain, and your actions will demonstrate that, even if it makes them uncomfortable in the short term.

Danae:  Life lived in gratitude is a life lived in joy.  

Renn & Taylor: Take time to make a connection.  People over schedule.

Katie: There is always something to celebrate in life.

Nadia: Our lives are meant to showcase the glory of God.  God and people deserve our very best.

Keri: People matter.  They are worth late night talks, they are worth 3 AM rides to the hospital, they are worth fighting for when no one else is fighting for them, they are worth spending your last penny on, they are worth broken toys and ruined carpets, they are worth relocating for, they are worth serving alongside, they are worth LIFE. People matter.

Sue:  There is great beauty to God in a life lived enjoying His world; His melodies, His creatures, His children.  It is ok to enjoy life, for life.

Tamar: Love with arms wide open.  If you fully accept others, you yourself will have nothing to hide.  

Darcy: Life IS our happy place.

Sandee:  Friends listen, friends protect, friends invite, friends show up, friends stay.

Pi' t'r:  How do I stop sinning?  Go to Jesus.  How do I change my heart? Go to Jesus. How do I forgive better?  Ask Jesus.  What about  . . .GO TO JESUS.  Can I have a hug? Yes, that I can do.

Rachel:  YOU are awesome.  (When she says it, I believe it.  More than anyone else.)

Bob:  I completely accept you.  Go accept others.

Elizabeth: Never underestimate the power of kindness and encouragement to change a person's outlook, and course.

Kelli: Just be honest.  Life's funner that way.

Kevin Conner, Joel Klein, and Bob Goff: Good leaders are accessible.

Pastor Sue: Anything that needs to be said, can be said with grace and kindness.

Pastor Bob: It makes a difference to THIS one.  (As in when asked why he's throwing starfish back into the sea, and he answers "To save them" and it's pointed out how MANY MANY starfish there are on the beach and he's asked how can he ever make a difference.)  It makes a difference to THIS one.

I have been the one.   And it has made a difference to me.

I have the greatest people in my life, and their lives instruct.

What are people reading from your life?

Great Pizza

Let’s face it.  Good pizza matters.  You know it, I know it, your neighbors know it.  Even your kids know it.  It’s important enough that I teach my students about it, and educate them on what pizza is, and what pizza isn’t.  (If you don’t know what I mean, the rest of this post might be lost on you.)

I’m not at all a pizza snob.  I love the traditional Pizza Hut and Dominos variety.  I adore the way California Pizza Kitchen has taken a concept and interpreted it in such brilliant pies as: The BLT, and Pear and Gorgonzola.  And I am crazy about Uno’s Chicago Classic Deep Dish. 

But NOTHING compares to genuine New York pizza. 

I was introduced to Escape from NY pizza in my college years.  It was a little piece of heaven every time I happened upon it, and in the early days----it was more of a “happening” than a plan. 

When I moved to New York, I figured I would never want for a good slice again.  New York has pizza like Portland has coffee.  There was the newness of Sicilian pizza, and something I’d never encountered before:  White pizza---a sauceless, mozzarella, parmesan pizza with huge circles of Ricotta cheese.  Yum.

To walk into a NY pizzeria, and yell “One slice!” would result in an oven-warmed cheese slice in a matter of seconds.  And it was always good.  Ray’s pizzeria on 111th and 2nd Avenue was one of the best in my well-traveled parts of the city.

But the longer I was in NY, I found that I was always looking for a slice as good as the NY pizza I cut my teeth on in Portland---Escape from NY.  And no matter where I tried, it never quite lived up to the ideal of Escape’s perfect slice. 

So often, life is like my quest for the ideal.  We’ve tasted something once----and in our minds, built up that thing, that quality, that person, that experience so much in our minds----that ever after it diminishes our enjoyment of our present reality.

We think we are missing out---because THIS vacation is not near as fun as the memories of our last one.  The new season God is calling us to seems so much harder and stretching than the last.  The relationships surrounding us now are great, but wow---if I could just have the same sense of community that was there a few short years ago . . .and on and on . . .

If we make the mistake of romanticizing the past . . .

1) We lie to ourselves about the difficult parts of past experiences

2) We miss the rich experiences of today, in the wishing that it were just a little better

3) We position ourselves to miss the fortune of tomorrow by not accepting our         present season; when we don’t accept our present season, we don’t learn its lessons, and so handicap ourselves going into our future where those lessons may be needed

4) We insult God who orchestrates our life---by only being satisfied with “where we’ve been” and “what we’ve known” not allowing Him as the master parent to introduce new flavors and nuances to the palate of our life

And if nothing else on the list fits, we just might miss out on some great pizza.